The Hull Home Fire

by Linda Abbott

  A round old woman with thin white hair sat at the table drinking tea. “Hello, love,” she said as Mary came in.

  “Oh, hello,” Mary said, taken aback. “Are you here to see a resident ?”

  “No, I came to see Mr. Hull. A friend of mine told me he charges three cents cheaper a day than the government’s old-age home.” She smiled. Dimples formed in her wrinkled cheeks. “I move in here tomorrow morning. Every penny counts.”

  Isaac breezed into the kitchen. “Indeed it does, Mrs. Hayes,” he said with a light step. “Indeed it does.”

  MARY SAT IN DR. WHEELER’S spacious waiting room and looked around at the unfamiliar area. Twelve chairs lined three walls, and a children’s wooden table and chairs occupied a corner. A supply of blank paper and crayons rested on the shiny red surface. In the centre, burdened with stacks of magazines, stood a mahogany coffee table. Mary glanced at the cover of one magazine ; a smiling woman was making a cake for a freckled-faced boy. He knelt on a chair poking a finger into the batter as his father walked through the door with an even bigger smile than his wife. She pulled out another magazine from the pile. More images of happy family life. Mary threw down the magazine.

  A man in his seventies sat on the other side of the room. Two seats down from him was a woman with a boy of about ten or eleven. The boy’s runny nose never quite cleared despite constant wiping. His cough — a hacking sound deep down in the bottom of his lungs — eased occasionally. The receptionist, the man, and the woman were engaged in a discussion about Joey Smallwood’s campaign to join Confederation.

  “In my opinion,” the woman said, “the man’s on a mission to destroy this beautiful land. I heard talk there will be a vote soon to decide.”

  “Good,” the receptionist said. “That’ll put an end to this nonsense once and for all.”

  Mary gripped her purse tighter.

  “I doubt that,” the woman replied. “Mr. Smallwood’s very passionate about Confederation. He won’t give up until he’s won.”

  The man turned to her. “I’m afraid you’re right on that score, young lady.” He shook his head as if to prepare his listeners for bad news. “I have friends from around the bay who swear that most of the outport communities are all for Confederation. They think Mr. Smallwood knows what’s best.”

  The intercom on the desk buzzed. “Yes, Doctor,” the receptionist said, then showed the woman and child into the office. Mary browsed through a travel magazine, her gaze constantly straying to the clock over the desk. Three o’clock. She promised Mr. Hull to be back by three-thirty. He would dock her pay for the extra time missed. She glanced at the clock again. The minute hand slithered forward.

  The boy and his mother came out of the office. “You’re ever so kind, Doctor,” the woman said over her son’s cough. “I can’t thank you enough for the medicine.”

  Dr. Wheeler, a man well into his sixties, waved the thanks away. “It’s not doing anyone any good sitting in my cabinet.” He turned to the old gentleman. “Your turn, Mr. Gough.”

  The receptionist smiled at Mary. “It won’t be much longer,” she said. “Mr. Gough takes no more than a minute or two.”

  True to her word, the man had exited the office by the time the boy and his mother had put on their coats.

  “Go right in,” the receptionist said to Mary.

  An overwhelming desire to close out the world anchored Mary to the chair. She wished she could be anywhere else. Her palms were clammy when she seated herself before the doctor.

  “What brings you here today, young lady ?”

  “I...” Mary paused and lowered her eyes.

  “Come,” Dr. Wheeler said softly. “My new patients soon learn there’s nothing they can’t tell me.”

  Mary looked up, her eyes moist. “I have awful bad headaches and feel like vomiting all the time.”

  “How’s your appetite ?”

  “Food turns my stomach.”

  “Let me examine you and find out what’s going on.”

  A plump nurse led Mary into a room off the office. The white-sheeted examination table conjured up an ice-covered lake ready to crack open and drown her. The stirrups belonged to a horned monster eager to trap her in its grip. The colourless, lifeless walls were harsh, sterile.

  The nurse passed her a gown. “Put this on,” she said with a cheery voice. “The doctor will be in presently.”

  Mary’s fingers trembled as she took off her clothes and sat up on the table.

  A slight tap on the door made her jump. “This won’t take much time,” Dr. Wheeler said.

  Mary lay back and stared at the ceiling. Her fingers dug into the sides of the table’s mattress.

  “I understand you’re worried,” the doctor said. “Try to relax.”

  Mary closed her eyes as the doctor probed every inch of her. She tried to imagine sitting in front of a roaring fireplace.

  “All done, Miss Norris. I’ll see you in my office when you’re ready.”

  The nurse helped Mary into a sitting position. “Now that wasn’t so bad,” she said.

  Mary shivered even though the room was warm. She tried to put on a smile but couldn’t muster one.

  DR. WHEELER FINISHED WRITING IN Mary’s file when she returned to his office. “I’m afraid the news may not be what you want to hear.”

  Mary squished her hat into a tiny ball between sweaty hands.

  The doctor closed her folder. “We have to do more tests, of course. Once those are done, we’ll discuss your options.”

  The pain behind Mary’s eyes intensified. She saw double.

  ALICE WALKED TOWARD DR. KENNEDY’S surgery. She had convinced Tom to stay at work and not fuss about her. Alice increased her speed and saw Mary come out of a building at the end of the road. She called to her. Mary pressed on, lost from sight by the time Alice reached Dr. Kennedy’s house.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibbs,” the receptionist said. “Lucky for you we’re not busy today.”

  Alice smiled at the only other patient, a man her age she didn’t know. She leafed through a magazine about institutionalized care and only looked up when the man was shown into the office. Her back began to hurt.

  “Your turn, Alice,” Dr. Kennedy said in his professional voice.

  Alice slowly rose, a hand gripping the small of her back. Once she straightened up, the pain eased enough for her to hurry into the office.

  “Looks like arthritis has settled in,” Dr. Kennedy said after a brisk prodding of her spine and lower back

  “I was afraid of that,” Alice said. “Dad suffered from crippling arthritis. He ended up in a wheelchair.”

  “Your father was diagnosed with severe arthritis in his early twenties.” The doctor smiled. “Your symptoms are milder and associated with aging.”

  “Tom will be glad to hear that.”

  “Is he still angry with Henry ?”

  Alice slumped back in the chair. “Henry might as well be a boarder for all the attention Tom gives him these days.”

  “Have you told him that Mike’s coming ?”

  Alice stared, then smiled. “I should have known he’d write his closest friend.”

  “He’ll be staying with me,” Dr. Kennedy said. “He wrote that you would decide whether to tell Tom or not. I take it you haven’t.”

  “He’d go out of his way to avoid Mike. I won’t take that chance.” Alice moved a fraction to alleviate the dull knot in her back. “He’ll be some mad with me when he finds out I kept it from him.” She put her elbows on the desk. “He’ll be put off that you gave me Mike’s address.”

  “I’ll risk that,” the doctor said. “Tom is a reasonable man, yet when it concerns Mike he becomes a different person.”

  Alice picked up her purse from the floor. “Tom won’t speak to Mike.”

  “Maybe he’ll give in when he’s face to face with him.”

  Alice sighed. “Do you really believe that ?”

  “Tom wouldn’t stay this angry after all these years
if he didn’t still love his big brother.”

  Chapter 7

  TOM TRUDGED THROUGH THE FRESHLY fallen snow on his way home from work. Every muscle in his body screamed from hours of unloading heavy crates from the cargo ship. He pulled his coat collar up to cover his ears. The wind whipped snow, which felt more like chips of ice, into his eyes. He tugged his salt-and-pepper hat down over his forehead and jogged the last few yards to his house. Baby icicles jeered at him from the edges of every window. “You won’t win over me,” Tom said, and hurried inside. The smell of meat roasting in the oven and a wave of heat welcomed him.

  “I’m home,” he called, and sat on the hall chair to untie his boots.

  Alice’s voice drifted toward him, humming “Let Me Fish Off Cape St. Mary’s” in the soft, sweet tone she had used on Henry when he was a baby. He paused to listen, sure she could have been a professional entertainer if she had wanted. A sadness he hadn’t heard before resonated from every word. Boots placed on the mat to dry, Tom went into the kitchen. A light whirl of steam rose from a gingerbread loaf cooling on the sink counter. “Hmm,” he said, breaking off a considerable chunk. “There’s nothing tastier than gingerbread with tinned cream.”

  Alice whacked his hand with a spoon when he reached for another piece. “Save some for the rest of us.” She donned an oven mitt and pulled open the oven door. A lock of her hair blew in the heat.

  Tom moved next to her. “Ah, that’s feels good,” he said. “Too bad we can’t heat up the docks like that.”

  Alice lifted the lid from the roaster. The juice hissed and popped like a summer hail shower on asphalt. “I didn’t expect you for another hour,” she said.

  “Some of the men complained they couldn’t feel their toes, so we were let go early.”

  “You have to go back after supper then ?”

  “There’s not much left to do.”

  Alice basted the meat, closed the oven door, and tweaked her husband’s nose. “That’s redder than beet juice, not to mention colder than an ice cube.” She reached up to the cupboard for plates. “Ow !” she cried, grabbing hold of the sink counter. “My arthritis is some bad today.”

  Tom took down three plates. “This weather’s not much help either.”

  Alice pressed a hand to the small of her back. “I asked Mom to supper. She’s coming with Henry.”

  Tom placed an extra plate on the table. “I’ll go shave before they get here.” He scratched the stubble on his chin. “You take it easy. I’ll set the table when I’m done.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Alice said when he turned to leave. “I want a word with you while we’re alone.”

  “Can’t it wait ?”

  “Do you want to be a part of Henry’s life ?”

  “I’ll get aspirin from the bathroom for you,” Tom said.

  “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  “Of course I want to be a part of Henry’s life. What kind of question is that ?”

  “A reasonable one considering you’ve hardly spoken to him since his acceptance to medical school. If it keeps up you’ll push him away for good.”

  Water boiled out of the kettle spout and sizzled on the stove. Tom snatched the handle and moved it to the back of the stove.

  Alice put on the remaining oven mitt. “Are you going to answer my question ?” She bent forward to get the roast from the oven. “Oh, God,” she cried. “I can’t straighten up.”

  Tom grabbed a dishcloth and took the roaster from her. “Let me get that aspirin for you.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Tom Gibbs. Henry’s going whether you approve or not.”

  “He’s made it clear he doesn’t need my approval,” Tom said, and walked out of the kitchen.

  HENRY COPIED DOWN NUMBER AFTER number into the accounts ledger, yet one number stuck in his head. Two. Mike would arrive in two days. He yawned.

  Isaac glanced up from the papers on his desk. “You look more tired than I feel,” he said. “It’s five-thirty. High time you were off.”

  Henry threw down his pen and shut the ledger. “I was supposed to meet Gran in the entrance a half-hour ago.”

  “You’re right about that,” Dot said. She stood in the office doorway with hands on her hips. “I had half a mind to go on without you.” The phone rang. “That’ll be Alice wondering where we are.”

  Isaac picked up the receiver. “They’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Gibbs. And by the way, I didn’t ask Henry to stay late.”

  “For a change,” Dot mumbled as she turned to leave the office.

  “Sorry, Gran, I’ve been preoccupied all day,” Henry said from behind her. He took his coat from the hook. “Have you seen Mary ?”

  “She brought supper over to Sheila Vickers in the Annex.” Dot shot him a quick look. “Did you want her for anything special ?”

  “I haven’t had a quiet talk with her in days.” Henry buttoned up his coat lopsided.

  “Something is distracting you,” Dot said, fiddling with his buttons.

  Henry sighed. “I want to make sure Mary’s all right.”

  Dot took off her gloves. “I’ll wait in the entrance while you drop over to the Annex. Only an idiot puts off important business.”

  “Promise I won’t take long,” Henry said, and scurried to the Annex. He met Mary at the bottom of the stairs, hedging around the hall stove.

  “Your grandmother’s not in her room,” she said.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “You shouldn’t keep Mrs. Gatherall waiting any longer.” Mary stepped around Henry. “I’m much too busy to talk.”

  Henry blocked her path. “I really thought you were all right with me applying for medical school.”

  Mary held his gaze.”You really do have a high opinion of yourself.” She sighed as if bored. “Do as you please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  The door opened. Icy wind chased Mr. Hull inside. “Mary, for goodness’ sakes, what’s the holdup ? You should have the soup on the dining room table by now.”

  “It’s my fault she’s late,” Henry said. “I kept her talking.”

  Mary left without a word to either man.

  “She’s not herself lately,” Mr. Hull said with a shake of the head. “This is the second time today I had to go look for her.”

  “Mary is probably suffering from another migraine,” Henry said. “The smell from the oil paint is still some strong.”

  Mr. Hull smiled at Dot on his way back to the kitchen. “Have a good evening,” he said.

  “I tried to delay him from spoiling your chat with Mary,” Dot said when she and Henry were at the streetcar stop. She rolled her eyes. “It would’ve been easier to get a day-old infant to waltz. Did you get a chance to find out what’s on Mary’s mind ?”

  Henry looked down at his grandmother. “To tell the truth, Gran, I’m more confused than I was before.”

  The wind churned up the snow and sprinkled it over their faces. Henry thought his lungs would crack like an eggshell if he breathed in too deeply.

  Dot sneezed three times. “The air has a bite like a hungry wolf,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off another sneeze.

  “Maybe we should catch a taxi,” Henry said, and waited for the usual objection.

  “I am feeling stuffed up,” his grandmother said.

  “You must really be under the weather.” Henry hailed down a car. Dot insisted she would pay the driver, but Henry paid the fare plus tip before she could open her purse.

  The taxi man tipped his salt-and-pepper cap to them. “Have a good night, folks.”

  Dot hurried inside. She went directly to the kitchen, leaving on her winter attire. “I’ll never be warm again,” she said, huddling close to the stove. Snow melted into a puddle around her boots.

  Tom took her coat and placed a shawl around her shoulders. “The Home never seems to quite warm up, does it ?” he said.

  “Thank you kindly, love,” Dot said, sitting down at the table. “That�
��s much better.”

  When everyone had dug into the meal of meat, turnip, carrots, and gravy, Tom grinned at his mother-in-law. “I wonder what’s for supper at the Home ?”

  “Look here,” Dot said in a voice that belied the stern expression on her face. “You ask the same question every time I come over. I’ll give the same answer as usual. Canned fish, fruit, cheese, and toast.”

  Tom folded a slice of bread in two. “You forgot biscuits.” He smacked his lips together. “Sounds delicious. Are you allowed jam with the toast ?”

  Dot heaved an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Yes, Tom. We’re allowed jam. Before you lecture me about the food at the Home like you always do, it’s not that bad.” She turned to her daughter. “I have to admit your daily visits with leftovers lend a bit of variety.”

  “Dot,” Tom said, “there will always be a room here for you. And,” he added, “you’d be company for Alice.”

  “I knew you’d get around to that sooner or later.”

  “Don’t waste your breath, Tom,” Alice said. “Mom won’t leave Hull Home.”

  Dot patted away a drop of gravy from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Actually, I’ve been giving that some thought these past few weeks.”

  Alice gaped at her mother. “You’ve been so adamant about the Home. What’s changed your mind ?”

  “I’d love to have a room to myself again.” She looked at Tom with a sheepish expression. “To be honest, I am kind of turned off from canned fish and tomato soup.”

  “Grand,” he said. “We’ll stop by for your belongings tomorrow.”

  “I’m paid up to the middle of the month. Wait till then.”

  TOM LEFT HOME AT SIX the next morning, the early dawn dulled by cloud cover. Alice’s back had bothered her most of the night. He had crept out of bed without disturbing her when she had finally gone to sleep. He reached the waterfront where other longshoremen were already gathered to begin work.

  A middle-aged man came up behind Tom. “Days like this are cold enough to freeze your socks off,” he said. “I reckon you wish you’d stayed at Newfoundland Margarine all those years ago.” His breath vaporized with each word.