The Hull Home Fire

by Linda Abbott

  “Hello, Henry,” Flora said. “Come in. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Norris.”

  “How was your first day at the butter factory ?”

  “Good,” Henry said, aware his mother kept her friend up to date.

  “Mary’s in her room having a rest.”

  “Oh,” Henry said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “I’ll drop back another time.”

  “Never you mind that. It’s time she came down for supper.” Flora turned toward the kitchen. “See yourself up.”

  Henry mounted the steps two at a time and trod softly down the hall. The floor creaked. He knocked, waited, then entered. Mary lay facing the door, a pillow cushioned under her broken shoulder. A checkered quilt covered her to the waist. Her eyes were closed, a hand tucked under a cheek. Henry noticed the dark circles, emphasizing her paleness. “Mary,” he whispered.

  She mumbled something he couldn’t make out. Her lids fluttered open. “Henry. Why won’t you leave me be ?”

  A knot twisted tighter in his stomach. “All I ask is that you hear me out. Really listen to what I have to say.”

  Mary sat up. The moon’s glow cast her face in shadows. “If I do, will you leave ?”

  Henry remained where he was. “Yes.”

  “All right. Though it’ll be a waste of time. You’ve already said everything there is to say.”

  “I’ve decided to forget about medical school.”

  Mary fell back against the headboard. “I didn’t ask you to do that, so don’t put the responsibility for that on me.”

  “It’s my choice, Mary. One that I make without regrets.” Henry took a step into the room. “The fire put my life in perspective.”

  “Henry, please. That’s enough.”

  “Let me finish. You and the baby are more important to me than being a doctor.” Henry moved forward another step. “Before the fire, I didn’t consider you. I know now what’s in my heart.” He smiled. “I want you and the baby.”

  Mary looked away. “Please, Henry.” She stopped talking when the front door opened. They listened to Dougie stamp his feet on the front mat and call out asking what was for supper. Henry inched closer to the bed. “You can turn me away as many times as you want. I’ll keep coming back. We can have a good life together.”

  Mary’s expression was unreadable. “Are you done ?”

  Henry stood tall. “For the time being.”

  “You keep saying the fire brought on your big turnaround. If I wasn’t pregnant, would you be here wanting me to marry you ?”

  “Even if you weren’t pregnant, I’d be asking you to marry me.”

  Mary laughed. “Sidestepping the issue is a good ploy. No one can ever accuse you of being dim-witted.” She sighed, exhausted. “Henry, for the last time, forget about me.”

  “No,” was all he said before walking out of the room. “Because I love you,” he muttered under his breath in the hallway.

  Flora poked her head in Mary’s bedroom as soon as Henry had gone. “He has a point,” she said. “If you weren’t in the family way you would marry him.”

  Mary stared at her mother. “How can you say that ?”

  “Don’t bother to deny it,” Flora said with a wave of her hand. “Your face says it all.”

  Chapter 19

  ALICE SAT AT THE KITCHEN table, turning the pages of the family photo album.

  Tom stood in the door leaning heavily on his crutches. “Are you ready, love ?” he said softly. “Mike’s waiting out front with Henry.”

  Alice ran a finger across the picture of her mother snapped on Christmas morning. Dot was smiling, unaware that Tom had taken her picture. She held the pearl necklace Alice had scrimped and saved a whole year to buy. Alice kissed the photo, closed the book, and stood up like it was a monumental effort. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Tom moved toward his wife. “Henry picked up the flowers for Dot’s grave.”

  “Good,” Alice said. “Carnations were her favourite. Remember how she liked to have them in her room at the Home ?” A shadow passed over her face. “That’s the only birthday present I can give her now.” She clasped the locket to her heart and returned it to the inside of her sweater.

  Alice walked behind Tom down the hall. She hesitated when he opened the door. “I don’t know if I can bear to see the grave.” She leaned against the wall. “It’s terrible that I haven’t gone since the funeral.”

  Tom smiled. “Dot will understand if you’re not ready.” He kissed the top of her head. “Are you all right ?”

  “I’m being silly,” she said. “Let’s go.” The sun shone and the wind was quiet. The temperature had risen by five degrees.

  Tom grinned. “I bet Dot arranged this lovely day just for you, Alice.”

  Alice nodded, the hint of a smile on her face.

  Mike sat in the driver’s seat of Dr. Kennedy’s Buick and watched his brother and sister-in-law walk toward the car. Tom’s face was drawn. It suddenly occurred to Mike the depth of the love that Tom had felt for his mother-in-law.

  Henry helped his father into the front passenger seat. Alice joined her son in the back seat. No one spoke on the drive to the cemetery. Mike turned in to the main gate off the boulevard and parked as close to the gravesite as possible. Tom struggled with his crutches, careful not to slip on the pathway and over the hard-packed snow.

  Alice hesitated as they approached Dot’s grave.

  “You can do this,” Tom said.

  Alice sighed, and moved to the gravesite, and placed the carnations, neatly arranged in a pale blue vase, on the hard snow beside a bouquet of fresh, white carnations. “Those must be from Father Whitten,” she said. “He always gave Mom those for a special occasion.”

  Henry picked up a stray white petal and placed it with the others. “I ran into Father Whitten outside the butter factory yesterday. He’d just come from visiting Gran.”

  Alice stared at the black marble headstone placed on her father’s grave when she was a child, the space slotted for Dot’s name now filled in. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

  Tom and Mike stayed a little to the side and back a few steps. “I talked to Lilah last night and asked her to come for a visit,” Mike said, his voice low. “She arrives the day after tomorrow.”

  “Alice will like that,” Tom said. “It’ll give her something to look forward to.”

  “Lilah’s been after me for years to show her where I grew up.” Mike looked sideways at Tom. “She’s anxious to meet the man who’s even more stubborn than me.” His gaze drifted down at the lake. “We had some good times at the Regatta, didn’t we ?”

  “We sure... what the hell is he doing here ?” Tom said, his eyes on a man walking through the lower entrance, his head held high.

  “Who is it ?” Mike asked.

  “Isaac Hull,” Tom almost spat out. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s the man who killed Dot and all the others.”

  “He looks so ordinary,” Mike said.

  Henry turned just as Isaac reached the group. “Hello, Mr. Hull,” he said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “I came to pay my respects to the residents we lost in the fire.” Isaac nodded to Alice. “Mrs. Gatherall was certainly one of the finest women in the Home. My wife and I miss her wit and charm.”

  Tom laughed out loud. “Pay your respects ! You don’t know the meaning of the word. I doubt any of those killed would want you here.”

  Isaac stood to his full height. “Those are harsh words, Mr. Gibbs,” he said. “And I might add that you do not have the right to speak for people you never knew.”

  “Maybe if you’d been man enough to stay and organize a rescue, some of the dead would still be alive.” Tom’s hands tightened on his crutches. “Instead an old woman and a slip of a girl took on that responsibility for you.”

  Alice hurried to her husband’s side. “Tom, please let it go.”

  “Look here, Mr. Gibbs,” Isaac said. “
The possibility of a fire never once crossed my mind. That’s why there wasn’t any firefighting equipment at the Home.” He glanced at Henry as if seeking support, then looked back to Tom. “No one saw fit to inform me that some safety conditions could have been improved upon.”

  Tom looked Isaac up and down, as if he found the sight of him distasteful. “Don’t try and sell that bill of goods to me,” he said. “If you’d truly cared about those old and sick people you would’ve made sure they were safe.”

  “You know absolutely nothing about me and therefore have no idea about what I would or would not have done. I’m late for an appointment.” Isaac turned and walked back the way he had come.

  “Tom,” Alice said. “You were a tad hard on him.”

  Henry stared after his former employer. “I’m not sure I agree,” he said. “Mary warned him over and over about the stove. He ignored her every time.”

  Mike looked down to the road. Isaac got in a car and drove away. “The man did come across as if he didn’t have anything to be ashamed of,” he said. “Do you think it’s possible Mr. Hull is harder on himself than he’s willing to admit ?”

  “Right,” Tom sneered. “And I’ll be able to run around the lake tomorrow.”

  Alice shook her head. “All this arguing is useless,” she said. “No matter who’s at fault, nothing anyone says or does will bring Mom and the others back. I don’t want to spend good energy on resentment or hatred.” She drew her arm through her husband’s. “Tom, you know that Mom would agree with me.”

  He looked away, but not before Mike saw a spark of grief dull his eyes.

  Henry blessed himself. “We best get a move on,” he said, “if we want to be on time for dinner at Dr. Kennedy’s house.”

  “Believe me,” Mike said with an exaggerated moan. “Mrs. Simms will give us all a tongue banging if we’re even a minute late.”

  MARY SAT BACK INTO THE rocker, her head resting on the wooden spindles. Light from the moon glowed like an electric bulb in a star-rippled sky. Despite the thick quilt tucked around her legs and shoulders, she was cold. Her breath transformed into a grey mist with every exhalation. The headache that had awakened her at dawn had finally subsided. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, stimulated even more by the smell of baking bread, and for the first time all day she felt well enough to eat. She threw off the quilt and was about to stand up when the sound of a car caught her attention.

  Dr. Kennedy chugged to a stop in front of the Gibbs house and turned off the motor. Henry helped his father out of the car while Mrs. Gibbs, the doctor, and a man Mary had never seen before headed toward the front door. She studied the stranger. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired. Alice said something to him and he smiled. His eyes seemed to light up. He must be the deserter brother, she thought.

  Mike Gibbs looked up and smiled at Mary. Startled, she turned away from the window.

  Dougie stood in the doorway, motionless, his face hidden in shadows. “Mom said Mr. Gibbs was wrong about his brother the same way you’re wrong about Henry.”

  “You’ll understand why I feel the way I do in a few years,” Mary said in a weary voice.

  Dougie shifted to the side and his face became visible. “Sometimes I think I understand better than you do,” he said, and left.

  Mary looked back out the window. The street was empty, looking lonely without the people to keep it company.

  Flora came into the bedroom. Mary’s arms were limp at her side, blonde hair hanging down over her face. “Supper’s ready,” Flora said with a cheery smile. “Stew with dumplings.”

  Mary rolled her head along the back of the rocker to gaze at her mother. “It smells good,” she said, a flat tone to her voice. She stood up. The quilt fell to the floor. “Dougie was just here. He thinks I’m being mean to Henry.”

  “Unfair is a better word,” Flora said.

  Mary’s hand went to her stomach. “Mom, you more than anyone shouldn’t want me to marry Henry under these circumstances.”

  “Love,” Flora said softly, “we’ve talked about this. You know good and well where I stand. Supper’s on the table.”

  Mary folded the quilt and laid it at the foot of the bed. The hunger had fled, replaced with an empty ache. At the bottom of the stairs, a wave of cramps stabbed at her stomach. Sweat broke out on her brow and she fell to her knees, her arms and legs heavier than barrels filled with oil. “Mom,” she tried to cry out. Only a rush of air sounded. Another spasm of pain drove her into a fetal position. “Mom,” she tried again, dragging herself down the hall.

  Flora passed by the kitchen door. “Sweet Jesus,” she cried, and rushed to her daughter.

  Dougie jumped up from the table and ran after his mother.

  “The pain’s some bad,” Mary gasped, both hands pressed to her stomach.

  “Dr. Kennedy’s next door,” Dougie said, and bolted outside in his slippers.

  The cold air washed over Mary. She shivered.

  Flora knelt next to her. “It’s all right, love,” she said, smoothing sweat-soaked hair away from Mary’s forehead.

  “The baby,” Mary cried. “The baby has to be all right.”

  Henry came through the door. His eyes mirrored the fear on Mary’s face. Dr. Kennedy came next, his coat open, a medical bag in one hand. “Goodness me,” he said at the sight of Mary sprawled out like a sack of potatoes on the floor.

  “It’s my stomach,” she whispered through the pain.

  “Henry,” the doctor said without looking at him. “Get Mary to the chesterfield.”

  Henry gently lifted her up. She cried out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as he carried her to the living room.

  The doctor shed his coat before ordering everyone out.

  Flora looked her daughter squarely in the eyes. “He needs to know everything.”

  Henry didn’t budge.

  Flora took him by the arm. “Come along. Mary’s in good hands.”

  Dr. Kennedy waited until they were alone to speak. “Dougie said something about you collapsing with severe stomach pains.”

  “Yes. It’s not so bad now.”

  The doctor took her blood pressure and pulse. “Both a little high, but nothing too serious. Now what was Flora talking about ?”

  Mary sat up with the doctor’s assistance. She blushed and lowered her eyes. “I... I’m in the family way.”

  “I see,” the doctor said, as if the revelation was no surprise. He closed the medical bag. “Has there been any spotting ?”

  Mary shook her head.

  “Good. Good.”

  “Dr. Kennedy, this is the first time anything like this has happened. Will the baby be all right ?”

  “That, my dear, depends on you.”

  Mary stared at him. “On me ?”

  “Worry can kill even the most healthy among us.” Dr. Kennedy sat down beside his patient. “To have a healthy baby you must eat right and give up worrying. You’re whiter than a bleached sheet and I’d guess you’ve lost at least eight or nine pounds.”

  Mary’s bottom lip trembled. “It hasn’t been easy for me.”

  “So that’s why the boy changed his mind about medical school.” The doctor pulled on his ear. “His parents are awfully concerned about him.”

  “Please,” Mary said. “I’m too tired to talk any more.”

  “Eat something, then go straight to bed. If there’s any more cramping, call me right away.” He gave a reassuring smile. “It isn’t the end of the world, Mary. I can assure you that.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, HENRY WENT to check on Mary. Dougie bounded up the sidewalk, the empty newspaper bag slung over his shoulder. “Hi, Henry,” he said, jiggling coins in his pocket. “I got ten pennies in tips.” He hopped up onto the front step. “Come on in. Mary should be up by now.”

  “How is she ? I was some worried about her and the — ”

  “I know about the baby,” Dougie said. “Mary didn’t touch a bite again last night. Mom was in and out of her room half the night.” H
is voice took on a lighter tone when he continued. “I was some glad to see her sound asleep when I got up this morning.”

  “She’s having a hard time of it,” Henry said.

  Flora met them in the hall. “Dougie, your breakfast is ready.” She looked at Henry. “Mary’s in bed. She had a bad night.”

  Disappointment registered on Henry’s face. “I was hoping to see her.”

  “Henry, tell me the God’s honest truth. Why do you want to marry my daughter ?”

  “To give our baby a proper name. My name.” He looked at Mrs. Norris with a clear, steady gaze. “Most important of all, because I love her more than I believed possible.”

  “Just as I thought,” Flora said. “Just as I thought.” She smiled, yet it didn’t brighten her face. “Mary’s awake. Go on up.”

  Henry’s heart began to gallop faster than a frightened horse as he climbed the stairs. He walked down the hall to her room, rapped on the door, and opened it before Mary could object to him coming in.

  She lay back against the pillows, milky white, her cheeks sunken. “Henry, please leave me alone.”

  “I can’t. I won’t,” he said, moving to the bed.

  Mary stared at him, unblinking. “You don’t have to worry about the baby any more,” she said, her voice a hollow whisper.

  “That’s easier said than done. What kind of man would I be to walk away from you, from our baby ?”

  Mary sank into the bed and pulled the covers to her neck. “That obligation is gone.”

  Henry felt his knees weaken and held onto the bedpost for support. “What do you mean ?”

  “I miscarried last night. The baby’s gone.” She turned toward the window. Clouds gathered on the horizon. “You don’t have to marry me now.”

  Henry fell into the rocking chair. “It can’t be true.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, God. It can’t be true.”

  “I want to be alone,” Mary said.

  “I love you,” Henry said, and ran a hand through his hair. “You’ll never know how much I wanted our baby.”