Claire held her close and covered Poppy’s sooty face with kisses. “Our little Poppy,” she whispered.
MONDAY MORNING,
OCTOBER 9, 1871
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
- Promises -
“Poppy, darling!”
Am I in heaven? Is that an angel calling me?
“Poppy, wake up.” Someone was crying.
Maybe I’m dead. Slowly Poppy opened her eyes.
Claire was holding her, rocking her. “Oh, my sweet Poppy. To think you went through all this alone.”
“I … I wasn’t alone. I had Mew.” She tried to sit up. “Oh, where’s Mew?”
“Right here.” Justin held the kitten up. “She’s fine, Poppy. You saved her.”
Is Justin crying?
“The bag … where is it?” Poppy mumbled.
Claire looked around. “Over there, on the ground. It dropped when you fell.”
“Don’t lose it … Don’t let anyone get it.…” Poppy strained to get up again but fell back into Claire’s lap, sick and dizzy.
“It’s all right, Poppy—it’s right here.” Justin picked up the paper satchel from where it had fallen and handed it to her. “It’s heavy. You carried this all the way?”
Poppy nodded. “It’s for your father,” she whispered.
“For me?”
Poppy looked up and realized that Justin’s whole family stood around her with anxious faces.
Justin handed the satchel to his father. Mr. Butterworth looked puzzled as he reached inside and pulled out the velvet bag, and then he gasped. “The jewels!” Father opened the bag, then poured the gems onto Poppy’s lap. “They’re all here, including …” He plucked Mrs. Palmer’s emerald from the pile. “I can’t believe it!”
“I didn’t steal ’em, I swear,” Poppy struggled to explain.
“Of course you didn’t,” Claire said, kissing her on the cheek.
“When I got to State Street, the pris’ners were runnin’ wild, breakin’ into the stores and takin’ things. I saw the broken windows in your shop, so I went over to see.”
Poppy stopped in a fit of coughing.
“Here, Poppy.” Mrs. Butterworth held a pail of water up to her lips. “You don’t need to explain, dear. Just rest.”
But Poppy needed to tell the Butterworths what had happened. After she sipped the water, she went on. “Inside, the men were fightin’ over the clocks and one of ’em had this velvet bag in his knapsack. Justin once showed me the jewels in that bag, so I knew they belonged to you.” She stopped and looked up at Justin. “Oops. I’m sorry, Justin.”
“It doesn’t matter if he showed you the jewels, Poppy,” Mr. Butterworth said. “I’m thankful that he did!”
“But how did you get the bag from the thief?” Charlie asked.
“While he was fightin’, I reefed it from him.”
“You reefed it from him?” Father shook his head and chuckled softly. “You picked his pocket?”
Poppy nodded.
“It’s a wonder you got away alive, my child,” Mother said in horror.
“It was dark and no one saw me. Besides …” Poppy looked down. “I’m a really good pickpocket.”
Father quickly gathered the jewels and put them back into the bag. Then he took Poppy’s hand. “Little girl—little Poppy. You could have lost your life to save those jewels for us; there you were, so brave as you struggled through that fire all alone and thinking we never believed in you.” To Poppy’s astonishment, Mr. Butterworth’s eyes filled with tears.
“It’s all right, sir,” Poppy said gently. “I knew ya would’ve had trouble believin’ in someone like me. But I never did steal that chain or whatever it was you thought I’d taken.”
Claire drew her close. “We’ve wanted to tell you how sorry we were that you overheard us that night—”
Justin interrupted. “It was all my fault. I didn’t want to get blamed.… Aw, Poppy, I’m so sorry.”
Mr. Butterworth put his hand on Justin’s shoulder. “I know how much you want to be included in our business, my boy. And you felt left out. Now that we have the jewels, thanks to Poppy, we can start over again—and things will be different. You’ll see. After all, we’re a family.”
“And that family includes you, Poppy,” Claire promised.
“Indeed it does,” Mr. Butterworth agreed.
SATURDAY AFTERNOON,
JANUARY 6, 1872
EPILOGUE
- Solid Gold -
Three months later, Poppy stood in the vestibule of the Methodist church waiting for the organ to begin the wedding march. Two large bouquets of flowers rested on a table. Sunbeams danced in rays that poured through the windows, making patterns on the hardwood floor.
Claire looked like a princess in a white satin dress, her blond hair piled high and braided with pearls, a sparkling sapphire brooch—designed by her father—at her neckline. Poppy caught sight of her own reflection in the glass door to the sanctuary. Her bridesmaid gown was dark red velvet and trimmed with ivory lace. A crown of pearls and red roses adorned her chestnut hair that curled almost to her waist.
I feel as if I came out of the fire brand-new!
The fire had burned itself out that Tuesday morning in the park, thanks to a cold, cleansing October rain that had fallen gently on Poppy’s face. The Butterworths had all been there, watching over her and caring for her and loving her.
After the fire, Poppy stayed with the Butterworths at the farm on the prairie, which had been spared. The big white house in the city along with the sweet little goat barn were gone.
The family was already constructing another home where there would be a new shed for Ticktock and a barn for Ginger. The people of Chicago were quickly rebuilding their city—and Butterworth’s Jewels and Timepieces on State Street would soon be even larger and more impressive.
Poppy never knew what became of Sheila or Noreen, but she heard that Ma Brennan had been thrown in jail for twenty-five years for looting. She’d never trouble Poppy—or Ticktock—again!
Mr. Haskell was able to save Forrest’s church by keeping the roof wet and pouring water down the steeple. The parishioners had already rebuilt the parish house. Claire was excited about moving into her new home, and since Claire and Forrest planned to adopt her, Poppy—and Mew—would live with them.
“Imagine, we’ll have our first child—and she’s twelve years old!” Forrest had said, laughing.
“Will Poppy be my sister or my aunt or my cousin?” Justin asked when he heard the news.
“She’ll be your niece. You’ll be her uncle,” Father explained. He gave Poppy a hug. “But she’ll be my granddaughter!”
“And mine, too,” Mrs. Butterworth reminded him.
Now at the church, Justin, Charlie, and Mr. Butterworth tiptoed into the vestibule.
Justin held a white package tied with a gold ribbon. He handed it to Poppy. “This is for you.”
Poppy untied the ribbon and opened the cover. Inside, a golden flower with a bright ruby in the center hung from a gold necklace. She removed the necklace and held it in her palm, where it shimmered in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. “I ain’t never seen anything as pretty in all my borned days.”
“It’s a poppy. Charlie and I designed it together,” Justin said. “I’m glad the wedding was postponed a month so we could finish it.”
Claire put her arm around Poppy’s shoulder. “It’s solid gold—just like you!”
“The gold flower shows it was your strength and courage that got you through the fire,” Mr. Butterworth explained.
“The ruby in the center was my idea,” Justin said proudly. “It represents the flames from the fire. The ruby is one of the gems you saved, so it really did come through the fire, and it’s only right that you should have it.”
“Did this ruby come from way down under the earth?” Poppy asked.
“Yes,” Claire told her. “Yet, see how brightly it shines.”
“Poppy,” Mrs. Butterworth said, “let me fasten your necklace.” Poppy lifted her curls as Mrs. Butterworth secured the chain.
Mrs. Butterworth took her sons’ arms and smiled up at them. “Are my two boys ready to usher me down the aisle?”
The young men escorted their mother to the front row of the sanctuary, where she and Justin took their seats. Then Charlie, as best man, joined Forrest at the front of the church.
The organ music burst into the wedding march. Claire picked up her bouquet of white lilies and took her father’s arm. They’d walk together, but Poppy would go first.
All the guests stood and looked to the back of the church where Poppy waited with her own bouquet of red and white roses.
Whatever happened to Poppy the pickpocket? Justin wondered as Poppy smiled from the vestibule doorway. Everyone and everything has changed for the better since the fire, he realized. Or really, since the day Poppy crashed into me as I swept the sidewalk.
Poppy fingered the solid-gold flower that hung from her neck.
“Go on, Poppy, you’re next,” Claire whispered.
The music swelled. Poppy took a deep breath, and the brand-new solid-gold Poppy started down the aisle.
AFTERWORD
The Great Chicago Fire of October 1871 is known as one of the greatest disasters in American history. The fatalities are estimated at 200–300 souls. Considering the powerful firestorm that destroyed the city, this was thankfully a small number of people.
The fire obliterated an area of about 2,000 acres including more than seven miles of roads and 120 miles of sidewalk. You’ll recall that in the story the sidewalks were made of wood. The city lost 17,500 buildings. The Chicago Water Tower, which was new at the time and was built of limestone bricks, withstood the fire and still stands as a memorial of this disaster. However, the roof of the nearby pumping station collapsed and it became impossible to pump the water into the firemen’s hoses.
What caused the Chicago fire? Certainly not Mrs. O’Leary’s cow, as the old story goes. But the fire did start at the O’Leary’s house.
What made it a firestorm? There was a terrible drought in that area of the country for several weeks. Chicago used wood for everything, including the sidewalks and buildings. Lumber companies were dry as tinderboxes. This setting made perfect conditions for an inferno. The wind gusted to hurricane force, spitting sparks across the parched ground and woodlands. Whirling tornados of fire spiraled skyward. To make matters worse, the wrong alarms went off. Horses and firemen were exhausted from fires that occurred the day before. Finally, when the fire destroyed the pumping station near the Chicago River, there was no way left to fight the fire. People ran to cemeteries and to Lincoln Park, where there were no buildings, for safety—just as Poppy and Justin did in my story.
Did you know there were three other huge fires on and around the shores of Lake Michigan on October 8, 1871—the very same day as the Chicago Fire? The Peshtigo Wisconsin Forest Fire—sometimes called the “Forgotten Fire”—which took place 250 miles north of Chicago, is considered the “greatest forest fire disaster in our nation’s history.” It is estimated that between 800 and 2,500 people were killed. The same day, on the eastern side of Lake Michigan, the town of Holland went up in flames. About 100 miles north of Holland, the town of Manistee, Michigan, was badly destroyed by a fire that is now known as the “Great Michigan Fire.” To the east, on Lake Huron, yet another conflagration burst through Michigan’s “thumb,” destroying Port Huron.
One day later, on October 9, the city of Urbana, Illinois (south of Chicago) was badly damaged by fire. And on October 12 a fire swept through Windsor, Ontario.
Here’s a fascinating theory of what might have caused all these fires in this area of the continent: Eyewitnesses of the Great Chicago Fire confirmed they had seen “shooting stars” and believed the inferno might have been caused by a meteor shower. From their viewpoint it is reasonable to surmise that burning meteorites might have sparked off fires on the tinder-dry areas.
In 2004 engineer and physicist Robert Wood suggested—based upon the eyewitness accounts of balls of fire, spontaneous ignition without smoke, blue flames falling from the sky, and the fact that four fires had blazed around Lake Michigan on October 8, 1871—that the root cause could have been the methane gas found in comets. To add to this premise, Biela’s Comet was actually breaking up over the Midwest at that very time in October 1871. And now you know why Poppy got to see the shooting stars.
Although my story is fiction, the historical facts concerning the fire are carefully researched and the story is woven around the history, rather than vice versa. Here are some of the interesting true facts that are mentioned in this book:
There really was a place in old Chicago called “The Willow” where the real Roger Plant offered criminals a place to work and hide and party.
It’s been said that the word “underworld” (meaning “criminal world” or “gang center”) came from the empty foundations that were left when the Chicago lawmakers of that era ordered all buildings to be lifted up from the swampy ground on which they were built. These dank, dark foundation walls were often used as hideouts by criminals.
Mary Brennan really existed and had a “school” for girls where she taught them to steal and pick pockets. The girls had to give all the money they stole to Ma Brennan. She rewarded them with penny candy.
When the fire reached State Street, the criminals held in the courthouse jail were set free. With the fire raging close by, they immediately began to vandalize and steal from the shops, including a jewelry store.
While there were other fires to choose as a background for this book, I was fascinated by the many unique and extraordinary characters in Chicago at that time. That’s the reason I chose the city of Chicago and the Great Chicago Fire for the setting of my story.
Firestorm! Page 18