The Hull Home Fire

by Linda Abbott

  “Mary’s worn out from the drive home,” Flora said. “This is the first time she’s been out of bed in days. Let’s get her inside so she can lie down.”

  Dougie held the door open for them. “I have milk heating on the stove to make cocoa for us,” he said.

  Mary smiled. Her sunken cheeks hardly moved. “You’re a good brother,” she said, and made her way to the couch, panting slightly. Flora carried Mary’s overnight bag to her room.

  “Mom said you’ll breathe funny until your lungs are completely healed. Right ?”

  Mary nodded. “I’ll be up and about in no time.” She held the arm of the couch with a hand to help herself sit down.

  “Want me to go tell Henry you’re home ?” Dougie asked.

  Mary smothered a scream. She looked at Dougie’s face, alive, happy. Her anger dissolved. “Maybe later,” she said. “After I’ve rested.”

  Dougie fluffed two pillows behind her back and spread a quilt over her legs. Flora brought in a tray loaded with three steaming mugs, cheese sandwiches, and raisin tea buns. “Eat up, Dougie,” she said. “You don’t want to be late for school.”

  He grabbed a sandwich and a mug. “There’s some man coming after dinner to talk about what will become of Newfoundland if Canada takes us over.” Dougie stuffed half of the sandwich into his mouth. “Brother Gabriel says Confederation will cause us to lose our unique Irish culture.”

  “Unique culture,” Flora said. “That’s what we’re afraid of throwing away. It’s all anyone talks about since this Confederation debate started.”

  Mary held her cocoa between her hands. She hadn’t touched a drop.

  “Drink up while it’s still hot,” Flora said.

  Mary’s lips had barely touched the rim when she lowered the mug back to her lap.

  Dougie’s eyes shone like an animal caught in a snare. “Mary, you didn’t even taste any. Are... are you still sick ?”

  “The cocoa’s too hot,” she said, blowing across the top. She took a sip. “That’s much better.”

  Dougie’s grin returned in full force. “Good. I was some scared you’d never come home again.”

  “Off to school with you, my boy,” Flora said. “I don’t want to hear tell Brother Gabriel brought out the belt for you being late.”

  Dougie hopped up from the armchair. “See ya when I get home, Mary.” Halfway across the room, he turned back to his sister. “You’re really all right ?”

  “Go,” Flora said, and waited until her son was out the door to speak again. “Love, is there anything I can do to make you feel better ?”

  Mary massaged a spot over her right eye. “I know Dougie senses that I’m not all right, Mom. I really did try to hide it from him.”

  “You’re the one I’m worried about at the moment.” Flora took the cocoa from Mary. “You have a headache, don’t you ?”

  “It’s the worst one yet.” Bile gushed up. Mary kicked off the quilt and tried to stand up. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Stay put,” Flora said, and ran to the kitchen for a bucket.

  The bile stung the back of Mary’s throat. She swallowed, the sour taste spilling into her nose. She covered her mouth as another wave rumbled through her stomach. “Hurry, Mom.” She sat on the edge of the couch, hunched over, every inch of her shaking. A succession of sharp jabs seared through her broken shoulder.

  “Here you go,” Flora said, placing a bucket at her daughter’s feet and a glass of cold water on the coffee table. She held Mary’s hair out of her eyes while she threw up, cleaning her face with a wet face cloth at each short-lived reprieve.

  “My chest feels like it’s on fire,” Mary said when her stomach calmed down. She lay back against the pillows. “I’m some glad Dougie...” She hiccupped. “... wasn’t here to see that.” The rapid drumming in her chest was slowly returning to a normal rate. “He’s worried enough as it is.”

  Flora sat down on the coffee table and gave Mary a reassuring smile. “The headaches will get less and less as your time approaches. I went through the same when I carried you and Dougie.”

  Mary drank the water, each drop cooling the flames scorching her throat and stomach. “Mom, I didn’t mean to bring shame on you and Dougie.”

  “I don’t want to hear any more silly talk like that. A baby is a precious gift. Yours in particular.”

  Mary’s eyes watered. “Why mine ?”

  “The doctor said it was a miracle you didn’t lose the child. That should tell you something.”

  Mary rested her bruised shoulder against the side of the couch. “I still don’t want Henry to know.”

  Flora folded her hands on her lap.

  “Please, Mom. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Have you really given any consideration to how Henry feels ? He doesn’t know about the baby. Has he walked away despite every effort on your part to encourage him ?” Flora paused briefly. “There’s a little tidbit you should know. He went to the hospital numerous times to sit with you, praying you would wake up and be all right.” Flora caressed Mary’s cheek. “He loves you, my sweet girl. That’s why you should tell him he’s going to be a father.”

  Mary moaned. “How can you of all people say that ?”

  Flora smiled. “I’ll always do right by you, Mary.”

  A FLOOD OF COLD AIR chilled the room. Mary woke, sat up, and looked at the clock over the mantel. She had slept for twenty minutes.

  “I’m going to be a father.” The voice echoed like a hollow whisper from the depths of a deep well. It was Henry. Dougie stood behind him.

  “Oh, no !” Mary cried.

  Flora hurried from the kitchen. “Dougie,” she snapped, “why aren’t you in school ?”

  “I’m not on the pip, Mom. Honest. The Confederation man had to cancel. Brother Gabriel let us go early.” He looked at Mary. “I saw Henry and told him you were home.”

  “You should’ve kept your big trap shut,” she said, sharply.

  Dougie’s mouth dropped open.

  Flora went to Dougie and led him by the arm. “Your sister is out of sorts today. Don’t pay her any heed. Henry and your sister need to talk without us gawking at them.”

  Henry watched them go down the hall to the kitchen before walking into the room, each step precise, mechanical. “A father,” he said, as if he had no idea what the phrase meant. “How long have you known ?”

  Mary’s headache pounded in her ears. “I saw the doctor just before the fire.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me ?”

  “Mom shouldn’t have told you.”

  “She did the right thing.”

  Mary pulled the quilt up around her. “How do you feel about it ?”

  Henry dropped into the armchair facing the couch. “Shocked,” he said quietly, and stared down at the floor.

  Mary glared at the top of his head. “Shocked,” she said with a slight catch to her voice. “That’s all ?”

  “I spent hours thinking about what you said that night outside your house. You said I used you. It winded me.”

  “I’m sorry you felt slighted,” Mary said, her face a canvas of unreadable emotions. “It’s what I believed and still do.”

  “It must’ve seemed that way when I applied to medical school. In truth, I just didn’t think about our relationship.”

  “You’re free to leave Newfoundland anytime.” Mary rested trembling fingers on her stomach concealed by the quilt. “I won’t burden you with any of the responsibility for this child.”

  “Please, Mary. Hear me out.”

  “Like I told you that night. There’s nothing left to discuss.”

  “The fire put my feelings for you in perspective,” Henry said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I understand now what’s important to me.”

  “Don’t you see that it doesn’t matter ? You planned a life that has no room for me.”

  You’ve lost weight, Henry thought. You look like a truck ran over you. He sighed. All that hasn’t touched your beauty. “We
have to get married,” he blurted.

  Mary glowered at Henry. “I’ll marry one day because I want to, not because I have to.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “There’s nothing on this earth that could ever make me part of a shotgun wedding.” Mary’s voice pitched higher when she continued. “Look where it got my mother.” She turned her head into the couch. “Goodbye, Henry.”

  “Mary, how can you expect me to forget about our baby ?”

  “Henry,” Flora said, her hand gently on his forearm. “You should go for now.” He hadn’t noticed her come back into the room. “Mary’s exhausted.”

  Henry turned to Flora, his limbs unsteady, the world tumbling away from reality.

  “Take some more time to absorb the news about the baby. It’s a lot for anyone to take in.” Flora smiled. “I promise after a few days’ rest, Mary’s thoughts will be clearer, more reasonable, and sensible.”

  Chapter 15

  FEBRUARY 2 1 DAWNED ANOTHER BITTERLY cold day. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the frost-covered window touching Henry’s face, wakening him from a dreamless sleep. The plastic wind barrier ballooned out, in, out. Henry sat up. He shivered, jumped out of bed, and dressed. His stomach groaned like a beagle snared in a trap as he hurried downstairs into the warm kitchen.

  Tom was halfway through a bowl of porridge he had sprinkled with cinnamon. Alice pulled a handful of bread dough from the pan on the sink, moulded it into an oblong shape, and placed it in the heated pan on the stove. Hot melted butter sizzled and spat into the air. Henry helped himself to a small serving of porridge while he waited for the toutons to fry. He dumped in four spoons of sugar, topped it off with tin milk, and mixed everything together.

  “The judicial inquiry into the Hull Home fire is a mere hour away,” the radio announcer said.

  Alice wiped her hands on her apron and turned up the volume.

  “For the last ten days the topic of every conversation everywhere I’ve gone, including the barbershops, friends’ homes, and businesses has been about the tragedy. Even Confederation has taken a back seat, which I never dreamed would be possible. On the way to work I passed by the courthouse to see what was going on. There’s already a lineup to the doors. It looks like any newcomers won’t stand a chance to get inside.”

  Alice switched off the radio. “I wish it was all over with,” she said.

  “It will be soon enough,” Tom said. “I’ve heard real good things about Sir Edward Emerson. He’ll get to the bottom of the fire without dragging the session on forever.”

  Henry finished the porridge. “Gordon Higgins is representing Mr. Hull.”

  “Figures,” Tom said. “Hull can afford one of the most influential lawyers in the city.”

  “Harry Carter is the Crown prosecutor,” Henry continued.

  “That’s good news, at least. Higgins won’t get over Carter’s time, that’s for sure.”

  Alice turned over the toutons. Tom and Henry liked them fried to a dark brown. “All the poor residents who died are buried and gone forever. What good will an inquiry do now ?”

  “Well, love, maybe it’ll help save lives in the future. Perhaps even result in passing laws to make fire escapes mandatory.”

  Alice placed four toutons onto a plate and sat down.

  Henry took two, sliced each one down the centre, and drowned the insides with butter and molasses.

  “You’d better get going, Henry,” Alice said. “Didn’t you say that Mr. Carter wanted to see you before the session began ?”

  “There’s time. He’s not sure if my testimony is necessary.” Henry picked up his touton. “I hope he doesn’t call me.” Molasses dripped onto his fingers.

  Tom opened the Daily News. “If he does, all anyone can ask is that you tell the truth. Is Mary testifying ?”

  “Yes,” Alice said. “Flora told me she’s scheduled for this morning.”

  “I saw her go for a walk up and down the street yesterday,” Tom said. “The child’s colour is still poor.”

  Henry shoved the last morsel of touton into his mouth. He rose, still chewing.

  Tom gave him a curious look.

  Henry turned quickly to conceal the blush rising up his neck. “I must be off,” he said, and hurried out of the kitchen. The cold wind struck him like a punch in the face. He looked toward Mary’s house. The desire to talk to her, to see her lovely face, tormented him. He wondered if she had already left for the courthouse. She hadn’t shown up when he caught the streetcar. People were jammed together in the aisles, and the driver drove past several stops to shouts and calls from unhappy patrons on the street. Most of the passengers disembarked at the courthouse to join the already massive crowd. Henry stood back and watched people push their way inside. As a potential witness, he was admitted through a side entrance.

  Everyone scrambled for the scant few rows of seats, the benches creaking as men and women pressed together to make room for others. The floor under their feet was wet from melted snow. Voices electrified the air, a steady hum that slowly diminished when Emerson called the session to order. He sat high up behind the desk. A distinguished-looking man with an honest face, Henry thought. Two policemen stood watch at the back by either side of the door. Henry looked for Mary and spotted her in the last seat with her mother. He caught her eye. She looked away. Without any delay Crown Prosecutor Carter got down to business and called Fire Chief Baker to the witness box.

  “Chief Baker,” the prosecutor began, his hands behind his back. “Tell us what you saw upon arrival at Hull Home the day of the fire.”

  Baker faced the spectators, a stoic expression on his face. “Smoke billowed into the sky. People hovered in the windows of the main building, trapped in their rooms, flames licking at their backs. I ordered two ladders up. We saved some of them.” He closed his eyes.

  Henry counted the seconds before he opened them. Five.

  “Unfortunately, several jumped when the flames came too close. The fire and smoke were so intense, my men couldn’t get in through the windows to rescue anyone.” The chief coughed.

  Henry had heard that most of the firemen suffered from a cough since the fire.

  “The Annex faired a little better, so I ordered water to be sprayed on it to help control the fire. As soon as the water touched the building, it froze into icicles.”

  “What happened next, Chief ?”

  “Fire Chief Cadigan and two firemen had to break in the door to the Annex. They found most of the residents huddled together just inside the door.”

  “Where did most of the survivors reside ?”

  “In the Annex. It was the farthest away from the source of the fire.”

  Emerson excused Baker and called Fire Superintendent Vivian.

  “You and Fire Chief Baker made a lengthy inspection of the Home after the fire was extinguished,” the Crown prosecutor said. “Please relate what you encountered.”

  Superintendent Vivian gripped the box rail and glanced in the direction of Isaac before he began. “It was the most gruesome sight of my entire career,” he said. “In the main building, some residents had died in their beds, victims of smoke inhalation.” The superintendent’s voice kept its professional tone. “Some had rallied enough strength to get one leg to the floor.” His face grew more ashen as he recounted the details. “Others were found in a kneeling position, their hands joined in prayer.”

  The spectators listened. Not a squeak or whisper could be heard.

  “The second and third floors were gutted. Water was everywhere. Charred wood and debris of every sort flowed down the stairs. The walls to the majority of rooms had burned down. Icicles hung everywhere, water dripping from them like a rain shower.” The superintendent gently touched an earlobe that had been frostbitten during the fire. “Burned furniture, clothing scorched almost to dust lay scattered everywhere. The roof sagged in several places. Most floors were all but destroyed. The kitchen stove was nothing more than a clump of black m
aterial.” He cast another look at Isaac. “A mattress caught fire when one of my men attempted to remove a deceased resident from it.”

  “Tragic indeed,” Carter said. “You and Mr. Cahill, a city building inspector, inspected Hull Home for safety issues before the fire.”

  “Yes.”

  “What were your findings ?”

  “The condition of the kitchen stove and the lack of fire escapes were my main concerns. I noted that several of the rooms were overcrowded.”

  Henry glanced back at Mary. Her eyes were fixed on Inspector Vivian, her face grim.

  “To your knowledge, Inspector,” Carter said, “had the Hulls complied with any of your recommendations ?”

  “No. The report was published in both local papers. I assumed City Hall would send the Hulls a copy and enforce the required safety regulations. The Department of Health and Welfare proceeded with their own inspection following my report.”

  A representative from City Council testified next that they were not aware Mr. Hull’s establishment had been converted into a nursing home. The Health Department witness claimed the city was responsible for enforcing safety regulations.

  “A scandalous situation,” the Crown prosecutor said. “It would appear that no official department felt the need to make sure our elderly were looked after properly.”

  Emerson leaned forward. “To which I wholeheartedly concur,” he said.

  The spectators applauded.

  Gordon Freeman, the stove mechanic, took the witness box and spoke about leaking oil, the number of times he had repaired the stove, and the many occasions he had warned Mr. Hull against tampering with the carburetor.

  Henry saw Mary nod in agreement.

  Ronald Cave, the man who painted the Home prior to the fire, came next. Carter asked him about the scorch marks behind the stove.

  “Well, sir,” Cave said, looking at the prosecutor while picking white paint from under his fingernails. “To my recollection, there weren’t any scorch marks behind the stove when I painted the kitchen.”

  Frank Wylie, the businessman who occupied the first floor of the Home, gave his testimony next. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket before answering. “I was sitting at my desk, working away, when I smelled oil. Couldn’t believe my eyes when it dripped from the ceiling onto my goods. We had to move a load of boxes and put a bucket under the leak.”