Rescuing the Heiress (17 page)

A lump in her throat and a rapid pulse signaled the rise of the lingering fear she'd kept denying. Her last glimpse of Michael Mahoney might have been the final one she'd ever have. He was about to enter the belly of the beast, to stand and fight a fire that had already consumed a third of the city or more.

Given the terrible ongoing danger and the lack of proper tools with which to wage that battle in spite of the influx of engines and men from Oakland and other cities, he might not survive long enough to become her husband.

A
portion of the fire had jumped Van Ness at California and Powell streets and was climbing the side of Nob Hill by the time Michael joined his fresh crew. They all donned leather helmets and heavy canvas coats.

“You're in charge of this team, Mahoney,” Chief Walters ordered, gesturing at the horses hitched three abreast in front of the steam-powered pumper. “We don't know if there's any water left east of Van Ness but the navy has fireboats working the docks so I'm sending you and some of the others up Powell. Do the best you can. And God help you.”

Michael nodded, his mouth dry, his nerves taut. He'd definitely done the right thing when he'd moved his mother out of the Clark mansion. It sounded as though they might soon lose their battle to preserve the expensive homes of the city's most affluent residents.

“That's no different than losing Rose Dugan's house,” he muttered to himself, knowing he was right. Any person's home and possessions were valuable to them, no
matter how little monetary investment was involved. Perhaps if the fire departments had had more ready equipment and manpower to wage war on this disaster in all areas of the city in the first place, the conflagration wouldn't have spread so far and gotten so out of hand. Then again, no one could possibly have foreseen a battle like this.

He climbed aboard the engine, set a booted foot on the brake and threaded the pairs of reins between his fingers so he could control each individual horse. The snorting, pawing, sweaty team was more than eager to be off.

“Ready, men?” Michael shouted back at his crew.

When he was answered with a chorus of affirmative shouts he snapped the reins, gave the horses their heads and braced himself as they lunged ahead, blowing hard and straining to get the heavy engine rolling.

Michael had little chance to do more than skillfully guide the team but he did manage to see, as they drew nearer to Nob Hill, that several mansions had already been reduced to smoldering ruins.

Above them the newly built but never opened Fairmont Hotel, which had been billed as the jewel of the city, was starting to look as if every window was brightly curtained in dancing, deadly orange and red.

He shouted to the horses. They kept up the frantic pace, the pumper careening left and right as they dodged debris littering the streets.

For the first time in the past few days Michael's mind was too occupied by the task at hand to return to thoughts
of Tess more than occasionally. He was approaching a staging area where other engines and crews had massed to make a stand against the fire's progress.

“Whoa,” he shouted to the team. “Whoa, boys. That's it. Easy, now.”

Bringing his rig to a stop at the edge of the group, he called down, “Where do you want us?”

The chilling answer wasn't long in coming. A sooty, sweaty fireman looked up at him and shook his head sadly, somberly, his shoulders slumping as if he were on his last legs.

“I wish I knew,” the man called back. “You boys might as well spit on that fire. We just ran out of water in the last cistern.”

 

Tess sat beside her father as he drove cautiously toward the park. She could tell he was pondering something important because now and then his brow would furrow or his lips would form a grimace.

“Are you angry at me, Father?” she finally asked.

“What?” He looked astonished. “Of course not. What gave you that idea?”

“The look on your face,” she explained. “I was afraid you might be blaming me for the fact that Phineas got away.”

“Don't be silly. It's not your fault. If I'd heeded your opinion in the first place he might not have fooled me so completely.”

“You shouldn't blame yourself,” Tess said tenderly. “After all, you only know what you learned growing up.”
That comment made her father snort derisively, much to her surprise and puzzlement.

He glanced at her. “You really don't know the whole story, do you?”

“Story of what?”

“The struggles of my youth. I didn't have a dime to my name until I married your mother. She brought her fortune into our family. All I did was invest it wisely and make it grow.”

“You—you mean you weren't born rich?”

“Hardly. We were dirt poor when I was a boy. Why do you think I cared so much that you had all the best of everything? I didn't want you to struggle the way I had.”

“What about your parents?”

“They died when I was in my teens, just as I always told you. What I didn't say was that I apprenticed myself to my future father-in-law at his bank in Philadelphia. That was how I learned the business and eventually met and married your mother.”

“You were like Phineas! No wonder you thought he'd be perfect for me.”

Gerald made a sour face. “I hadn't thought of it quite that way but I suspect you may be right.”

“We shouldn't let him get away, you know.” Tess had been checking side streets as they drove and although she had not seen any sign of the grocery wagon she was still hopeful. “What if we drove around a little before we headed for the park? There's always a chance we might
catch a glimpse of him. I don't have a pistol with me but I don't think he was armed, either.”

The astonishment on her father's face quickly became thoughtful. “I suppose there would be no particular danger as long as we stayed in the car and stuck to areas that have already burned.”

“Exactly. Do you have enough fuel?”

“I poured in another gallon when I stopped at the bank. We should be fine for a while.”

Tess began to grin. “In that case, let's go find that wagon and see that Phineas gets what's coming to him.

“What about your young man? We promised…”

“You promised. I didn't,” Tess said, grinning. “Besides, Michael has his hands full right now. If we decide to take a little detour it won't matter to him. Not as long as we eventually end up at the park as planned.”

Gerald gave her a look that was almost respectful, although Tess was sorry it had taken a series of tragedies to bring it about. She might physically resemble her late mother but that was where the similarities ended. She was smart and strong-willed, just like her father, and it was high time he gave her credit for having backbone.

 

Michael had helped his fellows stretch a hose line all the way from the bay. His engine and others like it had been hooked in tandem to pump the seawater up the hills but he knew the breakdown of even one engine in the line would mean failure of the entire operation.

Now he could see flames licking the sides of the
Huntington mansion. Crocker's place was next. Worse, the streets around Nob Hill were once again teeming with evacuees, folks who had not seen fit to leave earlier when their passage to safety would have been relatively easy.

“Hey! Slow down. You can't race through there,” Michael yelled.

He waved his arms to no avail as wagon after wagon rolled through the intersection and crossed their canvas hoses at a pace that was nearly rapid enough to rupture them. Didn't those drivers know how fragile the heavy fabric could be when it was wet? Didn't they care that those metal-rimmed wheels were likely to cause leaks that couldn't be repaired?

Frantic, he kept trying to divert oncoming wagons. The wealthy were finally realizing that the disaster was going to reach their sanctuaries and were hurriedly attempting to rescue their expensive possessions. As far as he was concerned there was nothing on this earth as valuable as human life, yet those people continued to defy the orders of the very men who were sworn to save them.

Michael bent his back with the others who were hauling some of the heavy hose to the side of the road. Wet paving stones were slick. Hazardous. Sweat and sprays of seawater dripped from his leather helmet and stung his eyes till he could barely see.

“There goes another one,” someone shouted, pointing. “Look.”

Michael raised his head, blinked and wiped his
smarting eyes with a kerchief. His heart plummeted. The mansion directly next door to the Clarks' was catching fire and beginning to burn as if some malevolent force had just doused it with kerosene and touched a match to the base.

Behind him, a horn honked. He whirled, ready to block the way of whoever else intended to pass. To his horror, the automobile belonging to Gerald Clark was approaching. And Tess was still aboard.

Michael lunged toward the car and grabbed the edge of the door on the driver's side. Staring past her father, he shouted directly at Tess, almost losing control of his temper enough to curse. “What are you doing here?”

“The horses,” Tess cried, pointing.

“Forget it. It's too late. You can't go up there.” Michael was adamant as well as terrified for her. He grabbed her father's arm. “Go back. Can't you see what's happening?”

The car shuddered and its engine died. Gerald looked surprised. “Sorry. We saw the smoke and thought we could be of assistance. Can we do something? Anything?”

“No. If you can get this thing started again you need to turn around and leave. Otherwise you'll need to push it out of the way and walk. You can't stay here. It's too dangerous.”

“All right,” the older man said. “You take care of yourself—son. My daughter expects you to come out of this mess in one piece.”

A brief glance at Tess confirmed how much she cared.

Michael managed a conciliatory smile for her benefit. “Don't worry. I'll find you when this is over.”

Although their gazes locked he said no more. There was nothing else to say, nor was there enough time in which to say it properly. He had a duty not only to his own crew but to the other engines in the pumping line. The fire beneath each boiler had to be stoked and the buildup of steam efficiently managed in order to push every last drop of water through those long lines.

Backing away, Michael headed for his pumper as the older man climbed out of the car. At least Tess would still have an escort back to the park, even if it wasn't him. He checked the gauges on his instrument panel and saw with satisfaction that the steam pressure was holding steady.
Good.
Running this equipment was an art as much as a science and, modesty aside, he was one of the best engineers in all of San Francisco.

Another glance told him that Gerald had failed to get the car started. He and several other men were pushing it backward while Tess sat behind the wheel.

Michael gritted his teeth. He wanted to be angry with her and her father, yet he was so relieved to have seen that they were all right he couldn't manage to stir up much ire. Perhaps he'd feel differently later but right now, right here, he was simply thankful.

 

Tess slid from behind the wheel and climbed down as soon as she felt the rear tires contact the curb. The high color in her father's face worried her. She quickly took his hand and led him aside. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I just need to sit and rest a bit. It's that confounded starter. I shouldn't have cranked it so much.”

“I thought we had plenty of gas?”

“We should have had,” Gerald replied, mopping his brow and perching on the rear bumper of the automobile. “We may have broken a fuel line during our rough travels.” His eyes misted. “I should have listened to your young man and taken you straight to the park.”

“Nonsense. We might have come across Phineas. It's not your fault that we didn't.”

As Tess sat beside him and watched, her father looked as if he were about to weep. “It's not that. It's the money. I put it first.”

“You were just thinking of your depositors.”

Gerald shook his head. “No. I was thinking of the money. That was all that mattered to me. That was all that's ever mattered. Oh, I told myself I was working for the good of my family but it always came back to the same thing. The bottom line.” A few tears began to streak his cheeks. “I let life pass me by.”

“It's not too late, Father,” Tess told him tenderly. “You still have me. We can do wonderful things together. I had thought of turning the house into a refugee center, for a short while, at least until some of these places are rebuilt and people can go home again. Or maybe it can be an orphanage for children like that poor little tyke I found in the rubble yesterday. You should see her. She's adorable.”

He arched and eyebrow. “You were out on the streets?”

“Aiding the needy. With Michael.” Seeking to distract
her father and keep him from drawing inappropriate conclusions, she added, “You can use your influence to help the cause of woman suffrage, too, if you wish. There are some extraordinary ladies involved in that movement.”

He patted her hand. “None as extraordinary as you, I'm sure. You are truly a treasure, Tess. I wouldn't have thought we'd ever talk to each other this way and now here we are.”

“I suspect we will still have our differences,” she replied, smiling knowingly. “But we must always remember this day, no matter what.”

Looking past him, she let her gaze wander up the hill. Her jaw dropped. The firemen had not halted the fire the way she'd assumed they would. Flames were now leaping from the roofs of the Crocker and Stanford mansions and being blown ahead like the unstoppable gale that preceded a hurricane. And her home stood next in line!