Thurston House (26 page)

I want to work for you one day, Papa.

Don't be silly, Sabrina. But secretly, he wished that she could have. She was daughter and son all rolled into one, and had a fine head for business. But it would be impossible for her to work at the mines, no one would ever have understood it.

You let Dan Richfield work for you when he was just a boy. He told me so himself. But he was twenty-nine years old now, a married man with five children. How long ago it seemed that he had begun working for Jeremiah on Saturday mornings.

That was different, Sabrina, he was a boy. You're a young lady.

I'm not! In rare moments of petulance, she did indeed remind him of her mother, and he would turn away so as not to see the resemblance. Don't turn your back on me, Papa! I know as much as any man about your mines!

He would sit down and take her hand in his with a gentle smile. That's true, my love, you do, but it takes more than that. It takes a man's hand, a man's strength, a man's determination. You'll never have those. He patted the cheek he so dearly loved. We'll just have to find you a handsome husband.

I don't want a husband! Even at ten, she had been outraged at the thought, and at thirteen she was no more interested than she had been then. I want to live with you forever! In a way, he was glad of that. He was fifty-eight years old now, still vital and strong and alive and full of ideas about how to run his mines and his vineyards. But the pain Camille had caused him had taken its toll. He hadn't felt like a young man in years. He felt old and worn and tired, and there was a part of him that he would never open up again, just as he would never again open up the palatial house in the city. He had had numerous offers over the years, from people who wanted to buy it, even one man who wanted to turn it into a hotel, but he had no inclination to sell it. He had never set foot in the house again, and probably never would. It would be too painful to see those rooms he had built for Camille, the home he had hoped to fill with half a dozen children. Instead, he would leave it to Sabrina, and if she married, he would give it to her then. Instead of being for his children, it would be for her, it seemed a suitable end to the home he had built with such loving intentions.

Papa! She called out to him as she ran across the yard, leaving the carriage safely tied up. She knew more than most boys about mines and horses and coaches. And yet, her femininity had remained intact, as though hundreds of years of Southern ladylike traditions were bred into her so deep that they would always be a part of her. She was female to the very tips of her toes, but in all the gentle, loving ways that her mother wasn't. I came as soon as I could. She ran up to him breathlessly, tossing her long curls over her shoulder as he laughed and shook his head in mock despair.

So I see, Sabrina. When I suggested you drop by this afternoon when your tutor left, I didn't mean to steal my best coach to do it. She looked suddenly remorseful and glanced over her shoulder.

Do you really mind, Papa? I drove it very carefully. I'm sure you did. It wasn't that which concerned me. But you make quite a spectacle of yourself driving a rig like that, my girl. Hannah will surely tan both our hides. And if you did it in San Francisco, they'd run you out of town on a rail and say you were 'fast' and behaved in a most unseemly manner. He was teasing her now, and she shrugged her shoulders with obvious indifference.

Then they'd be silly. I drive better than you do, Papa. This time he frowned in mock outrage. That's a downright rude thing to say, Sabrina. I'm not totally over the hill, you know.

I know, I know, she blushed slightly, I just meant' Never mind. Next time ride your sorrel over here. It's a little less conspicuous.

But you told me not to run hell for leather over these hills, to come in the coach, like a lady.

He bent toward her and whispered in her ear. Ladies do not drive coaches. And men she began to laugh. She had had a wonderful time driving over. And the truth was that there wasn't a great deal for her to do in St. Helena. She knew no children her own age, she had no siblings or cousins, and she spent all of her time with her father. So she played pranks when she got bored, or hung around the mines. And now and then, he took her to San Francisco. They always stayed at the Palace Hotel, and he took rooms for her adjacent to his own. When she was younger, he would take Hannah with them, but now the poor woman was too crippled by her arthritis and she did nothing to hide the fact that she hated going into the city. And Sabrina was old enough to go alone with her father.

They had often driven by Thurston House, and once he had unlocked the gate and they had strolled through the gardens together, but he had never taken her inside, and she suspected why. It was too painful for him since the death of her mother. But she had always been curious about the inside of the house. She had asked Hannah about it, and had been disappointed to learn that the old woman had never been inside it. She had pressed Hannah about what her mother was like too, but she never got much information and early on deduced that Hannah had not been overly fond of her mother. And she wasn't sure why, but she never quite dared press her father about it. Something so ravaged and sad and angry came into his eyes when her mother's name came up that she preferred not to cause him any anguish by asking him about her. So there were mysteries and holes in her life, a house she had never seen, a mother she had never known ' and a father who adored her.

Did you finish all your work, Papa? she pressed him as they walked toward the coach arm in arm. He had finally agreed to let her drive him home, with his horse tied to the back of the coach, and a shudder for what people would think if they saw them.

Yes, I did, you little minx. You know, you're a shocking child. He attempted to glare at her as he took his seat beside her. If anyone sees us, they'll think I'm mad to let you do this.

Don't worry about it, Papa. She patted his hand in a motherly fashion. I'm a very good driver.

And a very brazen girl, you little hussy. But it was obvious how much he loved her, and a moment later she renewed her questions about his work. She had an ulterior motive and he knew it. Yes, I did, and I know why you're asking. And yes, we are going to San Francisco tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?

Oh, yes, Papa! She beamed at him and rounded a bend in the road without looking, almost turning over the coach as her father gasped and reached for the reins, but she corrected the problem swiftly and deftly herself and then smiled demurely at him as he roared with laughter.

You're going to be the death of me yet, one way or another. But that was something she didn't like to hear, even in jest. Her face clouded over, as it always did, and he was sorry he had said it.

That's not funny, Papa. You're all I have, you know. She always made him feel remorseful when he said something like that to her, and he tried to lighten the moment.

Then kindly attempt not to kill me with your driving.

You know perfectly well I seldom make a mistake. And as she said it, she rounded another corner, this time with surgical precision. She looked at him with glee. That was better.

Sabrina Thurston, you're a monster.

She bowed politely from her seat. Just like my father. Except she wondered now and then if it was actually more like her mother ' what had she been like? ' whom had she resembled? ' why did she die so young? ' she had a thousand unanswered questions about the woman. There wasn't a single portrait of her in their house, not a miniature, not a sketch, not a photograph, nothing. And her father had said only that she had died of influenza when Sabrina was a year old. Period. End of story. He said that he had loved her very much, that they had been married on Christmas Eve in Atlanta, Georgia, in 1886, and that Sabrina had been born a year and a half later in May of 1888, and a year later, her mother had died, leaving him grief-stricken. He explained to her too that he had built Thurston House before marrying her mother, and now some fifteen years later, she knew that it was still the largest house in San Francisco, but it was a relic, a tomb, a place that she would enter someday, but not now, and not with him. And at times, as they drove through San Francisco, her curiosity almost overtook her. So much so that she had developed a plan, and the next time she went to town with him she was going to try it. Are we still going to the city tomorrow, Papa?

Yes, you little villain, we are. But I have meetings at the Nevada Bank all day, and you'll have to keep yourself amused. In fact, I told Hannah that I didn't think you should come with me this time she began to object before he even finished his sentence and he held up a hand for silence but I knew that that was exactly what you'd say, so I told her that for my own peace and quiet, I was taking you with me. You'll have to make it up with your tutor next week, Sabrina. I won't have you avoiding your lessons by running around with me. For a moment he sounded stern, but he wasn't really worried. She had always been an excellent student, and they both knew that she often learned more by being with him. Normally, he might even have offered to let her go to the bank with him, but a full day of meetings would be too much for her. Take some books with you. You can study a little at the hotel, and we'll go out when I get home. There's a new play I thought you might like to see. I wrote and asked the bank president's secretary to get tickets for us. Sabrina clapped her hands and then grabbed at the reins again as they pulled into their own driveway and the horses slowed down.

That sounds lovely, Papa. And she knew exactly what she was going to do when he was at his meetings. And you can't complain, I got you home safely.

He scowled at her and drew on his cigar. The next time you take out my best coach, I would be grateful if you would be so kind as to ask me. She jumped lightly to the ground with a smile, enjoying the pungent smell of his cigar.

Yes, sir. And with that she bounded into the house, and greeted Hannah with a shout and the report that they were going to the city the next day.

I know, I know ' She clapped her hands over her ears. Lower your voice. My God, you're loud, girl. Your father don't even need to send them fancy cables of his from the mine. You could just hang out the window and shout all the way to Philadelphia for him.

Thank you, Hannah. She curtsied teasingly, kissed the old woman's leathery cheek, and raced up the stairs to her room to wash her hands before dinner. She was always spotlessly clean and instinctively well dressed without anyone saying anything to her. There was indeed something of Camille Beauchamp in her. And Hannah looked at her retreating back now and spoke to Jeremiah.

You're going to have your hands full in a few years, Jeremiah.

He smiled at Hannah and hung up his coat. She tells me that she's going to live with me forever, and work for me at the mines.

That's a ladylike prospect.

So I told her. He sighed and followed Hannah into the kitchen. He still liked talking to her, they had been friends for more than thirty years, and in some ways she was his closest friend, and he was hers. And she adored Sabrina. The truth is she'd be wonderful with the mine, it's a damn shame she's not a boy. It was seldom that he said that.

Maybe she'll marry some fine young man whom you can teach all you know, and you can leave it all to your grandkids.

Maybe. He wasn't ready to think about that yet, and it would be years before Sabrina married. But on the other hand, he wasn't getting any younger, and the year before he'd had a problem with his heart. It had terrified Sabrina when she had found him unconscious in his dressing room, but he was fine after that, and they had all tried to forget that it had happened. But the doctor reminded him often to slow down, a piece of advice that made Jeremiah smile. He wondered who would speed up to make up for his slowing down.

You're getting old, Jeremiah. You'd best start to be thinking about your future she nodded her head in the direction of the stairs that led to Sabrina's room and hers. You're still hanging on to that house in town, ain't you?

He smiled a sad half smile. Yes. And I know you think I'm crazy, you always did. But I built it with love and I'll give it to Sabrina with love. She can sell it if she wants. I don't ever want her to turn to me and say 'Why didn't you save that for me, Papa?'

What will she want with a house ten times bigger'n a barn, and in San Francisco to boot?

You never know. I'm happy here. But maybe she'll want to live in the city when she grows up. This way she'll have that choice. He fell silent and they both thought of Camille. She had never deserved all the kindness he had shown her, and he had never heard from her again, not a word, or a sign, or a letter. But he was still married to her legally anyway. Her father had written him a few times, apparently she went to live in Venice for a while, and then moved to Paris, and she had stayed with the man she had fled with, calling herself Countess and pretending to be married to him. They had no money, and France was having a hard winter and Orville Beau-champ had broken his resolve and went to see her. His wife had died, and Hubert had married a girl in Kentucky. And Jeremiah was determined never to let him see Sabrina. He wanted no reminder, no one who could possibly tell Sabrina something different from what he himself had told her for years. Orville Beauchamp had no one else. He was all alone now, and went to Paris to see his little girl, who was apparently living in squalid conditions in a house outside Paris, and she had given birth to a stillborn son, but when he attempted to bring her back to the States, she refused to go with him. He described her as 'crazed by a passion I couldn't understand. She clung to her worthless lover and refused to leave him.' Jeremiah also read between the lines that she had begun drinking, and was probably playing with absinthe, but whatever her problems, they were no longer his. Orville Beauchamp had died a few years later, and Camille had never come home. Jeremiah had no further news after that, and he was relieved not to. He wanted no contact with her to taint Sabrina's life, no chance that someone would tell her her mother hadn't died of influenza when he said she had. For Jeremiah and Sabrina, the door was closed, and Camille would never pass through it again.