Fortune is a Woman (14 page)

Impulsively Josh reached out and took her thin hand in his; it was icy cold but he could feel the slow uncertain beat of her pulse and knew she was still clinging to life. "Francie," he whispered, as though afraid of disturbing her sleep. "Francie. I'm here to help you. I'm sorry they hurt you, Francie, but I promise you, on my honor, nobody will ever hurt you again. I will look after you now, I give you my solemn word." He stayed for a long time, talking to her, but there was no response, and after an hour or so, he left her to her sleep.

He went to see her every day, twice a day when he could, hurrying over in the early mornings before the bar opened and returning again before his evening shift. But it was always the same. She lay still as death, her eyes firmly closed against the world that hated her, her lips sealed to a world that did not understand her, and her body longing to escape from a place that did not want her. Josh knew that Francie wanted to die, he felt her longing for release and he didn't know what to do, so he talked to her, holding her hands, stroking her face gently as he whispered in her ear, telling her about himself.

"When you are better, Francie, I'll take you back to my home. You've never seen anything as beautiful as the Yorkshire moors, my little lass, and the sheep in the dales; the best wool in the world, they have, and all woven in our Yorkshire mills...."

He stopped, remembering suddenly the reason he had come to San Francisco, then he sighed deeply and added, "Aye, mebbe one day, Francie, I'll be able to take you there. When I can go home again."

Sammy told him every night that he was a fool. "You hardly know her," he said, drinking deeply on his beer and leaning angrily over the counter so Josh could better hear what he had to say. "She's trouble, that lass. She's already cost you your job and a beating. Ain't that enough for you? If she dies her father will be there to claim the body, and if she lives—which is unlikely, he'll be there to take her home and make sure she causes him no more trouble.
You
are the one who's looking for trouble, Josh Aysgarth, just the way you always do."

Sammy slammed his empty beer glass threateningly on the counter, glaring at Josh as he buttoned his jacket, ready to face the cold rainy night. "You'd best take heed of me this time, Josh Aysgarth, because you know what happens when you don't. Remember the last time?"

Josh watched as he walked angrily away, wondering as he always did how it was, when the two of them were so different, they had been best friends all their lives. He loved Sammy all right, but there were things about him that, friend or not, Sammy would never understand, and a part of Sammy he would never understand.

Still, Sammy was right, he thought, gloomily wiping the beer stains from the counter; there was no way Mr. Harrison would let his daughter go, even if she didn't die.

"Daydreamin' again, are ya, Josh?" the saloonkeeper shouted irritably across the room. "Well, I'm telling ya, this'll be the last time. Get movin' and serve them customers or you'll be back out on the street where y'came from."

Spurred on by the threat, Josh jolted into action, but Sammy's words haunted him and he remembered what had happened last time he had ignored his advice and gone his own way. He shuddered as he thought about their escape, running through the dark, rainy night, running and running, terrified. And Sammy promising to help him. If it weren't for Sammy he wouldn't be here now, he wouldn't even be alive. And he would never have met Francie. He owed everything to his best friend, Sammy Morris.

***

Francie knew it was impossible to open her eyes. She seemed to be hovering in a haze of white light, filled with soft rustlings and the soothing murmur of quiet voices, like the wind in the poplar trees on the ranch. She thought maybe that's where she was, back at the ranch with her mother and the pretty chestnut mare and Princess. It was so peaceful, except when she moved and then she exploded into fragments of pain, each one sharp as a knife blade. Then she would hear someone screaming and she knew it was herself. As the pain eased she remained suspended in time, her eyes tightly closed, safe in her own peaceful, private white world.

She heard gentle voices calling her name. "Francie, dear," they said, "open your eyes. It's such a lovely day, Francie. Look at the sunshine." And often she would hear voices praying for her, asking the good Lord to give her strength and courage to face life again. But she did not want to face her old life; she liked this one. There were no harsh voices in her private world, no cruelty or hatred or pain. It was a peaceful dream and she wanted to stay there forever. Then one day, instead of the soft feminine whispering voices, she recognized a man's voice.

"Francie," it said, "it's Josh. I'm the waiter who helped you. I've come to see you. Just open your eyes, Francie, and look at me."

Josh, Josh, Josh... the name echoed through her mind. Then she stopped herself from thinking any further, she didn't want to remember what had happened.

Her eyelids felt so heavy, as though they had already been weighted with pennies—the way they did when people died. Maybe she was dead and she would never open them again... but then she would never see Josh.

The weight suddenly removed itself from her eyelids and she lifted them slowly. It was like raising the curtain in a theater. Daylight struck her like a blow; there were only vague shapes, unconnected voices. Then gradually her vision cleared and a face swam into view. The beautiful face of the good angel. "Josh?" she whispered.

"There you are, lass," he said, smiling at her, relieved. "I thought I'd lost you." And he took her hand in his and kissed it.

CHAPTER 10

Francie began to get better; the color returned to her cheeks and the flesh to her bones and each day she grew stronger. The nuns smiled when they saw her eager eyes as she waited for the young man and the way she reached out for his hand—the hand that had been her lifeline, bringing her back from the brink when no one else, not even the doctors, could. "The young man was right," they whispered. "It was the love the Lord gave us that worked the miracle."

Josh came every day. When he had been paid he would bring her a present, a bunch of violets, a single perfect hothouse peach, fresh-made chocolates. "You must not spend your money on me," she reproved him, "you need it for yourself." But he just smiled that sweet smile of his and took her hand and kissed it gently.

The innocent kiss sent tremors through Francie's body; in all the years since her mother died no one had ever kissed her and she had forgotten the warm feelings of loving and being loved. She wanted to throw her arms around Josh and hug him like she used to hug Princess, to stroke his face the way she stroked her chestnut mare, Blaize, because they were the only experiences of affection in her love-starved life and she knew no others.

But when he had gone a worried frown appeared between her brows; the nuns had said that in a week's time she would be well enough to leave. But where would she go? What would she do? She had no home and no money. Her only friend in the whole world was Josh and she knew how hard he was struggling just to make ends meet.

The next day as they walked slowly through the cloisters she said determinedly, "I'll be leaving here soon. I must get a job."

He shook his head, "Women like you don't work, Francie. They've not been brought up to it." He smiled at the thought. "I'll bet you've never even boiled an egg."

"I can learn, can't I?" she retorted. "I could be a kitchenmaid, learn to cook, serve at table... anything...."

"Not here in San Francisco you couldn't. Nobody would give Harmon Harrison's daughter a job."

"Well, I could train to be a nurse, like the nuns—"

"And then I'd never see you, Francie."

"At least I can sew and embroider, that's all I've ever done in my life—"

"No wife of mine's going to work in a sweatshop," he said with a flash of anger.

Francie's heart skipped a beat and she stopped and looked at him. "Your
wife?"

"Aye, lass, that's what I said."

She pulled herself together and said with quiet dignity, "You don't have to feel responsible for me, Josh. I can manage on my own."

He took her by the shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. "But I've never loved anyone before, Francie. I want to look after you and make you happy."

She suddenly brimmed with happiness; she felt like she had when she was just a kid turned loose on the ranch, ready to whoop and holler and turn cartwheels. She had never loved anyone since her mother died, but this was different, it left her breathless and trembling inside. And when Josh bent forward and kissed her gently on the lips all she wanted was for the kiss to last forever.

When Josh came to fetch Francie home the following week she was wearing a brown woolen dress and jacket donated by the civic charity and she carried a little bundle with a few more cast-offs. The only thing she had of her own were the boots she had worn when she had first gone there. She had covered her head with a plaid woolen shawl and Josh told her she looked like a Yorkshire mill girl on her way to work.

The Reverend Mother bestowed a blessing on them and then she pressed a soft leather purse containing a few dollars into Francie's hand. "Please take this with our blessing, and may the Lord guide you and help you on your way," she murmured.

As the great wooden convent doors closed behind her Francie stared down at the purse, her humiliation complete. She possessed nothing, not even her own clothes. She was filled with a deep, burning anger as she vowed to herself that one day she would see the Harrisons humiliated just the way she was. And she knew she would hate her father till the day he died, and even beyond the grave, into eternity.

The Barbary Saloon and Rooming House was a four-story brick-and-timber building on Pacific Avenue, at the foot of Telegraph Hill. It was sandwiched between the trashy Venus Dance Hall on the left and the notorious Goldrush Bordello on the right, and the saloon did good business, catching customers either on their way into the dance hall, or on their way out of the bordello. Either way, the men were hungry and thirsty, and with the workers from the produce market a couple of blocks to the south the long, scarred mahogany bar was always crowded.

Francie smiled as she waited on the sidewalk while Josh paid the cab, remembering her secret nocturnal walks when she had lingered enviously outside the saloons; now she would get to see what they were really like. Josh had got her a room next to his and he had paid for it too. She meant to pay him back from the money from her charity purse, and then, no matter what he said, she would look for a job, because she just couldn't go on living on other people's charity forever.

"You must be Francie Harrison."

Surprised, she looked at the dark, stocky young man leaning against the door. He wore a threadbare jacket with a brown muffler knotted at his throat and a flat, checked cap that he made no attempt to remove. Francie smiled shyly and said, "And you must be Josh's best friend, Sammy Morris. He told me all about you."

"Mebbe he did and mebbe he didn't," he replied, unsmiling.

She thought he didn't seem very friendly, but Josh put his arm around her and said, "I see you've met Sammy," and she could tell by the way his eyes lit up that he was pleased, so she smiled politely and said, "I'm very happy to meet you at last, Sammy."

He wrinkled his nose disdainfully, mocking her educated tones. "Oh, very grand, aren't we? Well, you're gonna have to come down to earth a bit now, Miss Francesca Harrison. It ain't exactly Nob Hill around here."

"Francie knows that and she don't want Nob Hill," Josh said, pushing past Sammy into the house. The hallway smelled of years of stale cooking and grime and Francie wrinkled her nose as they walked up the uncarpeted stairs. She was out of breath by the time they reached the fourth floor and Josh put his arm around her waist as they climbed the last five steps together. He flung open the door proudly.

She stared at the tiny room squashed under the eaves, the ceilings sloped almost to the ground; but it was still bigger than her old room at home and there were no bars on the big window that filled the room with gray March light. She looked at the sagging brass double bed covered with a thin white cotton quilt, at the battered dresser with one drawer missing, at the worn brown oilcloth on the floor and the old rug, at the red plush armchair with the stuffing hanging out and the rickety gate-legged table with a jar of anemones placed carefully in the middle.

And she thought it was perfect. It was light and airy and Josh's flowers made it feel like home. She felt dizzy from love and happiness and the long climb up the stairs.

He was looking anxiously at her. "Is it all right? I know you're used to a grand house, but it's the best I could do. At least it's away from the noise of the saloon. And I'm just at the foot of these little stairs, so you need never be afraid."

Francie laughed as she took his hand. "I'll never be afraid with you around, Josh."

Sammy Morris eyed them dourly from the bottom of the steps. "I'm off to work now, Josh," he said, tightening his muffler around his neck and buttoning his jacket. "I'll see you later." And without a glance at Francie he stumped off down the stairs.

Francie watched him go and she knew for sure he didn't like her, but Josh told her not to worry, it was just Sammy's way. "He's used to there being just the two of us, you see. That's the way it's always been since we were kids. He's never met someone like you before, but once he gets to know you, he'll love you too."

Francie wasn't so sure he would, but she smiled as she walked around her new home. "We'll have tea here," she said, running a hand over the rough tabletop. "And just look at the view. Why, you can see practically all of San Francisco from here."

They stared together at the white sea birds circling the iron-gray March sky and at the busy sprawling streets, and she said, "You never told me why you came to San Francisco." Josh turned away, not answering, and she added hurriedly, "I didn't mean to pry, it just seems a long way from your home, that's all."