Wishes & Tears Page 6

  Andrew was lounging on a blanket spread on the lawn waging war with his tin soldiers. Faith was determined, that for at least ten minutes, she’d have some peace and quiet before he made demands. She looked down at the magazine spread on her lap trying to learn more about life in 1906 and trying to block out thoughts of the earthquake. There was really nothing more for her to do but to wait.

  “Miss Donahue, is the sky falling yet?” Doctor Forrester asked, startling her from her thoughts.

  Looking up to meet his dark gaze and snicker puckering his lips, she arched her brows in irritation. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I was just wondering if we were all safe from catastrophe today. It’s such a glorious afternoon, I thought, perhaps, I was missing something.”

  She slammed the magazine closed on her lap and drew a deep breath for restraint.

  “I’ve been trying really hard to take my mind off the inevitable and here you are making me think about it.”

  “I think it’s rather interesting how you’ve drilled my staff and prepared my home. Not a glass or plate is to be found in a cupboard or cabinet. Not one breakable object is to be found on a shelf or wall. I’ve been told of the packed crates.” He stood before her, stroking his chin with his hand. “The pantry is stocked with dry goods and jugs filled with water. Are my windows to be nailed shut, too, or, perhaps, we’ll just bolt the shutters?”

  She smiled sweetly just to irk him. “One can never be too prepared.”

  “For an earthquake and fire that you’ve dreamed up in your pretty little head?” He cocked his head and chuckled, though his laugh was more scornful than humorous.

  “For an event that is to take place in the early hours of tomorrow morning. This is merely the calm before the storm,” she warned in a deadpan serious tone, her gaze boring into him.

  “You really believe it, don’t you?” He was staring.

  “I know it.”

  “I hope you’re not frightening my son with details of this?” he asked.

  She pointed to Andrew, intense at play. “Does he look frightened? There’s no need in scaring a child.”

  “At least we agree on something. Miss Donahue, I wish you to, rather I order you, to refrain from panicking my household staff. My home is being turned into a fort. Tomorrow, I want my belongings returned to their rightful places. I want apologies from you, and … I want your resignation. I will not have my home held hostage by your pandemonium.” His lip curled back as he said the words.

  She stood to meet him, face-to-face. “Doctor, what will you say or do if my predictions are true? If I have, indeed, saved you and your home from harm, where would I stand? If I’m right, will I be guaranteed a full-time position as governess?”

  “It will not happen.” He stood firm, like a solid oak.

  “It will happen. What will you say? What will you do?”

  His face turned crimson, his eyes heated to black. “I have the mind to make you leave now!”

  “Sir?” she asked, unwavering.

  “I am looking forward to tomorrow!”

  He abruptly turned and stalked toward the house.

  Faith sighed. Tomorrow.

  Chapter 7

  The torment of awaiting impending disaster was almost too much to bear. Faith sat in her bed, fully dressed, hugging her knees to her chest. The seconds ticked into minutes as she stared at her bedside clock.

  After a hearty, yet unusually quiet, dinner with Bridget, she retreated up to her room. She needed rest knowing that the coming hours would require all her strength and a clear head.

  This wasn’t her first experience with earthquakes, she kept reminding herself. Tremors were a common occurrence, something one expected, when living on fault lines in San Francisco. A few broken dishes, an occasional traffic jam, the safety drills in her classroom, the momentary panic were a way of life.

  Soothsayers had been warning about the “big one” for years, always citing the 1906 earthquake as an example. Faith always felt that the odds were in her favor that she’d never experience the “big one” in her lifetime. Never in her wildest nightmares did she ever imagine that she would go back in time to experience the original “big one.” Even now, she kept hoping that she would awaken from this warped nightmare.

  Many a night she would lie in bed praying to return. Try as she might to squeeze her eyes shut and chant like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz that “there’s no place like home” with hopes of returning to 2006, nothing happened. Whatever weird force propelled her back in time to 1906 seemed intent on keeping her there.

  All she could do was brace herself for the inevitable. She quivered with the knowledge that this home would be safe while others would tumble like building blocks and others burn to the ground. Some people would die, others suffer permanent injury, and there was nothing she could do. She knew that she couldn’t change history without changing the future. If every resident were warned and heeded her advice, the outcome of the quake and fire would affect future generations, good and bad. She could only sit back helplessly and allow history to happen.

  The house was eerily quiet, as if her foreboding had affected everyone. Bridget had been unusually quiet and fidgety between swigs of brandy. Doctor Forrester ignored her completely, busying himself with visiting homebound patients. He even insisted on tucking Andrew in bed.

  This evening, the doctor had a dinner engagement with Miss LaDue and box tickets to the Grand Opera House. He was anxious to hear Enrico Caruso open the opera season with the Metropolitan Grand Opera Company. Faith wished that she could have been in Miss LaDue’s place to hear history’s greatest tenor. The performance would have taken her mind off the impending sense of doom for a few hours. She was certain she would have appreciated Caruso’s talent more than the ditsy Miss LaDue.

  Once again, thoughts of Brad entered her mind. He and his blonde were probably thrilled to have her out of their lives. Having her out of the way would mean no dueling lawyers, court dates, and alimony.

  She had been so upset when he asked for a divorce that she thought her life was over. The reality was that her marriage was over, not her life. In retrospect, her marriage had been over long ago but she had been too blind to notice. Affairs didn’t just happen. Handsome, fast-living, smooth-talking attorneys like Brad were never content with one of anything. She knew that he was as devious outside the courtroom as he was within and that he used people his entire life to get what he wanted. Didn’t he, after all, use her? After marrying him, she had put her life on hold for him. She had been so caught up in the elite lifestyle that she helped to create that she paid little attention to the personal side of their relationship. Brad had never been affectionate, a once-a-day kiss and sex when he was in the mood, holding hands just to show off in front of friends. They led such separate lives for so long that she ignored the writing on the wall. Their life together had been nothing but a public façade.

  Without the mementos to jog her memory, the familiar furniture and people, there were no reminders of the life they shared. Being in this strange, new world was like starting over. The weird thing, she realized, was that she hadn’t missed Brad. She had been too busy finding herself. Yawning, she laid back in her narrow bed, on top of the coverlet, her head on a goose-down pillow. She curled up in a comforting fetal position and fell asleep, a dream swirling in her subconscious.

  Amidst the scented wildflowers in a fog-shrouded meadow, a man and a woman danced. He held her gloved hand against his chest while his other hand encircled her waist in an intimate embrace. The man was attired in formal black tail, the woman in a flowing white gown of satin and lace. The yards of fabric rippled in the gentle breeze created by their graceful waltz. They danced to music only privy to their ears. Out of the fog stepped a child. Upon seeing him, the couple stopped dancing and turned their heads to face him.

  Faith awakened with a startled gasp. The woman’s face was her own, the man Doctor Ian Forrester, the child Andrew. She shook her head wondering if it
had any significance and figured it didn’t make sense. Why was the doctor dancing with her instead of Miss LaDue? He loved Miss LaDue and despised her. She drew a deep breath to cleanse her mind.

  The clock chimed. She cast a glance at its face: 4:15 A.M. and trembled, feeling cold and clammy. In one hour, the earthquake would shake and forever change the city.

  After seeing Andrew’s innocent face in the dream, she decided to check on him and sit at his bedside to comfort him when he awakened during the earthquake. A child should not be alone during such a traumatic event and she felt obligated to ensure his safety.

  She lit the candle in her brass candlestick, entered the hall, and descended the back stairs to the second floor. On tiptoes, so as to not disturb the household, she glided down the hall to his room. She gingerly opened his bedroom door and stepped inside. With a flicker of candlelight, she surveyed his bed.

  “Andrew?” She gasped at the sight of his neatly made, unrumpled bed. There was no sign of the child.

  With her heart thumping, she raced from his room and out into the hall. She almost crashed into Bridget in her panic. The maid was staggering down the hall.

  “Faith Donahue, you put a fright into me,” Bridget scolded, slurring her words.

  “Where’s Andrew?” Faith asked, breathless.

  “Now, now, don’t you be worrying. Doctor Forrester’s taking care of him.”

  The scent of brandy was strong. Bridget had been hitting the bottle, rather, emptying it.

  “Oh, good, he’s in his father’s room. He’s safe.” Faith was relieved.

  It was short-lived.

  “Oh no, ma’am. Andrew’s not home. Neither is the … ” she hiccoughed, “good doctor.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, grabbing Bridget’s shoulders with clawed fingers and shaking her.

  “Doctor Forrester took Andrew to Miss LaDue’s home tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “He feared you would harm his son with all your earthquake talk.”

  “It isn’t talk!” She released her grip on Bridget. She should have known that he’d think her unstable enough to cause harm. She also knew that she would be getting the last laugh if they survived this. “Where’s Andrew?”

  “Nob Hill.”

  “Nob Hill, let me think.” Faith closed her eyes for a second, trying to remember local history. Okay, Nob Hill survived the earthquake unscathed only to be dynamited later to stop the raging fire. Andrew would be safe. Thank God the doctor wasn’t betrothed to someone in the South of Market shantytown.

  “You’re certain Andrew’s on Nob Hill?”

  “Tucked in bed as surely as he would be at home.” Bridget hiccoughed again. “I talked on the telephone to Myrna, the LaDue’s housekeeper. She assured me that Andrew and the good doctor are fine.”

  “Okay, okay. Andrew’s safe. The doctor’s safe,” Faith assured herself.

  Bridget may have been tipsy but, at least, she had her faculties. Andrew would be safe but the loss would be hers. Faith wouldn’t have him to comfort and cling to when the earth trembled. She would be alone.

  She wondered where the doctor would be. Was Constance the virginal ice princess she appeared to be? Or was the doctor keeping her comfortable? Faith wondered why she even cared. What the doctor did was his business. Yet, that strange dream replayed in her mind. Why was he dancing with her?

  “I need some fresh air,” Faith said. She was shaking and the earth had yet to move.

  Casting a glance at Bridget, she realized that the woman wouldn’t even feel the earthquake. Bridget was already teetering.

  As Faith stepped out on to the front porch, a rush of mild and misty air stroked her face. She drew a deep breath trying to subdue frayed nerves. She leaned against a wooden porch post watching as a rosy dawn broke through the fog that drove in from the Bay. The neighborhood was quiet with the restful calm that always seemed to precede tragedy.

  Slowly, the city was awakening from a peaceful slumber. Wood smoke from the morning’s first fires curled out of brick chimneys, scenting the air with wood perfume. Faith knew that servants were stoking the fires to begin a day that would be far from ordinary.

  The first shock came without warning. Except for a slight reverberating roar, the earth began to quietly shift. Beneath the porch, the earth began to undulate from east to west. Faith felt as if she was on roller skates trying to stay standing. She sunk to the wooden porch floor, hugging the porch post for security as well as for support. A queasy feeling, like being on an amusement park ride, rose from her stomach.

  “I’m safe,” she mumbled aloud. “Pacific Heights is built on bedrock. I’m safe.”

  The earth began to rumble and vibrate. A sickening sensation of heaving ground appeared as the shock increased in intensity. She watched the surrounding landscape sway. Trees bent like palms in a hurricane. The house rattled on its concrete foundation. She shook, wondering how much of the shaking she felt were nerves and how much was the actual earthquake. When the street lamps dimmed, she knew that the gas lines feeding from the central city had ruptured. The fire wouldn’t be far behind. She crouched against the porch rails waiting for the tremors to cease.

  After a moment of calm and silence, Faith eased herself up to her feet, using the porch post for support. Her legs were weak, as if made of rubber. Sea legs on dry land. Soon, she heard voices as bewildered neighbors ran out of their homes and into the streets. Stepping off the porch, Faith walked down the stone path to the gatepost. She watched as husbands and wives, servants, and children meandered in the streets, oblivious to being attired in nightclothes and in various states of undress. For all the trembling, there had been little damage to Sacramento Street. A few fallen bricks, displaced objects, and snapped lamp posts seemed of little concern to residents. Their little corner of the world was safe until time revealed the mass destruction just a few blocks away.

  Faith unlatched the gate and gingerly stepped out in to the street, as if expecting it to swallow her up at any moment. She strode down the street to survey damage and to catch a glimpse of the destruction down below.

  As the sun finally broke through the mist, many residents gathered to look out over the business district from atop their hill. Excited chatter and laughter stopped as if a plug had been pulled. Faces that had been smiling were slack-jawed. The realizations of the extent of the devastation played out like a Nickelodeon show flickering before them.

  Off in the distance, fires raged, engulfing their beloved city in fierce orange flames and thick, acrid smoke. The rays of the rising sun competed with the flames angrily greeting the morning. Sheets of fire burst out from the warehouse district near the waterfront, to the business district, Hayes Valley, and the old mission area. Doomed buildings were silhouetted against hungry flames eager to devour them.

  As Faith walked down the hill, refugees were making their way up with only the clothes on their backs and squealing children in tow. The pallor of their faces, the blank, glazed look in their eyes revealed their close escape. Fear permeated the air like a new dense fog settling in.

  Faith watched the residents retreat into their fine undamaged homes, their refuge from the tragedy befalling their poorer, less fortunate neighbors. Faith knew that she should be returning to check on Bridget and to secure the doctor’s home. Desperate people did desperate things. She remembered reading about looting after the quake. She wondered if the worst was over or if the worst had just begun.

  A sense of helplessness and empathy permeated her being. Reading about the earthquake and being forewarned had done little to prepare her for the reality of it. The sounds of crackling timber in the distance, echoing cries of suffering and death, seeing the hollow and blank eyes, the pungent scent of a burning hell penetrating more than her nostrils.

  She was about ready to turn around and run toward 92 Sacramento Street when she saw him approaching in the distance. With Andrew perched on his shoulders, the doctor appeared unscathed. Her heart skipped a beat a
s they drew near. Would Doctor Forrester finally believe her?

  When he noticed her, he quickened his pace.

  “You knew! You knew about this! You were right!” he yelled in a voice filled with surprise, guilt, and the admission of defeat.

  Andrew waved his little hands as if he wanted to fly away and greet her. He was smiling. The innocence of children was to be buffeted from life’s tragedies.

  “Miss Donahue!” the little boy screamed.

  “Andrew! Doctor! You’re safe!” she replied, running to greet them. Faith smiled with the knowledge that they all survived. She wondered if securing their safety was the reason for her sudden appearance in their lives. The thought gave her pause.

  As they drew near, the doctor’s eyes met hers. The intensity of his gaze was riveting, almost hypnotic. She stopped in her tracks.

  • • •

  Doctor Forrester looked at her, wanting to apologize for his being a “doubting Thomas.” She was right in predicting the earthquake and fire. She had been concerned enough to secure his home, stockpile provisions, and provide for the safety of his household.

  There was something beyond strange and unusual in the woman. She wasn’t insane but harbored knowledge beyond the realm of normal human understanding. He had to get to the bottom of her gift for prophecy and her claim to be from some future world. The scientist in him was curious. The man in him was mystified.

  She also had a way with children. Andrew whimpered all night, crying out for her even as he slept nestled in his father’s arms. A father’s love wasn’t enough. He had hoped that Miss LaDue would fill the void left by the child’s mother. Constance, though, had shown little interest in the boy. He hoped that her attitude would change when they married. If not, he thought how Miss Donahue could help. He had grown up with a governess and had fond memories.