A City Tossed and Broken (10 page)

Diary, I am afraid. I have to go back to the Sump house one more time.

Later

6
A.M.

The grass is scorched. When I run my finger along it, it comes up black.

In the early hours of the morning I left the Crandall home and started up Jones Street. It was a long walk, and fatigue had settled in my bones. I trudged up the hill against the stream of people coming down. Some of them warned me that Nob Hill was not safe any longer. I kept going.

When I got to Sacramento Street I stopped to look around me. What had sometimes seemed like a dream over the past hours was suddenly too real. The sky was lit with fire. It was beautiful and terrible, like something outside of the world I’d always known. The wildness and fierceness of the fire drove the wind, and it shimmered with heat. The pavement was hot beneath the soles of my boots.

I ran to the Sump house. We hadn’t bothered to lock the door since anyone could get in through the shattered bay window. Inside the house I ran through rooms illuminated by the flames. I reached the study and fell to my knees in front of the sofa. When I found the strongbox I sobbed in relief.

There was a small carpet in front of the fireplace. I staggered over with the box and placed it there. I knew I would only be able to carry the box a few feet. I dragged the carpet through the study, down the long hallway, and pulled my burden out the front door.

I was suddenly seized with fear that the shovel would be gone — stolen by a passerby. But there it was, lying on the ground next to the overturned barrel and the slate tiles from the roof.

I started to dig. It was hard, hot work. My sore shoulder ached terribly, and it felt as though I was breathing smoke and fire. When I heard soldiers I dived down behind the stone wall until they passed.

I felt something burn my arm and I swatted away a spark. When I looked up I saw licks of flame on the roof of the Sump mansion. Smoke trailed from an attic window.

Fear drove me then. I dug frantically, as if my life depended on it. I heard a roar at my back but I didn’t turn, I just kept digging until the hole was deep enough to hold the strongbox. When I judged the strongbox could fit in the hole with a few inches of dirt over it, I dragged it and pushed it inside. I quickly patted the earth down over it and then found a few bricks to place over the dirt to mark the spot.

I heard the sound of popping, and suddenly glass rained down. The windows of the house were exploding from the heat. I felt glass in my hair.

I ran to the street, but when I reached it I turned back for one last look at the house. The wind must have picked up then, for the smoke clouds, a mile high in the sky, shifted and scudded away for a moment and the pale moonlight shone down. I saw flickering shadows in an attic window, and caught sight of a line of fire on a curtain. The fire seemed almost lazy, taking its time with licks and feints, but I knew that when it unleashed, the mansion would go quickly. There was so much to burn.

I turned to look up at the crown of the hill. I saw sparks on the roof of the fireproof Fairmont Hotel. It would burn. It would all burn. The millionaires couldn’t escape the fire after all.

A group of firemen suddenly appeared, walking down Jones Street. They gave me a start. Covered in gray ash, they looked like ghosts. When they saw me, one of them gestured. I could see the urgency in his expression even though I could also see that he was too exhausted to lift his arm all the way.

“What are you doing up here?” one of them bellowed at me as I came closer. “Nob Hill is going!”

“I’m on my way to Russian Hill to stay with my guardian,” I answered.

“You’d better walk with us, miss,” one of them said. “They’ve been giving out badges and guns too freely. Men happy to shoot at what they think is a looter and no questions asked.”

“It’s hard to believe that folks would take advantage in this sort of calamity,” a young fireman said, and the others laughed tiredly.

“You think so, Patrick?” one said kindly. “You haven’t been working long enough, then.”

“Well, one got his comeuppance down on Montgomery,” another said. “Trying to steal a safe from a burned-out wreck. He pried it open and poof! All the cash went up in smoke. You’d only have to look around you to know that oxygen feeds fires. You’d think he’d have more sense.”

“Speaking of which, look at our General Funston. Who put him in charge, I’d like to know. Using black powder to blow up buildings. He’s causing half the trouble.”

“Need a firebreak, though.”

“Ain’t going to get one if he doesn’t stop making things worse.”

“If only the Chief were here. Tully was down at the hospital earlier, said he’s bad off.”

“If only they listened to him about the mains. Wouldn’t be trying to fight fires with dirt and cistern water.”

“It’ll be the end of the world if the Navy doesn’t get here,” one said.

An older fireman snorted. “If they can help. We’ll have to look mighty sharp to connect our hoses with theirs — no telling if we can get a hose line going. Otherwise they’ll sit in the bay and throw salt water at the waterfront.”

“Do you think the whole city could burn?” I asked.

That stopped their talk. One of them started to say something, some words of reassurance, but he couldn’t get them out.

The only answer was the sound of our footsteps heading down the hill.

They split off from me at Broadway, heading west, they said, to Van Ness. They advised me to do the same — to head west in the morning.

When I got to the Crandall house, I saw that Mrs. Crandall had dropped off to sleep on the sofa on the lawn. Mr. Crandall slept in the armchair, facing the flames of Nob Hill.

I sat on the lawn, hugging my knees, and looked back from where I’d come. I watched the glow in the sky arc and brighten. The mansions of the rich were burning. I could hear the ferocious roar of the fire as it moved.

Suddenly I missed Mama so badly I could hardly breathe. If I could only go back and change our last meeting. I didn’t even kiss her good-bye. She had no doubt heard of the earthquake by now. What was she thinking?

And Papa. I wish that we had said good-bye. That was a word he never used.

He always knew when he was leaving. Why didn’t he ever say good-bye?

He would come home and lift me up and kiss me. For that one moment, I would have his full attention. I would think — he’s gone away and now he’s back, now he knows how much he loves us.

How much did he love us?

I felt as though I couldn’t keep my eyes open a second longer. I wondered how long I would walk that day and where I would go. My feet ached in my too-big boots and my chest hurt when I took a breath, and I was sitting with strangers on the cold ground. I had no comfort and no home anymore. Who was I now? I wasn’t Lily Sump, but I didn’t feel like Minnie Bonner anymore, either. Whoever I had been was gone. I was no one.

I had walked into another life, at first by accident, and then by design. What if I became Lily Sump for good? I could have more money than I ever dreamed. I would never worry about anything again. And people would wait on
me
.

If I were Lily Sump, I could get on a ship and go anywhere. I could go to Paris. Mr. Crandall would make me hire a companion, but I would be in charge. Being in charge means that you are the one with the money.

Wouldn’t it be easier for Mama if I just disappeared? She could mourn the daughter who died in the quake and never worry about her again. I could send her money somehow, make up a story about a long-lost relative. At least I’d know she was safe and comfortable. I couldn’t do that as Minnie, but I could if I were a Sump.

I fell asleep thinking of silks and satins, warm blankets and soft beds.

Later

1
P.M.

It is a battle we are living through.

When General Funston could not bring down buildings with dynamite, he used artillery. His object was to bring down every building on the east side of Van Ness. All day we’ve heard the crashing and booming and felt that strange push against our eardrums that meant another explosion had occurred. Glass is all over the streets as the windows shatter from the concussions.

Thousands of people are gathered at the bottom of Van Ness, at the edge of the bay. They hope to escape by sea.

The good news is that the Navy ships have arrived. They have set up a system to bring salt water to the fire. I don’t know if it is working. At any rate the hoses will not reach here. I remember what the firemen said about the difficulty of connecting the hoses.

It has been a day of dithering. Mr. Crandall wants to stay and stand with the neighbors who vowed not to leave their homes even when the Army ordered them to vacate. They leave and they come back. They are determined to save Russian Hill, or at least the crown of the hill. The neighbors I had met last night, the Livermores and the Putnams, are staying. There is a cistern they can use for water. They have only towels and carpets to fight the flames. They are determined.

Mrs. Crandall begged her husband to leave. In the battle between the roaring inferno and Mrs. Crandall, Mrs. Crandall proved stronger.

We are carrying all that we can and leaving the house behind.

Later

5
P.M.

We are here in Lafayette Square, just a few blocks west of Van Ness. The square is crowded with people, but you’ve never heard such a silence. We stand on the crown of this hill, and we look east at the fire.

All afternoon the sky was all smoke. We saw the fire spread from one house to another. There were no tears. Only awe. We are at the fire’s mercy now. There is no stopping it.

April 20, 1906

Friday

7
A.M.

We woke to the same red sky.

After a breakfast of a stale roll and some cheese washed down with cider, Mrs. Crandall said we must leave today. There is no chance we can get across the firebreak of Van Ness back to the house, even if she wanted to.

Early this morning the fire reached Franklin Street, which is only a block from us. They fought it and won.

Thousands and thousands of refugees are moving, as far as I can see, thick as ants, some still heading down toward the bay. Some go west toward the ocean.

I think I would feel better with the sea at my back, but Mrs. Crandall insists on going to her sister’s.

Mr. Crandall is reluctant to leave. He says we’re safe here for now. But the fire is too close for Mrs. Crandall.

He is going to try to walk closer to Van Ness, closer to the fire, although he suspects he will get chased away by the soldiers. He is anxious to know if all of Russian Hill is going.

I asked to accompany him and he said it would be all right. I am just as anxious for news. I will report back.

Diary, I hardly know what to think. Just now I walked over to Van Ness with Mr. Crandall. While he spoke to someone escaping from the fire on Russian Hill, I hung back, watching a group of men being rounded up by several soldiers who needed them to carry hoses. From what I could see, they want to connect the fire department hoses with the hoses from the Navy ships at the foot of Van Ness so that they can use salt water to fight the fire.

Some of the men were not happy to pause in their flight to assist them, but the soldiers pointed their rifles and the men agreed quickly.

One of the men stood out with his air of elegance, despite the fact that he was dressed like the rest of us in sooty clothes, his white shirt grimy with ash and his beard dark with sweat. His derby was pushed to the back of his head, revealing his dark blond hair. I recognized him immediately.

It was Andrew Jewell.

“Lily!” Mr. Crandall called to me, and in that strange occurrence that can sometimes happen, the world seemed to go completely silent for a moment — no dynamiting, no shouts — and as I turned to Mr. Crandall, Andrew Jewell turned as well. He saw me, and his gaze moved from me to Mr. Crandall. He stood for a long moment, holding the hose, and we locked eyes. I felt his gaze on me as I took Mr. Crandall’s arm and we started back along the sidewalk.

My mind buzzed with questions. Had he heard Mr. Crandall call me Lily? If he had, he had hid whatever surprise he felt. He didn’t raise a cry of greeting.

Why did his gaze linger so long on us? As though he knew exactly what I was doing. As though he saw my scheme.

They are calling me. We’ll press on to Eureka Valley. I will be glad to leave Mr. Jewell behind.

But now I know that there is someone in this city who knows who I am, and where I came from.

My father’s enemy, and mine.

April 21, 1906

Saturday

11
A.M.

I have so much to report! It helps to write to you, diary. When all is confusion, I can look back and see what happened when. Even though I can’t puzzle out the
why
sometimes of what I do.

Yesterday morning, we walked and walked, carrying our bundles. Even Mrs. Crandall grew too tired and overwhelmed to complain. At one point we passed through where the fire had raged, and I caught sight of City Hall in the distance, smoking and wrecked, its bare dome now just twisted metal, looking rather like one of the birdcages I had seen carried over the past days.

As we circled south to avoid the fires that were still advancing on Mission Street, Mr. Crandall found a horse and cart that for a fee agreed to transport us to Eureka Valley. The driver had just come from the area and was bringing back supplies of food for the exhausted firemen. We climbed among sacks of cooked hams and apples and canned beans.

The going was not easy, with the pavement so torn and buckled, and there were several times that the driver had to stop completely, as landmarks such as street signs and buildings had simply disappeared. It was also slow going because the horse was so tired, and the driver told us he was looking forward to “giving poor Charlie a rest.”