The Hull Home Fire

by Linda Abbott

  Mike’s hands were deep in his pockets. A scarf covered his neck and ears. “I don’t ever remember it being this cold,” he said.

  “Neither does anyone else.”

  “Who is it ?” Tom called.

  Mike leaned a hand against the wall for support and wiped his feet on the hall mat. He gave his nephew a look which said it’s now or never and walked to the living room with an almost undetectable limp. “It’s me, Tommy,” he said.

  Tom’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

  Mike looked at Alice, a soft smile on his face. “Hello, sister-in-law. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  “It’s incredible,” Alice said. “You’re a perfect, older version of Tom.”

  Mike chuckled. “I’ve been told worse things.”

  “I don’t want you in my home,” Tom spat out. “Leave now.”

  “Alice, Henry, I’d like to speak with my brother in private, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mind,” Tom snapped.

  “We’ll be in the kitchen,” Alice said, and fled from the room with Henry.

  Tom gripped the arms of his chair. “I have nothing to say to you. Get out.”

  Mike stepped forward. “Well, I have much to say to you.” He advanced farther into the room. “The least you can do is listen. You owe me that much.”

  Tom laughed, a deep, guttural noise that conveyed no joy. “I owe you. What a joke.” He grabbed his crutches from the side of the armchair and tried to stand up. His heels slid from the stool, striking the floor with a thud. Tom winced in pain and flopped back into the chair.

  “Frankie told me about your accident,” Mike said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Tom stared at the icicles outside the window, his face harder, colder.

  Mike sat down on the couch. “You don’t know how difficult it was to leave our parents and you, Tommy, a ten-year-old boy who believed I could do no wrong.”

  “I outgrew that years ago.” Tom kept his eyes fixed on the icicles.

  “My loneliness was like a sore that wouldn’t heal. My new life wasn’t easy, Tommy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Tom said. “I’m not a child anymore.”

  “Not being able to get home for Mom or Dad’s funeral tore me apart. I had no choice in the matter.”

  Tom’s face reddened. Even his ears glowed. “Tore you apart.” His voice quivered. “Had no choice. Do you truly believe you’re talking to the gullible youngster who used to hang on your every word ?” The veins in his neck bulged out like thick rope. “You have some gall. This is the last time I will tell you to get out of my house.”

  Mike got to his feet slowly. “I’ll go for now. However, you’re not the only one with a stubborn streak. You will hear me out one way or another.”

  Alice came back into the living room when she heard the front door close. Tom looked into the fireplace. She looked at her husband’s profile. A sinew in his jaw ticked like a rapid heartbeat. “What did Mike have to say for himself ?” she said.

  Tom turned to her, his face white. “Where’s Henry ?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject, Tom Gibbs. This is important.”

  “I’m beat, Alice. Besides, it’s time for bed.” He muttered and grumbled at his sore arm muscles as he pushed himself up. “I want to go to bed. Where’s Henry ?”

  “Here,” Henry said, hurrying from the kitchen. “Are you all right ?”

  “I want to go upstairs.”

  Henry passed the crutches to his father and followed him up the stairs, a buffer in case he tumbled backwards. Tom didn’t utter a word, bringing down the tips of the wooden sticks on every step a little harder than was necessary. He stayed silent while Alice helped him undress.

  “He still has his Newfoundland accent,” she said when they were in bed.

  “What ?”

  “Mike... he still has it. You can’t take Newfoundland out of the person.”

  “You can take him out of Newfoundland.”

  Alice sighed inwardly. “How did you feel when you saw Mike ?”

  “Angry.”

  “Is that all ?”

  Tom looked sideways at his wife. “What would you like me to say ?”

  “The truth. Somewhere inside you must want to know what kept Mike away.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Dot wasn’t a blood relative, but you know I thought the world of her.”

  Alice nuzzled closer to Tom. “She loved you, too. What does my mother have to do with Mike ?”

  “Distance wouldn’t have prevented me from attending her funeral.”

  Alice smeared a tear across her cheek. “The little boy never really dies in a man,” she said. “He’s the one that must’ve been thrilled to see his little brother.”

  Tom’s body became rigid. “You’re wrong, Alice. Mike killed that child when he didn’t show up the day our father was buried.”

  Alice looked up at her husband. His jaw locked tight, he stared out the window. Icicles stared back. “That’s the hurt talking,” she said, and turned off the lamp. “It’s never too late to make amends.”

  DR. KENNEDY WAITED IN THE study for Mike’s return. He cradled a whisky in one hand while browsing through a medical journal on tuberculosis.

  The housekeeper looked in through the open door. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Is there anything I can get you before I go ?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Simms. Good night.”

  “I baked cheese buns in case you crave a little something to eat later on. They’re cooling on the kitchen sink. Dr. Gibbs sure is partial to my buns.” She giggled. “Good night, Doctor.”

  Dr. Kennedy chucked the journal aside. He glanced at the telephone on his desk, tempted to call the Gibbs house. “Don’t be an idiot. What excuse will you give for calling at this late hour ?”

  “Ah,” Mike said. “I see you still converse with yourself.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on people you wouldn’t hear their private thoughts.”

  Mike looked at the drink cupped in his friend’s hands. “I could use one of those,” he said, and filled a glass to the rim.

  “I take it the visit wasn’t a success,” the doctor said.

  Mike gulped down the whisky. His hair was windblown, his nose red, his eyes watery from the cold. “You could say that.” He poured a second drink. “Tommy... Tom didn’t give me a chance to even begin an explanation.”

  Dr. Kennedy topped up his own glass. “Can’t say as I blame him.”

  Mike sat down and looked at his friend. “Why would you say that ?”

  “Tom pined after you for years. He was a few years younger than Henry when your parents died within months of each other. He drew into himself, enlisted in the army, and went off to war.” He took another swig of alcohol. “The boy came back bewildered, lonely — that is, until he met Alice. She brought purpose and love back into his life.”

  “How did they meet ?”

  “In my office. Alice left her gloves in the reception area. Tom, ever the chivalrous young man, chased her down the road to return them.” Dr. Kennedy smiled. “Alice denies it, of course, but I’m sure she deliberately left the gloves behind.”

  Mike ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “She’s a lovely woman.”

  “Tom’s a fine man most days. What’s your next step ?”

  “Keep at Tom until he listens.”

  “Mike, why on earth didn’t you simply show him up front why you missed your parents’ funerals ?”

  “I wanted him to hear me out first. Why does my brother have to so inflexible ?”

  “Tom can be obstinate. Look at your own father.”

  “True,” Mike said. “Once he latched onto something, it stuck tighter than a nail hammered in wood.” Mike ground a fist into his hand.

  “You can’t be all that shocked about Tom’s reaction tonight. Why are you so upset about it ?”

  Mike went to the fireplace and looked into the dying embers. “For nea
rly forty years I kept Tommy alive in my heart. Tonight, reality smacked me in the face.” He turned to Dr. Kennedy. “Tommy’s gone, replaced with the man named Tom, who doesn’t want me back in his life.”

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, HENRY woke to find the door he had left open the night before closed. Once awake, he could never stay in bed.

  Tom Gibbs was sitting at the kitchen table with tea and toast when Henry strolled into the heated kitchen. “I lit the stoves this morning. A nice break for your mother.” He wore a housecoat and hadn’t shaved.

  “I didn’t hear you pass my room,” Henry said.

  Tom rubbed his two knees. “I crawled down the hall, shut your door so as not to disturb you, and came down the stairs on my backside.” He frowned. “It was a chore to drag the crutches along without making noise.”

  Henry put bread on the toaster doors. “Dad, you don’t look like you closed your eyes the whole night.”

  “Too much on my mind. What are you doing up so early ?” A light grey smoke drifted up from the toaster. Tom made a face. “Don’t know how you can eat burned bread.”

  Henry spread blueberry jam on the charred toast. “It tastes better that way.” He licked his fingers. “It’s time I look for a new job.”

  “Why ?” Tom brushed invisible bread crumbs from his lap.

  “You’re laid up with no income, Dad. The money the longshoremen collected won’t last forever. A few months’ earnings will help tide us over until you get on your feet again.”

  “Any prospects lined up ?”

  Henry drank a little tea. “I spoke with Fred. The bakery doesn’t need anyone.”

  “Maybe one of the downtown stores might need someone good with figures.”

  “I’ve made the rounds there.” Henry chewed the crusty toast. “They don’t want to take on someone who’ll only be around a short while.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “Bill says he’ll put in a word for me at the dock.”

  Tom’s lower lip twitched. “Good old Bill should mind his own business.”

  “He was against the idea, but I insisted. Besides, it’ll only be temporary.”

  Tom pushed his plate away and leaned across the table, almost reaching his son. “Listen here, Henry. No one was happier than me when you didn’t show any interest in the docks. Unloading cargo ships is godawful hard, not to mention dangerous work.”

  “But Dad — ”

  “Listen, Henry. Accidents happen on a weekly basis. Look at me.” He stared down at his feet. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for my war training. It’s no place for a man with an education or one who has a grain of sense.”

  “Dad, you finished high school. Not too many of your generation accomplished that. Yet you gave up an office job at the butter factory for the docks.”

  “A move I’ve regretted ever since.”

  “Then why did you leave ?”

  “Your mother asked me that same question after we were married.” Tom became quiet, mulling the answer over in his mind. “I was young, just back from a horrible war... and I was alone. All my buddies worked at the docks. I reckon I needed to be with them.”

  You still miss your brother, Henry thought. And you’re too proud to admit it or to forgive him.

  Tom handed his cup to Henry for a refill. “If I’d met your mother earlier,” he said, “she would’ve knocked some sense into me.” Tom stared at his son. “You’ll be gone in a couple of months, won’t you ?”

  Chapter 14

  DOUGIE SKIPPED THE SHORT DISTANCE from the sidewalk to the Gibbs house, the first stop on his delivery route with the Daily News. He whistled “All Around the Circle,” his head bobbing to the tune. Snow fell as it had all during the night. The white flakes covered his dark lashes and the blond hair poking out from the wool cap knitted by Dot a month earlier. His footprints had become faint indentations, soon to be obliterated. He rolled up the newspaper and was about to shove it through the mail slot when the door opened.

  “Thought I heard you,” Henry said. “Right on time, too.”

  “I have to be.” Dougie passed over the paper. “Mom would kill me if I was late for school.”

  Henry looked down at his slippers, the toes covered in snow, and stepped back. He turned his eyes to the banks crowding the sidewalk. “I don’t know where they’re going to put all this new white stuff.”

  “Dump it into the harbour, I suppose,” Dougie said in a singsong voice. Snow gathered on the bag slung across his chest.

  “What are you so chipper about this early in the day ?”

  Dougie stuck out his tongue and caught a flake. “Mary’s coming home today. I can’t wait.”

  Henry’s heart pumped a little faster. “Your mother must be relieved,” he said.

  “She sure is,” Dougie said with a broad smile which immediately changed to a puzzled expression. “Henry, how come you only went to visit Mary before she woke up ?”

  Henry beat his arms and stamped his feet to keep warm. “Boy, it’s enough to skin you out,” he said, stalling for time. “The hospital is pretty strict about the number of visitors in the room at one time. Your mother wanted to spend as much time with Mary as possible.”

  Dougie considered the explanation, a finger to his chin. A smile brightened his face once more. “You’ll get to see her plenty when she’s home.”

  No I won’t, Henry thought.

  “You all right ?” Dougie said. “You have a funny look on your face all of a sudden.”

  “Froze to death, that’s all. I’d better get inside.”

  Dougie swiped away clumps of snow from the bag with a gloved hand. “See you later,” he said, and whistled “All Around the Circle” as he walked away.

  What I wouldn’t give to be happy and worry-free like you right now, Henry thought, and closed the door. He went to the kitchen and reported the good news to his parents.

  “That’s grand,” Alice said. “Poor Mary nearly perished in the fire and her father doesn’t know a thing about it. Such a tragedy.”

  “Serves Charlie right,” Tom grumbled. “What kind of man runs out on his wife and two small children ?”

  “You grew up with him, Dad,” Henry said. “Did you think he was capable of that ?”

  “Not at first. But you don’t know about a man until he’s tested.”

  Alice stacked plates in the dishpan. “Thank heavens Mary will make a full recovery,” she said. “The darling girl is due some good luck.”

  Henry ripped apart a slice of ham. “Mary never talks about her father. Not even when he first took off.”

  “Can’t say as I blame her,” Tom said. “No father has the right to hurt his family the way Charlie did.”

  FLORA HELPED MARY WITH HER coat, taking care with her broken shoulder. “Does that hurt ?” she said.

  “Not too bad,” Mary said. Her voice sounded weak.

  Flora dressed her daughter with hat, scarf, and gloves like she was a small child. “You can’t afford to catch a cold.”

  Mary dragged the scarf down from her mouth. “I’m smothering, Mom.”

  Flora took the small suitcase, which held Mary’s toothbrush and nightgowns, from the bed. “I called a taxi before I came up.”

  Nurse Dwyer came into the room with a wheelchair. “Into the chair with you, young woman,” she said. “Let’s not keep the driver waiting.”

  Mary started for the door. “I can walk.”

  “Indeed you won’t, my girl.” The nurse pushed the wheelchair behind Mary. “I’m the boss around here.” There was no teasing evident in her voice. “You’ll be dead on your feet before you reach the end of the hall. Get your bottom in this right now.”

  Mary glanced at her mother. Flora shrugged, a slight smirk playing around the corners of her mouth. “I am a little tired,” Mary said, and obeyed the order.

  No one spoke on the elevator or on the brief walk to the exit.

  Nurse Dwyer wheeled Mary outside, even though she hadn’t put a coat on ove
r her uniform. “You take care of yourself,” she said softly. “We don’t want to see you back here as a patient anytime soon.”

  “I will. Thank you,” Mary said as she climbed into the taxi.

  The nurse waved as the car drove away. The tail of her white uniform flapped around her thick legs.

  Mary rested her cheek against the cold window. “Nothing’s the same anymore,” she murmured. “Mrs. Gatherall is gone. And all the other lovely residents. Look at what’s happened to me.” The taxi skidded halfway down the road and spun around.

  Flora grabbed Mary. “Please God we’ll make it home in one piece,” she said, shielding her daughter with her body. A small car swerved to the right to avoid a collision and plunged into a snowbank.

  The taxi slid to a stop, facing the right direction. “It’s all right, ladies,” the driver said, flipping off his hat to wipe his forehead. “I got her under control.” The small car safely disengaged from the snowbank and drove past the taxi. “That’s a daily occurrence this winter,” the driver said. “It takes a year off my life every time.”

  The taxi turned a corner at the top of Springdale Street. The last remains of Hull Home beckoned to Mary. Look at me, it seemed to call out. I’m still standing. She turned to her mother. “Why can’t this all be a horrible dream ?”

  Flora searched for a comforting word. None came.

  The car continued to the end of the road, turned right, then left, and stopped in front of the Norris house. Mary fumbled with the handle. “I’ll get that, miss,” the driver said, reaching back.

  “I can do it,” Mary said, and pushed the door open. She slipped on hidden ice. “Shit,” she muttered. Her injured shoulder whacked the side of the car. She bit down on her lip, drawing blood.

  Flora paid the fare and rushed to her daughter.

  Dougie flew out of the house. “Mary,” he called, running toward her with open arms. “I missed you an awful lot.”

  “Me, too. It’s good to be...” She paused to catch her breath “... out of the hospital.”

  “Mind her bad shoulder,” Flora said as Dougie went to hug Mary.

  He stared at her drawn face. “Why do you look so sad ?”