“Don’t you go worrying yourself over us. I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding a place.” Hallie knew this was one of those times when a little lie would make things easier for everyone concerned. Although, she wondered briefly if it was a greater sin to lie to a preacher’s wife. “We have a place to stay if we need it. My father made Mr. Howland our guardian, and he’ll provide us with a home.”And pigs fly!
Agnes couldn’t disguise her relief. “Oh, that kind man! I’m sure the reverend will be as pleased as I am, my dear. We’ll check on you soon. Take care now.” She walked down the path a few feet before she turned. “Be sure to give Mr. Howland my best.”
That man needs someone’s best, Hallie thought. He was the last person on this earth she’d turn to now. Her injured leg pulsed painfully beneath the bandage. The area behind her knee hurt the worst. As Hallie lay down by her exhausted family, she stretched her leg out carefully, thoughts of the despicable Kit Howland absorbing her mind.
The idea that he’d sell theSea Havenfor fill was unbearable. She would stop him somehow. She leaned back against the incline of the hill, so tired she couldn’t sleep. Somewhere out there in the great beyond that was left of San Francisco, they’d have to find a place to live. But from the hundreds of sleeping bundles scattered in front of her, Hallie knew finding a new home wouldn’t be easy. Part of the city now glowed like cooking coals, and other sections still raged with flames.
From there on the hillside the view was expansive, and she watched the fire spread toward the bay. At the water’s edge smoke rose upward and hid the stars from view as it floated high over the harbor. She could see all the ships abandoned in the bay. They were crammed together like herrings, and their masts spiraled into the air, creating a spiky forest against the horizon. Somewhere in that forest was theSea Haven, awaiting its fate.
Just like us.
She sat up. That was it!She had the perfect solution! She would move the family on board theSea Haven. They’d have a comfortable place to live, and Kit wouldn’t be able to sell the ship. After all, wasn’t possession was nine points of the law? And if it wasn’t, she’d be able to keep an eye on Da’s ship and his traitorous ex-friend.
For the first time in days Hallie laughed. She hadn’t lied to Agnes Treadwell after all. Kit was providing them with a home. She snuggled back down contentedly into her blankets and closed her eyes, feeling lighter for the first time in days. She could sleep, because she had great, surefire scheme.
“We’re going to lose it!”Kit shouted as flames engulfed another wall of the DeWitt warehouse. He ran past the laboring men of the bucket brigade to where Lee Prescott and some of his crew worked feverishly on a jammed water pump. Both men pulled on the pump crank but nothing happened. Lee jumped onto the bed and pried open the pump casing, while Kit planted his boot against the wagon bed to get better leverage and tried the crank again, straining and pulling on the metal bar with such exertion that his muscles quivered. “What the hell’s wrong with it?”
“I can’t tell,” Lee yelled back, leaning down to poke around inside the mechanism.
Kit wedged his body between the wagon and a brick wall and kicked at the crank to loosen it. Finally it moved and the pump kicked in, but no water came through the hose. Lee hopped down and followed the hose to the water tank near the dock. He cupped his hands and hollered, “The tank’s empty!” He pointed toward the bay. “It’s low tide!”
Some of the men ran over and began to bail from the ebbing waterline into the tank, but Kit knew it was a lost cause. The whole city could burn before they could fill the tank pail by pail, especially with a receding tide. He paced the loading dock. “Goddammit, this is useless! Look at that.” He gestured to the group of men heaving bucket after bucket of saltwater on the flames. The water didn’t douse the fire; it only turned to clouds of steam that billowed skyward with the smothering smoke.
The fire spread to the neighboring brick building. It was supposed to be fireproof, but the iron shutters and doors glowed red from the trapped heat, and within minutes they melted as the supporting walls crumbled like month-old bread.
“Can we get any barrels out through the waterside doors?” Lee asked.
Kit shook his head. “There’s no way to get to them. The wharves were broken up to keep the fire from spreading out to the ships. Apparently, munitions and gunpowder are stored in the two barks at the end of the wharf.”
The wind picked up, fanning the flames like giant bellows. Havoc and noise from the blaze filled the air, forcing Kit to move closer in order to hear Lee shout, “Where’s the oil stored?”
“Near the back section.” Kit pointed to a wall of flames.
“Jesus!” Lee swore. “What about the baleen?”
“The warehouseman handled the storage on it. That bone could be anywhere.” Kit was about ready to give up. In a last effort, he searched for the warehouseman and found him bailing water out of the bay, into the shallow water reservoir. “I’m Howland. Where’s the bone from theSea Havenstored?”
“On the wharf side behind those barrels of vinegar.”
“Vinegar? What vinegar?” Kit asked.
“There’s eighty thousand gallons of vinegar stored in the front section.”
“Christ, man! Why didn’t you say something before now!” Kit raced back to the engine, firing orders along the way. He pulled men off the bucket line and had them roll out barrel after barrel of vinegar and dump it into the water tank. Lee cranked up the pump, and Kit and some others aimed the hose at the fiery building.
The sharp odor of vinegar filled the air, more acidic and suffocating than just the smoke alone. The flames lessened and began to die when a thunderous blast torched the fire a good twenty feet into the air as half the warehouse ignited. Winds fanned the blaze and flames lit the area like full sunlight. The right rear section of the building burned like hell, and along with it went all of Jan Fredriksen’s whale oil.
A blast soared in thedistance, its deep bass timbre drummed out over the bay. Waves lapped at one of the many neglected ships, rocking it, and the wind blew, the masts creaked, and deep within the dank hold, Abner awoke.
Old, slivered wood from the overhead bunk stared back at him. Sitting up, he rubbed his sleep-numb fingers into the sockets of his scratchy eyes and then peered into the room. The other bunks were empty, but an aged Chinese woman sat against a center beam, rocking with the ship’s movement and rolling something between her long, clawed fingers. Square bricks of black, claylike opium were piled beside her, and she plucked small wads of the drug and rolled it into olive-sized balls, placing the black pellets in a reed basket.
Abner stood, his hand grasping support from the upper bunk. “Where am I?”
The woman rolled another ball.
“Answer me! Are we at sea?” His sharp voice tinged with panic.
She rocked, autistically, as her skillful fingers rolled. Then the woman turned her sunken, glazed eyes at him, staring blankly before she returned to her task.
