Fortune is a Woman (15 page)

After a few moments he said, "I came here to seek my fortune, like my father before me."

"Your father?"

"Aye. Frank Aysgarth. He came here thirty years ago, for that same purpose. They were poor, my mam and dad. There had never been much money in the Aysgarth family, except for Aunt Jessie, and she was only by marriage. It was Aunt Jessie that left a hundred pounds to my sister, Annie, and Annie gave it to me and Sammy to come out here."

Josh told her the story of his mother and father, about their poverty and how his father had come to San Francisco and learned how to make his fortune.

"Anyway," he concluded, "that's the way our Annie tells the story. And she should know, she was there. She's a good lass," he said warmly. "She was better than any mother."

Francie uncurled herself from the bed where she had been listening to him. She flung her arms around him and said, "You've told me all about yourself, so now I really know you and you know me. We have no secrets from each other." She laughed. "We shall be just like your mam and dad, working hard so that one day we can have kids of our own to raise, and a house like Ivy Cottage."

***

Francie's days soon fell into a pattern; Josh would run upstairs and wake her at ten o'clock with a kiss and a cup of coffee and a hunk of crusty bread fresh from a neighboring Italian bakery. He insisted she stay in her room and rest until he had finished his long lunchtime stint at the bar, but he always appeared at her door again at noon bearing a plate of Irish stew or corned beef hash, depending on what free lunch the saloon was serving that day. And when his shift finished at three she would be ready and waiting for him. He had bought her a long silky scarf in a pretty blue to cover her shorn hair and she wrapped her plaid shawl tightly around her against the cold early spring winds as they explored San Francisco, but they were careful never to go anywhere Francie might be recognized.

He showed her a city she had lived in all her life and never seen; they climbed Telegraph Hill and watched the fog lift itself in a white mass from the ocean and roll toward them, engulfing them in a clinging white shroud; laughing, they covered their ears as every boat afloat sounded a warning horn or bell or whistle. They rode the cable cars and the ferries and laughed at the seals frolicking on the rocks near the Cliff House, and watched the waves roll in along Ocean Beach. And they admired the magnificent Palace Hotel, America's largest, with a soaring seven-story atrium, seven thousand bay windows overlooking the city, and a sumptuous, thirty-foot-long bar.

Sometimes Josh would smile as he listened to Francie chatter about their discoveries, but at others he would stride silently by her side, his eyes fixed on the ground, lost in a world of his own.

"Is anything the matter?" she would ask anxiously, but he would just shrug his shoulders and say, "Nothing's wrong, lass," as though it was a great effort for him even to speak. And sometimes when they were in her room he would stare silently out the window for ages, his eyes as opaque as the gray sky outside. But there were other times when he would hold her in his arms and kiss her and her whole being would just fill with joy.

Still, there was no doubt about it, Sammy Morris did not like her. Sammy worked on a construction site carrying bricks up and down scaffolding all day and he spent his evenings in the bar downstairs with Josh. He had not been near her since she met him on the sidewalk that first day, and then one night he came to her door. She was standing at the window looking down at San Francisco's twinkling lights and at the pale spring moon when she heard the knock.

She ran eagerly to open the door, stepping back, surprised when she saw Sammy.

His dark, glowering eyes met hers. He took off his cap and said, "I've come straight from work. I've got to talk to you, Miss Harrison."

She smiled shyly. "Please come in. Won't you call me Francie?"

"I've not come here to make small talk," he said abruptly. "I'm here to tell you about Josh."

"I think I understand, I know how important your friendship with Josh is."

"More important than
you,
" he said with a sudden venomous glance. "And more important than you'll
ever
know,
Miss Francie Harrison."

His dark eyes filled with hatred. He stepped closer; she could smell the sweat on his work shirt and see the cement dust like powder on his skin, and she pressed herself against the door, away from him. She wished Josh were here, but Sammy had chosen his moment well—Josh wouldn't be home for another hour.

"Josh and I are in love, we are going to be married," she said nervously. "But we can all stay friends...."

Sammy gripped his cloth cap so tight, his knuckles gleamed white. He wanted to hit her smiling face.

"What have you done to count yourself
his friend?"
he snarled. "You don't even know him. Not
really
know him, the way I do. He doesn't
need you.
He doesn't need any weak woman leeching onto him. He needs a friend who'll look out for him, who'll help him, who'll be there for him, whatever happens. Josh has got nothing to give you."

"But he saved my life—"

"And bloody near lost his own doing it. He didn't tell you what your father did to him, did he? No, of course he didn't. He's probably forgotten about it already. Josh always conveniently forgets anything
unpleasant.
Just ask him and watch his eyes go blank. 'No,' he'll say, 'I didn't do that, Sammy,' and all the time you know bloody well he did."

"I don't know what you are talking about," she whispered, frightened. "I love Josh and he loves me and we're going to get married and that's all there is to it."

He took a step closer and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "All right, you've asked for it. Why d'ya think Josh ran away from home? Why d'ya think he's here, in San Francisco? You think you know all about him, but I'll bet he's never told you that. Well, now
I
will.
He's running from the police."

His boots clomped heavily on the bare wooden boards as he paced the room. His fists were clenched and his brow knotted in anguish. Francie's knees turned to jelly with fear as she watched him and she sank into the chair. "But
why
is Josh running from the police?" she asked.

Sammy flung back his head. He closed his eyes and said slowly,
"Because Josh Aysgarth is a killer."

Terrified, Francie stared at him. She told herself he just wanted to frighten her and she knew he had succeeded. She said tremulously, "You're just jealous, that's all."

He looked consideringly at her. "I'm here to warn you. He's already killed three women, all young and pretty like you. Stabbed them to death." He reached out and put a finger on her neck. "In the throat... just where the pulse beats. That's what he told me, he said it's the best place." He glanced out the window at the big round moon. "And it always happens when the moon is full. You'd better believe me, Miss Harrison. You'd better get out of here, out of his way. You've no time to lose."

Francie knew he must be crazy and she said, "What kind of a friend would say a terrible thing like that?"

"A
true
friend," he said bitterly. "That's what you will never understand."

She was so frightened of him now, she thought she might faint, but she said, "I'll never believe you. And I'll never leave Josh.
Never."
She sank back in the chair, flinching as he took a step toward her; his fists were clenched and he boiled with anger. Then he seemed to pull himself together. He walked past her and out the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he called over his shoulder.

Francie quickly locked the door, leaning against it, her heart thudding, then she ran to the window and stared out at the great pale moon lighting up the city, thinking about what he had said. She ran her fingers along the smooth curve of her throat, letting them rest on the fluttering pulse at the base. He stabbed them there, Sammy had said,
it was the best place.

She sat on the bed and wrapped the blanket around her, cold with fear, waiting for Josh.

The minutes ticked slowly by until eleven, and when at last she heard his footsteps on the stairs, she ran to the door and flung it open and hurled herself into his arms.

"What's the matter, lass?" he asked, holding her close. "You're shaking like a leaf." Francie looked into his gentle gray eyes and at his good, familiar face and she knew what Sammy had said was impossible, but she still could not stop crying.

Josh picked her up and carried her to the bed; he lay down beside her and held her close. He stroked her short silken blond hair and kissed the tears from her eyes and then he kissed her mouth, drawing her even closer to him until she forgot all about evil Sammy Morris. She just wanted to stay in his arms forever.

His hand found her breast and her heart turned over. She trembled as he slowly unfastened the buttons and kissed her naked body and she was filled with happiness. He was holding her so close that they were almost one and at last she knew what it felt like to be loved.

It seemed such a natural thing to be in his arms, to share their bodies the way they shared their thoughts. She was young and innocent and happier than any woman ever could be, to be clasped in the arms of a man who loved her.

***

The next day Josh bounded eagerly up the stairs to Francie's room, his arms full of daffodils. He knocked impatiently on the door. "Hurry up, Francie, it's me," he called, smiling as he heard her quick footsteps.

She flung open the door and for a long moment they just looked at each other. He thought he had never seen anyone so lovely—her blond helmet of hair shone, her sapphire eyes sparkled, and she was smiling at him, half-hesitant, half-shy. And she thought she had never seen love in anyone's eyes like that, so warm and gentle and beautiful.

"Surprise," he said, thrusting the bouquet into her arms.

"Daffodils!" She buried her nose delightedly in them, inhaling their delicate fragrance. "The flowers of spring." She threw her arms around him. "Thank you, thank you so much for loving me!"

Their lips met in a long kiss and as he drew his mouth away she glanced shyly up at him. "I'll never forget last night."

Tilting her chin with his finger he kissed her again. "Aye. And nor will I. But I can't stay, I'm on my way to work and I'm already late."

She leaned over the banister, watching as he ran lightly down the stairs. He paused on the landing to wave and the sunlight filtering through the dirt-encrusted sash window turned his blond hair into a halo, and she thought how beautiful he was, and how good, and she knew Sammy Morris was the evil one. She smiled as she turned back into her room and saw the daffodils and thought how rich her life was even though they were so poor.

Through the open window she could hear the clatter of horses' hooves and the rattle of the trolley cars and the cries of newspaper boys with the early evening editions. The street vendors were loudly hawking their roasted peanuts and pretzels, and music wafted gaily from the Venus Dance Hall next door.

She sewed buttons onto Josh's shirt, waiting for the hours to pass until she saw him again, thinking about her long-imprisoned childhood and her brutal father. She had wished him dead and she did not regret her words one bit. He had locked her away from life, he'd stolen her childhood and her youth and she hated him just as passionately as she loved Josh Aysgarth.

***

Josh was late. The round tin alarm clock with its twin bells showed four o'clock, then five, and still he didn't come. Francie watched the minutes ticking away until six and then she could bear it no longer. Wrapping her shawl over her head, she hurried down the stairs to the saloon.

The bar was crowded with groups of men in dark suits and derby hats drinking whisky with beer chasers and reading the evening newspapers by the light of the hissing gas lamps. Cigarette smoke wreathed around the raftered ceiling and there was an earthy smell of male sweat and sawdust and ale. A group of women from the bordello next door were seated at one of the little marble-topped tables, flamboyant in big feathered hats and bright dresses. As she walked past they called for more gin, laughing raucously, and a buxom woman with impossibly red hair looked her up and down and called mockingly, "What have we got here, then? The orphan of the storm?"

The men at the bar turned to look at her, laughing, and Francie clasped her shawl tighter, looking desperately for Josh. A burly man in shirtsleeves and apron called to her from behind the counter. "Yeah?" he said. "What d'ya want?"

"Pardon me," she said in a small voice, "but I was looking for Josh."

"Speak up," he cried, "I can't hear ya' in this racket."

She repeated it loudly. "I'm looking for Josh Aysgarth."

The customers stared interestedly at her and the bartender smiled knowingly. "Josh Aysgarth, is it? Well, you've missed him. He finished a couple of hours ago."

"Finished?" she asked, bewildered.

"That's right. His friend Sammy came for him and they went off together." He went back to serving his customers and Francie turned away uncertainly.

"Stood you up, has he?" the raucous red-haired woman yelled. "Can't say I blame him, looking like that. Get yourself a new dress, honey, and some new..." she put her hand over her mouth and said something to the other women and they burst into shrill shrieks of laughter.

The red-faced man leaning against the counter tossed back his drink, watching thoughtfully, as, averting her eyes from the group of women, Francie hurried across the sawdust-covered floor to the door. Then he picked up his newspaper, flung the barman a few coins and quickly followed her.

Francie ran back upstairs to the room Josh shared with Sammy and tapped on the door. There was no reply. She knocked again, waiting worriedly, wondering if Josh was sleeping, or if maybe he was ill. She was sure he wouldn't just go away without telling her. Not now. The door was unlocked and she pushed it open and peered in. The two beds were made up, and Sammy's brown wool muffler lay across a chair. Francie shivered. The empty room felt chilly and impersonal; it didn't feel like Josh at all. She walked slowly back to her own room. She had no idea where Josh was or even if he would be coming back.