After You've Gone

by Lori Hahnel

  “How do you know I have a key?”

  “You had it when you and Bill moved your stuff out of the hotel. Do you still have it?”

  “Yes. But if I give it to you, what will you do once you get there? You won’t get yourself in trouble, will you?”

  “Of course not. I won’t hurt her.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about you.”

  “You’re still angry with her, aren’t you? You still haven’t forgiven her.” He was enough in love with her that he couldn’t believe that I didn’t at least like her. He just couldn’t understand it.

  “No, Steve, I have not forgiven her. I try, but I have a long way to go before I’m there. Put yourself in my shoes.”

  “I’m sorry. But I have to try and talk to her again before I go. Please, will you give me the key? I promise I’ll drop by with it later. I have to see her.”

  I had to try to stop him. What good could going back possibly do? “Really, you should think this over a little before you run back there. Look how she’s treated you.”

  “I might never see her again. I can’t just leave things like this.”

  “Please listen to me. This is crazy. Darlene will never change.”

  “Lita. I know what I’m doing. Just let me have the key for a little while, and I’ll give it right back to you.”

  I gave in. Even as I fished for the key in my dresser drawer, I had a feeling that it would only lead to trouble. But I gave it to him. He thanked me, gave me a hug and went back out into the darkness. This would have been around nine o’clock. I realized as I watched my brother almost run down the street and back to Darlene that we hadn’t even really said goodbye to each other. But when he brings the key back we’ll do that, I thought.

  Shortly after ten o’clock, I heard the sirens, wondered what was happening. Ma called. She said the Belleville, which she could see from her kitchen window, was on fire.

  I was about to tell her that Steve had gone over there when I thought better of it. “Can you come over for a while and stay with Sarah, Ma? I have to go over and see if Darlene is all right.”

  As far as Ma knew, Darlene was just that pretty friend of mine who was such a help when Sarah was a newborn. She didn’t know about Bill’s involvement with her, or Steve’s. In fact, Ma seemed to feel that since Darlene was so attractive, she must also be a nice person. “I like that Darlene,” she’d said once. “She’s so pretty.” I couldn’t even think what to say to that.

  Ma arrived in about fifteen minutes. The snow creaked under my boots as I walked as fast as I could to the hotel. I wondered if I really wanted to do this, if I really wanted to confront this. My curiosity got the better of my dread, though. I told myself that it was likely a kitchen fire, and everyone was probably fine except maybe Gus, who would stew about the money it would cost him. But as I got closer to the hotel, the smoke and ash in the air and the glow on the undersides of the clouds in the direction of the hotel told me otherwise.

  I stood among the gathering crowd, hand over my mouth, unable to believe or comprehend what I saw: flames tore into the night sky as the Belleville Hotel burned down. Policemen stood on the other side of a barricade, kept people away from the roaring orange wall of flame that engulfed the building and the rolling clouds of acrid black smoke and ashes. I wanted to ask the officers if they’d seen my brother, but I didn’t dare. Fear froze me like the jets of water from the firemen’s hoses froze when they hit the ground.

  Was Darlene in there, or Gus? Was Steve? Then I caught myself. I didn’t know for certain whether he’d even gone to the Belleville, even though that’s where he said he was going. He could have stopped for another drink on his way there, or changed his mind. Even if he had gone, he might have left before this all started. He might not have started the fire. I should have tried harder to talk him out of going.

  Even over the roar of the fire, the shouting, the sirens, the policemen talking on their radios, I heard the blood pound in my ears, felt the cold sweat on my palms. Did I know what was going on here? Perhaps. But for Steve’s sake, I couldn’t risk saying anything to anyone, because maybe I was wrong. Even worse, maybe I was right. And if I was right, all this wouldn’t have happened if I’d been able to stop my brother. If I hadn’t given him the key. Oh, God, what has he done? I shouldn’t have waited for Ma. I should have just brought the baby with me. I knew how upset he was. Then again, if I’d come earlier and brought Sarah, maybe we’d both be in there right now.

  Firemen carried two stretchers through the lobby and out the front doors, first one and then another a few minutes later. I couldn’t see who was on them. They could have been Darlene, Gus, Steve, guests, anyone. I felt sick then, and couldn’t stand to watch anymore, could no longer stand the smell of the smoke. I made my way through the crowd and walked home, weeping, mind reeling with a thousand questions I could ask no one. I could not turn to look back even once. And even now, I still dream about it sometimes.

  The next day, the story was on the radio and in the paper. TWO DIE IN DOWNTOWN HOTEL INFERNO, The Leader-Post screamed. “Mr. August Klein, proprietor of the Belleville Hotel, and his daughter Miss Darlene Klein, both perished in Grey Nuns Hospital last night after a three-alarm blaze burnt their hotel to the ground.” I read that sentence over and over, dazed.

  Could Steve have done this? Had I somehow brought it about? I didn’t know, but if the force of my feelings alone could have caused this, Darlene Klein would have burned to a crisp long before. I suddenly felt a great rush of sorrow for her. She was once a friend. I could hardly think of her as really dead. It wasn’t her fault that she was the way she was. She shouldn’t have died like that.

  But what about Steve? Did he die, too, and they maybe hadn’t found him yet? Was he on his way to Ontario? I didn’t dare ask anyone, didn’t dare even mention it to anyone.

  I’d just got Sarah off to bed one night when I heard a knock at the door. Alone with my little one, I was always a little nervous answering the door at night if I didn’t expect anyone. To my relief and surprise, Jacob stood there. I hadn’t seen him in almost three years.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course, Jacob, please. It’s good to see you.”

  “You look wonderful, Lita. How’s Sarah? She looks just like Bill, Steve says.”

  “Steve? When did you see him?”

  “I ran into him downtown a few weeks ago. Why?”

  “Oh, just wondering. He’s right, she does look just like Bill. I’m afraid there’s no question there. I’d bring her out, but she’s just gone to sleep.”

  “That’s all right. Another time.”

  “Awful about the fire, eh?”

  “Terrible. A real tragedy.”

  “I imagine Steve’s pretty broken up about Darlene and all.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. “I think so. He’s out in Ontario at training camp, left the morning after it happened.”

  “I understand they’re still investigating the fire scene. There was almost nothing left.”

  “It was horrible.”

  We drank tea and talked. The whole time, I wondered what it was all about. It was good to see him again, so good. Jake and I could always talk easily. Finally, my curiosity won out.

  “So, tell me, Jake, what brought you over here? Did you really just come to see if Sarah was yours?”

  He smiled. “Of course not. I knew that if you’d thought so, you would have told me a long time ago. I’ve thought about coming to see you many times. I guess I wanted to tell you that I miss you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. It’s so good to see you again.”

  “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. Because I’ve also been thinking how hard it must be for you, a woman alone with a child. And we’re both lonely. Maybe we ought to get married.”

  A million things went through my mind. First was that a proposal was the last thing I’d expected that evening. I wondered if he was asking because he felt sorry for me.
I wondered if he knew what he was getting into. I didn’t know myself what my feelings were about a lot of things right then.

  “I’ve thought it over,” he added. “I knew I wanted to be with you from the minute I met you. And I know things have been kind of crazy for you. You don’t have to answer right away. Just think about it.”

  Amazing, I thought. All this time has gone by, so many things have happened. The way I ended things between us before was not exactly graceful. And yet, here he is. Still, so much had happened in such a short time. This wasn’t a decision I wanted to make lightly.

  “Let me think about it a little, Jake.”

  Within a couple of weeks I got a letter from Steve.

  Dear Lita:

  I’m just writing to let you know I’m all right. I’m here at training camp near Newmarket. It’s pretty tough work, I’ll tell you. I wanted to drop that key by your place like I said I would, but with the fire and all that night, things were kind of crazy. I’ll get it back to you when I can though I guess there’s no point now. My train left early in the morning, and I never did find out what happened in the fire. It’s funny, I didn’t really care. Was everyone okay?

  In the meantime, I’m hoping to get overseas and see some action soon. The Germans are rounding up Gypsies all over Europe, did you know that?

  I hope you and Sarah and Ma are well, and I’ll write again soon.

  Love,

  Steve

  Though I was relieved to hear from him, glad to know for certain that he was alive, his letter brought up more questions than it answered. He didn’t mention being at the hotel, but he knew about the fire. He seemed not to know about Darlene. I didn’t know what to think. No matter what had happened, though, there was probably a limit to how much he would or could tell in a letter.

  A few days later I wrote back, and told him the bad news. I didn’t hear from him again for a long time. Then I received a brief, terse letter from overseas. Was he pressed for time, crushed by grief, or both? Or neither? I could not tell. I decided the only way I’d ever find out for certain what happened that night would be to talk to him in person, if he was ever granted a leave. Of course, he may not have known exactly what happened. But until I spoke to him, I wouldn’t know.

  One of the first warm days we had that spring was a Sunday morning. I was hanging out laundry in the backyard while Sarah sloshed through puddles in a pair of red gumboots. I was surprised to see Jacob come through the gate from the front yard.

  “Good morning. I tried the front door, but there was no answer.”

  “Hello, Jacob. This is a nice surprise.”

  “I was on the way back from the hotel and thought I’d swing by and see how you ladies are doing.”

  “We’re fine. Happy to finally have some warm weather.”

  “It is a beautiful day.”

  “What were you doing at the hotel on a Sunday morning?”

  “Sundays are so quiet. Most of the office staff isn’t around. It’s a good time to catch up on paperwork.”

  I wanted to tease him a little more. “You take your job pretty seriously.”

  “I guess so. It just seems natural to me. My family’s been in the hotel business for a long time, even before we came to Canada. My father ran several hotels in Montreal before he joined the board of directors of CP Hotels.”

  “So how did you end up here?”

  “After he passed away, CP offered me a job managing the Saskatchewan. And my mom decided we might as well all move west together. She didn’t want to stay in Montreal after he died.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “So, uh, listen. Last time we saw each other I asked you a question. I wonder if you’ve had time to give it some thought.”

  “I have been thinking about it.”

  “And?”

  I wanted to play with him a little more. But that kind of thing just didn’t come naturally to me. “I’d love to marry you, Jacob.”

  Before the wedding, I decided it was time to go through some of Bill’s things. I hadn’t got rid of anything yet, hadn’t the heart to. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to get rid of all of it. I wasn’t sure I could part with any of it, but I had to try. Sarah and I were moving out of the little house on Dewdney Avenue to Jake’s much larger place, not far from Bill’s mum’s. I knew there would be room there for whatever I might want to keep, and I knew Jake wouldn’t begrudge me anything of Bill’s. But I had to try to unload some of it.

  It took a long time. Poor Bill, at twenty-three, hadn’t had much. I thought of older people whose spouses die after they’ve been together for forty or fifty years. Where would they even begin? His clothes and shoes, most of them, were easy enough to give to the Salvation Army. They were much too big for Steve, and Jake wouldn’t want them. I kept his burgundy-and-black dressing gown, my only comfort some nights before Sarah was born. His few books, murder mysteries, I gave away. I kept all of his records, even the Russ Columbos, even the Bing Crosbys, yes, even the one Rudy Vallée I discovered tucked away in the back of the box. There was no question I’d keep all of the pictures. There weren’t many: mostly publicity shots of the band, and the wedding pictures Mrs. MacInnes marched us over to have taken when she was ready to speak to us again after our elopement. Henry had sometimes brought his Brownie to practices and after Bill died he gave me a whole lot of his snapshots of them. Some of those really hurt to look at.

  Little things, like his favourite coffee mug, I kept. Every once in a while I still have a drink out of that cup when I’m thinking of him. Another little thing I kept: tucked in under his socks, the big ill-fitting wool socks his mother knitted for him in bushels, was a little framed photograph I’d never seen before. A picture, carefully cut from a magazine, of Bing Crosby.

  Twenty

  Lita

  September 1940

  JAKE AND I WERE MARRIED AT City Hall on a bright September morning. Sarah and Ma and Jake’s mother and his sister Rebecca were there. He looked handsome in the wide-lapelled brown pinstriped suit that brought out the brown in his hazel eyes. I wore a new light green travelling suit, a sleeveless cocktail dress, cropped jacket with shoulder pads, and a military-looking cap. I had that suit for years, got a lot of use out of it. After the ceremony we said our goodbyes to everyone — Sarah stayed with Jake’s mom and sister — and walked the couple of blocks over to Union Station to catch the train to Montreal.

  I loved riding the train almost as much as I loved seeing Montreal when we finally got there. I’d never travelled at all before, really. Bill and I had honeymooned in Minot, North Dakota, and we’d made a few southern Saskatchewan road trips with the band, all in Bill’s Packard. But train travel was new to me. I loved watching the scenery roll by, seeing prairie gradually change to Canadian Shield. I loved going to the dining car, getting out and looking around the stations along the way. We were lucky that the weather was clear and mild almost the whole time. And I especially loved the sleeper berth we had, being lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the cars. The dreams I had on the train were particularly vivid and memorable. One night, as Jake slept beside me, I dreamt that I was lying in the arms of a man who wasn’t Jake, or Bill. This man and I were in bed in this sleeper berth together, under the sheets, and it seemed like we had just made love. He was handsome, tall, had glowing red hair. After I woke up I thought about this. I had dreamt about the red-haired man before. What were these dreams trying to tell me? I fell asleep again, but in the next few weeks, I kept having a similar dream. Odd that I would dream of another man on my honeymoon. I almost felt guilty about it.

  The fall colours in Eastern Canada really are as amazing as people always say. They have trees, like real maples with those flaming red leaves, that we just don’t have on the prairies. We spent quite a bit of time walking the cobblestone streets of old Montreal, going to cafés, galleries, looking at the old buildings. We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton on Sherbrooke Street, in the Royal Suite, no less. It was more luxurious than I could
ever have imagined, much bigger than the house Bill and I shared on Dewdney Avenue. There were three bathrooms, two huge, incredibly soft, king-sized beds in the bedroom, a study, a dining room. A huge fireplace in the living room, where we had a lovely view of Parc du Mont-Royal out the window. I had to laugh a little when I thought how only a few years before I’d been a chambermaid at the Belleville Hotel in Regina.

  “I can’t believe we’re really staying here. It must be expensive,” I said one night.

  “It isn’t cheap. And I would have preferred to stay at a CP Hotel, because we would have got a pretty nice discount. But they closed the Place Viger five years ago so we didn’t have a choice. Still, this is our honeymoon and we’re here to enjoy it.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Sally at work about this place. She’ll never believe it.”

  “You’re not going back to work when we get home, are you?”

  “I — well, I didn’t think about it. I just assumed I would.”

  “You don’t need to. You stay home and take care of Sarah now. I’ll take care of the money.”

  We were gone almost three weeks, all told, and had a lovely, relaxing holiday, though I missed Sarah terribly. We talked on the phone a few times and it sounded like she was enjoying being with her bubbe and Auntie Rebecca. I kept thinking all the way home how we really were starting new lives. The future looked so bright right then.

  Among the stack of mail awaiting us when we arrived home, though, was a letter calling Jake up for army service. I was terrified. Not again, I thought. I’m only twenty-one. I can’t lose a husband again. We’d just started to get used to each other, hadn’t even had a chance to get settled as a family. He’d have to go, I knew. He was only twenty-five, though he seemed much older to me, so much more mature than twenty-five. The letter gave him an appointment time for a physical in three weeks, and after that he’d be shipped off to training camp.