A Race to Splendor (37 page)

“No!” she cried and could hear the shrillness in her voice. “There are a million and one things to do and I—”

When she allowed herself to think of the brutality that Kemp had undoubtedly unleashed, her anger nearly choked her. Keeping busy helped keep her fury at bay and also warded off thoughts of Foo. And besides, she had to see that every measure was taken to protect the surviving workers.

“J.D. will see to the removal of the Chinese tonight.”

“But I worry that the day crew—”

“J.D. says they didn’t suspect a thing. You were clever to have them spend the day unloading all that terra-cotta and stacking it out back. Loy stood guard to make sure no one came into the ballroom. He told everyone that there was a bad infestation of rats and that he would take care of it. No one ventured near the place. Now, just take off your skirt and shirtwaist and get into bed.” He gently shoved her into her room and turned his back while she removed her clothes. “Under the bedclothes with you now.”

“Yes,” she murmured, a crushing fatigue already pulling her towards sleep.

“Good girl.” To her surprise, Angus took a seat on the edge of her iron cot. He reached for her hand.

“Amelia—”

“Angus, thank you so much for all you’ve done for us.” She was grateful for the non-stop medical care he’d dispensed during the last twenty-four hours, but she also desperately hoped to forestall any intimate conversation. “Now that I’m actually lying in bed, I’m suddenly totally exhausted. Good night. And thank you.”

“I want you to think about something as you go to sleep.” She obediently closed her eyes. His big hand squeezed hers. “I want you to seriously reconsider my offer of marriage.”

Amelia’s lids flew open. “Angus, this is not the time or place—”

“It’s precisely the time and place,” he countered. “Tonight proved it. We work well together as a team, and surely you must see now that you’ll need protection if you are going to continue to work in the dangerous world of construction—especially in a rough-and-tumble city like San Francisco. I’m willing to provide you that protection—no questions asked—along with a home and all the freedom you require. I want you as my
wife
, Amelia, and I will shield you from dangers like this. Will you think about that as you drift off to sleep?”

Amelia could only gaze up at him as words refused to form in her head. Finally, she said, “You are a good and honest man, Angus, and I am honored by your offer, but I do not seek a shield. I seek—” She hesitated, not actually sure of what to say next.

“What, Amelia?
What
do you seek?” She could detect a note of annoyance that he was barely holding in check.

“I don’t honestly know, Angus. I just know it’s not a shield. It is not a man standing in my stead, doing what I should be doing for myself.” And how could she tell him about her feelings for J.D. at a time like this, let alone the fact that she and J.D. had—

Angus abruptly interrupted her scattered thoughts. “There are important differences between men and women, Amelia,” he said sharply. “And there are differences between dreamers like you and Jamie, and people like me, who deal with the ugly here-and-now. Jamie should know better, but perhaps you’re too young or too ambitious, or too headstrong, to realize the risks you take every day. But you will.”

He bent down and kissed her on top of her head in a gesture of resignation and mild irritation. Even in her overwrought state, she knew Angus had seriously begun to doubt that he could ever win her heart—but that hadn’t deterred him from wanting to make her his wife. But before she could offer a reply, he departed her narrow room without bidding her good night.

***

Angus returned to the Presidio, the wounded were transferred to Chinatown, and Amelia plunged back into the work of readying the hotel for its opening day, which now, with any luck, would be the Fourth of July.

A few weeks after the terrible attack against the Chinese workers, she was startled to see a handsome woman with a wing of white hair under her hat walk up Jackson Street and step onto the hotel’s property.

“Why, Miss Cameron!” Amelia exclaimed, striding past a pile of lumber to greet her. “How wonderful to see you! I intended to visit the Presbyterian Mission to thank you for all you did to help us after our workers… after all the trouble,” she amended quickly, with a glance over her shoulder at the Pigati cousins. The men were fifty feet away, clustered around the wooden forms where several low cement walls would soon be built in the terraced garden. The hotel itself at last had its classic moldings and baseboards installed in all the rooms and painters were now swarming everywhere.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear. I came to check on how Loy and Shou Shou are faring.”

“It’s been very hard for them, of course,” Amelia confided. “We all miss little Foo terribly. He was such a loving spirit. You’re so kind to come. Our new stove has been installed this week. Come into the kitchen and let me brew you a proper cup of tea.”

When they entered the rear of the hotel, Amelia marveled at the effusive greeting that the normally reticent Shou Shou lavished on their visitor. The young woman indicated that Amelia should sit beside Donaldina and swiftly scurried around making tea. She set the pot and cups upon the spanking new worktable in the kitchen with all the pomp and ceremony due an Empress of China—which, in her eyes, Miss Cameron might as well have been.

“The injured men are recovering well,” Donaldina reported soberly. Then she glanced at Amelia and said, “I do wish Mr. Thayer were also here. I wanted to thank him for his latest act of generosity. Please tell him Wing Lee and all the little girls her age in our care have new shoes and dresses, thanks to his recent kindness.”

“Certainly I will. He had some sort of lunch to attend today,” Amelia said, absorbing that fact that J.D. continued to support the child. In the weeks since the attack on their workers—and the solitary night they’d spent together—she often had no idea where he went, day or evening. “I’ll be sure to give him a message.”

“And something else.” Donaldina paused, and then continued, “This concerns you also, my dear. I’ve been speaking regularly with Rudolph Spreckels, who, as you may know, is one of San Francisco’s civic leaders trying to put a stop to the ills polluting our city.” Anyone who read a newspaper knew that the California sugar baron had launched a public campaign to counter graft and corruption, as well as the countenancing—indeed, the encouragement—of forced prostitution by elected officials. “Mr. Spreckels has been very supportive of our fight to end the enslavement of women like Shou Shou, here,” she added with a gentle look in the direction of the Chinese woman pouring tea.

“And my friend Ling Lee,” Shou Shou murmured.

Amelia was startled to hear Shou Shou call Ling Lee her friend. Meanwhile, Miss Cameron said with a nod, “Yes, like Ling Lee, who was very brave to run away from the brothel, as she did.”

“But she didn’t stay with you at the Mission Home,” Amelia ventured. “Why was that, Miss Cameron?”

“She had… a different view of life than we do at the home on Sacramento Street,” Donaldina replied slowly. “But we fought the same injustice to women.”

“You did?” Amelia replied, puzzled. “I thought she and Mr. Thayer… well… I thought that they simply continued the practice of—”

“You should probably speak with Mr. Thayer about those subjects.”

Amelia sensed they both were uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. She’d been fishing for information about Ling Lee, and that was none of her business, she chided herself. She and J.D. had been models of decorum in the melancholy days that followed Foo’s death and had separately mourned the losses suffered that terrible night. She was ashamed of herself now, for even bringing up the subject of J.D.’s relationship with the Chinese woman who died in the quake. She should wait until he chose to tell her about their liaison—if he ever did. It was just that—

“You mentioned Mr. Spreckels?” Amelia said, bringing the conversation back to the crusader who had donated a hundred thousand dollars to the anti-corruption cause.

“Ah, yes. That’s one of the reasons for my visit. He would like to speak with both you and Mr. Thayer to learn more about the disturbances you had on this property. Washington has finally sent us more Treasury men to help. They wish to know whom you suspect of perpetrating this dreadful evil on those defenseless workers.”

Amelia felt uneasy. “I think Mr. Thayer would prefer to be discreet about the employment of Chinese on his project. I can certainly vouch that he paid them the agreed-upon wage, fed them each night, and provided sanitary facilities while they worked here. It’s just with the frightening costs of trying to rebuild the hotel after losing it
twice
, he saw no alternative—”

“Both Mr. Spreckels and I understand that these have been trying and extraordinary times,” Donaldina hastened to assure Amelia. “Loy Chen has always spoken highly of Mr. Thayer. In fact, we all respect him for protecting and providing for little Wing Lee, even after her mother died. But as for this latest attack, Mr. Spreckels needs
facts
, not hearsay, if he is to make headway with his reforms down at City Hall. Absolute anonymity will be respected, I assure you.”

Amelia remained silent for a moment. “I cannot speak for Mr. Thayer,” she said finally, “but I was an eyewitness to what was done by those hooligans and would be happy to tell Mr. Spreckels what I know—once the hotel is finished.”

“And when might that be?” Donaldina appeared pleased with Amelia’s response.

“After all these delays? Early July, I expect,” she said.

“Well, no doubt we’ll all be at the opening of the Fairmont soon,” Donaldina replied. “If I have the opportunity, I’ll be sure to introduce you to Mr. Spreckels, and you can take it from there.”

Amelia nodded, inhaled deeply, and tried to ignore the leaden feeling in her chest. The Law brothers had been decent enough to send them invitations for the gala evening. The Fairmont was schedule to debut first and thereby garner tremendous attention on the first anniversary of the quake and fire. She ached for J.D.’s disappointment. She smiled at Donaldina, though she could hardly disguise her sadness.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly a year since the quake and that the Fairmont Hotel opens in two weeks’ time.”

Chapter 29

On the evening of April 18, 1907, Amelia stood in the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel atop Nob Hill amid a swirl of glittering finery. It seemed as if the entire city of San Francisco had come to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the 1906 earthquake and fire. Women in beaded gowns with feathers in their hair and men in starched shirtfronts and black evening clothes filled the vast reception area. An army of tail-coated waiters bustled through the throng carrying silver trays bristling with a forest of champagne flutes.

The distinguished guests—many of whom had spent the better part of the year living in army tents—sipped the sparkling wine to the dulcet sounds of a string quartet playing in the refurbished Laurel Court. The domed room buzzed in anticipation of the enormous repast being readied in the nearby grand ballroom. Afterwards, tables would be cleared, and the visitors would be welcome to dance until dawn.

Amelia marveled at how strange it felt to be standing on the Fairmont property without her sturdy work boots or cotton shirtwaist. Only yesterday she had been wearing a pair of her father’s old tweed trousers underneath her sensible skirt while she inspected progress on the Bay View’s roof joists in a driving wind. Truth was, she felt slightly out of place in the aqua beaded chiffon gown she’d bought two years earlier in Paris and retrieved from her aunt’s house in Oakland. The dress cost what was now a week’s salary, and she was grateful she’d already owned something decent to wear on such a momentous occasion.

“Come, come, Amelia,” Hartland Law said with a hearty wave. “You were certainly part of this effort at the outset. That’s why my brother and I insisted you come to our opening,” added the Fairmont’s co-owner with a mischievous glance in Julia Morgan’s direction. “Come stand in the reception line and help us smile at everyone.”

Amelia looked over at Julia, somber in gray taffeta, standing near one of the soaring faux marble pillars. “Of course, Amelia,” she said. “Do stand in line with us.”

She and her former employer hadn’t worked together for months, yet Julia didn’t appear to display any acrimony this night. Next to her stood Ira Hoover, resplendent in white tie and tails, and to his right, Lacy Fiske, dressed in a conservative navy velvet outfit with lace collar and cuffs. She was beaming, apparently delighted to bathe in Julia’s reflected glory.

“Ripping, absolutely ripping!” pronounced Rudolph Spreckels to the Law brothers. “You two have created an absolute triumph.”

“Why, thank you, sir!” Hartland Law replied jovially. “Have some champagne!”

A photographer from the
Call
,
poised to take a picture, shouted above the din at the illustrious group.

“Congratulations, everyone. Miss Morgan! Can we have you look this way, please?”

“Good heavens,
no
!”

“Oh, come now,” Herbert Law chided her. “I know how you detest all this, Julia, but we should have a record of this marvelous night.”

The reticent Miss Morgan, however, was adamantly opposed and stepped behind the looming pillar, making a show of talking with another well-wisher.

“Well then, come over here, Amelia,” Hartland Law directed, pointing to a spot between his brother and himself. “You played an early part in our success, even though your
present
employer hopes to steal some of our trade,” he added jovially. He motioned for several of his bankers to join in the lineup. “All right,” he called to the photographer. “Snap your shutter, young man, and be quick about it.”

Julia might be annoyed Amelia had allowed her picture to be taken, but Amelia figured she needed all the public recognition she could get. Once the Bay View opened, she’d be looking for employment.

After the pictures were taken, Hartland Law bent down and whispered in Amelia’s ear. “You and Miss Morgan have fulfilled our faith in you, my dear. There were those who called us fools to engage you as our architects, but you’ve done your fellow damsels proud. I think your former employer has recovered from whatever it was that upset her a while back.”

“Thank you… I hope so,” murmured Amelia. Hartland Law was a keen observer and had to be one of the kindest men in San Francisco.

Her host glanced around the enormous lobby filled with music and merrymakers. “Just look at all this. An Act of God brought this city to its knees, but thanks to so much hard, dedicated work, she’s risen from the ashes, looking better than ever.”

“Let’s just hope this crowd pays their room bills tonight,” deadpanned Herbert Law.

Once the photographer drifted off, Amelia discreetly approached Donaldina Cameron, who introduced her to Rudolph Spreckels. Both listened attentively while Amelia described events on the night Foo was fatally attacked.

“I greatly appreciate your candor, my dear,” Spreckels said, “and rest assured, I will treat what you’ve told me with utmost confidentiality. President Roosevelt has sent Mr. Burns and his colleagues to help us stamp out this scourge of graft and intimidation.”

Only mildly reassured that the likes of Ezra Kemp would be apprehended and punished at some point, Amelia turned to acknowledge a pack of silver-haired bankers and lawyers, as well as several officials from City Hall—those, at least, who were not currently incarcerated.

Back in March, His Honor the mayor had been arrested and was awaiting trial on serious charges of corruption. The greatest City Hall fixer of them all, Abe Reuf, had pleaded not guilty to accusations of graft and continued to live comfortably under house arrest in an impressive residence on Fillmore Street. The alleged offenses? Taking bribes in exchange for granting franchises for city telephone service and overhead trolleys, not to mention accepting “donations” for guaranteeing police protection for the illicit brothels and gambling enterprises. At least Spreckels and his good government squad had shown some muscle.

As far as this evening was concerned, none of the current political turmoil—not even the controversies over price gouging for lumber or the continued enslavement of female abductees in nearby Chinatown—could dull the festivities this night. It was clearly an occasion that marked the official rebirth of a city some had predicted—like Pompeii—would never rise again.

As Amelia surveyed the scene, she couldn’t help but wish the Bay View had been able to open first and on the anniversary date. Still, she mused, each celebrant in tonight’s gathering was a
survivor
, just as she was. The Fairmont’s spectacular renaissance was proof positive that the new San Francisco would one day become everything Grandfather Hunter had predicted: a major seaport on the Pacific with grand architecture, vibrant commerce, and cultural institutions that would one day rival those of New York, London, or Paris. She was certain that if her grandfather were alive, he’d also be immensely proud of this latest incarnation of his hotel, rising from the rubble at Taylor and Jackson streets.

She glanced at the hordes still funneling through the Fairmont’s grand entranceway and considered the fates of her father and grandfather, men so utterly different from one another and yet both part of the fabric of the city she loved.

Off to her right stood Aunt Margaret, put on the guest list at Julia’s behest, Amelia surmised. Her older relative was decked out in a gown of ancient vintage and sat with a group of girlhood friends near the potted palms. Amelia felt a rush of affection for her. Thank God she had survived the cataclysmic events of 1906 and was here to celebrate San Francisco’s astonishing triumph over adversity.

Out of the corner of her eye Amelia noted two gentlemen—a redhead and a brunette—chatting amiably with each other near the potted palms. Near them, Angus had suddenly appeared and was bending toward Amelia’s friend and her grandfather’s former caretaker, nurse Edith Pratt. With some relief, Amelia could see that the pair were deeply absorbed in conversation.

As Amelia continued to scan the throng, she wondered if the elder James Thayer and his wife would make an appearance this evening. And what of their son? Was the Fairmont’s gala reopening too much salt in a wound? Now that the Fairmont was ready for business, she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for J.D. and the difficulties they’d repeatedly encountered. Would he find the Fairmont’s faux marble columns and triple alabaster domes arching over the Laurel Court an inspiration—or a bitter pill? There was no question, but that it would be awhile before paying guests would be filing into
his
hotel.

Is that why J.D. isn’t here?

Amelia fought against her feelings of disappointment. As revelers inched through the receiving line, she perfunctorily nodded and murmured to people she knew until her eyes widened with surprise at the sight of two well-dressed women, one petite, the other gargantuan, following obediently behind Ezra Kemp.

Kemp abandoned them with a brief word, heading directly for the smoking lounge to hobnob with other city wigs puffing on their cigars.

Amelia watched the pair glance uncertainly around the vast lobby, looking lost. Unable to stem her burning curiosity about the woman J.D. had described to a tee and had been instructed to “court,” she casually walked across the marble floors and said quietly, “Hello. I’m Amelia Bradshaw, Mr. Thayer’s architect on the Bay View Hotel. I’m not sure he’s attending the opening this evening so I thought I’d introduce myself. Have either of you had a cup of the punch?”

The slender young woman, half the size of the giantess standing beside her, swiftly extended her gloved hand.

“I’m Emma Stivers and this is Miss Matilda Kemp, the daughter of Ezra Kemp, Mr. Thayer’s former business associate.” She turned to her companion. “We’re
delighted
to meet our first woman architect, aren’t we Tilly? Mr. Thayer told us about your fine work, but we could certainly see it for ourselves as we drove down Taylor Street on our way here.”

Amelia smiled and took the measure of Matilda Kemp. The lady in question had flushed scarlet during this exchange and was looking everywhere but at Amelia.

Meanwhile, Emma Stivers spoke up again. “You know, Miss Bradshaw, should we not have a chance to see Mr. Thayer this evening in this crush of people, please tell him we were looking for him tonight because we were unable to speak to him during his recent visit with Mr. Kemp in Mill Valley.”

Amelia rapidly searched for a way to appear in the know about J.D.’s foray into enemy territory.

“Ah… yes. I believe Mr. Thayer was in search of another batch of cross beams for the Bay View’s roof.”

The two exchanged worried glances. “He did not order lumber,” Matilda blurted.

“
Tilly
,” Miss Stivers said in a tone that held an unmistakable warning.

“May I offer you a glass of lemonade?” Amelia volunteered, pointing to a long table with a large crystal punch bowl at one end.

The pretty half of the duo smiled at Amelia and widened her eyes, all fine manners and charm. “Lemonade sounds most refreshing, thank you, but in case we don’t see Mr. Thayer,” she repeated, “Miss Kemp and I merely wish him to know that, even though my friend here is perfectly amenable to Mr. Thayer’s recent decision involving her, Mr. Thayer may still be hearing from Mr. Kemp
unexpectedly
once again and… well, we thought he’d like to
know
that, so as to be prepared for Mr. Kemp’s possible visit.”

Amelia felt as if the substance of the conversation had been communicated in code. “Shall I tell Mr. Thayer to expect Miss Kemp’s father soon?”

“Oh, Emma… I don’t think we should…” Matilda’s face was now the hue of a ripe tomato.

“Of course we should,” Emma interrupted firmly, and then addressed Amelia. “Please tell Mr. Thayer exactly that. That Miss Kemp is perfectly fine with his recent decision concerning them
both
.” She turned to address her companion. “That’s right, Tilly, isn’t it?”

Matilda nodded emphatically but didn’t elaborate.

Emma smiled at Amelia. “The second part of the message to Mr. Thayer is that Mr. Kemp—or his representatives—may be calling at the Bay View very soon on another matter.” Her manner grew grave, as if Ezra Kemp were sure to be a bearer of bad news.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Thayer that,” replied Amelia, glancing toward the entrance door, “although, there he is… and you can tell him yourself.”

“Emma!” Matilda cried, nearly screeching with anxiety. “What if Papa sees Mr. Thayer here? He was so displeased, there’s no telling—” She clutched at Emma’s arm, adding desperately, “Please… I think might faint!”

Emma Stivers caught Amelia’s glance and inquired urgently. “Do you know where the women’s restrooms are, by chance?”

J.D. had spotted their group but was waylaid by James Hopper, the reporter from the
Call
whose story about the Bay View had caused Amelia such grief.

“Over there,” Amelia directed, pointing to the opposite end of the lobby. “Down the corridor to the left and then it’s on the left.”

“Come, Tilly, there’s a girl,” Emma said soothingly. “We’ll just have a good face splash, and you’ll be right as rain.” She smiled brightly at Amelia. “Good-bye, Miss Bradshaw. Thank you so much for your kindness, and be sure to deliver
both
messages, won’t you?”