“There wasn’t a damn thing we could do, Kit.”
“If I hadn’t been so blasted anxious to make the Tabers pay through the nose, Jan’s load would have been sold elsewhere.” Kit turned to his friend. “You questioned my choice yourself, remember?”
“Oh hell, I didn’t mean—”
“I know you weren’t criticizing. Don’t you start feeling guilty, too. It was my doing, alone. But you were right, I wanted a taste of revenge so badly that I jeopardized Jan’s entire shipment and his children’s future.” Kit leaned his head back and stared at the sky. “God, what an ass I am. When I think of how I rushed the crew to get the shipment unloaded and stored.” He shook his head. “What time did the fire start?”
“Around midnight.”
“Two hours. They finished only two goddamn hours earlier. If I had only waited until tomorrow, the second cargo would have been saved.”
“Look, Kit, I know you’re feeling pretty bad right now, but remember, you’ve still got my load to commission, and it’s three times the size of Jan’s. Substitute it to Taber. You’ll still have your profit.”
“And what about Hallie” Kit snapped. “And the kids,” he said more quietly. He was tired and moody, but most of all he was damn mad at himself.
Lee looked startled, and then angry. Kit instantly regretted his outburst, and while he could blame his lapse on exhaustion. Lee had worked just as hard as he had. Before he could apologize, Lee spoke. “I haven’t forgotten about her.” He looked directly at Kit and added emphatically, “Or the rest of Jan’s children.”
Kit was silent.
“You’ll make a bundle from the sale of my load, if Taber’s paying what you say. You’d be able to support them.” Lee’s wry expression changed to one of concern. “Or is there something you’re not telling me? If you need money, Kit, or you’re in some kind of trouble, I’ll help out.”
“No, that’s not it. I’d have made enough from Jan’s contract to build my warehouse and still live well. With the profit from your load, I’ll be filthy with it,” Kit said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. He pushed himself away from the supporting wheel and rubbed his hand over his tight neck muscles as he paced. “It’s just different now. I feel even more responsible for them. I told myself you were right about my involvement with those kids, that I could just dole out the funds and occasionally check on them. My duty would end there. Well, I could no more do that now than I could have spit on that fire and put it out.”
“Does Hallie have anything to do with your change of heart?”
Kit stopped pacing. “You know, you should have been a lawyer, not a whaler.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“Yes, it has to do with Hallie. When I went to check on her, I found her crying so damn hard. She looked helpless and pitiful, and in a moment of weakness I promised to help her. I told her I’d take over the burden of the children. She tries to do everything herself, and...” Having admitted this, Kit suddenly felt the urge to justify his reasoning with an excuse. “I figured I owed it to Jan, anyway, since he entrusted them to me, but the next thing I knew, she was being unreasonable.” Kit stopped speaking before the path of his words trespassed into forbidden territory—that of his less than paternal reaction to Hallie. And, too, Kit wasn’t all too keen about admitting to Lee how wrong he’d been about her reaction to the sale of theSea Haven. Lee would have trouble hiding his “I told you so” look, and then Kit would have to hit him. And he was just too tired, especially when he knew he still had to talk to Hallie, to tell her the worst news yet.He had lost everything. He turned back to Lee. “I need go check on the Fredriksen place.”
“I want to go check on my ship.”
Kit nodded and they parted. Lee headed toward the bay, and Kit walked up the street, hoping to locate the nearest livery. But the one they frequented was no longer standing, and neither was anything else on that block.
People roamed through the rubble, gathering what they could salvage. As Kit walked farther, several wagons passed by him, carting away the massive amounts of burnt rubble. Then more wagons loaded with fresh lumber and brick flooded the streets. The district was already rebuilding, and the smoke hadn’t even cleared the bay.
It was probably natural, since this was the fifth fire in two years. San Francisco was experienced, and like the mythical phoenix, the city would rise, bigger and better, from her ashes. The more he walked, the more he realized how bad the fire had really been. Working all night on the warehouse had kept him too busy to know the extent of the damage, but now he was seeing it firsthand. The number of horse-drawn vehicles traversing the area told Kit that his chances of finding a horse or a team and wagon would be nil. It looked as if every conveyance in the city was being put to use in the burned district.
A quarter of an hour later he rounded the corner of Serra Street. In each direction blocks were demolished, to the degree that not one building, wood or brick, still stood. As he neared Hallie’s home, the destruction continued. Kit had assumed they would be safe since no fires had ever spread into the Happy Valley district.
But now he was struck by the possibility that Hallie and the children might not be safe. His tired legs moved faster as he raced toward the Fredriksen home. Wagons blocked his path, so he wormed his way through, stopping finally in front of the heap that had once been Jan’s home.
Looking at the devastation made his gut wrench, and he turned, pale-faced, toward the swarm of wagons. Just beyond, a group of men dug through the powdery heap of a brick building that had stood across the street. One man shouted, “Here’s two more!”
The men began to pull debris away, uncovering the dead bodies of the fire’s victims. The sight made Kit break out in a deep sweat. Afraid to ask the question but knowing he must, he walked to where one of the men stood, fastening a canvas tarp over a wagon. “Have they searched that house yet?” Kit pointed to Hallie’s home.
The man stared at him briefly. “Nope, they was some of the lucky ones; they got out.”
Kit breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, he still had to find them. “Did you hear where they went?”
“I was here, fighting the fire, when they escaped.” He straightened the tarp and checked the rope ties. “One of them, a tall blond, come barreling outta the door, burning like the hubs o’ hell. I thought she was a goner for sure. Heard tell someone put the fire out, but next time I looked up,” he spun around to face Kit, “they was gone—” The man scratched his head in bewilderment and searched the empty spot where Kit had stood only moments before. The man shrugged and then continued his work.
Beyond the work crowd, Kit raced up the steep street, stopping every so often to question someone, anyone, who might have seen the Fredriksens.
Five hours later Kitstill hadn’t found them. He’d been to three volunteer centers and every makeshift hospital he could find, and still he had no news. Most of those who might have known Hallie and the kids had been displaced by the fire. He’d checked all the places he’d thought they might go, and though he’d heard there had been a shelter on Telegraph Hill, someone said the victims had been moved out by noon. Before he checked out this last lead, he made his way toward Oatt’s, thinking that they might have gone there for clothing or supplies.
But when he arrived, the mercantile had a line so long it looked like the Pike Street Post Office on mail steamer day. Men stood in their knit underwear, barefoot, with blankets or coats flung over their shoulders, and women, dressed in assorted nightwear, wrapped their makeshift coverings tightly from neck to foot. From the adjacent alley a clerk wheeled out a cart heaped with articles of clothing, and the victims of the fire clamored to purchase garments of any kind from the mishmash of goods available.
