All the Blue of Heaven (10 page)

           
Allie felt a stab of white hot jealousy. The girl in yellow, the one who
accused her of having so many lovers, is going to with Thomas?

           
“I think you should take her in your motorcar,” she announced with a bright
smile.

           
He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and then his lips quirked up in a
half smile. “That is a fine idea. I think she once mentioned how she loves the
feel of the wind in her hair.”

           
Allie dropped her gaze in embarrassment. Of course he had heard that criticism
in Morton’s Clothing, how had she forgotten? What must he think of her petty
jealousy? She hoped he thought it stemmed from a personal dislike of Louise,
and not from the fact that she would have hated anyone, no matter whom, if they
were his date.

           
“We are also invited. It will be a wonderful afternoon, won’t it, Alberta?” Her
mother fixed her smile, her gray head held high. Her tone was clear. So many
eligible men, so little time. From this moment on, her task was set.

           
Allie stuttered out an agreement and tried to cover her despair. An afternoon
with wealthy bankers and socialites was not so very difficult. But how could
she survive an afternoon watching Thomas give his attentions to that horrible
girl? Her heart sank like a heavy stone within her.

                                               
***

           
It seemed as if eons passed before Mr. Bascomb took his leave, bowing deeply over
Allie’s gloved hand. The heavy scent of his pomade made her dinner churn in her
stomach.  He glanced up under his sparse blond lashes and blinked
repeatedly.

           
“Miss Hathaway, it was a pleasure to dine with you and your mother. You must
come to my home next Saturday evening.”

           
Allie nodded, knowing her mother was already planning on an invitation. She
caught a glimpse of her mother’s pleased expression out of the corner of her
eye. “Thank you, Mr. Bascomb. I will plan on it.”

           
He released her hand and straightened. “How I would enjoying spend just a while
longer with Mrs. Leeds and you, Miss Hathaway, but I have an early appointment
with the railway.” He nodded stiffly to Thomas on the way out the door and did
not offer to shake his hand..

           
Allie let out a long breath and slumped into the side of the sofa. The table
had long since been cleared and the room seemed increasingly stuffy and warm.
She fanned herself with a lace trimmed ivory fan from the side table. That must
have been one of the longest dinners on record, with each course dragging out
half an hour or more. Janey must be already in bed, or in the bath. Allie felt
a sharp pang at the thought of the little girl being tended by Maggie, and not
her.

           
“Are you well? Should I call Maggie to help you upstairs?” Thomas’s low voice
cut into her thoughts. He stood near the window, watching her intently.

           
She glanced up, smiling. “No, no, I’m fine. It was... a long dinner.” She
brushed the damp tendrils from her brow, wondering why the heat of the day had
not broken at sunset. The dull throbbing at her temples was gaining strength
once more.

           
Thomas regarded her for a moment, as if considering whether to call Maggie
anyway. His eyes looked darker in the dim light.

           
“Mr. Bascomb is a very successful lawyer, and such a refined young man,” her
mother intoned from the other end of the sofa. Wisps of hair floated around her
face, eyes still bright at the late hour. Allie wondered how she kept cool and
perfectly coiffed in the stifling room.

           
“Yes,” Allie nodded, knowing it was best to agree.

           
“He has had a part in every major city development in the last five years,” she
continued.

           
“I see,” Allie said.

           
“The mayor has made him his right hand man,” her mother said, as if daring
Allie to point out anything unpleasant.

           
“I wonder why Louise Mayfield doesn’t marry Mr. Bascomb?” she asked, her tone
innocent.

           
Her mother glared, and adjusted her long white gloves. “That girl doesn’t have
a lick of sense. She says he’s too advanced in years.”

           
Thomas chuckled, rocking back on his heels. “He’s not much older than I am.”

           
“As I said, that girl has no sense. What a wonderful match that would be, any
girl would be happy to be married to such an upstanding young man.”

           
Allie kept quiet, eyes riveted to the far corner of the room, willing herself
not to answer in anger. It was all well and good to play match maker when
you’re old, and there’s no chance of having to live with one of those
‘upstanding young men’.

           
“We must make sure one of the fine dresses have been finished before Saturday.
There will likely be a large group for dinner. He entertains frequently.
Thomas, will you be there?” Mrs. Leeds asked.

           
Allie groaned inwardly. Could her mother really have missed the animosity
between those two?

           
“I think not. Mr. Bascomb is not as pleased with me as a dinner partner, as he
is with me as a veterinarian.” Thomas didn’t sound as if he cared much. He bent
down to retie his perfectly shined leather shoe with quick movements.

           
Her mother waved a hand. “There will be some who are not able to look past your
family’s origin.”

           
“And why should they?” Allie asked angrily. “Mr. Bradford, your father was a
wonderful man. He was proud to be Irish, and proud of his country. He was a
hard worker who cared deeply about his horses.”

           
“Oh, Alberta, don’t pretend that you do not understand why Thomas will always
be at a disadvantage in good society,” Mrs. Leeds said in exasperation.

           
“At a disadvantage?” Allie’s voice rose in protest. She could feel her pulse
pounding in her aching head. “A man who has finished his education, achieved a
comfortable lifestyle, and is the head of a successful business is at a
disadvantage? Not to mention that Thomas is a hundred times more attractive
than Mr. Bascomb, with his fish lips and greased hair.”

           
There was a sudden silence in the room. Allie felt a blush creep up her neck.
She kept her gaze steady but was sure that her flaming cheeks were visible even
in the lamp light. Thomas’s eyebrows had risen up toward his hairline, his
expression was difficult to interpret.

           
“I mean to say, from the perspective of eligible ladies,” she finished lamely.

           
Her mother sighed, saying, “As I was attempting to illustrate, in our society
Thomas must work harder to overcome his lowly beginnings. He already is quite
successful and looks very much a gentleman, but where other men could rest on
their family, he must constantly be on guard. ”

           
“Well, I don’t want to be part of this ‘good society’ if it counts a man’s
wealth as greater than his humanity. You heard how Mr. Bascomb mocked the idea
of Christian charity. He called it curiosity!” She felt outrage rise anew.

           
“Alberta, there were things about your father that I did not understand but we
managed to make a fine home together. Do not let one dinner conversation set
your mind against such a promising match.”

           
“Mother,” she said, rubbing her temples with her fingers and wishing the heat
would lessen, even just a little, “it didn’t take me an entire dinner conversation
to come to that conclusion. It was only about two minutes from when he walked
through the door.”

           
Her mother sat up straight, her eyes slitted in anger. She opened her mouth to
speak but at that moment there was such a crash that the window panes shivered
in the casement frames.

           
Allie leaped up, eyes wild with fear. “Janey!” she screamed and raced for the
stairs.

Chapter
Eight

           
In her terror, Allie barely registered the sound of a deep voice calling her
name. Memories of smoke and flames overwhelmed her. She ran up the stairs,
taking the steps two at a time, her throat closing around another scream.

           
In what was only seconds, but seemed hours, she lurched to Janey’s door and
twisted the knob, sobs racking her chest. She knew without doubt that they had
only  moments before the entire house collapsed, burying the little girl
under tons of rubble.

           
“Allie!” That voice came again, and strong hands gripped her arms. She fought
her way toward Janey’s bed, unable to see in the unlit room. Her mind created
thick smoke from the darkness. Imagined flames licked at her fine leather
slippers and her skirts.

           
“Allie, wait! It was thunder,” Thomas’s voice spoke into her ear, wrapping her
in an embrace from behind. “Just wait a moment.”

           
She twisted and fought, stomping on his toes and sobbing. “Let me... go! The
fire... she’ll burn. ”

           
“There’s no fire. You’re safe, Janey’s safe. Look!” One rock hard arm held her
at bay as the other hand reached out toward the bed. “Just open your eyes and
look.”

           
Allie struggled weakl. With breath heaving and tears streaking down her cheeks,
she slowly opened her eyes. In the lamp light from the doorway, Janey slept
soundly in her bed. Allie’s legs gave  way under her.

           
“Shhhh,” Thomas murmured, lowering her gently to the ground. Allie crawled
forward as his hands left her. Her breath came in ragged gasps and tears
dripped from her chin. She gently touched Janey’s blond curls, ran a finger
over her soft cheek. The little girl puffed out a breath in her sleep and
shifted.

           
“I can sit with Janey, Miss Hathaway,” Maggie said. Maybe she had been there
all the while but Allie hadn’t seen her. “If she wakes, I will come for you
right away.”

           
Allie nodded, unwilling to let her gaze travel far from Janey’s tranquil face.
She knew what a mess she must look. Her hair was wild around her head,
eyelashes clumped with tears. She swallowed and tried to speak, but nothing
came out.

           
“Come back downstairs and have some tea. Mrs. Gibson can make up a pot,” Thomas
urged softly, his hand held out.

           
Allie stood, her feet felt alien beneath her. She swayed for a moment and
Thomas grasped her elbow. His warm hand felt soothing and invigorating at the
same time.

           
Back downstairs her mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a look of
concern in her eyes. She cleared her throat. “Alberta, you must have some tea
with extra honey. That will settle your nerves,” she said, as if the fright she
had endured could be forgotten with a sweet, like when she was a child.

           
Nodding, Allie turned toward the kitchen when there was a second crack of
thunder. She cowered, her hands over her ears, eyes clenched tight.

           
Thomas tightened his grip on her quaking arm, murmuring soothing sounds. “It’s
a thunderstorm,” he repeated softly. “Nothing to fear.”

           
“This will give us some relief from the heat, at least,” said Mrs. Gibson
called from the kitchen doorway. She peered at Allie. “Heavenly days, Miss
Hathaway! You look a fright.”

           
Allie managed a small smile. That was probably an understatement.

           
“Pale as ghost, look at you,” she clucked her tongue. “Come in and get some
tea, you’ve got to sit down.”

           
The sudden sound of pounding rain against the slate roof caused them all to
raise their heads, listening.

           
“Would you listen to that,” Mrs. Gibson said. “I’m glad Mr. Nelson fixed the
gutters last week.”

           
The deep and constant rumble of the pouring rain was the tonic Allie needed. It
sounded like a cat purring, steady and comforting. She took a shuddering breath
and smiled at Mrs. Gibson. “Thank you, but I think I will go watch the rain
while the tea steeps.”

           
“Watch the rain? From where?” Mrs. Gibson frowned, confusion covering her plump
features.

           
“The back porch,” Thomas answered. Of course he knew that. How many times had
they watched the rain from that spot?

           
Allie made her way through the kitchen to the long enclosed porch attached to
the back of the house, carrying a short fat tallow candle in a metal stand. The
empty row of straight backed rockers waited. The screen on the porch was
streaked with water and the sound of the torrential downpour seemed to echo in
the bare space. She lowered herself into the very last chair, her place since
she was a little girl. The candle flickered and she nudged it farther into the
corner where it was protected from breezes.

           
Thomas took a white silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit coat
and handed it to Allie. She took it gratefully, wiping her still damp face. As
she patted her eyes, she was startled to recognize the smell of him, faintly
woodsy with a hint of spice.

           
He sat near her, silent but for the sounds of a slow, rhythmic movement as he
rocked. 

           
A bright flash of lightening lit the dark porch. Allie cringed but did not cry
out, bracing herself for the thunder that followed.   She
wondered if Janey had been roused by the sound of the rain.

           
“Maggie said she would come down if Janey woke,” Thomas reminded her, as if he
could read her thoughts. A rumble of thunder punctuated his words, increasing
and then fading away.

           
She nodded, and glanced at him just as another flash of lightening illuminated
the porch. His eyes were closed, his head resting against the high back of the
rocker. Dark brows were lowered as if he were troubled, a short curl of black
hair fell against his forehead. Allie felt an overwhelming wish to light a lamp
and examine his face while he could not see her. She wanted to trace the
creases near his eyes and the strong line of his jaw, to discover the ways he
had become a man in her absence. She shivered and looked back out at the storm.

           
He was kind That was all. A good man who cared for anyone in need, even if they
had once broken his heart.

           
“I’m sorry... for my...” she began.

           
“Please, don’t be. You have suffered a terrible shock.”

           
“I wouldn’t have hurt her, I just needed to see she was all right. I 
realized it was just a storm.” Realized after he wrapped his arms around her
and held her back from Janey’s sleeping form. Allie cringed, remembering how
she kicked out at him. “I know mother thinks that Janey needs someone else, but
I can care for her. What happened tonight has never happened before.” She hated
the pleading tone of her voice but fear was welling up. They might take the
little girl away for her own safety.

           
“Have you ever told anyone what happened during the fire?” he asked quietly.

           
Allie sucked in a sharp breath. No one had asked. Her friends and neighbors all
went through the quake, saw the fires ravage their homes and businesses. The
doctors and nurses treated her injuries, but did not probe into the specific
incident that brought her to them.

           
“No,” she whispered.

           
There was a long silence filled only with the drum of the rain. Allie had just
decided he was not going to speak again when he said,

           
“My father was in the war between the states. I know he did not want to burden
his wife and son with his memories. But he was a haunted man. I think it would
have done him good to speak to someone about what he saw,” he said.

           
Allie nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her.

           
She knew what he was asking. But was she ready to share what had happened that
morning? But if they all thought she was too mentally unstable to care for
Janey, they would take her away. Her hysteria a few minutes ago was not the
behavior of a good mother. Allie chewed her lip, undecided. He did not speak
again for a long time, the sound of the rain their only conversation. The
steady drip from the screens added a layer of sound to the dull roar outside.
Allie inhaled deeply, wondering why she couldn’t remember the smell of the rain
in San Francisco.

           
Perhaps it was the semi darkness or the comforting murmur of the passing storm
but she had never felt safer than at that moment, with Thomas’s strong presence
by her side. She could hear Mrs. Gibson clattering around the kitchen some feet
behind them. The words rose unbidden, almost of their own accord.

           
“I... I had been painting all night.” She began, but felt fear clutch at her
heart. She waited, closing her eyes, twisting his handkerchief between her
fingers and beginning again. “Janey was asleep in our apartment across the
street. We had a servant girl, a helper.” Allie’s voice trailed off as she
remembered that the girl became an orphan that day. So many deaths, so much
suffering.

           
“It was early morning and my studio was on the ground floor, but faced the bay.
It had wonderful light. There was hardly a day when the light wasn’t perfect. It
was part of the magic of that place.” She paused, licking her lips. She felt
Thomas’s attention in the way his body was utterly motionless, waiting.

           
“The earthquake seemed to last forever but was really only a minute or so. I
should have run out, not stopped to look back. But all my work was in there.”
She clenched her teeth. It was agony to remember the quake but even more
painful to admit her injuries were her own
fault.         

           
 “I tried to remove the rolled portraits from the carrier, just a few, an
armful. But I took too long. The building on the other side had caught on fire
immediately. It was a restaurant and the kitchen exploded in the first few
moments. Smoke was pouring into the studio. Still,  I tried to save
something, anything.” She shook her head and swiped away a stray tear from the
corner of her eye. It wasn’t a tear of sorrow, but anger. Anger at her own
foolishness.

           
His voice came to her in the darkness, low and rough with emotion. “It’s
understandable that you would try to save them. I’m sure they were brilliant.”

           
“No!” Allie’s voice was sharp, her tone rose with every word. “I went back
because those were my investments. I didn’t care about the time or the work,
but because they were money in the bank.” She paused, bitterness rising in her
throat. “A bank is where I should have stored my earnings, but even there I was
foolish. There was a loose brick in the studio. I wrapped the cash in cloth and
hid it behind the seventeenth brick from the bottom. I thought I was being
clever. It felt a little like having a pirate treasure hidden in the room.” Her
voice dropped lower. “I couldn’t find the brick in all the smoke, so I went
back for the paintings. I risked my life, and Janey’s happiness, for money.”

           
Thomas was silent and Allie did not have the courage to look at the expression
on his face. She knew it must show disgust equal to her own.

           
“I grabbed four, maybe five, and tried to find my way back, but the smoke had
become so thick that I was lost. Everything had shifted, my table and easel,
paint tubes were all over floor. I felt along the wall, but I missed the
doorway. I remember the moment I touched the back shelves again, and knew I’d
had traveled in a circle. I was going to burn alive. The heat... was
unbearable. I dropped the portraits somewhere. I tried not to breathe. My hair
was burning, the soles of my shoes felt like they were on fire. All I could
think of was Janey, and how she would be alone.”

           
“I prayed. Well, no, I said some things to God. One of my last thoughts before
everything went black was being angry.” Allie wondered why she needed to tell
him everything. Maybe it was because no one had asked her before but she wanted
to be completely honest.

           
“A friend of mine from across the street, Mr. Sargent, knew that I was painting
that night. He came to find me, dragged me out on to the grass near the back of
the studio. I didn’t know how badly I was injured but I could feel my gloves
had burned away, that I was in terrible pain.  At that moment I remembered
the feel of the grass under my fingers when we used to sit under the old oak
tree near the barn.” She paused, lost in the memory of the shouts and the smoke
and the pain. Thomas moved his hand slightly, as if he wanted to take her by
the hand but decided against it.

           
“He told me, later, that he thought I was already dead.”

           
Thomas made a sharp sound in his throat and Allie glanced over. His eyes were
still closed, a deep crease between his dark brows.

           
She looked at her white gloves for a moment than began to tug them off. “I hide
my hands as much as possible. I am glad that I had a habit of painting with old
gloves when it was chilly in the studio, it probably saved them. But they’re
still ugly.” Allie held up one hand, the deep pink scars puckered and twisted
around the palms and over the backs. One pinky was thickened with tissue,
another finger stiff and white.

           
Thomas was still silent, but he had leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes
rapt. He held out his hand. Allie obediently offered hers for inspection,
wondering why she felt no shame in showing him her scars. He turned it over,
tracing the ridges and roughened areas with a warm, gentle thumb. His touch was
electrifying and for a moment she wished wildly that he was caressing her hand,
not just examining her scars.