by Pamela Pope
Even on a Sunday there was industrial smoke in the air which caught at her throat, and the smell of the lake and prairie beyond was something Ellie always associated with Chicago and had remembered while she was abroad. A woman was riding a horse straddlewise; rich men strolled past, lethargic after midday dining at hotels like the Richelieu. Heads turned and admiring glances flickered over the dark-haired young woman waiting uncertainly on the corner. Ellie knew she ought not to be standing there alone. It was dangerous, even in daylight.
She saw Max when he was still in the distance and the eccentric beat of her pulse drummed in her ears. He was striding along, head held high and arms swinging so that other pedestrians stood aside for him. She savoured the joy of watching him before he was aware of her. Then she was flying towards him.
‘Steady.’ He’d no option but to catch her in his arms. It might have been wishful thinking, but surely he kept hold of her longer than was necessary to make sure she didn’t fall.
‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ she cried.
‘So it seems,’ laughed Max. ‘We’re taking the train to Pullman. I’ve told Katrina you’re coming.’
‘I haven’t been there since I was a little girl.’
‘Yet it’s a favourite weekend occupation for people from Chicago to look at our excellent living conditions in Pullman.’
‘Papa says no man can build a Utopia.’
‘Just so,’ Max assented. ‘But he can try.’
Trains went to Pullman every half hour. Max bought two fifty-cent round-trip tickets for the forty-minute journey and Ellie found herself pressed against him in the crowded railcar.
‘You’ll like my sister,’ Max said. ‘She’s gentle and beautiful like Momma. Usually she keeps the apartment so clean and pretty. Always she puts fresh flowers in the window. But now there’s the baby — it’s a girl. Her name’s Galina.’
His accent became more foreign when he talked about his family, as if they closed round him in spirit. Ellie listened, absorbing every detail, but at the same time was conscious of his thigh tight against hers. It was hot in the train and she hoped her dress wouldn’t stain with perspiration, for she was melting away.
The route edged the shore of Lake Michigan and Grant Park for a while. Prairie Avenue was over to the west and Ellie pictured her parents resting in the drawing room unaware, she hoped, of their daughter’s deception. A stretch of open country followed, and after a fourteen-mile journey the workshops of Pullman appeared. Ellie exclaimed at a gigantic engine behind a plate-glass window near the entrance to the car works main building.
‘I remember that — it’s the Corliss engine! We came when Mr Pullman brought friends in his private car to see Florence push the button to start it.’
‘It powered the machinery in all the car shops.’
‘And water from it filled Lake Vista.’ The Corliss engine had been built to supply power for the Philadelphia Centennial in 1876, and afterwards George Pullman had bought it for 130,000 dollars to keep for posterity. Ellie drew up her shoulders with delight at every new sight. ‘Oh, isn’t it a wonderful day!’
Max smiled at her indulgently, and when he squeezed her hand she seized the opportunity to capture his, holding onto him for the rest of the journey.
The conductor called out ‘Pullman!’ and Max helped Ellie to alight. Leaving the station she was surprised to see flowerbeds everywhere, lawns stretching down to border the artificial Lake Vista, and wide streets leading into town. The Arcade Building extended for a whole block, where shops catered for everything Pullman citizens needed, though it was closed for the sabbath.
Max pointed out a long, low building belonging to the maintenance department, and a stable nearby. ‘That’s known as the Casino,’ he said. ‘Goodness knows why, because horses are kept in it. If you’ve got money and own a horse you have to stable it there, and if you haven’t you can rent one with a carriage for three dollars a day to take the family out. Oliver says he’s going to take Katrina and the baby for a drive as soon as she’s strong enough.’
At that moment the doors of the Casino were flung open and the water wagon belonging to the volunteer fire company was driven out at great speed, the horses snorting and foaming as they were whipped into action. Passersby stood back in alarm. A man who had obviously called out the firemen came running from the door in pursuit, still gasping for breath as he started to follow. Then he spotted Max.
‘Max! God, man, something terrible’s happened. There’s been a gas explosion in one of the Fulton Street block-house apartments.’
Ellie had grasped his arm and she felt the muscles grow taut. She remembered him saying once that he lived in Fulton Street, and she saw the colour drain from his face. Her own heart seemed to stop momentarily and start up again at twice the pace.
In his haste to get to the scene Max dragged Ellie along, stumbling, tripping. A thin column of smoke was now visible about two blocks away and they headed towards it, others collecting up on the way. Fear nearly choked her. There was no knowing what sight she would see and she was afraid of failing Max. And she was not used to such haste. Her skirt hampered her so she bunched it up and exposed her ankles without thought, anxious not to delay them. An acrid smell stung her nose.
When they turned the corner into Fulton Street the scene was dreadful. A tall house about halfway down had flames coming from the top-floor window. Neighbours were screaming, children crying, and it seemed as if everyone in Pullman was congregating to either stare or shout advice.
‘Oh my God,’ Max breathed. ‘It’s my apartment.’
For a moment he froze with horror, then he pushed Ellie from him and ran to soak his handkerchief in a puddle by the roadside. He tied it over his nose and mouth and flung his jacket to Ellie. ‘Stay here — I’m going inside.’
‘No! Don’t go,’ Ellie screamed. Her stomach surged with fear and she tried to stop him, but he shrugged her off almost angrily and disappeared. She clutched his coat to her breast and prayed. ‘Oh Holy Mother of God, dear Virgin Mary, keep him safe. I love him.’
The fire company men were erecting ladders. An old woman was being helped out of the ground-floor apartment as the whole building was evacuated.
‘Heard this terrible bang,’ someone said.
‘There was a big flash,’ said another. ‘Windows broke.’
‘Someone get Katrina Devlin out!’ screamed a young girl. ‘She’s in there with that new baby.’
Katrina! Now she knew why Max had been so desperate. Ellie began praying again — there was nothing else she could do. She hopped from one foot to the other in anguish, a stranger in the midst of these people, anxious to help but only too aware of her own inadequacy. The possibility that she might never again see Max alive was just too awful, too frightening. Pain shot through her.
‘There’s wooden stairs in that building,’ said the woman next to her.
‘You mean people at the top are trapped?’ Ellie was horrified further.
‘Only a few weeks ago a man from the Labour Commission said there ought to be another way out.’
Tears were streaming down Ellie’s cheeks as she gazed at the window where firemen were at last dousing the flames. If Max had managed to reach his sister she prayed he would be able to get back. He was not alone. Others were there evacuating families from the ground and middle-floor apartments, and their first thought would have been to rescue Katrina. Burnt drapes ripped against broken glass and the charred window-frame crumbled, bits of scorched wood falling into the crowd as the blaze died down.
‘How could it have happened?’ Ellie’s voice shook and she felt quite faint from the smell.
‘Gas is funny stuff. I never did trust these new-fangled stoves.’
Ellie pushed her way up the steps to the main door and tried to see inside, but her way was barred, the hallway clogged with people.
‘Keep back.’ Men had arrived with a stretcher. She stood on tip-toe and saw Max c
oming down the stairs carrying a young woman in his arms, fair head lolling against his chest, eyes closed. Ellie’s tears flowed anew, this time with relief that he was safe, but his grim expression sent more fearful shivers through her. Beads of sweat studded his brow, his shirt was torn. His eyes were red from the smoke, and the bleakness in them brought silence to the crowd. Ellie held back, afraid to intrude.
There was a new commotion. A man with red hair was thrusting his way through.
‘My wife!’ he was crying. ‘I’ve got to get to my wife.’ A path was cleared for him and sympathetic hands pressed his shoulders as he headed for Max and Katrina. This, then, must be Oliver Devlin. ‘Thank God. I feared the worst. Tell me she’s all right.’
Max shook his head as he gently laid his sister on the stretcher. ‘She’s dead, Oliver. Dead. The fumes killed her.’ His voice was thick. He embraced his brother-in-law as they shared a grief too great for words.
Ellie watched, too shocked to move, and all her nerves felt exposed. In her pampered life she’d had no experience of raw pain. At the derailment she had been sheltered from the dying and hadn’t known any lives were lost until she was safely away from the scene. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off the girl on the stretcher. Apart from burns to her hands and clothes she looked as if she was sleeping, and Ellie ached intolerably.
The tragedy affected the crowd. All around there was the strongest feeling of love and sympathy, as if the shocked community fused into a compassionate shield. The people of Fulton Street knew about suffering in a way that would have been foreign to Prairie Avenue.
Ellie moved towards Max, longing to express her sorrow, yet knowing instinctively that now was not the time to remind him of her presence. Instead she looked down at the serene face of Katrina Devlin and cried for the life that was lost. She was beautiful. Her mouth and nose resembled Max’s, but she had much lighter hair. Her hands were small and capable, and Ellie pictured them handing round cakes as they should have been doing at this moment. Quite likely she could have made a friend of Katrina, and she deeply regretted that they had not spoken to each other. It was all too awful for words and she desperately wished there was something she could do, not only for Max’s sake.
‘Where’s the baby?’ someone was crying.
‘The cradle was just cinders,’ said the man who had come downstairs behind Max.
Fresh weeping broke out among the women. Ellie could no longer stand her own inactivity and for no explicable reason she felt driven to investigate inside the house of tragedy. It was more than morbid curiosity. She felt sucked into the doorway, now cleared of people, and she entered the building without anyone trying to stop her.
There was no smoke on the stairs, only the acrid smell which made her cough, and she climbed towards the sound of voices, not caring that her skirt trailed through rivulets of water. Up and up the narrow wooden stairs she climbed, past doors left open on the first floor when the family living there had been hastily evacuated. Up here was the room where she could have been sitting herself when the explosion occurred.
Suddenly above the din of voices and banging and splashing water Ellie heard the most unexpected sound. The cry of a newborn child was like a thin reed-pipe tune penetrating the atmosphere. She rushed up the final set of stairs, following the sound, and found herself in a small, smoke-filled bedroom with a brass bedstead by the window. Choking and coughing, she dashed across to the bed and flung back the sheet. There was the baby, wrapped in shawls and kicking feebly as it tried to draw enough breath to survive. It was a wonder it hadn’t already suffocated.
Ellie wasted no time. She picked up the bundle and rushed back to the landing.
A fireman tried to stop her. ‘What do you think you’re doing here? Get to hell out of it.’
‘I found the baby alive,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve got to get it to safety before the fumes damage its lungs.’
‘Holy Jesus, it’s a miracle.’
Other men echoed the exclamation, stopping momentarily to see for themselves as Ellie started back down the stairs with the bundle of smoke-grimed shawls protecting the infant in her arms. On the lower landing she paused, feeling dizzy, and for one moment she gazed at the tiny face of Galina Devlin. There was a look of Max about the baby. Ellie trembled as with extraordinary insight she saw her future life tied up with this child, these people.
‘Get on down, woman!’ the fireman yelled down over the banister. She had never been spoken to in such a way, but felt no indignation.
Someone pounded up the remaining stairs towards her. It was the man with red hair. He snatched the precious bundle from Ellie and buried his face against it.
‘Holy Mother of God be blessed,’ he sobbed, over and over again.
*
A sheet was found to cover Katrina’s body. Max kissed the lifeless hands of his sister before crossing them over her breast. His heart was breaking and he could hardly bear it when the sheet was drawn up over her beloved face.
They had been through so much together. With arms supporting each other they had been forced to witness their parents’ agony in an ordeal so terrifying it remained scorched into the soul. They had experienced poverty and statelessness, and a bitter journey across land and sea to a new country where their language was not understood. Hunger and cold had aged them prematurely, but they had survived. He had rejoiced at last when Katrina had found a husband, and he had seen her happiness complete when the baby was born. No one had deserved it more. Now her life had been snuffed out like the pinching of a candle-flame.
Max got to his feet. There was no sign of Oliver, nor of Ellie Harvey, whom he’d almost forgotten.
He turned to face the tenement, his eyes lifted to the upper storey where his home smouldered. It could be rebuilt. George Pullman would send in workmen to clean the bricks, replace the windows, and strengthen the floors. Everything would be put back in prime condition, with another gas-stove installed, and life would go on for those left.
He frowned. What was Ellie Harvey doing coming out of the building? Where had she been? He tried to move towards her, but his feet felt leaden and he had no spirit to cope with the capriciousness of the society beauty he had hoped to discourage with a domestic scene outside her experience.
She was dishevelled, her cheek streaked with soot as if she had rubbed against something, and he remembered how she had looked when they were trapped together in the debris of the train at Quincy, when she had talked to keep him awake. She was always babbling about him having saved her life, but in all fairness she had done much to save his own. She had courage.
Suddenly he was ashamed. Ellie had not wept or fainted when confronted with disaster. She kept her head and tried to see what she could do.
Now she came to him. ‘The baby’s alive, Max. Your brother-in-law’s bringing her down.’ She placed the palm of her hand gently against his cheek. ‘I’m here for you. What can I do?’
Oliver appeared with the baby held close to his chest and there were gasps of joy from the crowd still thronging round. Eager, motherly hands reached out to relieve him of the burden but he wouldn’t relinquish it. The stretcher was lifted and he walked beside it as his wife’s body was borne away to rest in the church, a broken man with his bright head bent over the shawls containing his child.
Max didn’t go with them.
‘Come away,’ said Ellie gently.
‘No. I’ve got to go back and see what can be salvaged. And you must go home. There will only be more trouble if your parents know you have been with me.’
‘I can’t go home. I love you,’ she said. ‘I must be with you.’
He was in no mood to argue, and when he went back into the building he was glad of her company. Each stair he climbed increased the pain of his loss. Ellie came up behind him in silence.
The firemen were leaving with a loud clatter of buckets, and they pressed his shoulder as they passed him on the first landing, no words being adequate. From the a
partment came a nauseous smell of gas and wet charred timber, and water trickled round his feet. Max trod on the burnt floorboards of the kitchen and rocked with anguish as he surveyed the devastation. It was practically gutted. Glass was everywhere, a black, skeletal chair was all that was left of the furniture, and there was not a stick worth saving.
Saddest of all was a flowerpot set amidst the debris, with one of Katrina’s bright red geraniums still bravely flourishing in it, as if she had left behind a single sign of hope. Max picked it up. His shoulders shook and his tears fell on the brilliant petals.
Ellie led him away from the kitchen and into the bedroom where the baby had been found alive. Soot hung in the air, but the room was intact. She took the flowerpot and stood it on the washstand, then put her arms round him, her sympathy flowing without any emotional declaration. Her presence was very soothing and strangely he didn’t mind her seeing his weakness at this moment.
‘I’m so sorry, Ellie. You ought not to be involved in all this.’
‘How can you say that? It was meant for us to share things.’ She slipped a hand through his arm and drew closer to his side. ‘I believe in Fate, you know, and the way our lives are linked in times of trouble can only mean that we’re here to help each other.’
He stopped and turned to her, and saw the beauty of her nature beneath the elegant facade. He had maligned her. It had amused him to play along with what he had thought to be a game when she had sought him out so obviously, but it had not been a light-hearted diversion after all. She had spoken of loving. And oh, how lovely she was.
He bent his head towards her upturned face and with his thumb he wiped away the sooty marks. She was breathing erratically.
‘You’re a very surprising person, Ellie.’
‘Am I?’
His lips touched hers, brushing against their fullness and meeting with such sensitivity his loins immediately throbbed. An inner voice challenged him, demanding to know how he could be doing this when Katrina had just died in this place, but the feel of Ellie’s mouth drove him on to explore with his tongue, and when she melted against him he was lost. Kissing her released him temporarily from suffering. For several minutes they were locked in a hungry embrace, his hand sliding down to press her even closer, but when he felt her respond to the intimacy he came to his senses.