FIRE AND FOG (7 page)

"Oh!" She dropped the glass, spilling the remaining cider onto
ground, which had been grassy when the tent was first set up, but
now was packed hard and worn bare. The blanket fell from her
shoulders. "Oh, I must find him, I can't stay here!"

"Hush, now. Be still." Bartlett was up in a flash, rewrapping
the blanket and seating Alice in the chair. "Chances are the man
you're looking for is right here in Golden Gate Park. Most of the
refugees are; you couldn't have come to a better place for finding
someone. Now, dear, who is it you're trying to find?"

"My h-husband." The word unleashed a fresh flood of tears. I
fished out my crumpled handkerchief and handed it over. So, she
really did have a husband. And he, no doubt, was the cause of
Alice's absence from the public library in recent months. She
wouldn't have continued to work after marriage.

"He is almost certain to be here," I said with more confidence
than I felt. We did not have a listing of all the people who had
taken refuge in the park, nor even of those who'd had medical
treatment during the first, worst days. Learning the names of the
dead had had top priority; of those we had a list, but Alice was in
no condition to see it yet. If her husband's name was on it, I
feared for her sanity.

"He wouldn't be
here.
Why are all those people here? Why
don't they go home?" asked Alice in a whining tone.

Nurse Bartlett's prune-face had the intense expression I had
seen at other times, when she was trying to decide whether or not
to call in a doctor. There were too few doctors to go around, and
the nurses did not call upon them lightly. So I took it upon myself
to answer that astonishing question.

"They have no homes to go to. They lost them in the earthquake,
Alice." Perhaps her sanity was already gone.

"The earthquake." Again her hand strayed to her forehead, and
again she winced. Slowly, in visible pain, she shook her head. "No,
that's not it. I remember that; it made a frightful noise and all
the pictures fell down. He, uh, my husband was there then. At home.
But he-he went out. And he didn't come back. I kept thinking he
would-he always comes back, you know-but he didn't. And so I went
to look for him, but I got lost. There was . . . there was a fire,
I think. Was there a fire, Fremont?"

"Yes." Understatement of the century. Any century.

"And everything looked different, it was all so confusing, and I
hid. Somewhere. Everything was so strange that I couldn't find my
way."

"Well, that's all over now," said Bartlett, standing, her mind
apparently made up. "First things first. You're a very lucky young
lady to have taken such a hard fall with so little damage. I expect
your head hurts, and you may develop a slight swelling of the
brain, but I doubt it will amount to anything serious. What you
need most is to get some food into you, and after that a nice long
rest. Fremont, take Alice out to a table and get her some soup and
bread. See that she eats it all, but slowly. Meanwhile, I'll find a
place for her in one of the tents." She switched her focus from me
to Alice. "You'll have to share, which is just as well, because you
need to sleep, but someone will have to wake you every now and then
to check for signs of brain swelling."

Alice was hungry; at the mention of soup and bread, I was
pleased to see, a light came into her eyes. She'd risen eagerly,
but now she frowned. "I don't want to be in a tent. Why should I?
Why can't I just eat and go home?"

Bartlett raised her sparse eyebrows, which in turn arched the
rows of wrinkles on her forehead. "Where is your house?"

"You did say this is Golden Gate Park?" The nurse and I nodded
and replied in chorus, "Yes." "My house is on Haight, not far from
here." "Ah," I said with a shade of envy, "so it's all right then."
The Haight was one of the few districts that had escaped both the
quake and the fires relatively unscathed.

"Of course it is," said Alice a trifle imperiously, gathering
her blanket around her like a royal cape and proceeding through the
tent flap.

"Not quite," said Nurse Bartlett quietly, to me alone. "Fremont,
she'll be better off in her own home, but she shouldn't be alone
for at least twenty-four hours. So if that husband of hers isn't
there ..."

Which was how I got stuck with Alice.

"You are a godsend, Fremont Jones," Alice whispered to me as I
tucked her into her own bed in her own house on the corner of
Haight and Belvedere. Her husband was not there, and for the moment
she seemed to have forgotten about him, which was just as well.

"You exaggerate," I said lightly, biting back what I wanted to
say, which was
I seriously doubt it.
My acquaintance with
God is scanty at best; I presume He is more in the habit of sending
His obedient servants. Obedience was never my strong point, with
God or otherwise.

Alice's blankets were a deep shade of rose, banded in satin that
was cool to my touch as I smoothed them over her shoulders. The
word "Godsend" had set up a kind of echo in my head, and I recalled
that I'd been told that same thing a year ago, by a young man who
came to a most unfortunate end. No wonder I had no liking for the
term, however well intended.

Alice let out a luxurious sigh, turned on her side, and folded
her small hands under her chin.

I turned away from the bed and eased the watch out of my pocket.
Twelve forty-five-Alice's problems had taken the entire balance of
my morning. If I hurried, I could reach the Presidio in time to
fulfill my promise to Dr. Anson Tyler.

I had previously closed Alice into her bathroom with a jug of
the Red Cross's precious water-the indoor running kind that we took
for granted was still lacking-and instructions to bathe herself.
The meal of bread and soup had quite restored her, from which I
concluded that her faintness and confusion had been mostly due to
lack of food. I doubted she had much brain swelling, but Bartlett
had said one could not be sure for twenty-four hours.

Alice had emerged from the bathroom in pristine condition except
for the bruise on her head, which had worked its way up to a
brilliant shade of purple.
Her
wardrobe had not so much as
shifted from its place against her bedroom wall, and contained some
very fancy duds, quite unlike those she used to wear when working
as a librarian. Apparently her husband had expensive taste. And was
a cad, to boot, for going off and leaving her at a time like
this.

As Alice seemed incapable of making any decision at all, I had
chosen a silky nightdress trimmed with lace and ribbons and helped
her into it, and thence into bed. Where now she snuggled
prettily.

"Now that you are settled, I must leave for a while," I said,
steeling myself against the protest I knew would come.

It did, but I held firm. "I've made a commitment to pick up a
very busy doctor at the Presidio and take him where he next needs
to go. The Maxwell and I are, of necessity, kept on the run these
days."

"But-"

"But
I will be back shortly. You'll be fine, Alice. Nurse
Bartlett has said that you should sleep. I only have to wake you
every two hours to be sure your brain does not swell. I'll return
before the two hours are up. Now, I must go."

I turned on my heel and closed my ears. Already I knew that
Alice was a whiner, but I would have to try to make allowances. In
the doorway I paused long enough to wave and smile. "Sleep, Alice,
sleep well."

I closed the door behind me and hurried out of the house,
feeling a little guilty. Yes, she whined, but she had been through
a lot. And anyone could see that she had a fragile, delicate
nature; such women were, I supposed, constitutionally more subject
to whining and fainting in the street than tall, obstinate
creatures like myself. Also, I reflected as I automatically cranked
the Maxwell, they are more likely to get husbands.

Good heavens-where had that thought come from? As if I wanted
one. Hah! Even if I had a husband, I wouldn't know what to do with
him. Nor he with me, I expected.

A few minutes later I drove through the Presidio grounds rather
gaily, glad to be back in my usual routine.

Anson was waiting, and he climbed into the auto immediately so
that I did not have to cut the motor.

"Fremont, how good of you to come for me."

"Where to?" I asked, backing and turning.

"To the Mission District. I thought I'd take a little time out
before going back to the aid station. I want to put my office in
order and post a sign saying that I will resume seeing patients
there tomorrow. My office occupies the front two rooms of my house;
I'll give you specific directions when we're closer."

"So you won't continue working with the Red Cross?" I felt a
pang of disappointment.

"I'll give them half my time, at least. The need is not so
urgent now."

"I expect you're right about that, thank goodness." Acres and
acres of the city looked like a war zone, and smelled like burnt
charcoal, but along every street we passed there were people
cleaning up and picking through the rubble.

As I drove and turned when he indicated, I told Anson about
Alice.

"Nurse Bartlett oversteps her bounds," he said in a censorious
tone.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The duty of a nurse is to keep patients clean and comfortable
and, when asked, to give assistance to the doctor. That is all. She
should not take it upon herself to diagnose. Nurse Bartlett doesn't
keep to her place."

"Oh, Anson, I disagree! I realize I have little experience in
these matters, but Mrs. Bartlett is an excellent nurse. She uses
her good judgment to make the most of your time, and that of the
other doctors."

"Nevertheless, I think I should see your friend Alice for
myself. Turn the auto around, Fremont, and take me to her
house."

"That's very good of you," said I, not slowing by a whit, "but
Alice has an almost pathological fear of strangers. When I left she
was going peacefully to sleep, which, believe me, is a considerable
improvement over her previous state. I am to wake her every two
hours, and I promise that if I see any of the signs of brain
swelling that Bartlett told me to look for, I will come for you. Is
that satisfactory?"

"Women!" He said it like an oath, but grudgingly he smiled.
"Actually, I admit I do appreciate a capable woman. And you are
very capable, Fremont. You are the only woman driver I have ever
known, and you do it well."

"Driving is not difficult," I said, glad to have peace restored
between us, "and I enjoy it."

"Not to lessen your enjoyment, but slow down, please. We must
turn left at the corner here." A leaning street sign marked it as
Valencia Street. "My house is in the next block."

I had not been in this part of town before and regarded the
houses with interest. A few days ago I would have thought them
modest, but now anything that was still standing looked as
desirable as a palace to me. There was some earthquake damage, more
than in Alice's neighborhood of larger homes, but less than in so
many places.

"Here we are," Anson said, and I applied the brakes. His gray
frame house showed the ubiquitous smoky grime rather less than its
once white neighbors. It had black trim, too somber for my taste; I
should have painted the trim that shade of dark red we use so often
on doors in Boston. But then, it was not my house. It had one and a
half stories, a pitched roof, and two steps leading from the
sidewalk to a center entrance. In one of the front windows was a
two-line sign: anson tyler, m.d. general medicine.

He invited me in, but I declined. I was ravenously hungry and no
doubt would have to stand in a long line for food, and then I had
to get back to Alice.

"In that case, perhaps you will come another time?" "Perhaps," I
said and drove off, my cheeks glowing from Anson's obvious
interest.

Alice slept so prettily that it seemed a shame to wake her. I
wondered what I looked like asleep. Like a harridan, probably, with
my long, straight hair tangled around my neck-I hate to braid it
before bed, because braids leave such horrid kinks. Alice's hair
curled, but it needed a wash. I wondered if she kept a tank outside
to catch the rainwater; if so, she was in luck because of the
recent rain, and I wouldn't have minded washing my own hair. I
thought I would ask her, but she was so groggy when I woke her that
I let it go. I had her track my finger with her eyes as Nurse
Bartlett had done. She did it well enough, and I told her to go
back to sleep.

I went downstairs. It was three o'clock, and I had promised to
meet Meiling at four forty-five. I would have to wake Alice again
before I left. Perhaps I might rest myself, on the parlor sofa. If
I lay down in a real bed there was no telling how long I'd sleep. I
seemed to be always tired these days, to one degree or another.

Alice's house was grander than Mrs. O'Leary's, with higher
ceilings and more spacious rooms. The rooms were arranged on either
side of a central hall, whose staircase had a fine mahogany railing
and was carpeted with an oriental runner. There were two parlors at
the front, one furnished more formally than the other. The formal
one was no doubt for entertaining, the other for family use. I went
into the latter and reclined on the sofa, closing my eyes. Such
luxury, to be in a real house again! How quiet it was, with not
even the ticking of a clock to mar the stillness.
Someone should
wind Alice's clocks,
I thought.

I opened my eyes. Someone should pick up all the mess, sweep up
the glass from the broken picture frames. I had grown so used to
such conditions that I hadn't much noticed earlier when I was
getting Alice settled. I closed my eyes again. This was not my
house, cleaning it up was not my concern. Not any more than was the
color of Anson's trim. Being homeless was making me think too much
about houses.