do that, sir?”
Michael paused just long enough to lean down from his perch and say more privately, “By your beautiful, dark red hair.” Then he flicked the reins and the horse took off.
Beside her, Tess heard Annie sigh. “Oh, my. That man’s smile could melt butter in the middle of winter.” The shorter girl had clasped her hands over her heart and was clearly mooning.
For some reason Annie’s overt interest in Michael needled Tess. She knew it was foolish to allow herself to be bothered, since the maid was a far more likely social choice for him to make than she was.
Nevertheless, Tess was surprised and a little saddened by a twinge of jealousy. What was wrong with her? Was she daft? Just because a man was stalwart and handsome and so glib-tongued that his very words sent shivers up her spine, it didn’t mean that she should take his supposed interest seriously. After all, she was a Clark, a member of the San Francisco upper crust. And as such she did have a family reputation to uphold whether she thought it a silly pretense or not.
Standing tall and leading the way, Tess gathered a handful of skirt for ease of walking and crossed the lawn to the wide entry doors of the meeting hall. There were ladies from all walks of life proceeding with her in a flowing tide of gracious yet clearly animated womanhood, she noted, pleased and energized by the atmosphere.
Perhaps this suffragette movement would remove some of the social stigmas that had always set her apart from many of her good sister Christians like Annie, she mused. If it did nothing else, she would be forever grateful.
Michael worked his way slowly south on Van Ness Avenue and turned onto Market Street. As he had hoped, there was plenty of room there for the Clark buggy. He tipped a small boy in tattered knee britches and a slouchy cap to watch the rig for him while he was gone, then headed back for Mechanics’ Pavilion at a trot.
He hadn’t gone a hundred yards when a man grabbed his arm and stopped him. It was one of his fellow firemen.
“Hey, Michael, me boy. Where’re you bound in such a hurry?”
Before thinking, he answered, “The pavilion.”
That young man, and those with him, guffawed. “No wonder you’re wearin’ your uniform. If you’re lookin’ to use that badge to impress a good woman, you surely won’t find one there. Where are you really goin’?”
“None of your business, O’Neill.”
“Now, now, don’t be trying to get above yourself, boyo.” He laughed again, spewing the odor of strong drink on a cloud of his breath.
“Don’t worry about me,” Michael replied with disdain. “Just take care of yourself and don’t end up in a bar fight again.”
O’Neill’s only reply was a hearty laugh and a slap on the back as he shared his amusement with most of the others gathered nearby.
Michael hurried away from the group of obviously inebriated men, hoping none of them decided to trail after him on a lark. It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t handle himself well in any situation. He just didn’t want his cronies to follow him all the way to Tess and continue their taunts, straining the difficult circumstances even further.
He needn’t have worried. Getting past the crowd milling around in the street and on the sidewalks and lawn bordering the enormous Mechanics’ Pavilion was so difficult, Michael doubted he’d be followed by anyone.
It was all he could do to work his way through to the meeting hall entrance. First he had to run the gauntlet of shouting, chanting, angry men carrying placards denouncing the women’s movement, then convince the uniformed police officers posted at the doors that his intentions were peaceful and honorable.
“I escorted several young ladies,” Michael shouted to the guards. “They’re waiting for me inside. I promised to join them.” He held up his right hand, palm out. “On my honor.”
The burly doormen looked at each other and then back at him, clearly cognizant of his official fireman’s attire. “All right,” one of them said. “But any trouble from you and you’re headed for the paddy wagon just like anybody else. We’ve got more’n one waitin’ right out back.”
“I promise I’m not going to be a problem,” Michael vowed, still holding up his hand and doffing his hat as he sidled through the narrow space between the two broad-shouldered officers.
The door most of the women were using stood wide-open. That feminine multitude was sweeping through without being questioned, although many were casting sidelong glances at each other as if they were either worried or wary. Or both. He supposed, given that this kind of gathering was such an unusual occurrence, it was natural for some of them to be uneasy particularly if their husbands didn’t know where they had gone.
On the other hand there were the stalwarts like Tess, who were obviously not intimidated by a crowd, especially not by one composed mainly of members of the fairer persuasion. How on earth could he hope to locate her among this mass of velvet and feathers, furs and veils? Surely she’d realize his dilemma and at least wave her hand in the air from time to time.
Straining with cap in hand, he stretched to his full six-foot height to peer at the seething mass of well-dressed women. Those who did not have fancy hats covered with flowers and feathers were in the minority, although there did seem to be a fair number of plainer bonnets or uncovered heads as well. That was where he’d made his mistake. By assuming that only Tess would be bareheaded, he’d become overconfident.
The press of the crowd was stifling. Various aromas of perfume assaulted him as they mixed and permeated the already overly warm inside air.
He raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling and was in the midst of a short, silent prayer for guidance when he noticed a gallery.
As he headed for the stairway leading to the upper tier he continued to pray. “Father, I know there’s no way I’ll ever find Tess in this mess unless You help me.” His heart skipped and hammered. “Please?”
Gaining the landing, he gripped the rail and gazed down at the rows and rows of benches facing a stage where several well-dressed but otherwise unremarkable ladies sat. If not for their position at the podium, he would have assumed they were merely a part of the audience.
Would Tess press closer to the stage so she could observe the speaker’s expressions? He assumed so, given her earlier conversation and the determined way she had been behaving.
Starting at the center near the front, Michael began to systematically scan the crowd row by row. He had to force himself to take his time and study the back of each person’s head carefully in spite of his burgeoning anxiety.
His “Where are you?” was spoken barely above a whisper. There? No, that wasn’t her. How about…? No.
Jostled and pushed, he stubbornly clung to his place at the railing and prayed he wouldn’t have to actually return to the ground floor and make a spectacle of himself in order to locate and be reunited with the two young women. Bringing them there in the first place was bad enough. Calling attention to such a folly would be a hundred times worse.
Michael took a sudden gulp of air. There! Was that her?
Maybe. Maybe not. His breathing was already ragged and his heart was pounding exactly the way it did every time he answered a fire alarm. His
