All the Blue of Heaven (14 page)

           
As they settled into the carriage, Allie breathed a deep sigh of relief. Soon
they would be back at Bellevue and she could change out of this gown. She
yearned to slip into a loose gown and a painter’s smock, to relax her mind and
renew her spirit while she let the muse guide her hand. Allie bit her lip in
frustration, forcing the comforting picture from her mind’s eye. That was not
her life anymore.

           
“Mrs. Larson is in a particularly delicate position after the passing of her
husband last year,” Mr. Bascomb said, his tone inviting Allie’s questions. He
nodded sagely at her as the carriage rumbled down the wide road. Houses passed by
in a blur and the sun shone hot.

           
Allie assumed Mr. Bascomb was discussing the woman’s fortune. She bit back a
retort, and swallowed her anger. She did not want to inquire into Mrs. Larson’s
teetering finances. Perhaps this was why the woman seemed fragile, unsure. She
wished she had known before the tea. Of course, she could not have mentioned
it, but the knowledge that all was not well in the Larson estate made Allie
wish she had been a bit warmer toward her.

           
As Mr. Bascomb continued, Allie made noises indicating that she was listening
intently. Which she was not. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling exhaustion
from the long sleepless night creep over her. The street seemed rougher than
the streets of San Francisco, more missing cobblestones and dips.

           
For a moment, Allie felt herself spun backwards in time. If she opened her
eyes, she would see her beloved bay city as it was before the disaster. At this
time of day the top of the sand dunes near Golden Gate Park  was clear and
bright, the fog having burned off in wisps and curls as the morning grew
warmer. The shimmering sea hovered at the foot as steamers meandered to the
waterfront. Countless Saturday afternoons, she and Janey had walked from the
last streetcar line up through the dunes, bringing a small basket for the wild
strawberries the carpeted the dunes. Sometimes deer wandered into the dunes to
forage for berries. She and her little charge stayed quiet as the does picked
delicately through the underbrush. The stags stood near, majestic heads held
high.

           How
she missed setting up her smallest easel and opening the travel palette of
paints.  After Janey had eaten her fill of sweet strawberries, she rested
on a little red blanket. Their time was their own, to spend as they pleased.
The thought of the little girl brought Allie’s thoughts back from the past with
a snap. It was so different here.  Allie was directed on carriage rides and tea
dates while Janey... How was she faring in her mother’s house? Allie fought a
rising tide of anxiety and glanced out the carriage. They were not so far from
home, she reassured herself.

           
A crack like a gunshot sounded from underneath the carriage and Allie gasped as
it lurched to one side. Mr. Bascomb grabbed for the frame of the low carriage
and barked out, “Can’t you be a bit more careful? Try to avoid the stones!”

           
The driver pulled to the side with a jerk and the carriage came to an unsteady
stop.

           
“Now what is he doing?” Bascomb snarled, huffing out a breath as he strained to
see out the window.

           
Allie felt a lurch as the drive leapt down from his perch and circled the
carriage. There was a short pause while the driver checked the underside for
damage. The sun beat through the window on Allie’s side and she felt a trickle
of sweat make its way down her back. The new dress shone in the sun, tiny
crystal beads shimmered at the wrists and hem, but Allie wished she was wearing
her comfortable calico frock and old boots.

           
The driver appeared at Bascomb’s window. “Sir, I am afraid the carriage is
damaged.” His face was tense under the black silk hat and Allie saw his gaze
flicker towards her and away.

           
“You careless man!” The harsh tone in Mr. Bascomb’s voice made Allie flinch.

           
“I am very sorry, sir, but it is impossible for us to go on. Shall I hail a cab
for yourself and the lady?” His voice was placating but Allie could see worry
in the driver’s face. Of course it was not his fault. There were potholes and
stones throughout the city.

           
“Immediately! And then you will find a way to bring the horses back to their
stable, and take the carriage for repairs.” Mr. Bascomb said the last as loudly
as he could.

           
The poor man bowed his head and backed away. “Yes, sir.” He turned and trotted
down the street. Allie knew Lionel Avenue had several places where carriages
for hire gathered.

           
“Simpleton. I should never have hired him. He sounds like a Pole if I ever saw
one. Those men could not drive their way out of a sack and here I have given
him the reigns to my carriage.”

           
Bascomb went on for several more minutes as Allie grew more and more sick at
heart. San Francisco had not been perfect, but there was more acceptance for
immigrants. The Chinese worked hard to make their own way, and most of the city
residents respected the influx of the workers if they stayed in their own
quarters. The artist colonies were notorious for judging a person on their
talent rather than their accent. She’d never known anyone who spewed such
hatred as freely as Mr. Bascomb.

           
“I am going to stand outside for a moment,” she said. Her hand reached for the
door handle as his eyes went wide.

           
“You’re going to stand on the street? In the sun?”

           
“I have my parasol. I need a bit of air. Excuse me.” With that, Allie wrenched
open the door. Even as her feet landed on the cobblestone street, she knew she
could not endure another minute with Mr. Bascomb. She walked to the rear of the
carriage and stepped onto the sidewalk, out of the way of the traffic passing
by. Several groups of fine ladies strolled past the gleaming shop windows.

           
Allie glanced back at the carriage. A pair of young women approached her on the
sidewalk, arm in arm, laughing. In a moment, Allie’s mind was made up. She was
not far from home. There was no reason that she should endure another moment of
his sour personality.

           
As soon as the ladies swept past, Allie put up her parasol and followed. She
smiled and held her head high, as if she was part of their outing. By the time
they turned onto the next street, the carriage was out of sight. It was only a
few miles home, at most. She drew in a deep lungful of air. The first time all
day that she could breathe freely. A wide smile spread over her face as she
felt her muscles relax. There would be a price to pay for her independence, she
was sure, but for this moment Allie felt like she had before the earthquake:
strong, optimistic and free.

                                   
***

           
Thomas pushed his hat back on his head and whistled a bright hymn from last
Sunday’s service . There really wasn’t any reason to be visiting Bellevue. He
had seen Allie a few hours before when she had stepped into his barn like a
vision in blue. He’d sped through his appointments, thankful every horse was
healthy and then rushed home to bathe. A grin stretched over his face as he
steered the automobile down the long driveway, knowing she was mere minutes
away.

           
The day had turned warmer than he expected and he loosened his jacket with one
hand. The other hand tapped the wheel as the sun streamed through the window.
The woods on either side were thick with overgrown bushes.  Thomas wondered if
Mrs. Leeds would ever bow to pressure and sell some of the acreage. Bellevue
remained a green jewel in the old neighborhood as the city encroached steadily
on every side. He noticed dramatic changes every year, especially when he had
returned from college in Iowa. The first summer the Italians outnumbered the
Irish. The second summer there was a whole new wave of immigrants, the Poles.
It seemed everyone was coming to Chicago. Except for Allie who was leaving for
San Francisco. But he hadn’t known until late in the summer, when she announced
her plans.

           
The grin faded from his face. How arrogant to leave for veterinarian school and
assume she would wait for him. It’s true she did not accept any of the
proposals he heard about through the gossipy letters his mother sent him. But
Allie had dreams, too. He had been blind to not consider it. He had loved her
with a young man’s selfishness, like she was property to set aside or retrieve
as he wished.

           
Thomas straightened his shoulders and pressed down on the gas pedal. The
automobile responded with a heavy rumble and a burst of speed. Allie was not
just the beautiful girl he yearned to possess for his own, to install in a
grand house as the mother of his future children. Just as God called him to his
work with horses, so Allie was called to paint. He respected that now.

           
At least Matthew understood and sent for her as soon as he was able. When
Allie’s brother left to work in city planning in San Francisco, Thomas
congratulated him on the prestigious post. It never occurred to him that Allie
would follow. There was a brief time when he thought she might return after a
few months, but as the weeks ticked by, and then Matthew married Eleanor,
Thomas knew Allie was not coming back. The memory of that time had faded a bit
in his mind, but Thomas still felt his stomach go cold. Years stretched out
before him, years without Allie’s quick wit and bright smile. Her joy is what
he had missed the most. The smallest flower caught her fancy, and the first
snow was cause for dancing. She lived to the fullest, every day packed to the
brim. But she could be still, also, observing the world around her with that
sharp artist’s eye.

           
He hadn’t wanted to think on it too deeply, but now he let his mind wander to
the giant oak outside her window. She had a peculiar habit of  climbing
out into the tree at night. She was a shadowy form in the darkness, the muted
light from her bedroom illuminating her clothes. From his room in the carriage
house, he had watched her a hundred times, maybe more, sitting quietly under
the night sky.

           
The summer he was seventeen and she was fifteen, the crow’s feather was the
beginning of it all. He had run the silky feather through his fingers and
watched the colors shimmer like oil on water. Before sunrise, he scaled the
vine-covered trellis and scrambled up to her branch. He tied the crow feather
to a small branch with a ribbon. That night he watched her from the carriage
house as she climbed out. He could see her pick up the feather and run it
through her fingers, just as he had.

           
After that day, he left small treasures tied to the tree, in the leaves
overhead where no one else would see them. A stone spotted with mica, delicate
leaves, a handful of blackberries, fragile webs of moss, all tributes from the
woods she loved. She had to know it was him, but they never spoke of it. It was
a game, a secret delight. A few months later, he left a tiny robin’s egg, and
found a folded sheet of paper.  How his heart had thudded as he made his
way to the ground. It seemed like hours before he could light the small gas
lamp in his small bedroom. His fingers trembled as the paper unfolded,
revealing his own dark eyes. Earlier that day Allie had sat with her paper and
a pencil, as she sometimes did, while he brushed down the horses. They often
worked in silence, comfortable only as long time-friends could be and he never
wondered what she was sketching.

           
That night he saw his eyes, warm with laughter, recreated perfectly in soft
lead. The next night there was another sketch, this time his profile. And so it
went. Sometimes the sketch would be the item he’d left the night before,
rendered in exquisite detail, and sometimes it would be his eyes, or his dark
head bent near the horse’s side, or his hands. Once it was his lips, so
lifelike he half expected to feel breath against his fingers as he touched the
paper. How he had wished he had all of those sketches, but of her eyes, her
hands, her lips.

           
Allie never spoke of their exchanges but he kept nothing from her.  She
was the one he confided in, the one who listened to his dreams and complaints,
the one who encouraged him to look further than Chicago, the one who reminded
him that his mother would be more comfortable in her later years if her son was
a successful veterinarian.

           
The long driveway curbed to the left and Thomas had only seconds to slam his
foot down on the brake, swerving wildly to avoid a woman walking in the middle
of the dusty lane. The car stuttered to a stop and Thomas closed his eyes for a
moment, his body shaking. Who was fool enough to walk in the middle of the
road?

           
He craned his neck around, barely glimpsing the person just feet behind the
car. He whipped the door open and stalked toward her before he had formed
words.

           
Allie stood frozen, clutching her parasol handle to her chest, eyes wide.
“Mercy, Thomas, you drive like a madman!” Her voice trembled.

           
He was only inches away now and fighting through the fear wrapped like a vise
around his mind. Without thinking he reached out and gathered her to him,
crushing her against his chest. He could smell lavender oil on her skin, dust
and heat on her clothes. The brim of her large silk hat bent backwards against
his cheek, the large ostrich feather fluttered at his temple.
Thank you,
Lord. Thank you for giving me time to see her.

           
“Thomas,” Allie said, her muffled voice emanated from against his chest. Her voice
held a note of something he couldn’t define. “Mr. Bradford, please,” she said,
this time louder and pushed gently with both hands.