Homecoming Girls

by Val Wood

  He shook his head. ‘My instinct is to say that it will not. But I hope I’m wrong.’

  She was curious about him. His skin was the colour of dark honey, and smooth. Jewel had said that he was an Indian and Clara wondered how he had come to be in this job.

  ‘Instinct?’ she asked. ‘Do you set much store by it? As far as weather goes, that is? I know that some people consider that they have a kind of sixth sense, or intuitive impulses.’

  He laughed and his dark eyes shone with merriment. He invited her to sit down on the bench outside the door, and seated himself beside her. ‘Are you asking me in my capacity as a Native American, Miss Newmarch? For if you are I must answer that my forefathers would say that I have abandoned my ancestry and its culture and adopted the life of the white man.’

  ‘You are teasing me, Mr Crawford,’ she objected, but lightheartedly. ‘I was merely asking your opinion. And you must have one,’ she added wryly. ‘As an American, whether or not you are Indian.’

  He gazed sombrely at her for a second; then he smiled. ‘I can only tell the weather by the habits of the birds and animals. They behave differently, as indeed we do. We scurry home if we think it’s going to rain. Our dogs and cats and horses become nervous if there’s thunder in the air, and cows and sheep take shelter.

  ‘I was brought up on a reservation,’ he went on. ‘The very one that Miss Jewel visited when she was a child; there were old men there who could foretell what was coming – wars or weather. My real name is Jim Crowfoot. I left when I was thirteen. I thought that the outside world had more to offer me. I took what work I was offered and made enough money to improve my education and gain a position of trust.’

  ‘Admirable,’ she said softly.

  He gave a slight shrug. ‘But I am still an Indian, a second-class citizen, and – in some people’s eyes – unworthy.’

  ‘They are the ones who are unworthy, Mr Crawford,’ she said softly, and touched his hand. ‘Not you.’

  For a moment they gazed at each other; then he broke the spell by standing up and saying jocularly, ‘Thank you. But I still don’t know if it’s going to rain!’

  Clara and Jewel ate their supper at a table by the open window in Jewel’s room and gazed down at the creek where men were fishing. A few people were walking slowly by: women with shopping baskets and men with spades or leather bags. Waggons and traps were trundling along the road, but it seemed as if the town was closing down, the heat inducing torpor in everybody and everything.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ Clara said at last. ‘I shall read for a while.’

  ‘So shall I, in a moment,’ Jewel said. ‘I feel more refreshed now after my nap.’ She poured herself more tea. ‘I think that tomorrow I might walk up the road to see the Chinaman,’ she said, adding drily: ‘He might be a relative!’

  ‘Jewel.’ Clara turned from the door to her room. ‘You don’t have to joke. Not to me. Are you worried about what you might find out about your mother?’

  ‘A bit,’ she said, not looking at her. ‘No. Not worried. More nervous, I suppose.’

  ‘I spoke to Mr Crawford earlier,’ Clara told her. ‘He told me that his real name is Jim Crowfoot and that he was brought up on the reservation which you visited when you were a child. He said that some people consider that he’s unworthy, because he is an Indian, even though he’s educated.’

  Jewel sighed. ‘They would,’ she said softly. ‘There’s always prejudice against anyone who is different. But it’s strange, isn’t it? Especially when the country once belonged to his people, and then everyone came and staked a claim in it, the English, the Dutch, the French, even the Chinese, and called it their own.’

  ‘Yes,’ Clara said. ‘It seems unfair. Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Jewel sat for an hour, meditating, watching the sun sink down below the mountains, turning the waters of the creek to deep gold. But strangely it was still light even after the sun had disappeared, a golden glow flickering and lighting up the night sky. How odd, she thought. Not a display of aurora borealis, surely? Can it be seen from here?

  And then she heard voices shouting, loud cracks and explosive noises like gunshots, and became aware of an acrid smell. Smoke! Something was on fire. She stood up and pushed the lower casement to its maximum and leaned out. Men were running about and carts and waggons were being hastily trundled out into the road and having horses hitched to them.

  She gazed along the valley towards Yeller and saw the bright orange sky lit with yellow tongues of flame, plumes of thick smoke and bright crackling sparks hurling up into the darkness.

  ‘Clara!’ she cried. ‘Wake up. Yeller is on fire!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Clara almost fell out of bed in her haste. She joined Jewel at the window of her room, and gasped in horror as she saw and smelled the smoke. ‘What can we do? We must get dressed and see if we can help.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’Jewel agreed. ‘The people! The children.’

  They rushed to put on gowns and boots. ‘I knew it!’ Clara said as they ran down the stairs. ‘I said the buildings were set too close together. It’s a shanty town. A positive fire trap! Mr Crawford!’ she called as they reached the hall. The manager was issuing instructions to his staff even as he was hurrying out of the door. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  ‘Stay here!’ he said. ‘It will be too dangerous to go into Yeller. Perhaps you could help the staff with the evacuees from the fire?’ He paused on the steps. ‘The news is that the blaze is spreading. People will have lost their homes. They’ll need somewhere to stay. Prepare for them to come here.’

  He raised his hand and rushed away, and the two girls stared at each other.

  ‘Caitlin – Kitty! Everybody!’Jewel breathed. ‘Oh, I do hope they’re all right. What if the hotel has caught fire?’

  Clara bit on her lip so hard she could taste the blood. ‘It might be all right,’ she said. ‘It’s set apart from the rest. There’s a space on either side. Room to get round to the back. And they have water barrels.’

  Most of the male hotel staff had gone to Yeller and the female staff were bringing more seating into the lounge area; guests from the hotel awakened by the noise were wandering downstairs, some still in their night clothes; Clara and Jewel found their way to the kitchens.

  ‘Can we put out cups and saucers or tumblers?’ Clara asked a flustered maid. ‘People will want something to drink when they arrive.’

  ‘Yes please, ma’am,’ the maid said. ‘I’ll get out extra coffee pots and grind some coffee. The crockery is over there.’ She pointed to a corner of the room where a huge cupboard stood against the wall. ‘Mr Crawford said to do what I could to accommodate everybody.’ She wiped her forehead. ‘I don’t know if he meant the sleeping arrangements or not, but we don’t have many spare rooms. Most are occupied.’

  ‘We can share if necessary,’ Jewel murmured to Clara. ‘But perhaps it isn’t as bad as we fear.’

  But it was worse. The first waggon rolled up and tipped out its passengers, mainly women with children who came into the hotel weeping and crying that they had lost everything. Many hadn’t had the time to grab anything but the barest essentials as they rushed from the scene of the disaster.

  ‘My house has gone,’ a woman wailed. ‘And our store. My husband’s trying to salvage what he can, but it’s useless.’ She wrung her hands in despair. ‘There’s nothing left.’

  They could do or say little to comfort them. Jewel and Clara took a tray of coffee and cold drinks round and gave the children cake and biscuits.

  ‘Do you know anything about the Yeller Creek Hotel?’Jewel asked someone. ‘Our friends live there.’

  ‘Ted and Kitty Allen?’ the woman said. ‘I saw the fire waggon dousing the building. They’re trying to save those that haven’t caught fire yet. Some of the others are down to ash already. Even some of the forest is burning.’ She gazed curiously at Jewel. ‘Are you one of the daughters of Sun Sen? The Chinaman?’ />
  Jewel stared back at her. She shook her head, lost for words.

  ‘Some say there’ll be a lynching,’ the woman continued. ‘They’re saying the Chinese are stealing from the burnt-out houses.’ She pulled a small boy towards her and roughly wiped a cloth across his sooty face. ‘Folks always want somebody to blame.’

  ‘I don’t know him,’ Jewel said hoarsely. ‘I’m a visitor. From England.’

  ‘Ah!’ The woman nodded. ‘Then I guess you’re not related. He runs a laundry in Yeller. Or he did. I saw the fire had took hold of his place too. But he’ll start up again. They always do.’

  James Crawford came back on the next waggon. He said he was superfluous in Yeller and had come back to arrange accommodation for those who had lost their homes.

  ‘Can I have your attention, please?’ He stood on a chair so that everyone could see him. ‘The church hall is being prepared to take you right now. There will be mattresses to sleep on and food and drink. Some of the residents of Dreumel are prepared to take into their homes those of you with infants, or the elderly. Please go to the church hall now and give your names and say how many there are in your family. We shall endeavour to keep you housed together as best we can.’

  As he got down from the chair, they all felt a huge reverberation followed by a rumble. People cheered. ‘Thank the Lord,’ a woman said, and another shouted, ‘Rain! Glorious rain! This’ll put the fires out.’ But there were mutterings that although the rain would put out the fires, it would also make it difficult to clear up the mess that had been left behind.

  James Crawford appeared to be listening intently and glancing anxiously towards the door. A man came rushing in. ‘That ain’t thunder,’ he shouted. ‘That’s paint and oil drums exploding. The paint shop has just gone up! Blown to smithereens!’

  Just about everybody dashed outside. Jewel went ahead and Clara and James Crawford followed more slowly. A huge column of black smoke licked by an incandescent blaze lit the sky. Everyone took a breath; some moaned, others could be heard muttering prayers.

  Clara wept. Tears ran down her cheeks as she thought of the people who might be hurt as well as those who had lost everything. She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to see James Crawford looking down at her.

  ‘Everyone had been accounted for when I left earlier, Miss Newmarch,’ he said quietly. ‘The paint store had already been abandoned.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she whispered.

  ‘As sure as I can be.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘Don’t distress yourself. The people here are of hardy stock. They’ll rebuild. Quicker than you might imagine.’

  ‘It will take years,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘Years and years.’

  He shook his head. ‘Months! If I were a betting man I’d stake my fortune on it.’

  She gave a watery snuffling laugh. ‘And how much is your fortune worth, Mr Crawford?’

  He gazed at her and she saw how dark, almost black, his eyes were. In the half-light of the porch she saw his true self, the Indian.

  ‘Not enough to capture fair lady,’ he murmured.

  Clara felt herself blushing. Had she made another conquest to add to Robert? Unlike Robert, however, who was just a boy verging on manhood, James Crawford was a most presentable man and she had felt an attraction towards him on their first meeting. Why is that, she thought with a quickening of her senses? Is it because he’s handsome? Or is it an appeal of opposites? Perhaps it’s because I have never come across anyone like him before.

  He kept his eyes on her. ‘I wonder,’ he began softly, ‘if I might ask—’

  Clara licked her lips and swallowed. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Might I ask if you and Miss Dreumel would assist with setting up the hall? Names must be noted down, so that we know where everyone is, and what help they need. The hotel’s administration staff will help in the morning if required, but there are other things for them to do tonight.’

  ‘Of course,’ Clara responded immediately, and wondered why she felt disappointed.

  ‘It is perhaps an imposition,’ he went on. ‘You are a guest, after all, but you seem so level-headed and practical.’

  Clara sighed. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘I am.’

  ‘Oh, Clara! You’re such a do-gooder!’Jewel accused, when her cousin told her what she had agreed they would do. ‘I’m exhausted. I need my bed.’

  ‘I know,’ Clara agreed. ‘I’m like my mother. But it will only take us perhaps an hour, two at the most. Think of those poor people who have lost everything. And unlike them, we can sleep in tomorrow; we have nothing planned.’

  Jewel took her arm. ‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘I’m only teasing!’

  As they walked down the steps of the hotel, there was a terrific crack of thunder, real thunder this time; the heavens opened and it began to pour with rain and they had to run.

  The church hall was large enough to take at least a hundred people and already the residents of Dreumel were bringing in straw palliasses and mattresses, pillows and sheets, as well as food and drink. There were plenty of chairs stacked against the walls and many of the homeless were gathering these up and placing them in groups, making their own small family colonies.

  James Crawford had given Clara a sheaf of paper and pencils and they made an attempt to clarify who was who and how many children were with each family, so that if anyone came looking for them the information was to hand.

  ‘You’ve done this before!’ he said admiringly when he came over an hour later to check if they were all right.

  ‘Yes,’ Clara admitted. ‘I have. A few years ago in Hull, the town where I live, a flax warehouse caught fire. Spontaneous combustion, it was decided. I went with my parents and sister to assist with the evacuation of residents in the area, as it was feared the fire would spread to the neighbouring houses. Fortunately the damage was contained as the fire waggon came very swiftly with the hoses. There are often fires in Hull. Some of the buildings are very old and the timbers dry.’

  James Crawford frowned. ‘But the houses in England are built mainly of brick, I understand? Brick doesn’t burn as fast as timber.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she agreed. ‘But the old houses are packed very closely together, just like in Yeller; the difference being that Hull is a port town on an estuary, and there’s plenty of water available.’

  ‘There will be changes in Yeller,’ he told her. ‘Already the men are setting up a committee to discuss a new town. Ted Allen is heading the committee and says he will insist on fire lanes between the buildings. His son came looking for you, by the way, to assure you that they were all safe.’

  ‘Is there much damage?’Jewel came across to join them.

  ‘The town is destroyed apart from a few buildings,’ he said. ‘The Allens’ hotel is all right and some of the buildings on the outskirts of the town, but the centre is devastated, apparently. We shall know more in the cold light of day.’

  ‘Well, the rain will douse the flames,’Jewel said. They could hear the heavy drumming on the roof of the hall.

  He nodded. ‘And there will be a sea of mud in the morning! But at least there’s no loss of life. As far as we know.’

  Jewel and Clara stayed until three in the morning, making lists, helping with drinks and ensuring everyone was comfortable as possible, and then, as people were settling down to sleep in the makeshift beds, they decided that they would go back to the Marius and fall into bed too.

  They were both exhausted, but when they arrived back at the hotel they found Isaac talking to Crawford, who was listening to him with a serious expression.

  ‘So I’m danged as to where they are,’ Isaac was saying. ‘All I know is that they ain’t in their beds and nobody has seen them since yesterday at breakfast when they said they were going again to look at land in Yeller that they’d taken a fancy to.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mr Crawford replied. ‘But I have no idea whether they’ve been here or not, and don’t know why they would. I can’t recall anyone m
entioning them.’

  Clara and Jewel paused. ‘Is there something wrong?’ It was Clara who spoke and Jewel gazed questioningly at Isaac.

  ‘Why, you gels might remember them,’ Isaac said. ‘Couple o’ folks who said they rode in with you on the coach the day you came. Man and wife; he’s middling height, she’s what you might call plain, but nice enough to talk to.’

  ‘Yes, we remember them,’ Jewel said, and Clara nodded in agreement.

  ‘So what about them?’ Clara asked.

  Isaac lifted his hat, which he always wore, even indoors, and scratched his head. ‘They hired a couple of hosses yesterday and went off towards Yeller, but they ain’t come back for their supper or their beds. I’ve asked around Dreumel but there ain’t nobody seen them and I can’t get into Yeller to ask about.’

  ‘But it’s the middle of the night, Isaac,’Jewel said. ‘How is it they were not missed before?’

  ‘Well, they were missed at supper,’ he repeated, ‘but we guessed that they’d eaten out someplace else, like in Yeller. There’s plenty of places they could eat – old Joe’s or Mary Lou’s or even Ted Allen’s place – but it was when the gel went to turn back the sheets and mentioned they weren’t there, and then the fire.’ He scratched his head again. ‘Well, Miss Nellie got kinda worried and said I should go and ask around. And nobody’s seen hide nor hair of ’em. They’ve just disappeared.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hull

  ‘Summer is galloping on.’ Georgiana stood looking out of the window. ‘It’s been very warm today; in another month we’ll be in the hottest part of the year.’

  They had finished supper and were in the sitting room where they always took their coffee. Wilhelm looked up from his newspaper. He could always tell from Georgiana’s voice when something was troubling her, even though she would not admit to a worry. She preferred to think through a difficulty before discussing it with him. She was a strong, determined woman, but since Jewel’s departure she had seemed unwell; yet when he asked if she needed a tonic, she had laughed and said no, she was probably suffering a general malaise as women sometimes did, though she had never thought it would happen to her. He knew, though, or thought he did, what it was that saddened her.