Flame and Ashes

by Janet Mcnaughton

  Mr. Matt and our blacksmith work together in perfect harmony, although they are as much alike as May and I. Mr. Oswald Sampson is just like the strongman in the Bible whose name he bears, with a booming voice and a handlebar moustache (though I’m not sure they wore handlebar moustaches in Biblical times). Much of the hardware that’s sold in the basement comes from Mr. Sampson’s forge, which is open to the harbour on one side because of the fire. Mr. Sampson is much sterner with the boys in his workshop, because the work is often dangerous, I allow.

  Some shopkeepers board their employees in rooms above the shop, but Papa just keeps one room in case someone who’s hired is new in town. Most of Papa’s crowd board in houses or hotels, except for the ones who grew up in town and still live with their parents. A few even own houses of their own. Mrs. Millie Steele has a neat little house on Maxse Street and Mr. Sampson has his own house near the edge of town, just off Merrymeeting Road, where he lives with a wife and two sons.

  Behind the workshops is Papa’s wharf, where ships are unloaded under the stern eye of Mr. Stabb, the wharf master. He was a sailor for many years and still wears gold hoops in his ears. The wharf is a dangerous place with winches that move heavy barrels and crates and we are sternly forbidden to go there without Papa. Even the men who unload the ships must be careful, and they know what they’re doing. Alfie and I would never disobey Papa in the store. We are also a little fearful of Mr. Stabb, who seems very fierce.

  There. I think my picture of the store is quite complete!

  Wednesday, June 22nd

  Describing Papa’s store must have worn me right out. Whenever I thought about writing in my diary this past week there was always a more appealing task at hand, but sometimes Papa’s store provides us with Interesting Conversations, so I’m taking up my pen again today to record what I learned at suppertime. Papa said he held Matthew Bright responsible for lost time because girls from all parts of the business were forever finding excuses to visit his shop, but I could tell he wasn’t really angry. Mama said Papa should count himself lucky that Mr. Matt has such an upright character, because he could toy with the affections of as many girls as he pleased. Father replied he thought Mr. Matt’s heart belonged to one young lady in particular, and that was sad because at last year’s Christmas toffee pull, she would not even give him the time of day. Alfie wondered if perhaps the lady had no watch. Mama laughed and explained that Papa meant the lady didn’t like Mr. Bright well enough to talk to him.

  Then Sarah said, if Papa was talking about Miss Rosy Noseworthy, Mr. Matt should turn his attentions elsewhere. Mama was so surprised, she dropped the sugar tongs. “But Sarah, why do you say that?”

  Sarah told us what she’d learned from Patience and Prudence last week, when Miss Rosy was upstairs matching some hat felt to a dress. Patience and Prudence began to talk about the bachelors in the shop — which are kindest, which the most handsome, and who would make the best husband. At that point, Papa frowned and told Sarah that he did not approve of such talk in her presence, but Mama waved his objection aside.

  “It can be useful for young girls to exchange such opinions, Gregory.” She nodded to Sarah, “Go on.” Mama takes a keen interest in the lives of Papa’s crowd, almost as if they were family.

  Sarah told us they decided Mr. Matt would make the best husband because he is so cheerful and kind, but then Patience said it was right sad Miss Rosy had jilted Mr. Matt last fall.

  “I had no idea they were keeping company. Did you, Gregory?” Mama asked.

  Papa replied that it was his custom to take no interest in such matters. Then Mama asked the very question I wanted the answer to. “But why ever would Rose throw him over?”

  Sarah had the answer. Patience said Miss Rosy started to move in a better circle once her friend Miss Prosper was engaged to Mr. French, and she met a young lawyer named Mr. Rupert Waldegrave.

  “A Waldegrave!” Mama cried, “Why, that’s a leading family.”

  Sarah told us that Prudence said, after Miss Rosy met Mr. Waldegrave, she began to say she’d never marry a man who worked in an apron and went about with his shirt sleeves rolled up, not even noticing the smudges on his face, and now Miss Rosy wants to marry someone who will take her to Paris so she can see the new fashions for herself. “It seems Miss Rosy has set her cap for Mr. Waldegrave,” Sarah concluded, “but then we saw Miss Rosy coming down the stairs and that was that.”

  Mama shook her head. “Rose is aiming far above her station.”

  “But Miss Prosper married Mr. French, Mama,” Sarah reminded her.

  Mama explained that the Frenches came to Newfoundland penniless and worked their way up, but William Waldegrave was a governor of Newfoundland in the 1700s and his has been one of the leading families ever since. She felt certain that the Waldegraves would never permit Mr. Rupert to marry a penniless orphan. Mama must be right, but it shocked me to think that anyone might view Miss Rosy in that way. Mama grew quite indignant as she continued. “Matthew Bright may not move in the best circles, but he has a fine, upstanding character, and a man with a trade can always support his family. Rose should know better than to judge a man by the clothes he wears.”

  Then Mama told us she hoped, when it came to courting, Sarah and I would think of more serious qualities than fashionable clothing. I could see that Alfie was about to say something, perhaps about pirates, so I had to give him a gentle kick under the table to remind him of his Oath of Secrecy. I am sure Sarah will be sensible when she’s old enough for courting, but what about me? I rarely look beyond appearances. Does that mean I am bound to make a poor marriage? Because, in truth, I know one day I will have to choose a husband who won’t be a pirate. The thought of growing up is enough to give me a sick headache.

  July 1892

  Saturday, July 2nd

  Last evening Mama and Papa hosted a dinner party, so Alfie and I were allowed to eat our supper off trays onboard the Golden Hind, as I imagine real pirates do.

  The third floor is terribly hot now, but at least it wasn’t smoky yesterday, so Nettie was able to open the window and we caught a cooling breeze from off the sea. (Forest fires have been burning outside the city off and on over the past few weeks. Some days the smoke is so bad that Alfie must stay inside.)

  We spent the whole meal planning our summer holidays. Our summers are often wet and cool, but it has been hot and sunny for weeks now. Mama lets Sarah and me sleep in our chemises, because we have no nightgowns light enough for this weather and Papa says the store is running out of muslin and seersucker. The plants in our back garden even need watering!

  Today Alfie and I pretended we were slaves in Ancient Egypt, hauling water for the workers who were building the pyramids as we carried tin buckets up the back steps from the kitchen so Mama’s new rose and lilac bushes could have a nice, cool drink. My pinafore got muddy, but for once Mama didn’t mind. It’s a very good idea to wear a pinny to protect my dresses, but why must they be white, the colour most likely to show stains?

  This summer will be different for another reason. The diphtheria epidemic has finally ended! The Board of Health took Serious Measures, even removing people from their homes to fumigate, and placing police constables at the doorways of those who refused to move, and this seems to have worked. Last summer Mama refused to believe it was over, but now I am sure she will give us more freedom.

  Today, I told Alfie that I’m going to ask Mama if we may have picnics at Rennie’s River. If we can convince Sarah to come too, Mama is sure to agree, and we are allowed to wander to Bannerman Park by ourselves, as it’s just two blocks away. Of course, we are already talking about the Regatta. They have set the date for August 3 this year, weather permitting, of course. I marked it on Nettie’s kitchen calendar for Alfie. Winsor & Son always has a team in the rowing races, and last year they came second in the men’s final. We can’t wait to see what happens this year.

  Alfie and I also hope for an excursion to Freshwater Bay, which is the nicest picnic s
pot anyone could imagine. Once you sail through the Narrows, every trace of civilization vanishes, leaving nothing but endless ocean and high rock cliffs. Sailing down the shore, you soon come to a sheltered cove with a little freshwater pond protected from the sea by a long, rocky barachois. This is Freshwater Bay. There are woods on either side of the barachois where Alfie and I explore, and beach rocks to collect, but we must wait until August, when the blackflies and nippers are gone.

  The old stone warehouse on the South Side is another point of interest. Though it’s filthy and it needs to be cleared out, Papa said he will take Alfie and me across in a boat to see it one day soon. Alfie is almost beside himself with excitement. His cough is very nearly gone now. This will be a glorious summer.

  Friday, July 8th

  I am so ashamed. I have been sent to my bedroom without supper. The whole summer is ruined and it’s all my fault.

  I knew that Alfie barely fit into the dumb waiter last fall, and I knew he was growing, but somehow I failed to connect those two things as any sensible big sister ought. The dumb waiter isn’t intended to be hauling little boys. It’s what Papa calls “a labour-saving device.” Nettie can open the door in the kitchen, put our hot food inside and use the cable to hoist it up to the dining-room pantry, saving her from having to carry trays of dishes up and down the stairs. I only put Alfie in the dumb waiter when Mama and Nettie were both out of the house, which seldom happens. No one ever forbade us to put Alfie in there, but I knew, if anyone ever thought about it, they would. And it was so much fun. We never did it over the winter, of course. Alfie was too sick.

  Oh! Mouser just rushed into my room and rushed out again. I almost spilled the ink. The wind is so high today, the cat is galey. Whenever high winds make her rush around, Nettie says she has a gale of wind up her tail. Mouser is a very pretty cat with fluffy black fur and white socks and a bib. I wish she was a pet but she’s a working cat who lives in the basement to protect the kitchen, so she’s hardly tame and sometimes scratches. In the uproar I caused today, she got out of the kitchen. I should tell someone, but Mama is so angry, I’m afraid to leave my room.

  To return to my Shameful Story, Mama was invited out for tea and Nettie was on her weekly trip to the grocer. Ruby had taken a chair into the back garden to darn socks in the shade, so I didn’t even have to worry about her telling on us (and I don’t think she would). I checked on Sarah and found her in her room, sewing velvet pansies onto her summer hat, so Alfie and I felt safe. We were pretending that Peter Easton, one of our most famous pirates, had come to kidnap Alfie, and the dumb waiter was the perfect hiding place. He fit in with only a little pushing and was fine on the trip up to the dining room, though I did notice, as I pulled the cable, that he was heavier than he had been last fall. Then, when I tried to get him out, we found he was wedged in tight.

  As always, Alfie was brave. After a bit, he said I should leave him alone get himself free, and I tried, but it was too hard to stay away and he’d made no progress. I tried to pull him out by the leg, but he said that hurt. He was starting to pant so I tried pulling his arm, but I couldn’t budge him. By then Alfie was turning red and wheezing, so I pulled harder.

  I thought about how sick Alfie had been last winter, and I was that frightened, I started to scream. Ruby came first, then Sarah, who told Ruby to run to the kitchen for a glass of water for me. I wanted them to help Alfie, not me, but somehow, this only made me scream more. When Ruby returned with the water, Sarah very calmly dumped it on my head. The shock of it made me stop screaming.

  Now we all turned to Alfie. I thought at first he was having some kind of fit, but, in fact, he was laughing because Sarah had drenched me. I could still hear the wheeze in his laugh though. Ruby looked things over and said, “I’ll be right back.” She returned with the drippings tin, where Nettie keeps the grease from cooking. “We can rub this all over Master Alfie’s clothing,” she said.

  Sarah started to protest that this would ruin his clothes.

  “Never mind that,” I cried. “Just get him out before —”

  I was going to say “before Mama gets back,” but that was exactly what happened. Mama walked in the door

  Oh dear, there’s the fire bell. Well, it’s not surprising with all this hot, dry weather, but the firemen are very clever and we have a lovely steam engine. I’m sure they’ll have the fire under control in no time.

  Mama smeared cooking grease on Alfie where she could, and he popped out of the dumb waiter like a greased pig. (They let a greased pig run free at the Regatta every year and whoever catches it can take it home.) I would say he came out as neat as can be, but “neat” would not describe him at that moment. His sailor suit is ruined and he needed a good scrub.

  Alfie was still wheezing, so Mama sent Ruby to fetch Dr. Roberts and then she turned the full force of her attention to me. She said I have been running wild for far too long. She partly blamed herself for encouraging me to spend so much time with Alfie during the diphtheria epidemic, but that’s over now and playing with Alfie has not had an Improving Influence on me. The terrible punishment of Proper Playmates has arrived.

  She said, this summer, I will learn to be a lady. From now on, she will take me visiting. When visitors come to call, I will be present in one of my best dresses. I will learn to sit through afternoon tea and make Polite Conversation. Worst of all, she will invite Proper Playmates to the house for me. I asked if May Seaward might do, and she said not nearly. Mama has a whole list of girls in mind and her notion of play runs along the lines of sewing together. Finally, she said, if I fail to cooperate in any way, I can expect to be sent to Professor Danielle for dancing lessons next fall. This would be A Fate Worse Than Death. Professor Danielle runs the Royal Restaurant on Water Street. He is a fussy old bachelor, and I’m sure I’d never be able to please him.

  This is no life for a future pirate princess. I burst into tears and told Mama I would rather work in the kitchen with Nettie and Ruby all summer. That’s when she sent me to my bedroom without supper. So the holidays are ruined and it’s all my fault. Those dreary visits and long days with Proper Playmates now stretch before me. Nothing can save me from this fate.

  There’s the oddest commotion in the street. It seems to be moving day for everyone. Carts full of furniture go by, all moving east. Some men are carrying hand barrows piled with household goods. Now someone is banging on the front door. I must have a look.

  I just stuck my head out the window to find Mr. McAllister, the old Scottish bachelor who keeps Papa’s books, looking very flustered as the door opened, not like himself at all. I smell smoke, but we’ve been smelling smoke for weeks now. I do hope the firemen got that fire under control. What if it reached Water Street? But even if it did, those fine stone and brick buildings would never burn.

  Mama is calling for me to come downstairs and she wants me to bring all my clean underclothes. Whatever can this mean? I know a person should not grow too attached to underclothes, but I am very fond of my chemises, petticoats and drawers. Can Mama mean to give them all away to the poor —

  Alfie says I must come, right now. He’s opened my dresser! I must —

  Bannerman Park, Seven p.m.

  The city is in flames. Out of sight from here, down the road past Rawlins Cross, a hard wind blows the fire relentlessly toward the harbour. We can only hope that everyone at Papa’s premises is safe, and the places we love do not catch fire before the conflagration is under control. People are gathering in the park because it’s upwind and safe. It may be hours before we can go home again.

  This is the strangest day of my life. I’m sitting on the hard, dry ground in the park with Mama and Sarah and Alfie. It’s lucky Papa gave me this lap desk. I’d never be able to write, otherwise. Nettie has gone off to see what she can learn about the fire, and Ruby is nearby with Mama’s good silver chest on her lap. Around us, hundreds of people sit just as we do, with whatever they could rescue when they rushed from their houses. Some have cartloads of
stuff, but most, like us, have almost nothing.

  Since this is such a momentous occasion, I will record the events of this afternoon. When Alfie and I came downstairs, Mr. McAllister was already gone. He’d left the message that Papa wanted us to leave the house and go to Bannerman Park so he would know we are safe and so he would be able to find us later, should the worst happen. Sarah told me Mama wanted our underclothes to wrap her wedding china. We all set to work wrapping dishes while I begged Sarah for more details. The fire was still far from Water Street, Mr. McAllister had said, but everyone was ready to defend our premises if necessary. Then Sarah told me Mama had just emptied a barrel of flour on the kitchen floor, and we could hear Mama and Nettie wrestling the barrel up the stairs. I’d already wrapped the teapot and cream soup bowls when Mama arrived. She took over and told us to go upstairs to each fetch a small valise filled with whatever we valued most, but to hurry and come back quickly. So we did.

  I remembered Alfie’s good brass spyglass was aboard the Golden Hind, so I ran up to the third floor to fetch it. And there, of course, I had to look out the window. I could see no fire, but the harbour was filled with smoke, pouring out the Narrows toward the open sea. Buildings block our view of the streets below, but there was a good deal of confusion in the harbour itself as ships left the north side looking for safer berths. Until that moment, I was sure Papa was just being extra cautious. But when I saw that even ships’ captains thought the fire could reach Water Street, I fled as if my fear had chased me down to my room.

  I hardly remember packing at all. When I came down the stairs, the house felt silent and empty, as if we had already abandoned it. Mama stood in the main hall, tucking her sapphire necklace under her blouse. It is far too glorious to be worn with everyday clothes. Then she looked around in a hopeless kind of way. How could we just abandon our beautiful house? Ruby stood there, calm and sad as ever, with a small carpetbag on her elbow and her arms wrapped around our silver chest. Nettie was carrying two valises and crying. Mama took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Never mind, Nettie,” she said. “We’re sure to be back here tomorrow morning, right as rain.”