City of Ash (38 page)

I led her to where a still-standing building on the brick Boston block loomed like a mountain above the ruins, and dodged behind it, where a small group of people—three men and one other woman, all as roughly dressed as I was—were curled up and sleeping.

“This will do,” I said, turning to Mrs. Langley, who looked at me in horror. “Wait here until I get back.”

“Not with them,” she said.

I sighed. “They’re hungry and tired, Mrs. Langley. They won’t know you from Adam. I’ll go to the relief tents and get us both something to eat, and then I’ll see if Lucius knows where your
husband is. Do me a favor and don’t get lost. I won’t scour the whole city looking for you.”

I walked away without a second look.

I meant to eat first, and then find Lucius. The oats had only stirred my appetite, and I could hardly think for hunger. But after that, the more quickly I could find where Nathan was and get back to Mrs. Langley, the better. If I was lucky and all went well, I might even be able to be rid of her by tonight. What she would do then was her trouble, and none of mine.

I made my way up Third Street toward University, and I saw the relief tent a block before I reached it. It was huge and white. Above it, strung between two poles, was a banner reading
TACOMA RELIEF BUREAU
in big block letters. Stretched as long as the tent and to the end of the block was a line of people—men mostly—waiting to be fed.

My heart sank; it would take hours to get something if I stood at the end of that line, and for a moment I paused, thinking there must be another way. But I was too hungry, and impatience couldn’t trump it, and so I walked wearily toward the end of the line, passing men as dirty as I was, all wearing a lean, hungry expression, but at least it wasn’t focused on me. They tipped their hats or bowed their heads as I passed, and then I heard someone call out, “Mrs. Wilkes! Mrs. Wilkes, right here!”

It was a man I didn’t recognize, but when I approached him he bowed his head shyly and said, “I saw you in
The Last Days of Pompeii
, ma’am. You were very fine.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I heard they was going to open up the Regal again.”

“That’s what Mr. Greene intends.”

He stepped back. “I’d be pleased if you’d come into line in front of me, Mrs. Wilkes. It’s the least I can do for all the hours of pleasure you’ve given me.”

I was happy enough to take him up on it, and glad actually for his talk about the plays he’d seen and his commentary on each. It kept me from thinking about how hungry I was, or hearing the clattering of spoons and pans and knives that came from inside
the tent, or smelling something salty and yeasty that managed to eke past the scorched scent in my nose.

From plays, we moved to gossip. He told me all the rumors about the fire’s start, and that the Ladies Relief Society was also serving food and assistance out of the Armory, and that there would be cots here at the relief tent tonight and the army had sent 150 tents besides and wasn’t it a blessing that the fire had got rid of the vermin—not just the damn rats
(“Excuse my language, ma’am”)
but the vagrants and the debauched down on the sawdust as well.

The debauched
. I heard Sebastian DeWitt’s voice in my ear.
“Perhaps we’ll end up joining them.”

When the man paused, I asked, “Did you hear how many died?”

He frowned, rubbing his long chin. “Some rich woman maybe. And a passel of Chinamen—I heard about ten. They found a bunch of bones at Wa Chong’s.”

The man behind him offered, “Fire marshal says three men died rushing into the San Francisco Store. I heard tale of four others.”

“Do you know their names?” I asked.

“No. You missing someone?”

I hesitated, and then I shook my head. “I just wondered.”

But I couldn’t stop thinking of him, watching for him. There were men in old suits and ash-dusted shirtsleeves and vests with limp neckties that spoke of how they’d dashed out of their offices to avoid the fire and seen their hotels burned just as I had. But nowhere did I see an old brown frock coat, or a walk I recognized, and the time I’d spent with him began to feel like a faraway dream.

I reached the front of the line. There were long, waist-high tables at which dozens of men stood, while aproned men and women stirred huge pots of soup at the big wood-fired stoves beyond, and dishwashers wet to the elbows scrubbed dishes in big metal tubs. Waiters bustled about bearing soup in small white crockery bowls and thick slices of bread, and men shoveled the food into their mouths. The air smelled of soup and sweat, coffee and sun-warmed canvas. As I went to the tables, men moved aside politely, and when a man wearing an apron and a
large white badge saying
TACOMA RELIEF
brought me a bowl and a plate I asked for something to be wrapped for a friend too ill to come, and he eyed me as if to determine whether I told the truth, and then brought me a parcel of bread wrapped in butcher paper.

I was relieved, because I was afraid that once I started eating I would be unable to stop and save enough for her. I was like the men hemmed in around me, too hungry for talk now that food was set before us. I wolfed down that bread and soup so quickly I barely tasted them, gulping the coffee so it burned my mouth. I felt I could eat all day long and not be full, but the bread was a heavy lump in my stomach by the time I got to the last bite, and I was starting to feel alive again, and ready to do what I could toward Mrs. Langley’s plan.

I wove my way through the crowd toward the exit, the parcel of Mrs. Langley’s breakfast in my hand. The tent flap was tied back; I stepped from the hot, noisy tent into the open air.

And saw Sebastian DeWitt as if I’d somehow conjured him.

He had his back turned to me, and he was talking to some other man, but I recognized that coat, as dirty and streaked with soot as it was, and the satchel slung over his shoulder, and I stopped short, frozen by a quick leap of joy.
It doesn’t matter if it is him, does it? It doesn’t change anything
. But before I could think better of it, I called out, “Sebastian!”

He jerked around. “Bea!” He said my name like an explosion of sound, and we hurried toward each other like some silly reunited couple in a mellie. Then it was as if we both remembered where we were at the same moment; we stopped only a few inches apart, but he looked me over as if he couldn’t believe I stood before him, as if he wanted to touch me but was holding himself back. “You’re all right. Thank God. Thank God, you’re all right.”

I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help myself. “Yes. Well, a little burned here and there, but other than that.… Everyone’s looking for you. Lucius, everyone.”

“Everyone escaped then? Everyone’s all right?”

“Except for Mr. Galloway, who’s injured, and Brody and Jack both burned their hands. But everyone else is fine. Lucius is trying to get a tent to set up where the Regal was—the Phoenix, he’s calling it now.”

“The name
du jour,
” he said. “We’ll be lucky if every business doesn’t end up called that.”

I laughed—a little too loudly, and he smiled as if he realized it too, and I went hot. It was only that it was such a relief to see him, I told myself. He was really such a talented playwright.
And lovely too. Even streaked with soot and filthy and dear God what a fool you are
.

I took a deep breath and stepped back. “Well. I’m glad you’re all right. I was worried. But now I—I’d best be off. I meant to see Lucius and—”

“Where are you staying?”

“I—nowhere. I heard they planned to set up cots in here tonight, so I thought perhaps I’d come back.”

“Only for men,” he told me.

“Oh. Of course. God forbid they should end up housing a whore by mistake. Where the hell are the women staying?”

“Wherever they can.”

“Well, I suppose Lucius has his tent—”

“I’ve a tent from the army. At Eleventh and Lane. Fort Spokane, they’re calling it.” A small smile. “I’m supposed to be sharing it with another fellow, but he can find somewhere else to sleep. There’s room for you, if you like.”

He said the words so casually, as if it mattered little to him whether I took him up on the offer, and I was calling myself sixty ways a fool for being tempted. What the hell did I want from him anyway? I had no intention of setting up with him; the fire had not changed that, in fact, it only made things worse, because who knew what I might have to do to survive now? Uncomfortably I thought of Mrs. Langley waiting behind the Boston block.

“I can’t. Thank you, but … no.”

“There are a few families there. No one’s paying much attention to anyone else. They’re too busy with their own situations to ask questions, if it’s your reputation you’re worried about.”

“I can’t, Sebastian.”

He eyed me thoughtfully. “What’s Langley doing for you?”

I dodged his glance. “Nothing. I haven’t seen him.”

“He hasn’t even brought you a box of apricots? Not very gentlemanly of him, is it?”

I glared at him. “I doubt he’s thought of me a single moment. I think he’s more concerned for his wife.”

“His wife?” Sebastian’s tone sharpened. “Why is he concerned for her? Is she hurt?”

“She’s missing. Haven’t you heard?”

“No, I haven’t. Missing? Are you certain?”

I was stung by the worry I saw in his expression. Too sharply, I said, “As certain as anyone can be.”

“She was at the theater, wasn’t she? Didn’t she escape with the others?”

“I don’t know what happened.”

“Are they searching for her?”

“Of course they are.”

“Where have they looked?”

“I don’t
know
, Sebastian,” I said, more snappishly than I’d meant. “Why don’t you join the damn search party yourself if you’re so concerned.”

He gave me a look that shamed me, though I was damned if I’d show it. I turned away. “I should be going. To find Lucius—”

He fell into step beside me. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s no need.”

“For me there is. Now that I’ve found you, I’m reluctant to lose sight of you again. And I still hope to persuade you to stay with me. At least for a while. The city’s in chaos. Langley will be too busy to know or care.”

“Sebastian—”

“Where did you sleep last night?”

“In … in a stable.”

“And the night before?”

“In someone’s yard.”

His eyes looked blue today. “Both better than a tent and a bedroll, I’m certain.”

The paper parcel in my hand felt suddenly like a lead weight. “You’re very kind, but—”

“I’m not kind at all. I’ve purely selfish motives. I’ve spent two days searching for you. When the fire started and it looked like it might spread, I went back to your hotel to warn you, but you weren’t there.”

“I’d already gone to the Regal.”

He frowned. “You should have heard the warnings by then. It was out of control by three-thirty.”

“I was there before noon.”

“You were? Why? I thought Greene told you to stay away.”

I hesitated, trying to remember exactly what I’d meant to tell him, how I’d had it worded. I still needed him, after all. I could not afford to lose a playwright who found in me a muse, whether or not I meant to keep him as a lover. “I thought it was where you’d gone, and I”—
just blurt it out, Bea
—“I meant to tell you that I don’t mean to … do what we … did … again.”

“I thought we agreed we could keep it hidden from Langley.”

Langley. The perfect excuse, just handed to me. It was easier than explaining the truth, which was that I was afraid of him, especially because I could hardly even explain that to myself. With relief, I said, “It’s too big a risk. I can’t afford it, and neither can you. We both have to keep him happy.”

“I would have thought you’d want to keep me happy as well. After all, there’s the new play to consider. The one I’m supposed to be writing for you.” His voice was quiet. He put his hand to my elbow as we crossed the street as if I were a lady, and he didn’t take his hand away when we reached the other side. That touch stirred a memory that I swallowed hard.

I said as casually as I could, “I do mean to keep you happy. But … as a friend. We could still be friends, couldn’t we?”

He laughed. “Hmmm. Friends. Now there’s a thought.”

I felt myself flush and wished I knew why the hell he flustered me so.

He said, “Do you know what would make me truly happy, Bea?”

“I can’t imagine.” Though I could, of course. Too damn well.

“Stay with me. Just until things settle. It would help me write if I could see my muse whenever I wished.”

“Very pretty, Mr. DeWitt, but I fear I must decline. It’s better … for both of us. You’ll thank me for it later, I promise you.”

He leaned close, whispering, “Was it so bad that you prefer a stable to me?”

He smiled this knowing smile that sent the heat rushing into
my face
again
, and I looked away, unsettled and embarrassed,
you stupid girl
, relieved when I saw that we were nearly to the lot where I’d left Lucius and the others. Even from a distance, I spotted Lucius—his hair spiking on his head as if he’d molded it that way, Jack’s tall, lean figure hovering about him. “There they are,” I said, quickening my step, nearly racing through the crowd to where they were. I saw Jack look up as we neared and wave us over.

Brody called out as we approached, “A glue pot, Bea! It was a glue pot that done it!”

“That did what?” Sebastian asked.

“Started the fire, I think.” I called back, “Not Chinamen?”

“No.” Brody smiled. “Though that’s the better story. Some glue pot boiled over in a carpenter’s shop on Front and Madison.”

“The whole city destroyed for want of a chair.” Jack shook his head. “Though I liked the rumor that Madame Minerva caught her fortune-telling cards in a candle flame myself.”

“Here she is, sweet Bea back to her hive!” Lucius strolled over. “And with our playwright too! Ah, my dear, I should have trusted that he would find you—he is a kind of burr, eh? He shall stick.” He clapped his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “But thank God, thank God you’re well, man. We shall have much need of you in the next days.”