do that.” Andrew had not made photographic plates of the mud craters, but he instantly sat up and declared that he would do so, and that afternoon they tramped around Vallejo, looking for a photography studio and a photographer whom they might induce to make plates of the whole operation—Andrew and Hubert shooting from the tops of trees, and then the craters themselves. Even for Andrew, his mother was an invigorating presence. Then she said, “And that astronomy journal will certainly take it, it’s so brilliant. Just put together an irresistible package, Andrew. You’ve done that before.” Then she went over to the Lears’ house and got Hubert to show her the gun they had used, and tell her all about his other exploits, which also made her laugh.
The following day, Mrs. Early and Mrs. Hitchens took the three o’clock ferry, the General Frisbie, which was a fast boat and Andrew’s favorite (two hours to the city), quite luxurious and well appointed inside. You could buy any number of things on the boat, including drinks in the saloon. They waited on the dock, and they talked about how the ladies would arrive in San Francisco at five, and no doubt be in their hotel eating oysters by seven at the latest. They were dressed in their most stylish outfits—Mrs. Early in green, trimmed with white and edged with navy blue, and Mrs. Hitchens in dark gray with a high white collar and sleeves edged in a deep red. Her hat carried a tight bouquet of silk rosebuds just the same color as the edging on her dress, and Mrs. Early’s hat sported two curled egret feathers and a bunch of cherries. They embraced and kissed goodbye; then Margaret watched them board the ferry, looking about all the time, with the eager curiosity that both of them always seemed to display. As she and Andrew walked back from the ferry building, Margaret thought she understood more about him—she saw he had his mother’s curiosity and energy. She found this reassuring, which was surprising—she had not realized she was in need of reassurance. She said, “They looked very elegant.” Andrew laughed cheerfully and gave her a squeeze around the waist. They heard the General Frisbie blow her whistle just then.
They never saw Andrew’s mother or Mrs. Hitchens again.
MARGARET had been in an earthquake before, back in Missouri, in 1895. They were sitting at the supper table when the water in their glasses began to slosh, and then some dishes on a railing over the fireplace rolled back and forth and one crashed to the floor. Lavinia jumped up from the table to look out the front window. Because it was dark, she could see very little, but it was a nice night—no wind or rain, only some of the fruit trees in their yard swaying. She said, “An earthquake! God preserve us!” and she told them about another famous earthquake that her own grandfather had heard of, down where Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Kentucky came together. The Mississippi ran backward and changed its bed; forests broke in two and toppled over; a noise such as no one ever heard before or after terrified the people and sent the cows and horses racing into the woods, some never to be found. That night, in bed, Margaret, Elizabeth, and Beatrice declared that they didn’t see how they could ever stand to have such a thing happen to them. And then they forgot about it.
When Andrew and she awakened to the shaking of their little house and the falling of the lamp off the bedside table, he leapt out of bed before the first shake had ended. She stayed where she was, having that strange feeling that the play was commencing all around her, a feeling that immobilized her, until he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the house. It was just getting light. They stood in the middle of the street—it was impossible to walk—looking first at their own chimney, which did not topple, and then down the street. The buildings and trees seemed to have a haze about them, or to be themselves rendered hazy. Andrew said that this was the effect of the shaking: the eye could not take in the object. The trees seemed not to go back and forth but around in little circles, which Andrew declared was akin to a needle on a piece of paper, and, if it could be measured, would show a great deal