Rescuing the Heiress. Valerie Hansen

one gloved hand on the low back of the seat near his elbow while pointing with her other. “There’s an automobile. And two more. See? They seem to be much easier to maneuver, particularly over the ruts of the streetcar tracks, no matter how the driver approaches them.”

      “That’s only because most buggy wheels are narrower,” he argued, carefully maneuvering the cabriolet between a parked dray and one of the modern streetcars as it passed. “I can’t believe how some people drive with no concern for anyone else. It’s little wonder there are so many accidents these days.”

      “Father says the motorcars will put an end to that because there won’t be any horses to get frightened and bolt.” She noted how hard Michael was working to control her spirited mare in the presence of the unusual, sputtering vehicles. Some of the other teamsters were having similar difficulties. “See what I mean?”

      “All I see is that there’s probably not going to be a good place to leave this rig near the pavilion,” he replied. “Would it be all right if I let you ladies off near the door and then looked for a spot around the corner? There should be more room on Market Street, as long as the drovers have their cattle rounded up and moved on by now.”

      “Of course,” Tess said, hoping her inflection wouldn’t inadvertently reveal a desire to remain near the handsome fireman. “You can stop anywhere. I see the banner. This is where we belong.”

      “In your opinion.” Michael huffed. “I don’t believe I have ever seen so many women gathered in one place before. There must be thousands.”

      Tess tensed. “Wait. How will you find us again if we go inside without you?”

      “I don’t know. If you weren’t wearing that enormous hat I could probably spot you in the crowd by your pr— By your hair.”

      “You were going to say pretty, weren’t you?” She smiled, amused by the way his cheeks grew more ruddy in the light from the streetlamps surrounding the enormous meeting hall.

      “It would be wrong of me to mention such things, Miss Clark.”

      That made her laugh softly. “But I would find it delightful if you did. Does that embarrass you, Michael?”

      “Of course not.”

      He brought the buggy to a halt as close to the curb as possible, then quickly helped both young women alight and saw them to the curb before once again climbing into the driver’s seat.

      “Take off your hat after you get inside,” he called over the din of the crowd. “I’ll find you.”

      She knew that her eyes must be twinkling because she was keenly amused when she shouted back, “And how will you 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