“The fire has spread to the Woodbine Hotel!” someone shouted.
“And the Duffin Block!”
“The whole street is going to go!”
Isaac counted six fire brigade rigs, their horses frothing in terror. Looking up, he watched desperate residents toss furniture and other goods from the top floors in a bid to save their possessions. He was stunned at how quickly hooligans rushed in to trample the property and carry pieces off. The hysteria of looting quickly spread through the throng.
“Look!” someone shouted. “The fire has jumped across Main to the Ashdown Store!”
Isaac was horrified. As he watched, a strong gust of wind came up and the fire instantly claimed the roof of the store. The scorching heat pushed the crowd back.
“Clear out of the way! Fire brigade coming through!” The fire captain shouted to create an opening.
Isaac jumped aside as four more rigs, hauled by wild-eyed horses, churned up Main Street with bells clanging. He turned away and began to push his way along, hoping to circle the fire to the newspaper office on McDermot, a block away.
“Ziggy! Hey Ziggy!”
It took a moment to realize it was Jim McGraw.
“Where are you going, kid?”
“The paper. They’ll need help with the extra edition, Jim. I’ve got to get over there.”
“They’ll be needing help writing the story so they have something to print!” McGraw yelled over the roar. “There are bucket brigades on the rooftops all the way to McDermot, including some on the Star building and the fire station back there in Market Square. But there are only two other reporters here, Ziggy, and this hardware store is gonna blow! Ashdown’s is loaded with paint and turpentine and all kinds of shit. And it’s hunting season, so who knows how many boxes of ammunition and gunpowder he’s got loaded in there.”
He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and shoved it at Isaac’s chest.
“Ziggy, I need your help. You know what I’m looking for, and you can find it as fast as I can. Head around back to Albert Street. That’s where the big crews are right now. I’m told there’s a family of Italians living in a shack back there, but don’t waste too much time on them unless someone’s been killed. Follow the action. Once the Bulman Block comes down, get back up front here on Main. I’m going to find James Ashdown. If you see Rupert Willows, latch on to him. His new building will go next. It’s right there, next door to Ashdown’s, and by the look of things, it won’t be more than ten minutes before it goes up.”
Isaac stood, gripped with fear. Jim grabbed his shoulder and gave him a rough shake.
“Isaac! Wake up! You ain’t a kid anymore! With this wind, this fire might go all the way to Union Bank Tower and City Hall. And if that happens, God help us, we may lose the entire downtown, and maybe even everything north of here. Now go!”
Isaac ran. Gripping his notepad, he ran past the flames and across the line that separated his youth from his manhood. The smoke choked him, and his eyes were burning by the time he got to the back of Ashdown’s store. There, the Italian family members clutched one another, their store ablaze. Behind him, he heard glass breaking. Looters threw bricks through storefront windows, fighting each other for position. Scrambling over the broken glass, they grabbed at crates of fruits and vegetables, then ran wildly down the street so as not to be caught stealing what surely was going to burn. A starving family would eat apples tonight.
The chaotic scene numbed Isaac’s senses. It seemed the whole world had gone mad as the wind sent sparks showering down on the crowd. Suddenly, the fire chief was there, yelling and waving furiously in the direction of the Bulman Block.
“Get the hell out of the there! Move! Move now! That building is coming down!”
Firemen scattered, dragging hoses and shouting. “Get back! Get out of the way! Make room!” The shouting was drowned out by the deafening crash as the building thundered into the street in an avalanche of bricks and splintered timber. Screaming and crying pierced the din for a moment, as if the monstrous fire had taken a giant breath. Then the explosions began as the blaze ignited the ammunition at the front of the Ashdown store.
The crowd came alive with panic. People ran for their lives, women screaming, children crying, men cursing. Isaac sprinted from under the falling cinders and then whirled to watch the inferno, panting with fear, overcome with the certainty that he was not cut out to be a newspaperman.
He willed his nerves to settle. Jim was counting on him. Get the story. Do the job. He made his way over the fallen bricks and smoking debris on Main Street to the north side of Ashdown’s where the Willows Block was now in flames.
He spotted Mayor Sharpe, who was climbing from a carriage, helped by Alderman Willows.
“Dear God in heaven, Rupert!” shouted the mayor. “Those hoses have no pressure!”
“We need more water in the mains! The pressure keeps dropping,” Willows yelled back over the noise as Isaac moved closer.
“That’s all the pressure we’ve got. There’s not enough water!”
“We can get more,” shouted Willows. “We can pump in river water through the old pumping station on the Assiniboine.”
Mayor Sharpe shook his head.
“The one up by your house? We can’t do that. The water is dirty from sewage, and that pumping station hasn’t been used for years. It might not work anymore.”
Willows threw up his hands and as if on cue, the flames roared through the roof of his building.
“It’s all we’ve got, Your Worship! This could be as bad as the Chicago fire if we don’t get more water. Bulman’s, Ashdown’s, and my building are already lost. With this wind we’ll lose everything including City Hall.”
Mayor Sharpe looked stricken. He nodded. “Where is the fire chief?”
Seeing his opportunity, Isaac shouted over the din.
“I know where he is! I just saw him.”
Within seconds, he was off in a dead run, dispatched by the mayor to deliver the order to open the Assiniboine River pumping station to save the city.
A short time later, a cheer rang out from the crowd as the force of the streams visibly grew. And as if in answer to a prayer, the wind abated. With renewed energy the firefighters set to their task and gained control of the spreading flames. Slowly, the fire weakened, then finally submitted; the smoking, soggy ruins hissing into the darkness.
Through the night at the Winnipeg Star, the story took shape. With the electricity out in the building, the reporters pulled oil lamps from a closet to provide enough light to work. Isaac pounded away at his typewriter and then, as the deadline loomed, he dashed to the Linotype machine to help ready the pages for printing.
In just hours, the heart of Winnipeg’s business district had been decimated by a million dollar fire. The newspapers all gave high praise to the men who fought the fire and prevented it from spreading beyond downtown. Amazingly, not one person died. The most serious injury was suffered by a fireman who lost a finger. It was pinched off in an accident with the pumping equipment.
McGraw hustled into the composing room as Isaac was getting ready to leave for home an hour before sunup.
“Hey, Ziggy! Come on! We’re all going to the Marriagi Hotel. Frank, the owner, is putting up sandwiches and coffee for all the firemen and the newspaper guys. You gotta come along. You’re a newspaper man, Isaac Zigman!”
Isaac smiled through his exhaustion. This is what it felt like to be intensely alive.
Two miles away in Armstrong’s Point, the clock struck seven in the morning, and Rupert considered whether he wanted another brandy or a cup of coffee. He, too, had been up the whole night. His beautiful new building had been destroyed. Everything was gone. The lovely mirrored walls in his office, the paintings from Europe, the hand-crafted leather chairs, the Persian rug from Sotheby’s. All gone. It would be months before he would have an office again. What was to become of his business? His only hope was his insurance, and that was a long shot. He didn’t even hav
e his policy to review, for it, too, had been claimed by the fire. Perhaps even his beloved Ravenscraig would have to be sold. He was lost in despair. With his bank account depleted in the construction of the new office building, there was little left to hold things together until he could rebuild. If he could rebuild.
He sighed deeply, vaguely aware that the telephone was ringing. Then Chadwick was looming over him. What was he saying?
“Mr. Willows, It’s a call from New York,” Chadwick repeated, his tone softened with sympathy. “Mr. Henry Flagler of the Standard Oil Company. Will you take it or would you prefer that I take a message?”
Rupert motioned that he would take the call. He hadn’t spoken with Flagler for some time. His American friend had been busy with developing hotel properties and a railroad in Florida.
“Hello, Henry?”
“Willows, are you all right, old chap?”
“Henry. Henry, well, how very good to hear from you,” Rupert fought to focus.
“You sound terrible, Rupert. Were you hurt in the fire?” Flagler’s voice rose over the crackling on the telephone line.
“No, no, thank you for your concern. None of us was hurt, Henry. How do you know about the fire?”
“It’s all over the front page of the New York Times that the whole of central Winnipeg was on fire, and I wanted to be sure that you were all right,” Flagler’s voice came through more strongly. “Can you hear, me?”
“Yes, I can and yes, it was a terrible disaster. Several office buildings burned to the ground. It was a great loss. It is quite amazing that no one was killed. It flared up again at half past three this morning but it’s all under control now.”
“And your business? Were you spared?”
“We lost our new office building, Henry. We were wiped out.”
“I’m wiring some money to you to tide you over, Rupert.”
Rupert was deeply moved as hope rose out of the darkness. “Oh, dear. I don’t know what to say. That’s very generous, Henry. I really can’t accept, but how very kind of you to be thinking of us.” But Henry Flagler would consider no protest from Rupert.
Listening from around the corner, Chadwick noted his employer’s strengthening tone as he went on to explain the details of the tragedy, and how fortunate it was that injuries were minimal.
“Well, yes,” he heard Rupert finally say into the telephone, “if you really do insist, I would be very grateful for the loan. You are a very good friend, indeed, Henry.”
Chadwick could hardly contain himself. Mr. Henry Flagler! One of the richest men in America is calling to offer his assistance. Perhaps things were not so dire, after all. Chadwick was much relieved; he would have some good news to report below stairs to the worried household staff. Every one of them was wondering how long it would be before jobs were cut in the wake of the disaster.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Something in the Water
October 14, 1904
The fire was the largest ever seen in the Manitoba capital, and for several days it seemed the only topic of discussion among the citizenry as they came to the shocking realization that Winnipeg had come to the very brink of destruction. While there was no loss of life reported, there were many stories of financial devastation among businesses and homeowners that had little or no insurance.
The ghastly sight of the blackened ruins and heaps of debris quickly became a prime local attraction, complete with enterprising pushcart vendors loaded with fresh sandwiches and pastries to sell to the throngs of gawkers and treasure seekers who pawed through the rubble.
There was much public praise for both the brave work of the volunteer fire fighters and the quick thinking of Mayor Sharpe in ordering the use of the Assiniboine River water to increase the water pressure needed to get control of the fire. Rupert was initially miffed that his influence in convincing the mayor to take this action went unreported, but the truth was he had many more serious problems that demanded his attention.
Ravenscraig had fallen under a gloom of uncertainty that matched the somber October sky. With the terrible financial loss suffered by Willows & Sons, there was a great deal of insecurity about the future, and the household staff members did their best to move calmly through their duties despite the palpable tension.
Maisie fought to hold onto her belief that in time everything would return to normal. She opened the kitchen tap and started to fill the crystal water jug. “Mrs. Butterfield, does this water look all right to you? It seems a little off. Perhaps we ought not to be using it.”
“We’re in a hurry, Maisie. Madame is waiting,” Mrs. Butterfield snapped as she waddled to the sink and nudged Maisie over.
“Lets have a look. Hmm. Seems all right to me. Just a bit of a summer smell to it. Odd this time of year. Run it through a cheese cloth, and it will be fine. Mrs. Willows will be in a frightful mood if the water jug is not on her table in five minutes. When you’re done, just set in on that tray and I’ll take it up. And don’t forget to chip the ice to put into it.”
Maisie followed her orders uneasily. She closed her eyes and smelled the freshly filled water pitcher. Nothing seemed amiss. But how unusual to have poor quality water this late in October when it was too cold for algae to grow. And how would algae get into artesian wells? As soon as Mrs. Butterfield left the kitchen with the tray for Mrs. Willows, Maisie filled a large kettle and several pots with water and set them to boil. It was easy enough to bring the water up to top quality, she thought. Everyone knew that boiled water was safe from contamination. Well, everyone with a medical text tucked under a bed. It was always better to be safe than sorry.
Mrs. Willows had been particularly anxious this week; she was hoping to hear good news from her husband regarding the fire insurance. Despite the bits of positive news that had filtered in from Chadwick, the servants were also a bit on edge. Maisie twitched at the thought of the conversation she’d had with Henry, the chauffeur, about it. She had been suggesting to Henry that anyone with the low moral character of their employer deserved to suffer hard times once in a while. She added that she wouldn’t mind one bit if he had to give up his fine cigars and his lavish parties to impress his friends.
Henry took no time to set her straight. “Are ya daft, lass? How long do you think you would keep yer job if His Nibs loses all that money? Time to open yer eyes and see what’s goin’ on around here.”
Well, at least things seemed to be going well with the construction of the big Eaton’s store. Thank goodness Mr. Willows had his share of that building project. The new department store was taking up almost all his time and seemed to be bringing in enough money to maintain the home in the usual manner.
In the meantime, she had her studies. And she had a study partner. Mr. Willows would likely need to be hospitalized if he knew that his son was studying with the parlor maid, but Mr. James seemed to think that with their strict rules of secrecy, that they were in no danger of being discovered. She was glad it had worked out as well as it did.
They were good study partners. Mr. James supplied the books and the assignments, and she stayed awake late into the night poring over the materials. They arranged secret meetings to discuss assignments and James always complimented her on her thoroughness. She was beginning to feel that she might really have her chance in life. She felt so fortunate. Could it be that she would truly be a doctor one day?
Mr. James was actually very smart, she had learned, but impatient about getting through the material. He was very much a gentleman and treated her respectfully. He clearly was not interested in romance, at least, not with her. But would he find it so impossible to throw her an appreciative glance once in a while? She hardly looked like a cow. Or did she? Was she plain? Unappealing, perhaps? Stop it! It was nonsense to think that a man of his standing would have anything to do with a maid. Ha! And a Jewish maid at that. There’s an explosive bit of history to toss into the mix. No, he would have his fine life with one of those sappy, childish women who traveled in his circle
and Maisie would achieve her dream to be a doctor. Nothing else mattered if she had that.
Now all she needed to do was figure out how to be accepted into medical school and how to pay for her education. The textbook work was one thing but without a university education and a degree in medicine she would be nowhere.
The whistling of the kettle punctured her daydreams, and she set to work providing a proper supply of safe drinking water for the Willows household. She would take things one step at a time.
Just a week later, relief came to the household. Rupert could hardly wait for the telephone connection to be made before he started to shout. “Hello, hello, Alfred? Can you hear me? Yes, yes. I have very good news. Please come home quickly so I don’t have to share it with everyone who is joining us on this telephone line.
“Louise, I know you are listening, and I know you believe that as a telephone operator that is your job, but, please be a dear and wait for real news before you ring up everyone in town. Would you do that, darling?”
Rupert hung up the phone and launched into an impromptu jig, just as Beth was coming through the door.
“And which darling of yours might that have been on the telephone?” she asked with just a hint of jealousy in her voice.
Ignoring her tone, Rupert drew his wife into his arms, held her close and danced her into a waltz to music only he could hear. He looked deeply into her eyes, and she started to warm under the heat of his charm. He smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “There is only one sweetheart for me, my love, and that is you, my precious Beth.”
She threw her head back and laughed. She knew it was a lie but she didn’t care. He was hers. At this moment, he was hers.
“My goodness, aren’t we in fine humor, Rupert.”
Seduced by her husband’s playfulness, she responded with restrained affection. He danced and hummed, snuggling her hair and kissing her ear. She relaxed to his rhythm and then, humming along with him, gradually melted, reminded of a dance like this one years ago when she first said yes to him.
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