Flame and Ashes

by Janet Mcnaughton

  May ran to me when I called her and we embraced as if we had not seen each other for months, and it felt that way too. Because the Seawards were on a Mission of Mercy, I had assumed all was well with them, but before one word was said, May’s face told another story. I thought of that big, beautiful house and it was like losing Windsor Castle all over again.

  “Oh, May! Not Ordnance House!”

  She nodded, too overcome to speak. Finally she said in a small voice, “The fire stopped just the other side of the ordnance yard. The trees in Cavendish Square are still quite as green as ever.”

  Cavendish Square is a small strip of land between the railway station and the ordnance yard, just beyond her home. It was too cruel. May took heart as she spoke, adding that it’s lucky the railway station is unharmed. She said the telegraph office had been destroyed, but the telegraphers were already on the go in the railway station, sending out a notice of distress. “Soon, the world will come to our rescue,” she concluded. “The bishop said so himself at breakfast.”

  Breakfast with the bishop? That made me ask where May was staying.

  “At Avalon Cottage, near the theology college on Forest Road. It belongs to the church. Our family and the bishop’s family, and all the bachelor clerics who lived in the clergy house beside the orphanage, all of us are there, along with all our servants, of course.”

  I said it sounded crowded, and she admitted it was, but there were plans to send all the theology students who live in the house out around the island for the summer to make more room. “The bishop will return to England on the first possible crossing,” May added, “so he can begin to raise money to rebuild the Cathedral.”

  My heart leapt up. “He thinks it may be restored?”

  “He is quite determined.”

  It was the best news I’d heard since the fire. Then I told May of Papa’s plans.

  “Your father is a clever man, Triffie, but I will miss having you close by —”

  “And our walks to school,” I added. “To think the school is gone —”

  “And Ashton Cottage, Triffie. It burned too. Now you will never live there.”

  May and I began to cry, right there in the park, and we sank to the ground with our arms around each other while we recited a litany of all the places we would never see again. The Athenaeum! The City Hall Skating Rink! The Customs House! The Total Abstinence Hall, the British Hall and the Old Factory! All the theatres where we had seen such lovely entertainments.

  It was a shameful display, but we couldn’t stop ourselves. We were not the only ones crying in the park that morning, though we were soon the loudest. May’s mother had wandered far afield with her basket. My mother was closer, so she found us.

  “Triffie! May!” She stood over us with her hands on her hips. But we must have looked wonderful sad, because her frown softened a little and so did her voice as she knelt to tell us that we must be brave, for at least we were all unharmed. “Mr. Ledwell said that a man and his six children died in the fire,” she told us as she handed us each a hankie and bid us dry our eyes. Then she began to question May about her circumstances. Mama is good at cheering people up when she puts her mind to it and May was quite herself by the time Mrs. Seaward came to collect her.

  Papa told us to watch for Mr. Morrissey. One of our tailors who lives out Quidi Vidi way had promised to ask Mr. Morrissey to fetch us “as soon as it seemed decent to call in on him.” Until Papa said that, I hadn’t realized how very early it was. At this time of year, the sun rises near 5 a.m. Alfie spotted Mr. Morrissey first, and I was disappointed to find he had come with a plain cart, not his usual cab. The wagon was big enough to hold all of us, and even Mama’s barrel of good china, but I had been looking forward to seeing one thing from my past that had not been consumed.

  Papa directed him to take a roundabout route, over to Merrymeeting through Georgestown so we would not breathe the smoke still rising from the ruins. Passing those comfortable wooden homes from the back of a wooden wagon brought me to realize how much everything would now change. Papa had always sent Mr. Morrissey’s fine Victoria cab, with its pretty leather hood, to bring Sarah and me home from school in foul weather. I recalled how I’d often bribed Mr. Morrissey to bring May too, with the promise of some of Nettie’s gingerbread. The cabmen in our city pride themselves on their singing, and Mr. Morrissey has a fine voice indeed. May especially likes shipwreck ballads, even if they end with everyone dead, and I remembered all the times she’d sat with me in the Victoria cab with tears streaming down her cheeks, only to ask him to sing another sad ballad when the song ended.

  I thought about the songs I like best, the funny ones that Mr. Johnny Burke writes. I bought them from the newsboys for a penny a sheet. Now there would be no school to come home from, no streets of shops to walk along, perhaps no newspapers or song sheets for the newsboys to sell. The little, happy things I took for granted, never dreaming they could be lost — now gone, all gone.

  As I tried to hold back my tears, I wished Mr. Morrissey might favour us with one of Johnny Burke’s funny songs, but he was so silent and cheerless as he drove, anyone would think he had been burnt out himself. I struggled alone to hide my feelings rather than make everyone even sadder, until we reached the Sampson house here on Scott Street, at the very outskirts of town.

  Writing this account has drained me. I need to curl up for a nap somewhere.

  Monday, July 11th, Scott Street

  I am writing very, very carefully as I sit here at Mrs. Sampson’s sewing table in my rose satin dress, once the best of many, now one of two. If I stain it with ink, I will cry. We will leave Scott Street in a few hours, and I am very sorry, though it’s clear we cannot stay. The Sampson boys have been sleeping on the parlour rug with Alfie since we came. Mama sleeps in little William’s bed, and Sarah and I are squashed into Charles’s. Nettie and Ruby sleep in a glassed-in porch on wicker furniture! This house is small and Mr. Sampson’s snores almost shake the walls.

  I’ve missed Papa, for he has been working night and day to make the old warehouse fit for us. We have disrupted the Sampsons’ lives completely even though we’ve tried to be helpful. Nettie and Ruby took over the kitchen and Sarah and I look after the boys.

  Mrs. Sampson is very clever with her sewing machine and much in demand. Mama told Mrs. Sampson she hoped our help would free her to devote herself to dressmaking, but the poor lady is quite undone by Mama’s presence. It’s a sin. She hardly seems to know whether to sit or stand when we are alone, and those moments are rare, as neighbour women keep dropping by to hear our story and gossip about the fire. Some of their tales are alarming and no one can agree on the number of people who died. That man with his six children is still spoken of as fact. Three children are missing and presumed drowned, though no one can say how or why, and some say a woman, her daughter and their servant died on Victoria Street. When the neighbour women aren’t talking about death and dying, they gossip about all the looting that went on while the fire raged, some whispering darkly they can never tell what they know. The Sampsons have done their very best, but this place is hardly a refuge for us.

  I realized how frayed our nerves are when Sarah and I talked this morning, while the boys played in a vacant field near the house, running and yelling in spite of the heat, which is as bad as ever. Though the sun was hot, I was glad to put my company manners aside. I told Sarah I’d never realized that staying in someone else’s home could be such a trial.

  “It’s time for us to be gone, Triffie. The house is bursting at the seams. Mrs. Sampson will have the vapours if we stay, she is that rattled by Mama’s presence, and those nosy neighbour women give us no peace.”

  “Why doesn’t Mama just shoo them out of the house and tell Mrs. Sampson to sit down?” I asked.

  Sarah looked shocked. “Triffie, think of your manners! A lady cannot ever take command of another lady’s home.”

  “Not even if it’s for her own good?”

  Sarah shook her h
ead. “Mama is the guest. Only the hostess may take the lead, do you see?”

  I frowned. “I can’t ever picture myself as a lady, Sarah. So many rules!”

  Sarah said she couldn’t see how I would ever make my way in the world if I didn’t at least try to learn the rules. Her tone was sharp enough to sting, so I told her I had no intention of making my way in the world for quite some time to come, thank you very much. This seemed to make her furious and I could see we were winding up for a real set-to. Thankfully, Alfie called because William was stuck in an apple tree.

  At noon we were delighted to find that Papa had come with Mr. Sampson, and Nettie laid out a fine cold dinner with lettuce and egg salad sandwiches. Food is scarce with so many shops burnt out, but Mrs. Sampson keeps her own garden and a few chickens and Nettie is clever, so we have been eating well. Papa had bought some cod from fishermen who live in Fort Amherst at the mouth of the Narrows on the South Side, and everyone was delighted by the prospect of fresh fish for supper. Mrs. Sampson is less nervous when her husband is home. Mr. Sampson holds himself to be equal to anyone (as well he might) and the neighbour women scatter when he appears.

  While we ate, Papa told us Mr. Morrissey would be by this evening to move us to our new home. Papa warned that the burnt-out city will be a great shock, and we must prepare to be brave. I confess, living here, it has been easy to put thoughts of the devastation from my mind. The few times Alfie suggested we walk toward the harbour, I quickly dissuaded —

  Later

  Mama made me stop writing so Sarah and I could pack our belongings and look around to be sure we aren’t leaving anything behind. After supper, we’ll be ready to go. I feel a little bit sick with apprehension. Sarah, however, is greatly relieved because of what happened earlier. I should have known there was something wrong when she snapped at me. This is what happened.

  When dinner was over, Mama said we should take stock before we moved, to see what we’d rescued from the fire and find out what we now own. After Nettie and Ruby tidied the kitchen, we sat in the Sampsons’ back garden. Mama asked who wanted to go first, and I volunteered.

  I had my writing desk and my journal, of course, and all my sketching books. Mama smiled, for at least we have pen and ink and paper. Papa was pleased (and Alfie was delighted) to find I’d rescued the good brass spyglass, which they’d both thought lost. I had also brought my copies of Grimms’ Fairy Tales and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (which I dearly love) and A Child’s Garden of Verses. I had my Fancy Needlework piece too, though no one will be impressed by it now, with the embroidery silks and my needle case, my jewel box and the coin bank Mr. Matt had made for me in the shape of the Customs House.

  Papa asked if there was money in my bank, and I shook it so he could hear the coins I’ve been saving for treats on Regatta Day. But I was most proud because I had packed some clothing — my rose satin dress with a pink sash. It’s brand new and I was saving it for Regatta Day too.

  I expected Mama to be pleased but she laughed when she saw it. “Oh my, this will be out of place in our new home.” My face must have fallen, because she patted my hand. “Never mind, dear. It will serve for Sundays.” Then she told me I could soon put it on so Nettie could launder my everyday dress and pinafore, which, she said, would dry in no time in this weather. She wants us to leave here in clean clothes.

  Alfie came next. He’d packed his bag of marbles, all his tin soldiers and his brand new copies of Treasure Island and Kidnapped, which we haven’t even read yet. He also had a spare sailor suit and stockings, and his Sunday shoes. So Alfie turned out to be more practical than I am.

  Even so, Mama declared she had no inkling she’d raised such impractical children. Everything that happened on the day of the fire is etched on my memory, so I recall exactly what Mama told us when she sent us up that beautiful mahogany staircase one last time. “You said we should take whatever we valued most, and that’s what we did.”

  My excellent memory didn’t seem to please Mama at all. She replied that she felt sure she could depend on Sarah to be more sensible, and of course she was right. Sarah’s valise was filled with her collection of hat trimmings — velvet and satin ribbons and flowers and feathers, but underneath, it was plain her clothing filled much of the space. I expected Sarah might gloat a little, but she did the most amazing thing instead. Her hands flew up to her face and she burst into tears!

  “My dear, whatever is wrong?” Mama asked as Papa pressed a clean hankie into Sarah’s hand.

  Tears continued to stream down her face as she spoke. She told us she had always felt quite certain a sad reversal of fortune would force her to earn a living. She sniffed and raised her chin and said she was happy because she had feared we would be orphaned when that day arrived, and at least no one had died. (She looked anything but happy while she said this.) Then she told us she was packed and perfectly prepared to go to Halifax and seek employment as a milliner’s assistant, sending as much of her earnings home as she could to help recover our fortunes.

  I always knew those novels she spent so much time reading were not an Improving Influence, but she looked so very miserable, I couldn’t say so.

  Papa and Mama both assured Sarah they would never let her do such a thing. Then Papa explained that, unlike most people, we are not without means. In time, there will be insurance money for the house and the store, and he reminded Sarah of the candy money. Winsor’s penny candy and boiled sweets are shipped all across the island, and the money that is owed on account will trickle in for months to come. Luckily, Papa told us, the summer candy was shipped weeks ago, and that will provide a source of income.

  Little by little, Sarah brightened as she realized her life was not to be ruined after all and Mama coaxed her to show us what else she had managed to save. Tucked into the pocket of her valise, where they would not crush the trimmings, were her copies of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, and she opened her jewel box to show me her strands of coral and pearls, and the amethyst brooch which belonged to Nanny Winsor. I have always coveted that brooch so I was glad to see it safe.

  Then it was Mama’s turn, and she confessed that she was hardly more practical than Alfie or me. She has been so intent on saving the china and silver, she’d only saved a few clothes for her and Papa and her best jewels. “What good will fine china and silver do us in our new home?” she added. “The underclothes I wrapped the dishes in will be more useful.”

  Then she turned to Nettie. “I imagine you’ve saved us from ourselves, haven’t you? What are you hiding in those valises?”

  Out came five sharp kitchen knives, a sturdy teapot, a kettle, a small frying pan, a tin ladle, a mixing bowl, a tea tray, a small bag of flour and packets of tea, salt and sugar, yeast and bread soda, all wrapped in clean tea towels.

  Mama thanked Nettie, saying that would make a good start on a new kitchen for us. Then Alfie asked what she had in the unopened case.

  “Every stitch I owns,” Nettie replied. “And there’s no need to be putting my corsets on display for ye.” We all laughed and Alfie blushed.

  Now all eyes went to Ruby, who of course had packed her clothes. She reminded us she’d also carried the silver chest, then she looked directly at Papa. “I saved just about every penny you ever paid me, Mr. Winsor. The bank notes is sewed into the hem of my skirt. So, if you needs it to tide you over ’till the candy money comes in, I can lend it back to you.”

  This was so bold, I wondered if Papa would think she was being cheeky, but he replied as if she were an adult, telling Ruby she was kind to offer, but it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Then Papa made a speech, as he is fond of doing on special occasions, at home and at work as well. Mama always tells us we must listen and remember, because Papa thinks carefully about what he wants to say, and he is wise. He rose to his feet and said we must put the fire behind us. What’s lost is lost, and no good would come of dwelling on the past. We can only move on by looking ahead to a brighter future.

  Whe
n he finished, Mama shooed us back into the house and I changed into this lovely dress. This entry is almost finished and I’m happy to report the dress is not stained and Sarah is more like herself than she has been since the fire.

  Wednesday, July 13th, South Side Warehouse

  We are so busy arranging our new dwelling, I have little time to write. Even if I did, it’s hard to think because of all the noise. Hammers echo across the harbour from sunrise to sunset as people build shelters, and even start new homes. Nettie says it sounds like an army of woodpeckers. If that weren’t enough, the Royal Marines from the HMS Emerald are blasting down brick walls along Water and Duckworth Streets. Sudden booms sweep across the harbour to rattle the windows and make us all jump. Papa says they must do this because the walls are unsafe. One of his competitors spent two days building a temporary shed inside the ruins of their old store so they could resume business, only to have a wall collapse on it, destroying everything. If it hadn’t happened at night, someone might have been killed.

  At least we have this sound, if dusty, building to put a roof over our heads, and for that we must be grateful.

  Papa goes to the ruin of his store almost every day to see how the cleanup is coming along, and he tells us most of his crowd now have shelter too, even if it’s just a corner in someone’s house to curl up in. A few have made the best of the situation. Mr. McAllister, the canny old bachelor, has taken a long-planned holiday to visit his sister in Scotland, which is wise because we have no need of inside workers now.

  Papa can only employ some of his men to clear away the rubble from the store site. Mr. Stabb is supervising and Mr. Sampson will join him now that the warehouse is livable. I asked Papa when we would begin to rebuild, but he says that can’t happen until the new street lines are settled. Many people want Water Street to be wider to prevent fires in the future, but no one wants to lose land. Mama worries about the ladies. We will have no work for them until new stock arrives and we set up shop here, and that may take weeks.