When they approached the Methodist church, Claire heaved a sigh of relief. It was still unharmed, although the roof of the parish house was smoldering.
“I’m going for Ticktock!” Justin yelled over the chaos as he raced to the barn in the rear of the parish house. “Charlie! Help me open the door,” he called to his brother.
Charlie set the wheelbarrow down and followed Justin to the barn.
“Help me lift the board that’s holding it closed,” Justin hollered.
Charlie looked at his hands and shook his head. “My hands are blistering,” he said. But he took one end of the board and lifted it.
Once the door fell open, Ticktock came running out. “Here, here, Ticktock,” Justin said, grabbing her. “She’s frightened of the fire and the noise.”
Charlie found the broken clothesline and tied it to the goat’s collar. “Where’s the family?”
Claire was clinging to Forrest, who had appeared from the side of the church. “Please come away with us,” she begged. “Down to the river or the lake.”
“No, I can’t leave. One of my parishioners, Mr. Haskell over there, says he can save the church if he can keep the roof and steeple wet. He’s going to climb up, and we’ll have a pulley of water from the well. Those men are helping.” He pointed to a group of men who were pumping water into pails. “Darling, you must get away now,” he said to Claire. “Get to the water where you’ll be safe.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“You must leave now.” Forrest’s voice was commanding. “Please, before it’s too late.”
“The fire’s still roaring,” Mother said as she looked up at the smoldering garnet sky. “Why haven’t they put it out?”
“There aren’t enough men or horses in the world that could put this fire out. Look at the skyline!” Charlie said. “This isn’t a fire. It’s an inferno!”
Forrest kissed Claire and then pushed her away. “Go, now! I’ll find you once it’s over. I promise.” He turned and rushed to the men who were waiting with water buckets. Mr. Haskell was already climbing up to the roof.
“Come on, Claire!” Mother begged, pulling her daughter by the sleeve. “We’ve got to keep ahead of the fire.”
“State Street’s on the way to the bridge, and if the fire hasn’t hit yet, I can remove the jewels,” Father said.
Mother’s voice rose to a scream. “For the last time, forget the jewels!”
“Those jewels are—”
“I know! Irreplaceable!” Mother stomped furiously out to the street, ahead of everyone.
Claire said nothing but followed her mother. Justin, with Ticktock on the rope leash, ran after them.
“Wait! We need to stick together … ,” Father called.
Charlie shoved his father out onto the sidewalk. “For God’s sake, get going!”
For a moment, even in the midst of the terror, Charlie’s words to his father shocked Justin. But this was no time to think about good manners.
“Where are you, Mother?” Justin called as they became swallowed up in the streets that were overrun with shoving, screaming people. Wild-eyed horses reared and their wagons tipped over. Furniture, pets, paintings, musical instruments, and other prized belongings spilled onto the ground, cluttering the pathway of the frightened crowds, who trampled over them.
Ticktock was clearly terrified and tried to run and jump away. Justin lifted her up and carried her until the trembling stopped and the goat nestled in his arms.
The family was now close enough to State Street to hear the fire signals from the courthouse building. “Listen!” Father exclaimed. “The fire alarms are sounding one after another.”
Suddenly the whistles were silent. “What happened?” Claire asked.
“There’s smoke coming from the courthouse roof! I thought that building was fireproof,” Charlie declared as they approached State Street.
“Nothing in this stinking town is fireproof,” Father hollered. “It’s all wood, with fake stone facades and brick.”
“That’s where the fire alarms sound,” Mother said. “And now that the courthouse is on fire, the alarms are burned out.”
“What about the prisoners?” Claire asked. “The jail is in the courthouse. They’ll burn to death in there.”
“There’s your answer!” Mother pointed to a stream of men in striped prison suits who raced out of the building, then broke into different directions, darting down the street, laughing and cheering.
“We’re free!” they yelled.
“Break into the saloons and we’ll celebrate!”
One man grabbed a chair that had been left behind on the street and smashed it. Grabbing a broken chair leg, he ran to the department store in a nearby building, broke the front display windows, then climbed through the broken glass.
Outside a music store, a piano stood where someone had tried to save it. A prisoner jumped on the keyboard, then leaped to the top of the expensive instrument and waved his arms. “This fire is a blessing from heaven for the poor among us. Grab whatever you want.” He jumped off the piano, kicked down the door of a nearby store, and disappeared inside. In a moment he emerged with his arms full of clothing.
A woman whom Justin had seen in the crowd suddenly broke away and headed to an expensive fabric store across the road. Others followed her.
Two men who were hiding inside blocked their way. “You can’t come in here like thieves!”
The woman pushed them aside, and the others behind her punched and clobbered the men who were trying to protect their property.
Within a few seconds, the woman came out carrying a huge bolt of costly silk. Others raced out of the smoldering building lugging sewing machines, bolts of cloth, and furniture.
Smoke streamed from the broken front window of a shoe store. One of the released prisoners rolled up a newspaper, lit a match to it, and tossed it through the window. Instantly the smoke inside burst into flame.
“They’re lighting more fires,” Mother said in disbelief.
“I’m going to our store. Mrs. Palmer’s emerald is in the safe. It’s priceless. You come along, Charlie and Justin. We’ve got to protect what we own.”
Mother stomped her foot. “Absolutely not! Let those thugs and rowdies take what they want.”
“It’s our livelihood, woman, and we’re going to the shop!” Father took hold of Charlie’s arm and pulled him toward the street.
“Go ahead, then,” Mother snapped, “but you’re not taking my sons into that danger. And if you do, don’t come looking for me after this is over. I won’t forgive you. Ever.”
Justin looked at his mother in astonishment. Never had he heard her speak that way. The fire seemed to have brought out an inferno that was smoldering within her.
Father was stunned, too, as he stood there with his mouth open, at a loss for words.
After a moment, Claire put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Father, dear, what Mother said is right. I know it’s hard to leave everything behind. It hurt me to leave Forrest. But surely you wouldn’t take Justin and Charlie into that conflagration.” She kissed his cheek. “And Father, you mustn’t go either. What would we do without you?”
Father was silent, his face illuminated by the flickering of the fiery sky. Then he nodded and motioned for the family to move on.
Justin set Ticktock on the ground again and they continued their trek toward the water, dragged along by the massive crowd that surged around them. He wondered about Poppy. Where are you, Poppy? Are you safe? He wished more than ever that he could ask her for her forgiveness.
But he now believed in his heart that he’d never see her again.
VERY LATE SUNDAY NIGHT,
OCTOBER 8, 1871
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
- Poppy Picks a Pocket! -
Poppy was swept along the wooden sidewalks, not knowing where she would end up. Her throat ached with the heat of the air and wind, which carried the flaming sky.
The people we
re frightened and shouting. Animals, too, were caught up in the crowds. Panic-stricken horses reared, kicked, and turned in every direction, looking for a way out of the turmoil. Dogs howled and bit anything in their paths.
Poppy soothed the little kitten deep in her pocket, patting her gently. She thought about Ticktock and hoped the little goat was safe and not frightened. She knew Justin would be gentle and loving to his goat, just as surely as she cared for little Mew.
As Poppy moved with the crowds, a sudden explosion burst in the distance. What was that? she wondered. The answer came quickly when the gas streetlights fizzled and went out.
“The gas tanks exploded. That’s what the noise was!” a man yelled.
The boiling, burning sky still lit the streets and the crowds moved on, away from the fire. But the fire continued to follow them.
Now Poppy approached an intersection that was familiar. State Street! On the other side of the street was the Butterworths’ jewelry store. Although the fire was spreading, it seemed that the flames had not yet reached that far.
Her heart skipped when she saw men coming out of the store. Was it Mr. Butterworth and his sons? She realized in the glow of the fiery sky that the front display windows were broken. Thieves had broken into the store and were stealing the Butterworths’ property.
“The courthouse is burning down!” someone yelled. “The prisoners are in the streets!”
“They’re breaking into the stores! They’re like wild animals!”
Poppy wiggled through the crowd and ran across the road, ignoring the sharp pain in her leg. When she approached the jewelry store, she saw men in prison uniforms helping themselves to the watches, brooches, and cuff links in the now-broken glass showcases.
Was there anything that she could save? Someone had kicked the front door open and Poppy slid inside. No one paid any attention to her as thieves pulled clocks and paintings from the walls.
What about the jewels and the safe in the back? she wondered. Have they found them yet?
Three men were fighting over a wall clock.
“Get your filthy hands off this timepiece,” one of the wild-eyed convicts yelled.
“I saw this first, and I’m takin’ it,” another criminal shouted.
The third man, who was not in prison garb, was trying his best to pull the others away from the beautiful mahogany wall clock with its fancy gold numerals and hands. With a powerful blow, he hit one of the others in the face and the clock crashed to the floor. The chimes inside clanged noisily.
Poppy wanted desperately to run and save it, but already the third man had scooped it up and was running for the open door. The other two thieves dived at him and the ruckus continued.
Poppy crept behind the counters and into the office. The safe was there, but the door was broken—apparently forced open with a crowbar that had been dropped beside it.
She groped inside the safe, hoping the velvet bag was still there. But the safe was empty. The jewels were gone.
Poppy glanced around in the darkness. Everything had been taken. As the room lit up with flickers from the approaching fire, she knew she had to leave.
In the showroom, more men had come in, grabbing things from one another, punching, beating. The smell of alcohol was strong, so she knew the thieves had been drinking, which added to their ferociousness. She’d slip out the door and hope they didn’t see her.
Poppy made her way cautiously around the brawling men, moving slowly around the perimeter of the room, and stopped suddenly. A man in the middle of the melee wore jeans and had a large knapsack attached to his back.
Poppy noticed that the man had something sticking out of the sack. In the glimmer of the firelight that flashed through the window, it looked like the drawstring top of the velvet bag of gems. Could it be?
Mew began crying and clawing to get out. Not now, Mew! Poppy stuck her left hand down and wiggled her finger into Mew’s open mouth. Hold on just a little longer, kitty!
Poppy crawled noiselessly in the shadows, getting closer to the drunken men. Could she lift that bundle out of the man’s backpack without his knowing? Every muscle in her body tightened as she watched for the right moment.
Back and forth the men stumbled and kicked. Other rowdies and convicts cheered them on from the door.
Poppy crouched next to a showcase, trembling. She had to stay calm and remember all the things she knew about picking pockets.
One of the convicts pummeled the man in jeans, knocking him against the counter where Poppy was hiding. As the drunken man threw himself back into the fracas, Poppy reached out for the velvet bag. She knew she couldn’t touch him or he would certainly catch her.
Poppy’s nimble and deft fingers lifted the bag from the sack in one easy tug—just as another of the fighters pounced on him.
“Get that bum!” one of the roughs yelled.
Poppy froze. Was he shouting at her?
“Take that, you pig!” came another shout and a loud smack. “That clock goes with me!”
Straightaway, Poppy stuffed the velvet bag into the pocket with Mew. The kitten began to cry again. Hush, Mew! Don’t make a sound!
Poppy moved quickly and quietly. The men were so violent and engrossed in their fight that they didn’t notice Poppy creeping through the darkness to the back of the store. She reached the back room and sneaked to the outside door. It was locked but she felt for the key, fumbling in the dim light.
Her fingers found the key—it was in the lock just as she remembered. Hurry! Hurry! Before he finds out that the bag is missing!
Her hands quivered as she turned the key. The door opened and Poppy ran out into the backyard. Trees and grass were already on fire, and flames twisted in the wind. She dashed around the building and back into the street, hoping that the man inside had not noticed the bag of gems was gone.
Hurry! Mew’s cries seemed louder and louder.
Pushing the ache of her injured leg from her mind, she made a beeline across the street to the surging mass of terrified people. No one noticed little Poppy as she pressed herself into the mob. Soon she was lost in the seething crowd, who thought of nothing else but escaping the fire.
When she felt safe enough, she reached into her pocket and lifted the bag away from Mew, who was clawing and crying.
The bag was heavy and lumpy with the gems inside. Poppy could hardly believe it. In her hands she was holding the sack full of precious jewels.
VERY EARLY MONDAY MORNING,
OCTOBER 9, 1871
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
- Blame and Regrets -
Justin stood on tiptoe to see over the crowd in front of him. “The bridge! It’s just ahead of us. We’ll be safe soon.”
As they approached the State Street Bridge, Charlie groaned, “The fire has crossed the river! The buildings over on the other side are burning.”
“Oh, look at the boats—they’re on fire,” Justin said gloomily.
Father threw up his hands helplessly. “The oil and all the junk on the surface of the water acted like fuel.”
“I told you we should have turned down that side street a few blocks back. Then we’d have gone down to the lakefront,” Mother said in an accusing voice. “No one listens to me!”
“That’s all we do is listen to you,” Father snapped. “You never stop talking.”
“This is no time for ‘I told you so,’” Charlie scolded. “We’ll cross the bridge. No more discussion.”
They continued being swept along by the crowd, climbing over the bodies of dead animals and abandoned carpetbags, steering clear of wandering horses and wheelbarrows still filled with belongings. Some people stopped long enough to pick through the items and take what they wanted.
“Thieves everywhere,” Father muttered.
Suddenly Charlie set down the wheelbarrow that he’d been pushing for hours. “I can’t do this anymore! My hands are so badly burned—my blisters have broken and now they’re bleeding. Can someone else push this? Otherwise, I’
m leaving everything right here.”
“I’ll take it,” Father said. He placed the bag he was carrying onto the top of the overloaded barrow and began pushing awkwardly as the top-heavy cart wobbled in every direction.
“Leave it,” Mother told him.
“I’ll try to get it over the bridge,” Father insisted. “If I can’t, I’ll leave it.”
“We’re not moving,” Charlie said. “Everyone is funneling onto the bridge.”
Justin stood on his tiptoes and looked ahead once more at the slow-moving wall of people. All the while the surging, towering flames and turbulent clouds of smoke roared skyward.
Justin felt trapped. Perhaps they should go back to that street his mother had said led to the lake. He stood tall and stretched to see behind them. Another barricade of people!
Suddenly, for a fleeting second he saw—or thought he saw—a small familiar figure struggling in the midst of the crowd. Is that Poppy? It was hard to tell in the darkness when the only light was from the fiery sky. Whoever it was disappeared from sight.
Justin turned around as a wagon made its way through the mob. “I have room for your belongings,” the driver called out. “Twenty dollars and I’ll carry your things to Lincoln Park and meet you there. That’s where everyone’s heading. The fire hasn’t touched the park.”
“Over here!” Father called. “Take all this stuff in the wheelbarrow.”
“Twenty dollars cash now,” the driver said.
Father pulled out his leather and handed over the money. The driver hopped down from the cart and tossed everything from the wheelbarrow into the back of the wagon.
“Take this, too,” Mother said, throwing her stuffed pillowcase to the man.
“What about your bag?” the driver asked Claire.
“No. I’ll keep this with me,” she answered. She looked guiltily at her mother. “My wedding linens are in here,” she whispered. “They’re the only things I could carry.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“It’s all right, dear,” Mother said, and patted Claire’s hand.
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