Burden of Memory

by Vicki Delany

  “No, I’m not, sir. I’m only saying someone will be around to look into the cause of the fire. Routine procedure.”

  “This is awful, absolutely awful.” Rachel, Karen, and Kyle broke into the circle.

  “We heard a siren,” Rachel said, scanning the group, her beautiful face pale and anxious. “So we left Willow with Jessica and rowed over as fast as we could. Is everyone all right? We saw the ambulance leave. Have they taken Moira?”

  “Moira’s fine,” Lizzie assured her. “They took her to the hospital for a bit of a check up. That’s all. Maeve as well. She was terribly confused. Ruth’s gone with them.”

  “All’s well that ends well, eh?” Dave stepped into the circle. He grinned at Amber. “Nice robe.”

  “How did you get here? You weren’t…” Rachel began, but she was cut off.

  “And where were you two, while all this was happening?” Charles stretched himself to his full height, crossed his arms over his chest, and stuck out his chin as he addressed Dave and Kyle.

  Dave held out his hands. “We were asleep in our beds, Mr. Stoughton. All nice and peaceful and cozy. Are you implying something else?”

  Kyle and Alan stepped forward at the same time. “Nothing said, man. Nothing said.” Kyle stretched his arm across Dave’s chest. “Right?” He looked at Charles.

  “Merely speculating.”

  “Well, I for one want to put something on that has a bit of decorum,” Alan said. “All right with you, Captain?”

  “We’re ready to leave,” the captain said. “The main building is secure, no problem going in.”

  “I’ve got to get some clothes on.” Amber dashed into the building.

  Dave chuckled and Kyle eyed him suspiciously.

  “Such a terrible thing.” Mrs. Josepheson waved her hands in front of her chest. The paper-thin skin exposed the tiny bones and veins underneath. “You could have all burned to a crisp in your beds.” She licked her lips, savoring the horror of it all. “Terrible, simply terrible.”

  “That’s quite enough of that talk, Mother,” Greg snapped. He gave Elaine a wry smile as he topped up her cup.

  The fire crew was strapped into their seats, pump stowed, hoses rolled up, and equipment secured, ready to be on their way. The woman with the spiked hair raised one hand to Elaine, who nodded in reply.

  “We have been lucky,” Elliot said.

  “Yes, we have,” Alison agreed. “But if we stand here much longer we’ll die of exposure. I’m simply freezing.”

  “Terrible, terrible,” repeated Mrs. Josepheson with something approaching relish.

  “I had better go to the hospital and check on my sisters-in-law,” Charles said. “Elliot, you can drive me.”

  “Coffee,” Lizzie announced. “We all need coffee. Then we can decide what we’re going to do.”

  Gratefully, the remaining members of the party trooped into the kitchen.

  Alan and Elaine hung behind. Now that it was all over, Elaine was so thunderstruck at the speed and ferocity of events she could barely will her body to put one foot in front of the other.

  “I’ll drive you to the hospital, Mr. Stoughton,” Alan said. “No need for Elliot to go.”

  “No. You’ve done enough tonight.” Charles coughed. “Thank you. And thank you, Elaine. That fire was far too close to the cottage for comfort. Without your quick reaction, we might well have lost everything.”

  She smiled, embarrassed at the praise.

  “Including our lives. Elliot, hurry up. Get something decent on and meet me by the car.” The old man looked down at his pajamas. “Perhaps I should make myself more presentable as well.” He stumbled off, back into the cottage.

  “A proud man,” Alan muttered.

  “Indeed.”

  “I do think that a cup of Lizzie’s world famous coffee is in order. Would you not agree, Miss Elaine?”

  She smiled at his humorous attempt at formality. “I would indeed, gentle sir.”

  He held out his arm, bent at the elbow, and Elaine slipped hers through it. “Lead the way.” The warmth of his touch felt very nice indeed, and despite the tragedy barely avoided, a soft smile crept across her face.

  The stunned survivors were gathered in the kitchen. Kindling roared in the great fireplace and Brad placed a fresh log on top. The ever-efficient Lizzie had coffee and hot cocoa brewing. It was a big kitchen jammed with bodies, everyone talking about the fire and exclaiming over how lucky they all were.

  Why are survivors of a catastrophe always described as lucky? Surely, true luck would be if the horrible event had not happened at all? Elaine thought, accepting a cup of rich chocolate.

  “Can I give you a hand?” Rachel approached Lizzie as the cook rummaged through the fridge, her more than adequate bottom facing the room.

  “I’d swear that I had a whole selection of French cheeses in here. But I can’t find them. Did we have cheese with dinner, Elaine?”

  “Yes. They were great.”

  “No matter. Turn on the oven, please, Rachel. I have some frozen pastries. They’ll have to do.”

  Amber and Phoebe came into the kitchen. Phoebe wrapped a long fur coat around her grandmother’s shoulders, and Megan buried herself deep in the thick fur. Dave crossed the room and placed one hand firmly on Amber’s denim clad butt. She threw him a hard look, but instead of moving away, wiggled slightly to fit herself into the cup provided.

  Elaine told herself to mind her own business.

  Greg toured the room, offering another round of brandy. He even extended the bottle to Kyle and Rachel.

  “How did it start, do you think?” Alison voiced what they were all thinking.

  “Lightning?”

  “There hasn’t been any lightning for days.”

  “Heater left on?”

  “Electrical fault?”

  “Until recently, no one’s been up into that loft for years. So why did it happen today?” Brad said.

  “I didn’t leave anything burning up there, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Phoebe bristled. Scrubbed clean of her excessive black and plum makeup, her complexion glistened with the freshness of comfortable youth and good nutrition. Her short black hair, bare of commercial products, was tousled from sleep and agitation.

  “Just mentioning it, that’s all.”

  “Well, don’t mention it,” Alan said. “The fire investigator will be here tomorrow. They’ll tell us what happened. Speculation is futile.”

  “Resistance is futile,” Brad chuckled, echoing his favorite TV show.

  “Terrible, terrible. They could all have burned to death in their beds,” Mrs. Josepheson muttered to no one in particular, once again.

  “Time to take Mother home,” Greg suggested to his father.

  Mr. Josepheson was puffing happily away at one of his enormous cigars. Lizzie threw him a look that would frighten small children, but with none of the senior members of the family present to back her up, she clamped her lips shut and said nothing.

  “Nighty night, then,” Dave said, having released Amber’s butt. “Leave the bottle will you? There’s a good boy.”

  Kyle crossed the room in two enormous strides and grabbed Dave by the arm. “We’ve outstayed our welcome. Time for us to go as well.” His smile was as strong as his grip. The bare flesh on Dave’s white arm stood out in sharp contrast to the deep black of Kyle’s hand. “Ladies, as we have only the one boat, I suggest that we all leave together.” He practically dragged Dave to the door. Rachel and Karen scurried after them. Lizzie followed with offerings of cookies and half-cooked pastries.

  Amber burst into tears and fled the room.

  “Horrible people,” Megan said. “I’ll have another brandy, please, dear. Can’t imagine why Moira allows them to stay. She’s too kind hearted by half, I’ve always said.”

  “Seems quite handy the way they turned up like that,” Alison said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lizzie turned on her.

  “They say t
hat an arsonist always likes to hang around and watch the fire trucks arrive.”

  “If you’re making an accusation, you should be prepared to back it up with something stronger than what ‘they’ say.”

  “It’s my family that’s threatened here. I intend to speculate as much as I want. Aunt Moira is crazy to let those people stay over there. Particularly after what happened Labor Day.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Donna’s death was an accident, didn’t you hear? And Moira isn’t crazy in any way. I’ll thank you to remember that.” Lizzie’s hands were placed firmly on her hips, her legs apart.

  The phone on the wall beside the back door shrilled like an alien presence, and everyone turned to look at it. Alison was the closest. Her hand shook and she took a deep breath as she picked it up.

  “Hello? Okay. Fine. Good. Thank you.” She placed the receiver back onto its cradle. “That was Uncle Charles. They’re okay, and he and Elliot are on the way home with Aunt Moira and Ruth.”

  “Just Moira?” Alan asked.

  “Mom was apparently quite disoriented when they got there, so the doctors want to keep her in for another night.”

  “The poor dear,” said Megan. “She absolutely hates hospitals. A bit more brandy if you please, young Greg.”

  Grateful for the interruption, they all pretended to forget about the argument. Alison stared at Lizzie, her eyes throwing daggers, but the cook turned her back to check a tray in the oven.

  All the time that family, friends, and staff had been in the kitchen, the dim howling of dogs trying to force their way out of the cab of Alan’s pickup truck echoed around the property. Unable to resist any longer, Alan gave in and with a curse he stamped out into the yard to release the beasts.

  They immediately found their way into the kitchen in search of offerings.

  Brandy bottle and coffee pot were emptied, cookies reduced to crumbs, and pastries nothing but a memory, but no one wanted to take to their beds until the rest of the Madisons returned.

  “Amber seemed a bit touchy,” Phoebe said, nursing the last grains in her cup. “Not like her.”

  “Affects us all in a different way,” Lizzie said, wondering if she should bring out the sweet rolls she had intended to be tomorrow’s breakfast.

  Unnoticed, Elaine left the room and crept up the stairs. The walls were tinged with a faint residue of smoke, but the fire itself hadn’t reached the old wooden building. Ralph, Augustus, and Elizabeth were, fortunately, quite safe. And, thank goodness, the smoke hadn’t reached the precious paintings lining the walls of the main hall.

  Not knowing what to expect when offered a chance at the job and summoned north, Elaine had packed a flashlight. She found the heavy instrument in the back of her cupboard, pulled her coat on over her dressing gown, and ventured outside.

  In the courtyard she dropped to her haunches and flicked the powerful beam of her flashlight over the desolation. Fortunately the papers still packed into boxes, those they hadn’t yet read or put aside until another day, were relatively unscathed, a bit of singeing to the edges of cardboard, but little damage to the precious contents inside. A couple of the boxes had shattered on hitting the ground, and the wind had spread papers around the yard. Elaine did her best to collect all the scraps of paper.

  The accounts that Phoebe had been examining when they called it a day had been consumed by the flames and were now regaled to disgusting piles of muck and sludge and ashes.

  “Quite a mess, eh?” Phoebe stood behind her.

  “Not irretrievable, I hope.”

  “They’re saying it was my fault.”

  “Who’s saying? What’s your fault?”

  “The fire. That I left the old electric heater on. Which caused the fire. They’re all accusing me.”

  “I didn’t hear anyone saying anything of the sort. I heard them wondering how it started, that’s all. Did you leave the heater on?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then the fire investigator will discover so. And that’ll be the end of it.”

  “Do you think?”

  “Of course I do,” Elaine said with no conviction whatsoever. “Let’s see what we have here. This bunch seems to be in good shape. Tomorrow, we’ll dry out every scrap of paper that’s a bit damp and try to get it all sorted out. Not much seems to be lost. Fortunately, the papers I was studying last, I took into my room to read later.”

  “You think most of it can be salvaged?” Megan appeared out of the dark, so unexpectedly that both Phoebe and Elaine started and clutched hands to nervous chests.

  “I do,” said Elaine. A full armory of jewelry weighed Megan down. Strings of pearls, diamond broaches and earrings, and gold bangles sparkled on or dangled over her frothy nightgown. Must make an awful racket when she makes love. Perhaps her husband liked to be reminded of all that money he had married. Elaine scolded herself for being mean: the old woman probably grabbed everything she could on her way out of the burning building. Easier to wear than to carry. “Such a waste of time and effort,” Megan said. “Never mind storage space. If it were up to me, I’d get rid of the lot. What’s past is past. And best forgotten.”

  “History is important,” Elaine said. “To know where we’re going, we have to know from where we’ve come.”

  “Modern nonsense,” Megan said, taking a sip of her drink. “A woman like you—you’d be better off at home with your husband than chasing my sister’s memories.” She stepped out of the light and was swallowed up by the darkness. Only the clatter of her jewelry marked where she had gone.

  “Weird,” Phoebe whispered.

  The sky was dark, without a trace of moon or stars, and Elaine feared that rain might accomplish what fire had failed to do. She and Phoebe prevailed upon Alan to help them lug the cartons of papers into the kitchen.

  They finished just as a weak sun was wondering whether or not to bother peeking its head up over the horizon. A creature of habit, eventually it did, in time to greet Charles and Elliot returning from the hospital with Moira and Ruth.

  “My mother’s letters, my papers?” Moira touched the button to roll down the back window and called out before Charles’ Lexus had even come to a halt.

  “We’ve saved most of it,” Elaine assured her. “I’ll have a good look at everything tomorrow, this morning I mean, but I think your mother’s letters are safe.”

  “Thank heavens for that.” Moira extended a hand out of the car window. “And no small thanks to you, Charles tells me. Well done, dear.”

  “No thanks to me at all,” Elaine said, squeezing the hand as tightly as she dared. It was icy cold and the fragile bones were tangible beneath the skin. “Alan fought the fire until the truck arrived.”

  “We must be getting you to bed, Miss Madison,” Ruth said, her mouth settled into a tight line.

  “Stop fussing, you stupid girl. I don’t have to be packed off to bed like a delinquent child.”

  Ruth recoiled as if she had been struck.

  Alan and Greg helped bundle Moira out of the car and into the cottage. Charles shouted to Alan to get a roofing contractor over first thing, and to call him as soon as the fire inspector arrived.

  Elaine was much too wired to go back to bed. She wanted only to dive into the boxes and check the damage.

  Alison refused to return to the second floor, insisting that she would be safer in the rooms over the boathouse. She sent Alan up to her room to fetch toothbrush, towels, duvet, and pillows.

  The rising sun highlighted an ugly jagged wound in the roof above the storage building. Where only hours before there had been a tiny dormer window, exactly like those in illustrated volumes of nursery rhymes, there was now a gaping hole, surrounded by raw blackened beams.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “M?”

  “Um?”

  “Do you miss home?”

  “What a silly question. Of course I miss home. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “W
ell, stop wondering and enjoy the day. Isn’t this heavenly?”

  “I guess.”

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake, Ralph. Stop being so melancholy.” Moira pushed her dark glasses on top of her hair and peered at her brother, her eyes recoiling from the harsh sunlight. “You’re ruining my day.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So you should be.” She pulled the glasses back down and snuggled deeper into the warm sand. The skin at her throat, face, and arms was still pale yellow. An interesting contrast to the acres of white skin exposed by her borrowed bathing suit. “I’m about ready for another swim. Coming?”

  May 1944. The Isle of Capri. Moira had never been anywhere so beautiful. The sun baked their white bodies and the warm sand cradled their war-saturated souls. Ralph and Moira lay on borrowed towels watching the gentle rolling of the azure waters and clouds that moved lazily across a sky almost too blue to behold. Far in the distance, on the rim of the horizon, past the towering limestone rocks reaching up out of the sea like the thumbs of giants, she could see the smoking plume of a ship, heading east through the Mediterranean. A war ship, no doubt. Maybe a troop carrier. En route to God knows where. She shivered in the sun and cast her thoughts to the men it carried, watching until it disappeared over the rim of the world.

  She pulled herself to her feet. “Come on. Let’s have one last dip. Almost time to be on our way.”

  “You go without me. I’ve had enough.”

  “Ralph.” Moira sunk to her haunches beside her brother. “Something is bothering you and I do wish you would talk to me about it.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  She padded across the hot sand and around the rocks and slipped into the water. For a few moments the gentle caress of the soft, warm water on her battledress-roughened skin was enough to make her forget her brother and his unnaturally dismal mood. She flipped onto her back and floated, eyes closed. It was almost possible to believe that she was back home at the family cottage on Lake Muskoka. Taking a quick dip off the end of the dock before supper.

  The sharp tang of salt water stung her cracked lips and the image disappeared with a poof, like the end to an insipid amateur magic show.