Bay City Belle Read online

  “I admire her no end,” Yancy replied. “And I’ll help any way I can. And so?” He raised his eyebrows and regarded her intently. “I won’t let you off so easily. As I was saying, have dinner with me. How about this Friday night? Say yes, and you’ll have several days to decide if you’d rather not.”

  She would love to accept. Well, why not? Maybe just once. What would it hurt? “If I have dinner with you, nothing will change.”

  “Of course.”

  “It’ll be a ‘friends only’ kind of thing.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I accept. I’ll have dinner with you Friday night.”

  She’d halfway expected his face would light with pleasure at her reply, but his nonchalant expression didn’t change. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” He climbed in the carriage, gave her a casual wave, and drove away.

  Belle hastened to find Mrs. Hollister. “I’m so glad you changed your mind,” she declared. “What did it?”

  Contrary to her recent miserable indecision, the older woman brimmed with confidence. “It was you, Belle, and what you said about making difficult choices. I was moping around, hating the thought of that fine young man living on the streets, eating out of garbage cans. Then when I saw that poor boy walking out the door, going back to that awful Barbary Coast, I suddenly knew I needed to make that difficult choice you talked about. I could either let Luther stay and risk Malcolm’s anger, which you know I dread, or I could let my dear son and his wife bully me yet again. I hadn’t realized till now how much they’ve taken over my life.”

  “I’m still curious. As I pointed out, my choice didn’t work out very well.”

  “Makes no difference.” Mrs. Hollister set her chin in a stubborn line. “I did what I had do. Just like you did, and damn the consequences.”

  Belle silently applauded and could only hope she meant what she said.

  * * * *

  Malcolm was gone all day and didn’t return until dinner. Belle and Mrs. Hollister were sitting in the back parlor when he came in. She could tell from the tight expression on his face that someone, probably Eugenia, had informed him Luther was staying.

  “Good evening, Mother. I want to talk to you.” Malcolm threw a frosty glance in Belle’s direction. “Alone.”

  Mrs. Hollister coolly tipped her head and inquired, “Is this about Luther? Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Miss Ainsworth.”

  “Yes, it’s about Luther.” Malcolm’s face began to turn red. He appeared to be talking through gritted teeth. “It is beyond my comprehension why you would go against me this way and take a no-good street urchin—a worthless ragamuffin—into our home.”

  “Our home?” Mrs. Hollister calmly inquired. “Last I heard, it was my home, which I graciously allow you and Eugenia to share.”

  Malcolm’s head jerked back. He seemed to need a moment to recover, and when he did, his face became a glowering mask of rage. “Do you realize I could have you declared incompetent? Those endless trips to New York. Throwing away your fortune on fancy jewelry. And now this? What next? Do you plan to turn your home into a haven for wayward boys?”

  “Not a bad idea.” Mrs. Hollister picked up the scarf she’d been crocheting and started working the needles again. “Now, will you please leave, Malcolm? I swear, you’re giving me a headache.”

  Belle watched as Malcolm, his lips working, sought to find a cutting reply, but his shock was so great he could only sputter, “You’re going to regret this.” He spun on his heel and left without another word.

  Belle raised her hands and applauded softly. “You did it! That was magnificent.”

  Mrs. Hollister looked doubtful. “Magnificent or not, he’s set me to worrying.”

  “That he might have you declared incompetent?”

  “He could, you know. My son has a lot of power in this town. He’s very angry. I wouldn’t be surprised if he meant what he said. Claims I’m crazy and should be put away.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

  “What if he did? I must be careful. I’m not about to change my mind about Luther, but I’d best keep him out of Malcolm’s and Eugenia’s way as much as possible. Tonight we’ll still have dinner in my room.”

  How disappointing. Belle had applauded when she thought Mrs. Hollister had at last found her courage. Obviously, she hadn’t found all of it.

  * * * *

  Yancy had always scorned indecision. Hesitation was weakness, as far as he was concerned. He’d lived his life never dithering, and that included everything from what to eat for breakfast to the darkest days of the war when he, Captain Yancy McLeish, the fate of dozens of men resting on his shoulders, must decide whether to draw his sword and yell “Charge!” or withdraw from the battle to fight another day. So what was the matter with him? Time was flying by, and here he was, still in San Francisco long after he’d planned to return home. Other than his upcoming dinner with Belle, nothing of importance kept him here. That’s what he kept telling himself, but deep down, he recognized his feelings for Belle Ainsworth were enough to influence any decision he might make.

  Not one to remain idle, he decided to pay a visit to the Franklin Street Church and find the kindly clergyman he’d met when he was scouring the Barbary Coast to find Luther. The Reverend Alpheus Madrid greeted him warmly. Although Yancy had planned nothing more than a brief call, he soon found himself on a tour of the church’s makeshift orphanage. “We’d like to start a kindergarten if we can get teachers to volunteer,” said the reverend. “The older children go to the neighborhood school.”

  No girls were present, only boys when he arrived. They were eating lunch, and Yancy and the reverend joined them. When the boys discovered Yancy lived in the Maine woods, they besieged him with questions and listened attentively as he described his solitary life, everything from his friendly Indian neighbors to being chased by an angry grizzly bear.

  When he was about to leave, the reverend remarked, “I don’t wish to pry, but were you in the military?”

  “Four years in the Union Army.”

  “You were an officer.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I was a captain.”

  “I knew it,” said Reverend Madrid. “You’re a natural leader of men. I could tell by the way those boys hung on your every word. Come with me tonight.”

  “To the Barbary Coast?”

  The reverend could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “You’ll be saving lives, Yancy. It’s hard to believe, but I’ve come across many a boy who doesn’t want to be rescued. On the streets they’re free to do what they please, and some like it that way. Today I saw how those boys looked up to you. If anyone could persuade them to come with us, it’d be you. If you could save one child from a life of misery and a probable early death, wouldn’t you wish to do so?”

  Of course he would. So that night he accompanied Alpheus Madrid to the Barbary Coast to “do the work of the Lord,” as the reverend put it. He’d gone again the next night, and would be the first to admit he got an immense amount of satisfaction each time he successfully persuaded a homeless child to leave the streets and come with him.

  With every passing day, he’d become more attached to Ronald’s children, and they to him. So far, they’d received one short letter from Bernice, in which she raved about what a wonderful time she was having, no mention of when she’d return. Both Beth and Richard were hurt. So was he, just seeing the wounded look on their faces. How much worse would they feel if he left, too? No, wait. He had to correct himself. When he left, not if he left. Of course he was going home.

  But whatever he did, his thoughts always returned to Belle.

  Thank God, she couldn’t see the way his heart leaped when she accepted his dinner invitation. But why had he asked her? How could they possibly ever have a life together? Her family would never accept him. She made herself a
bundantly clear concerning the kind of welcome he’d receive, should he be fool enough to present himself at the family doorstep in Savannah. And what if he took her home with him to Maine? He could not begin to imagine how well Miss Belle Ainsworth, delicate, privileged Southern belle, would adjust to life in a rustic cabin in the wilderness. Gutting the fish—she’d already made herself clear on that subject. A moose hunt perhaps? He set himself to laughing, picturing the elegant Miss Ainsworth slogging along beside him, musket at the ready, heart set on bagging her first moose.

  Actually he liked San Francisco far better than he thought he would. It was a city like no other, with its crisp fresh air, sudden thick fogs, and houses defying gravity on impossibly steep hills, all of it overlooking the beautiful bay. No wonder his brother chose to live here. Fortunes could be made, and Ronald had done well. Lately, even Yancy felt a tug of challenge. Not to make a fortune. Money meant little to him, especially now that he’d inherited a veritable fortune, but for the first time in years, he found himself wondering if he might not need some sort of purpose in his life. In his cabin by the lake, he’d been content to arise in the morning with no other goal than to get through the day with as little aggravation as possible, maybe do a bit of hunting or fishing, then go to bed at night, get up next morning, and do the same thing all over again. Was that really how he wanted to spend the rest of his life? Lately he’d been wondering.

  Belle didn’t change her mind. Tonight they occupied a booth at the Tadich Grill, one of the finest restaurants in the city. “You look nice,” he said, finding his words barely adequate, but being a quiet man who never talked much, that was the best he could do. “Nice” was hardly the word. Sitting across, she nearly took his breath away in the blue velvet dress she was wearing, the bodice cut low to reveal the soft curve of her breasts. She smelled of that sweet perfume Queen Victoria wore, which he liked very much. A jeweled comb sat amidst the shiny dark curls piled atop her head.

  Seeming pleased, she thanked him for the compliment and looked around the restaurant. Dark wood paneling with large mirrors covered the walls. Art deco brass and milk-glass fixtures hung from the fifteen-foot ceiling. “So this was Ronald’s favorite place to dine?” she asked.

  “He told me you can’t get fresher fish than here. It’s always last night’s catch.”

  She smiled appreciatively. “Sometimes Mrs. Hollister sends Bertha, her maid, to Meiggs Wharf where you can buy fish straight off the boat. I’d love to go with her sometime, but I don’t dare.”

  “Roberto?”

  “What if he saw me? At the very least I’d get tossed off the pier, and maybe even worse.” She’d spoken lightly, but Yancy took her seriously. He’d never met Roberto Romano, but from what he’d heard of the man’s arrogance and dominating nature, Belle should indeed be careful.

  Easy conversation flowed between them as they dined. Once, when she asked if he was planning on returning home soon, he had to answer vaguely, “I’m not sure. There are still matters to attend to.” Matters such as he wanted her back, couldn’t bring himself to leave her. But wait, he was going around in circles again. Why would he want her back if he was going home?

  And meantime, he could tell she cared for him. Little things, like the extra-long clasp of her hand when he helped her from the carriage. Like the tenderness shining in her warm grey eyes when she listened to him talk. Like… Hard to explain. He could only describe it as a kind of hot undercurrent that kept passing back and forth between them, and he knew she was thinking of that night they spent in his bed making love, just as he was.

  Toward the end of the meal, she talked about Luther, and how happy he was that Mrs. Hollister had taken him in. “He worries about his sisters, though. He doesn’t get to visit them often, and that bothers him. Apparently they’re not treated well.”

  “Then we’ll take him for a visit,” Yancy replied. “How about tomorrow? Will you come along?”

  “How kind of you. Of course I’d like to come.”

  Fine. He would see her tomorrow. The rest could wait.

  Later, when he took her home, he escorted her to her door. Before she could protest, he firmly clasped her upper arms and planted a light kiss on her forehead. He could tell from the slight lean of her body toward him that he needn’t stop. He did, though, and instead pulled away. “Good night, Belle. See you tomorrow.”

  Like the perfect gentleman, he waited till she’d gone inside and shut the door before he returned to his carriage. With a muffled curse, he climbed to the seat and drove home. If there was anything worse than being in a state of indecision, he didn’t know what it was.

  Chapter 19

  The next afternoon, Yancy pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the address on Vermont Street and turned to Luther. “Is this the place?”

  “Yes, sir, this is where the Sheltons live.” Luther climbed eagerly to the ground. “I hope you and Miss Ainsworth will come in and meet my sisters.”

  Up to now, Belle had every intention of going in, but one look at the dilapidated house gave her pause. The yard was a muddy mess, strewn with trash. A few scraggly weeds, the only signs of greenery, struggled to survive. The house had once been painted white, but most of the paint had long since worn away leaving a weathered, dreary grey. But of course she’d go in. She wouldn’t hurt Luther’s feelings, and besides, she wanted to meet his sisters.

  Belle carefully lifted her skirts as they followed a muddy walkway to the door. When it opened, a thin little girl peered out. “Luther!” She squealed with delight, swung the door wide, and threw her arms around him. Another little girl, slightly older, appeared, and he hugged them both. “Meet Susan and Helen,” he said.

  Belle gave them both a cordial greeting. How unkempt they looked, both of them barefooted, wearing faded, frayed dresses. Susan’s brown hair hung limp and full of snarls around her shoulders. Helen’s fine, blond hair looked as if it had never seen a comb.

  When they stepped inside, Belle had to adjust her eyes to the dim light in the dingy front parlor. When she did, she made out an immensely obese woman sitting with her legs spread—most unladylike—on a sagging sofa. The woman was gnawing on a chicken leg and made no effort to get up to greet them.

  “This is Mrs. Shelton,” Luther said. “She and Mr. Shelton are the ones who took in my sisters.”

  “Out of the kindness of our hearts,” Mrs. Shelton remarked, her many chins jiggling. She waved her chicken leg toward some shabby, greasy-looking chairs. “You wanna sit down?”

  Not really, Belle thought. The visitors remained standing as a burly, unshaven man in drooping pants and a sweat-stained undershirt appeared, looking none too pleased to see them. “Back again, Luther?” he asked. “Who are your friends?”

  Yancy spoke up. “You’re Mr. Shelton? We’re friends of Luther. He wanted to visit his sisters and see how they’re doing. We’re here to oblige.”

  Shelton scowled. “I pay good money to feed ’em, give ’em a roof over their heads, and they’re doing fine.” He glared at Luther. “See that you don’t stay too long. The girls have their work to do.” Without another word, he turned and left.

  His wife waved her chicken leg around. “Jake’s right. There ain’t nothing wrong with these girls except they’re lazy. They like it here.” She looked to where Luther’s sisters still clung to him. “Ain’t that right, girls?”

  Belle had to bite her tongue. Obviously the sisters did not like it here. Aside from their bedraggled appearance, their arms and legs were like sticks, a sure sign they weren’t getting enough to eat. Not only that, she’d seen their look of fear when Shelton appeared. What a loathsome man he was, and his wife, too. What a disgusting place this was. Good manners weren’t necessary in a place like this, and she’d had quite enough. “I’ll wait in the carriage,” she said abruptly and headed for the door. Once outside, she took a deep breath of crisp, clean air. Those poor little girls. Someth
ing had to be done.

  Yancy and Luther soon joined her. For a time, as Yancy drove back to Mrs. Hollister’s, they sat in silence, Luther with a pained expression on his face, Yancy with his jaw clenched. Belle couldn’t find words for her anger.

  Luther finally spoke up. “I’m sorry. I should never have taken you to see them.”

  “Yes, you should have,” said Yancy. “We’re going to get your sisters out of there.”

  “But how?”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  Luther said no more, and neither did Belle. She didn’t need to. If Yancy said he was going to do something, she could count on him to do it.

  * * * *

  Only a few days had passed since Luther’s arrival, but no longer was Mrs. Edith Hollister the glum, brittle old lady Belle met on the train. She’d acquired a smile on her face and a spring in her step. Now, having served tea to Belle, Yancy, and Luther in the drawing room, she sat back and inquired, “Was there something you wanted to ask me? I have the feeling there is.”

  Belle spoke up. “As you know, we took Luther to visit his sisters today....”

  She went on to describe the deplorable conditions in which the two little girls were living, and how they must be rescued. “So I was thinking…”

  “That you’d like to bring them here?” Mrs. Hollister asked.

  “It would be only temporary,” Luther said. “Only until I can save a little money and find a decent place for them to live.”

  Belle addressed Mrs. Hollister. “You don’t have to say yes. What with taking Luther in, you’ve done far more than enough already. Besides, I suspect you’d have even more trouble with Malcolm and his wife.”