by Linda Abbott
They broke in the door and bounded up the stairs through smoke as black as night and heat intense enough to scorch the hairs on their hands. The lead man tripped over a stout woman half sitting against the wall. He felt for a pulse. “She’s alive,” he said. The superintendent and Baker slung her over the fireman’s shoulder.
“Help me,” a weak voice said from the first room on the left. A tiny, thin man was sprawled over a bed. The mattress caught fire as he was lifted up.
Baker went back into the hall. Unable to reach any other room, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Is there anyone here ?” The floor groaned and creaked under his feet. Vivian pulled him to safety the same instant the boards buckled and gave way.
“Captain,” the fireman carrying the old man said. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”
“All right, men, outside.”
They dodged sudden outbreaks of fire, sidestepped fallen debris, and fought through dense smoke, emerging from a heat wave into a frosty bite. “Keep the hoses on the Annex,” Baker ordered. “The fire doesn’t seem to have taken as much of a hold there.” He took off his fire helmet and ran short, thick fingers through wet hair plastered to his scalp. “At least those residents will have half a chance.”
MARY RAN INTO THE BACK room of the second floor in the Annex. Mr. Bartlett had a suitcase open on his bed. “You don’t have time to pack,” Mary said, taking his arm and urging him toward the door.
The old man looked at her as if she had sworn at him. “I’m not going anywhere without my belongings,” he said, and trotted to the bureau.
“Look around you, Mr. Bartlett. There’s smoke everywhere.”
“All right, all right.” He took his suitcase and followed Mary out of the room.
They came to Sally Cranshaw’s room. “Come with us,” Mary said.
“I won’t leave without my cameo brooch.” Sally’s bony fingers shook as she searched the top drawer of the bureau. “My grandmother gave it to me over seventy years ago.”
Mary sent Mr. Bartlett ahead. “Mrs. Cranshaw, we don’t have time for this.”
Sally kept fumbling in the drawer.
“Stand back,” Mary said through gritted teeth. She pulled the drawer out and dumped the contents on the floor. The cameo landed at her feet. “I’ll hold onto it for you.”
“Thank you, Mary, but I want to keep it with me.”
“The smoke is getting thicker,” Mary said. “We must go.” She took Sally’s hand and headed for the stairs. Mary retched, covered her mouth with her apron, and forced the bile back down her throat.
Smoke floated around them, denser than thick fog. Sally gripped the rail. “I can hardly see a thing. Oh, Mary, we’re not going to make it out alive.”
“Nonsense,” Mary said in a strong voice. Her eyes stung, her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and her lungs burned. She bumped into the stove at the bottom and guided Sally around it. She tried the door. “It’s stuck,” she said, pulling on the handle with both hands. “I have to go back upstairs for the others, Mrs. Cranshaw.” She spit out grey saliva. “You keep trying the door.”
The old lady kicked the door. “I’ll get this nuisance opened if it’s the last thing I do.”
Mary summoned up a reserve of strength from somewhere deep inside and sprinted up the stairs two at a time to find Dot directing residents down the hall to the stairs in an orderly fashion. She smiled at Mary. “My John was in the army and taught me to keep a sensible head in times like this.”
“I’ll go help Sheila Vickers,” Mary said.
A fluffy cloud of smoke smouldered near the ceiling in the sick girl’s room. She sat up on her elbows. “I was some scared, Mary. What’s happened ?”
Mary pulled the covers off Sheila. “The Home’s on fire.”
Sheila dragged one leg at a time over the side of the bed. “I’m some tired, Mary. I don’t think I can walk.”
Mary helped her stand up. “Lean on me. I won’t let you fall.”
Sheila’s legs wobbled like wooden wheels, but they made it into the hallway. Mary handed her over to Mr. Connors, a male boarder. “Don’t you worry none, lass. I’ll get Sheila out in one piece.”
A sound like wind howling came from overhead. “The fire’s in the roof,” Dot said. “Please God it doesn’t cave in before we’re all out.”
Sally appeared at the top of the stairs, knelt down, and searched the floor.
“Good God,” Mary moaned. “What’s she doing back up here ?”
“I dropped the brooch,” Sally said. “It’s all I have left in the world.”
“Mary, get her downstairs this minute,” Dot said. “I’ll look for the brooch.”
Mary lifted Sally to her feet and guided her back down the stairs. “You have to promise to stay here this time,” she said.
Mr. Connors winked at Mary. “I’ll see that she does.” He pulled at the door handle. “I don’t suppose the damn, blasted thing is locked.”
“Not when I came over,” Mary said, and tracked her way back to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, Mary vomited. Grey-black smoke swirled and gushed along the hall like water through a tunnel, washing over her, coating her face and clothes. She threw up again. “Mrs. Gatherall,” she called to the shadowy lump near the floor. Mary coughed. Her saliva had dried up. “Did you find the brooch ?” Her words were mere squeaks. Mary fumbled through the haze down the hall. The shadow lay face down, a cameo rested between the fingers of the right hand. “Mrs. Gatherall ?” Mary felt for a pulse. She tried to yell but no sound came out.
A noise like the brakes of a train smothered Mary’s attempt to cry out. She looked up. The ceiling sagged, fractured like a broken eggshell. Mary held a hand to her abdomen. I’m sorry, little one. The roof moaned one last time and plummeted. If Mary screamed, no one heard it.
Chapter 9
ALICE AND HENRY WENT BACK into the kitchen to the distant clink of fire bells. “I wonder where the fire is ?” Alice said. She refilled their teacups.
“Maybe we’ll hear something on the radio,” Henry said, switching the button to the on position. An unfamiliar tune — a happy song about singing in the rain — blasted into the room.
“Can’t be that big a fire, then,” Alice said.
“We only saw smoke,” Henry said, taking a sip of tea. “Maybe the firemen will get it under control before there’s too much damage.”
The song faded out and the announcer’s voice came on.
“And now for the seven-thirty news. A building is burning in the downtown area with flames shooting twenty feet into the air. Two people have died in the blaze. Firefighters from two stations are battling below-zero temperatures, freezing water, and blinding smoke to evacuate the building. Traffic is at a standstill and the police are advising everyone to take an alternate route to work. We’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available.”
“How terrible,” Alice said. “I hope it doesn’t spread up our way.”
Henry ate the last of his breakfast and was about to leave for work when the radio announcer came on. “We’ve just learned that the fire is at Hull Home, the nursing home on the corner of Springdale and New Gower Street.”
“Mom !” Alice cried. “Oh, God, Henry !”
“I’ll go see if she’s all right.”
Alice hurried down the hall behind him. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, Mom. Wait here. I’ll call you as soon as I find Gran.”
Henry flew down the street. Flakes of ash floated in the air, mixing with a light flutter of snow. Two dead. The words were imprinted on his brain. Could Gran be one of them ?
Mary.
His heart thudded like horses’ hooves on concrete. He tried to push the dark thoughts away. They persisted, pushing forward, tormenting, as the wind roared past his ears. Cold sweat dried on his chilled body. “Mary has to be all right,” he muttered. A burst of guilt knotted his gut. “Gran, too,” he said over and over. His breath condensed into cl
ouds which didn’t have time to evaporate before he ran through them.
The crowd thickened the closer he came to the Home, slowing him to a crawl. Black smoke, a grey sky, and the sun — now a ghostly shadow — witnessed his progress.
Henry shoved past two men. “The poor souls,” he heard one say.
“How many dead ?” the second man asked.
“I heard it’s at least twenty.”
Henry drove himself harder. He reached New Gower Street and threaded through the onlookers until he reached the Home. Mr. Hull and Howard Pike stood on the sidewalk outside the Annex. Bodies lay in a row on the sidewalk, covered with blankets. Henry stared at them in disbelief. He had to find out if Mary and Gran were among them.
A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, pinning him to the spot. “Sorry, son,” Fire Superintendent Vivian said. “You can’t go near the bodies.”
“Mary works here.” Henry tried to wriggle free from the vicelike grip. “My grandmother’s a resident.”
Howard ran over to Henry. “Mrs. Gatherall’s still inside,” he shouted over the din of voices, traffic, and spraying water. His face was blackened with smoke, his eyes bloodshot. Tracks of sweat left smudges on both cheeks. “So’s Mary.”
Henry stopped struggling with the fire inspector. “Let go of me. I’m going inside.”
“I can’t allow that, son,” the inspector said. Henry summoned every ounce of strength and pulled free.
Howard caught up with him at the door to the Annex and clutched at his arm. “Don’t be so stunned, Henry. You’ll only get in the firemen’s way.”
Henry jerked away. “I have to do something.”
A hacking cough sounded close by. Howard and Henry looked toward the Annex. Mr. Connors came through the door with Susan Vickers in his arms, followed by a clump of residents, the weaker ones assisted by firemen.
Henry looked past them. “Mr. Connors, where’s Mary and Gran ?”
“They were getting everyone out of bed the last time I saw them.”
Susan clung to Mr. Connors, her nightgown black and torn. “Oh, Henry.” Her chin quivered. “Mary stayed behind to help us.” Another coughing fit seized her, shaking her whole body. Mr. Connors continued with her to the table where the Salvation Army handed out blankets, hot tea, and words of encouragement.
Alice stumbled out from among the bystanders. “Henry, I can’t find Mom.”
Susan Vickers made a noise, nothing more than a whimper from a dry and scorched throat, yet loud enough for Henry and Alice to turn and see her look at the Annex.
Two firemen walked from the building, a limp form held in each man’s arms.
Henry caught his mother as her knees buckled like an accordion, her breathing fast, hard. He felt her heart pound.
“Please God,” Alice whispered. “Mom has to be alive.” She looked into Henry’s eyes. “It’s all right. Let me go.”
Dot’s head rested against the fireman’s chest. One arm hung loose and swayed with every step he took. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, and placed the body on the ground. Alice gathered Dot in her arms. She stroked her mother’s hair, rocking her like a baby.
“Gran,” Henry mumbled. No time for tears. His grandmother would want him to do what was important : look out for the living. The second fireman placed a young woman on a blanket. The wind blew hair away from her face. “She looks some peaceful,” he said. “You wouldn’t know but she’s asleep.”
A Salvation Army man draped the body with a blanket, sighing as he pulled it over her head.
All Henry could do was stand and stare.
“I have a daughter about her age,” the fireman said. “Do you know her, young man ?”
Henry nodded. “Her... her name is Joan Myers. She was due to go home next week after spending eighteen months at the Home. She was some excited.” He summoned every ounce of stamina to remain on his feet. “For a second, I thought she was... someone else.”
“I hope you find your friend,” the fireman said, and turned to leave.
Howard snagged him by the coat. “Wait, sir,” he said. “Mary Norris is still in there.” He looked at Alice. “She was with Mrs. Gatherall.”
“Higgins,” Chief Baker said to the fireman. “Go make sure everyone stays a safe distance back from the Home.” He took off his hat and wiped his arm across his forehead. “Lads,” he said, addressing Henry and Howard. “We’ve been through the entire building. I’m sorry. There’s no one left inside.”
“She must be in there,” Howard said. He gaped at Henry. “I didn’t see her come out. Where else can she be ?”
Henry stared at the Annex, his face a blank. “I need to go in and make sure,” he said.
“That’s out of the question,” Captain Baker said.
“Henry,” Isaac Hull shouted as he made his way over. “Mary was brought out earlier.”
“Is she all right ?” Henry looked all around. “Where is she ?’
“The ambulance took her to St. Clare’s. The ceiling fell in on her.” Isaac didn’t look directly at Henry. “And on your grandmother.”
Henry heard the words, garbled like they had been filtered through a sea of water.
“You go to the hospital,” a female voice said. “I’ll meet you there later.”
More distorted words. Henry turned in their direction.
“Henry ?”
He blinked.
Alice stared up at her son. “You go to the hospital,” she repeated, and looked back at her mother. “I’ll be there soon.”
Henry knelt beside his grandmother. “I love you, Gran,” he said, and kissed her forehead.
“Let me tell your father about Mom,” Alice said. “You know how fond he is... was of her.”
TOM WOKE TO THE NOISE of the breakfast trolley squeaking down the hall toward his ward. He tried to sit up, and only succeeded by digging his elbows into the mattress and dragging himself against the bed-head. His heels throbbed, his head ached. Every muscle twitched and rebelled at the slightest movement. The trolley squeaked closer. Tom’s nose itched. He nearly cried out in agony when he scratched it.
“I know exactly how you feel,” the man in the next bed said. “A broken nose isn’t any fun.” He tapped the side of his. “Mine’s been broken four times.”
Tom looked out the window. “The sky is thick with smoke,” he said. He tried to get a better look, but drab curtains blocked his view.
“Must be a fire,” his neighbour to the left said.
“Seems like the smoke’s down around Water Street,” someone observed.
A nurse laid a tray on Tom’s bed trolley. “Hull Home has all but burned down to the ground,” she said.
Tom jerked forward. His heels pushed into the bed and the pain knifed up his legs. “What !” he said. “Was anyone hurt ?”
The nurse glanced out the window. “I’m afraid so. Over twenty people are dead by last count.”
The chatter around the room stopped.
Tom pushed the bed trolley away and threw off the bedsheets. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, grunting all the while.
The nurse looked at him, her lips puckered. She said nothing.
When his legs finally dangled like trousers on a clothesline, the nurse spoke. “Now, Mr. Gibbs, where do you think you’re going ?”
“My son works at the Home.”
“You plan on dragging yourself there by the arse ?”
Tom glared at her. “If I have to.”
“It’s only just gone eight,” the nurse said with a calm that unnerved Tom. “What time does he start work ?”
“Eight,” Tom barked. “Why do you — ” Tom went limp with relief. “Thank God. He would’ve been at home when the fire began.”
“There you go. He’s safe.”
Tom stiffened. “Oh, no. My mother-in-law lives at Hull Home.”
“I’m awful sorry to hear that,” the nurse said, hoisting Tom’s legs back onto the bed. “But there’s nothing you can do for
her. Which building was her bedroom in ?” she said as an afterthought.
“The Annex. Why ?”
“A speck of good luck for you. Most of the survivors are from the Annex.”
Johnny Hayes, the young man in the corner bed, switched on his radio. The song “Jack Was Every Inch A Sailor” was just ending. “My grandmother moved from the Sanatorium to Hull Home a few days ago.”
“The Hull Home fire is under control. The thirty-four confirmed dead are being transported to the General Hospital for autopsy. Our next song is dedicated to all the mothers and fathers who perished in the tragedy.”
“A Mother’s Love Is A Blessing” began to play.
The nurse handed out the last tray. “Everyone eat up or you’ll have me to answer to,” she said from the doorway. “That’s a threat, not a promise.”
“Mrs. Dwyer is some good nurse,” one man said after her departure. “Though I wouldn’t want to rub her the wrong way.”
A few faint chuckles quickly died away.
HENRY CRACKED OPEN THE DOOR to Mary’s private room and peeped inside. He had begged the nurse to tell him how she was. She couldn’t do that. He wasn’t a family member. “I’m going out with her,” he had insisted, but that wasn’t enough. Henry stared at her, dumbfounded. “How is love measured ?” he said, and walked toward the stairs. As he climbed to the third floor, all he knew for certain was that Mary was still alive.
Henry took several deep breaths and pushed open Mary’s door once more. The room was in darkness, the sun hidden behind black, smoke-filled clouds. If only he could hide away from his pain, his mother’s pain, Mary’s pain. Everyone’s pain.
Mrs. Norris sat at the bedside, humming a soft lullaby to the inert figure on the bed, a mere shape under a blanket. She turned when a shadow fell over her. “Hello, Henry,” she said softly, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
Henry opened his mouth to answer but remained silent when he saw the equipment hooked up to Mary.
