Page 19 of Forbidden Fire

I an dared take no time to ascertain Marissa’s condition while they remained within the building.

The Tremaynes had built a fortress, but not even a fortress could stand in the path of the ferocious gas blaze surely eating its way to them.

There was no time for anything; he could only carry her through the tunnel space, locked to his body with one arm, while he used his feet and his free hand to drag them along. When he came to the end of the tunnel through the debris, Darrin was waiting to help him. He allowed Marissa to collapse into Darrin’s arms, then slipped free himself, calling to Ralph and Teddy that they must hurry.

He jumped clear and swept Marissa into his arms, leaving the others to deal with Sandy and Father Donohue as he carried her fleetly from the building and into the daylight.

There was not much of it. The smoke was a blanket upon them now.

She inhaled and exhaled on a shaky note. Her eyelids flickered open, and she offered him a feeble smile. Then her eyes flickered shut once again. He set a finger upon her pulse and found it steady. He whispered her name and leaned closely over her, listening to the pattern of her breathing. It, too, was steady and deep. She was going to be all right.

“Mr. Tremayne!” Ralph was behind him, carrying the Father with the help of one of the lads. The other boys had already fled to safety, except for Darrin. And Darrin was never going to leave Marissa, Ian knew that.

“How’s the lady, sir?” Ralph asked. Darrin had already come around beside him.

“She’ll make it,” Ian said. He rose, carrying his burden. No, no burden, ever, he thought. Her weight was easy to hold.

They hadn’t made it, though. Not yet, he thought. The street was filled with refugees, fleeing the threat of fire. Some were dressed, some were not. Some carried belongings. And some abandoned them along the way.

“Mr. Tremayne!”

He heard a shout and turned to see that a horse-drawn hospital wagon was coming to their side of the street. Driving it was one of Dennis Sullivan’s fire lieutenants, Matthew Montague.

“Matthew!” he called in return. The wagon came to a halt at his side. “Sir, you’re needed down the street. A man with building experience. They’ve got to rig up some kind of a system to lift a roof. There’s twenty people trapped. Can you help them?”

“My wife—” he murmured, looking at Marissa. Her clothes were sooty and bloodied, her face was blackened with smudges of dirt. She was so still, and so beautiful, in her dishevelment. So vulnerable. They couldn’t ask him to leave her.

“I can take your injured to the hospital, sir. Your wife will be well tended, I swear it.”

“I cannot leave her,” Ian said.

Darrin stepped up behind him. “I’ll stay with her, sir. I’ll never leave her. I’ll tend her, I promise.”

Bobby touched his arm. “I’ll come with you, sir.”

Ian wanted to scream out against the injustice. He had crawled through hell to reach Marissa, and now they wanted him to abandon her.

But she was going to be all right. He knew it. And there were twenty people caught beneath a roof, and he could help. He couldn’t let them burn. The death toll would be high enough today.

“All right, Matthew.”

Darrin leaped into the wagon and Ian crawled up behind him. There were already injured aboard. People with hollow eyes and bloodied bandages. Ian glanced their way, then laid his wife down, her head cushioned gently upon Darrin’s lap. With guilt he realized that Father Donohue and Sandy were in far more dangerous shape, and he helped to bring them to the wagon.

“Where is Chief Sullivan going to form his fire line?” he asked Matthew.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know much of the plan yet. I’m afraid the chief is in the hospital. He went to reach his wife and fell through the floor.” He was quiet for a minute. “I’m afraid they don’t think he’s going to make it, Mr. Tremayne.”

Ian felt ill. Dennis Sullivan had been the one man in the city truly aware of its strengths and weaknesses. A good man, who had fought for more.

“I’ve got to get going, Mr. Tremayne,” Matthew said nervously. He looked at the flames that were clearly visible behind them.

Ian stepped back. Darrin looked over the side. “Take care of them!” he called to Matthew.

The wagon rolled away. Terror struck his heart.

He might never see Marissa again. He was going to walk in the direction of the fire.

He had to see her again. They had survived thus far; they had to weather the fire.

She had never understood him. When he had tried to tell her she hadn’t listened. He didn’t give a damn if she was the daughter of the greatest sinner or the finest saint, a child of riches or a waif born in poverty. He had fallen in love with her, and neither time nor distance had changed a thing. He had been angry because she had lied, and kept on lying. She hadn’t trusted him. Even when he had cradled her in his arms and spun out his dreams for their future, she hadn’t trusted him.

She had never said that she loved him. Not until she had needed him. And then he had been angrier still because it had seemed that she needed to buy his help. He would have gone for her uncle whether she had loved him or despised him. She should have known that.

But that was the only time she had said she loved him. Until this morning.

And then she had run away from him.

Away from him …

And into the fire.

“I’m with you, sir,” Bobby said, clearing his throat and tapping Ian on the shoulder.

“No, you’re not,” Ian told him. Bobby was a young man and there were surely enough willing hands by the downed roof. Only a fool walked toward a fire.

“See that bay there, Bobby? He’s my horse, a darned good one. Take him and follow the wagon. Make sure that everyone is taken care of. Do what you can. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“But, sir—” Bobby protested,

“Would you get the hell out of here so I can get where I’m needed?” Ian demanded impatiently. Then he turned and started walking into the stream of people. The going was hard. People, some half dressed, were surging down the street. They carried what they could, or dragged carts of household belongings. Some held nothing, and some looked dazed. Some wore bandages, and some chatted as if they were tourists out for a stroll. And some had eyes that seemed already dead.

Ahead of him, he saw the fallen roof, and half a dozen firemen and civilian volunteers trying to help. One of the men recognized him, and they all made way for Ian to survey the situation. He called for rope and pulleys, and explained that they were going to lever away a section with what equipment they had. Everyone set to work.

To Ian’s amazement, he realized that the coming fire was casting light across the darkening street. Twilight was coming.

And the fire was coming closer and closer. And with it, a continual stream of humanity.

San Francisco was under military law, someone told them. Funston had taken over at about four in the afternoon.

Looters were being warned that if they were caught, the police and the military would shoot to kill.

There had been tremendous bravery.

And there had been events to shock humanity. Thieves chopping away fingers to steal rings from corpses. Scalpers demanding huge amounts of money for the use of their wagons. Grocers demanding fortunes for a loaf of bread.

And always, there was the fire.

By early evening, the roof was cleared away. They were able to pull three women, six children and seven men from the wreckage. Three men were dead; they had been crushed by the falling walls. And one woman had been suffocated by the plaster. They had probably died immediately, Ian thought. And he breathed a prayer of relief, for he had been hearing other tales, horrible tales. Stories about men and women trapped, and rescuers trying to help them but not being able to. Stories about people running from the blaze, hearing the screams of the trapped behind them.

There was one story about the man who had begged an army officer to shoot him before the blaze could reach him.

Ian stayed with the firemen and the volunteers as the dusk became darkness, and only the ferocious fire was left to light the city.

It was out of control. It didn’t take a trained eye to see that. The fire was entirely out of control.

And so, it seemed, was the city.

He had been holding her. Holding her, looking down into her eyes. And his gaze had been blue-gray with anguish, filled with concern. He had held her, and she had known that things would be all right …

But even as she awoke, she sensed that he was no longer with her.

Everything around her was white. Incredibly white. She blinked and realized Darrin was sitting in a chair by her bedside. He saw that her eyes were open and leaped to his feet.

“Mrs. Tremayne! You’re awake. The doc said you’d come to soon enough. Promised me that you’d be fine, he did. I couldn’t believe him, I was so scared. Well, no, I wasn’t really scared, you know—”

“It’s all right, it’s all right!” Marissa acknowledged with a weak smile. She tried to sit up. She felt a fierce pounding, but it quickly subsided. “Ouch!” she murmured.

“Oh, you are still hurt—”

“Darrin! I’ve a knot on the head and a bit of an ache, but I’m sure the doctor was right and I’ll be just fine. I was never badly hurt.”

“Well, you had us frightened enough!” Darrin told her. “You were out cold.”

“But I’m awake now,” she said gently. “Darrin, what about Father Donohue and Sandy?”

“They set the Father’s leg and gave him some brandy and sent him on. Sandy is not doing so well. She lost an awful lot of blood, they say. But they’ve sewn her up, and they’re crossing their fingers. Now, you hold on, Mrs. Tremayne. I’m going for the doctor—”

“Wait!” she called. “Darrin, what—what happened to Mr. Tremayne?”

“Oh!” He came back to her bedside. “They needed him. He had to stay.”

“What?” she cried with alarm.

“Seems they needed somebody who knew something about the structure of a building to lift up a roof. Mr. Tremayne had to go back with them. I promised him, though, that I would stay with you.”

Marissa nodded, feeling dizzy. He’d gone on. He’d pulled her through, but then he’d gone on. And she must have dreamed that he held her in his arms with such anguish and tenderness.

Darrin returned in seconds, but not with a doctor. One of the nurses, a black-garbed nun, accompanied him into the room.

“Ah, Mrs. Tremayne, I’m so glad that you’re back with us. Dr. Spencer says you’ll be fine, just as long as you take it easy. Except that I’m afraid you won’t be able to take it quite so easy. We’re evacuating the hospital.”

“What?” Marissa gasped.

The nun grimaced. “I’m afraid the fire is coming our way, and doing so quickly.”

“The fire has come this far?”

“Indeed, I’m afraid so. We’re under martial law, and officers have just come to warn us that we must be out.”

“Has anything been heard of my husband, Sister?” Marissa was already crawling out of the bed.

“Mrs. Tremayne,” the Sister said with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to find my husband—”

“Mrs. Tremayne, there is no way to find your husband. He is working with the rescue crews, and he is a very smart man, I’ve heard. He’ll find you when he’s able. Don’t you see!” she added with some frustration. “There’s no way for you to find him! Mrs. Tremayne! There’s looting going on out there. And police and army traveling the streets. Looters have been shot dead in the streets. Children have been beaten. Thievery and abuse goes on. You cannot find your husband, and he can take care of himself. He will find us, I promise you.”

“But we’re moving—” Marissa began.

“To the park, Mrs. Tremayne. He’ll find us. Now, get back in bed until we’ve got the evacuation arranged.”

Marissa shook her head. “No, Sister. I can’t find Ian, but I’m not sick. And others are. I can help, and so can Darrin. Give us something to do.”

“Mrs. Tremayne—”

“Sister, we can carry things!”

The Sister sighed, then smiled. “Fine! I can use some volunteers! Those who can walk will. We’ve wagons outside for those who cannot. Come, I’ll assign you to patients to watch!”

Ian thought it had been the longest day of his life. He stayed with his crew, connected with what was going on in the city through messages from the policemen, the firemen and occasionally one of the army officers.

The main thrust against the fire had been the use of dynamite.

But the firemen had never really been trained to use dynamite. Though the rumor was subdued, it was out there that they were causing more damage than good. Improperly laid, the explosions were sending sparks on to untouched dwellings.

But they needed a good fire wall. A solid stretch of space with nothing to feed the flames.

Mayor Schmitz was calling meetings and forming a committee of civilians to help make decisions. People were saying that Freddie Funston had had no right to place the city under martial law.

But terrible stories were running rampant. Stories of men shot for looting, and left in the streets with placards attached to their bodies. “Punishment for looting! Thieves take care!”

There were stories about cowardice and wretchedness. Stories about the average man, and stories about the rich and famous.

Word had already come in from Oakland that William Randolph Hearst, the great native-born San Franciscan now living in the east, had sent out early morning editorials minimizing the damage and change to the city.

He would definitely be changing his editorials in his New York and Chicago newspapers. When the San Francisco Examiner started up print again, there would be nothing left to minimize.

There was terror in the streets, but there was also the greatest heroism.

Ian, so tired that he didn’t even feel it any more, just kept on working. He moved along with the fire wagon, his pick thrown over his shoulder, traveling from site to site, wherever he was needed. Bobby had come back to him with messages. Marissa was fine, safely in the hospital. Bobby had ridden to the house on Nob Hill, and Theo and the Kwans and Jimmy and Mary O’Brien were fine. The house had stood well, and none of the animals had been injured.

Darrin was still with Marissa, and a Dr. Spencer had said that she would suffer no aftereffects. It was really just a bump on the head.

Bobby rode back, and Ian felt at ease.

Until he heard that the fire had come licking dangerously close to the hospital. Then he knew that he had to hurry. He felt desperate to reach Marissa.

He was afraid he might lose her forever.

By then, they were into the second day of the fire. Marines had been ordered in, and orders came down that the crew had to break for a few hours of sleep at the very least.

Ian didn’t sleep.

He left the others and hurried through the streets to the hospital. He’d had a perfectly good horse, he reminded himself. He’d given the bay away, and now he’d have given everything to have him back.

He started to run, feeling that he wouldn’t make it in time.

He didn’t. The last wagon was drawing away as he reached the hospital.

The first lick of fire was touching the roof.

Ahead, Ian saw a man on foot, following the wagon. Ian raced after the man.

“Wait! Where have the patients gone? Where are they being taken?”

The man stopped and turned to him. He looked as weary and worn as Ian felt.

“They’ve all gone, sir. They’ve all gone.”

“Yes, I know, but where?”

“The Golden Gate Park. They’re setting up the hospital and more. There will be tents for those left homeless, and food lines.” He paused for a minute, looking at Ian. “Hope you find who you’re looking for, sir. I sure do.”

“Thank you,” Ian said. “I’ll find her.”

Exhausted, he started walking toward the park.

He just wanted to see her face.

The hospital had almost been cleared when Marissa ran into Dr. Spencer in the hallway.

“I heard you were up and about, Mrs. Tremayne.” He caught hold of her and led her beneath one of the lamps, inspecting her eyes. “Well, it seems that you look all right. Are you still dizzy? Nauseated?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, really.”

He sighed. “There’s nothing much I could do about it if you weren’t. Too many broken bones and bleeders and burn victims. Still, you ought to be taking it easy during the next few days.”

“I—I need something to do,” she told him.

“All right, then. I’ve got a broken ankle left down in the ward. A society belle, and I haven’t the medical staff to deal with her. The ankle is splinted and set. She’ll have to hobble along. She’s the last to be moved except for a few of the critical patients, and I need to get her down to the wagon as quickly as possible. We’re out of crutches, and we haven’t a spare person to try to fashion anything makeshift at the moment. Want to take her on?”

Marissa nodded, and Dr. Spencer pointed down the hall. “Left door. You’re on your own.”

She wasn’t exactly on her own. Darrin, her little shadow, was waiting for her even as she spoke to Dr. Spencer. Marissa grimaced to him as the doctor walked on to tend to his more serious patients. Then she started down the hall to the ward.

A woman was sitting propped up on the bed. She was clad in day clothes, with her dove-gray skirt split so that the ankle could be attended to properly.

She looked at Marissa as Marissa walked into the room, and then both women froze.

“You!” Grace Leroux whispered.

From down the hall came a scream. “The fire! My God, it’s caught the roof.”

“Hurry! It’s catching fast.”

Marissa saw the fear that flicked through the other woman’s eyes. She clenched her jaw and walked into the room, Darrin following her.

“Come on. We’ve got to get you out of here,” Marissa told the woman. And to her surprise, Grace started to laugh. There was something very near hysteria in the sound. “You’re going to help me? I don’t believe it. Don’t you know that this place could incinerate at any minute?”

“Yes, I know, so let’s hurry.”

“Oh, aren’t you just so kind!”

“Grace, let’s go,” Marissa urged.

And then the woman was quiet. “You’re really going to help save me, after everything?”

“You spread rumors about me, Grace. That’s not exactly murder.”

Grace kept looking at her. It was Darrin who spoke. “Don’t you understand?” he said softly. “Grace is the one who set you up. She paid those men to kidnap you, to take you to Chinatown. To sell you across the ocean.”

Marissa inhaled sharply. Staring at Grace, she knew it was the truth.

“So what now, Mrs. Tremayne?” Grace mocked softly. “Are you still so willing to save me?”

Marissa took hold of her arm and pulled her up. “Yes, I hate the stench of burning flesh. Now, for the love of God, can we go?”

Darrin supported one shoulder, Marissa the other. It was very slow going, but she and Darrin eventually got Grace down the stairs and into the wagon.

Dr. Spencer came riding up to the wagon then. “Get in with the patients, Mrs. Tremayne—” he nodded to Darrin “—son.”

“I don’t think that there’s room—” Marissa began.

“You’re still my patient. Get in.” He rode up close to her. “You’re a reckless young woman, Mrs. Tremayne. Brave. But do you really want to risk the child you’re carrying?”

She felt a flush cover her cheeks. Darrin had heard the man. She didn’t know who else had. And she didn’t know if it mattered or not. They were living in disaster. Who would even remember the doctor’s words?

And she didn’t know if Ian would come back so she could try to tell him herself.

Without a word, she crawled into the wagon.

But when they reached the park, she discovered she couldn’t dwell on any of her own worries. People were streaming in from all over the city. Food lines were set up, and they needed people to man them. Children were running around, lost and terrified. There were minor injuries that need attending to.

Help was on the way. A train was coming in from the east laden with doctors and nurses. They would come soon.

But for the moment, she was needed.

Even Nob Hill had been threatened. The great mansions were catching on fire. A new worry awoke in her as she feared for Uncle Theo, Mary and Jimmy. She had to believe that they would get out all right.

Marissa found the woman in charge of the food lines. The heavy-bosomed matron had no difficulty putting her straight to work. She and Darrin were assigned the lost children.

Marissa immediately began to make plates for them, and bind up little injuries, and try to make them believe that everything would soon be all right.

She was holding one little toddler when she looked up to see Bobby. He was staring at her, as pleased as could be. “Found your uncle, Mrs. Tremayne. And the Chinese folks and your friends down the hill. And the horses are going to be all right, well, I think they are, they were confiscated by the city. Better than burning up for nothing, right? Anyway—”

He stepped back, and there was Theo. She leaped up with a glad cry and hugged and kissed him. Theo was fine; his eyes were bright. He was ready for this new battle. He took the toddler from her while she went to see Mary.

Mary was already ill. Rounded now with her baby, but pale, she was lying on an army cot in one of the little tents. Pale and beautiful. Marissa felt her heart go out to her friend.

Mary cried out when she saw her, trying to rise to embrace her. Marissa hurried to her side and sank down beside her. “Oh, Mary, I’m so glad to see you safe—”

“And you! Bobby told us you’d been hurt, and we were so worried, but here you are.”

“We’ve survived it, Mary. And we’re going to keep surviving.”

“You’re so strong. Always so strong. I don’t know what I would have done without you through the years.”

Marissa looked at Mary and smiled wryly. “Me! Oh, Mary, you’ve always been the one with the optimism, certain that things would work!”

“The weak one. So useless now.”

“Mary! You’re not useless. You’re about to have a baby. Very soon. Oh, Mary! Strength isn’t in anything that we can or can’t do. It’s in the heart! And you’ve the strength of a tiger, I promise you.”

Mary smiled, her lashes low, not quite believing Marissa, but not about to argue with her. Marissa told her to sleep, that she needed to get back to the children.

When she returned, she realized that her group was growing. Someone had handed Darrin a six-month-old child for her to tend to, so now her charges ran from that babe to a sweet fifteen-year-old girl who was doing her very best to be helpful. There were about thirty in all. And all of them frightened and missing their parents.

Marissa made sure that they were fed. She set about tending to their little wounds again. It was easier now. She and Darrin weren’t alone. Bobby was there to do her bidding, and Jimmy split his time between seeing to his wife and helping her with the children.

And she had Uncle Theo, too, and between them they got the children settled down for some sleep, despite the fact that it was still daytime. And between them, they sat in the large tent allotted them all, and spun out fairy tales to take the children’s minds off of the disaster.

Toward the end of the night, she looked up to see that a man was leaning against the post at the entrance. She stared harder and she realized that the tall, blackened creature was Ian.

Her heart slammed hard against her chest, and then seemed to fly. He was alive.

And he was watching her. She didn’t know how long he had been standing there. She thought that it might have been awhile.

She almost cried out, almost leaped up and rushed to his arms. But she was suddenly afraid. Maybe his wife shouldn’t be here. Maybe she was showing the circumstances of her birth, both she and Theo, so at home in such conditions.

He was alive, she told herself, and nothing else mattered.

But Ian didn’t move, and she didn’t move. She stared at the little girl tugging on her ragged skirt, and she finished her story with a faltering voice.

And then she rose. She tucked the little girl into a cot. “Your husband’s come, Marissa,” Uncle Theo said. “I’ll see to the rest. With Darrin, me fine lad. And then I’ll be tucking him in, too. This has been way too much for a boy this one’s age.”

“Thank you,” Marissa murmured. She smoothed her hands over her skirt and stared at Ian. They were a pair. He was black with soot from head to toe, his white shirt barely recognizable, his hands charred, his hair whitened with ash. And she was still in her blackened white, too, her skirt torn for bandages.

And then he walked slowly toward her. The blue of his eyes was startling against the darkness of his face.

“Ian!” she murmured awkwardly. She smoothed her hands down her skirt again. “I’m so glad that you’re alive!” she whispered, and then she kept talking. Too swiftly, and defensively. “I shouldn’t be here, I imagine. If you’d married a real lady, she wouldn’t be among the bread lines and the waifs. I’m sorry, I—”

“Ian!” Jimmy burst into the tent. “Ian, can you come quick? We need some help.”