Susan Wiggs Great Chicago Fire Trilogy Complete Collection

by Susan Wiggs

  She shifted very close to him. She smelled of the fire and womanhood and sex, making him crazy with wanting her. She intoxicated him more deeply than the sweetest wine, and in a world gone mad, she was the only thing that made sense to him, the only thing he could believe in. If he had any idea how to love someone, he would love her.

  “What does it say?” she asked, her breath warm on his shoulder.

  He browsed through a story of frantic hyperbole, chuckling at the florid narrative predicting the end of civilization as they knew it. Some of the fulsome descriptions made him laugh aloud and Kate gasp.

  “You mean there are lynchings? Public executions?”

  “I doubt it. Just makes good copy. Look at that,” Dylan said, angling the page toward her. “They blame the fire on a cow belonging to a Mrs. O’Leary.”

  “Who?”

  “Says here, a Mrs. O’Leary of de Koven Street. It seems the creature kicked over a lantern, sparked a barn and destroyed an entire city.” He laughed. “Can you believe an entire city was destroyed by a drunken milkmaid?”

  TEN

  There was nothing left to say, so Kathleen said nothing. She knew the jig was up. In fact, the masquerade had gone on longer than she’d had any right to expect. But letting go hurt more than she’d ever thought possible.

  With surprisingly steady hands, she took the paper from him. At first, she actually did try to explain. Mrs. O’Leary is my mother.

  Yet when she looked into his face and saw all her dreams reflected back at her, she could not speak. She had to commit these last moments to memory, for as soon as she spoke up, the interlude in the train car would be over.

  But she would have her memories, would always remember him like this. Forever noble, forever handsome, forever perfect. He would never grow old in her eyes. He would never develop habits to annoy her. He would never raise his voice, lose his temper or take her for granted. He would always be the lover in the train car who had shown her a glimpse of paradise.

  She wanted it to be enough. She prayed she could live on these memories for the rest of her life.

  “Kate, love, are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded and set the paper aside. “I am, but…I must leave this place.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, going to the window. He propped his arm on the edge and faced away from her. Over his shoulder she could see refugees, dazed and confused, exiting the other train cars. “Did you ever consider that we could simply disappear?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, now that we’ve lost track of Father Michael and Bull, no one knows where we are. What if we were to go away?”

  “Go where?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. I don’t know. We could follow the sun and wind up in California. Or we could go to Canada, or take ship somewhere, letting the winds direct us. No one would ever know.”

  She laughed briefly. “Whyever would we do a thing like that? It’s impossible.”

  “Oh, it’s possible. Believe me, it is. An event like this fire—that just makes everything easy. Willingly or not, people will change their whole lives because of this fire. We could do it willingly, make our own choices, go our own way.”

  “What would our families think? It would be beyond cruel to allow them to believe we had died.”

  He was silent for a long time, as if he had not thought of that. Finally he said, “Never mind, it was a fanciful notion. I like your company. You make me too damned happy. I could spend all my days with you and you alone.”

  He smiled, looking so appealing that suddenly, without thinking, she launched herself into his embrace. As his arms went around her and he pressed his lips to her temple, she shut her eyes against a burning regret. In just a few days, loving him and touching him had become as natural to her as breathing. It was said habits took years to develop, but in this case, the saying was wrong. She had learned to love Dylan in an instant, and now she could not remember what her life had been like before he became a part of it.

  Yet she would have to learn to go on, as one learned to go on after the death of a loved one. She thought of poor Gran, whose misplaced mass card had been the catalyst for her meeting Dylan. It was almost as if Gran had brought them together, an angel of destiny. But why would she do a thing like that? Didn’t she know a love between a society favorite and an Irish maid could never survive?

  Gran always did have a sense of humor.

  And Kathleen, for all the grief deep in her heart, had learned to go on without Gran. She would do the same in Dylan’s case. In the years to come, she would try not to picture him marrying a proper lady from a proper family, holding another woman in his arms at night, fathering children with jet-black hair and merry blue eyes.

  “We must go. Right away,” she said, more loudly than she had intended. She pulled herself from his embrace. “I really must go.”

  He gestured at the car with a sweep of his arm. “Sweetheart, we have everything we need here. Not the daintiest of fare, I admit, but I suspect it’s a sight better than the rations they’re serving at Lincoln Park. What is your great hurry?”

  According to the paper, some thirty thousand refugees lay encamped at the waterfront park. She wondered if her family had gone there. She had to find them—absolutely had to.

  “It’s my family,” she said at last.

  “The ones staying at an estate west of town.”

  She shut her eyes and prayed for patience. He seemed determined to make this difficult for her, by making it so easy to lie. “I never said that.”

  “You said the West Division. And I maintain the city is still impassable. We’d be taking a bad risk, going out so soon.”

  She stood up and folded the green evening gown as best she could, tying one of the black velvet ribbons around it to form a beggar’s bundle. Then she fastened Deborah Sinclair’s diamonds inside the waistband of her skirt, feeling Dylan’s eyes on her like a fall of sunlight. He didn’t question her concealment of the jewels, probably assuming she wanted to protect them from robbers. What Dylan didn’t know—yet—was that the jewels might already be considered stolen. The disaster had made her a common thief. She had taken possession of her mistress’s diamonds and silk dress. She had helped herself to the clothing and food and belongings of whoever owned this parlor car.

  “God forgive me,” she whispered. Then she turned to Dylan. “You have been good to me,” she said, willing her voice not to waver and betray her. “You have been my savior, my protector…my husband, my lover. But everything happened under extraordinary circumstances. Soon things will return to normal.”

  “Kate, what are you saying?”

  She wet her lips, wishing there were an easier way to get the words out. “That I won’t hold you to promises you made when you thought we were going to die.”

  For a moment, a sheen of ice seemed to glaze his clear blue eyes, and the look was so chilling that it frightened her. But then he laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about, darling? That I won’t stand by you now that the fire is out?”

  “I’m saying you don’t have to—”

  “What sort of man do you take me for?” He stood to his full, impressive height, looking splendid despite the shadow of his beard and the burned holes in his shirt and waistcoat. “Dylan Francis Kennedy is a man of his word. In the courthouse, I took you as my lawful wedded wife.” He strode across the carpet to her, pulling her against him so that she felt his heat, his shape, filling her with reminders of their passion. “And right here in this train car, I took you as my lover. Those are bonds that won’t be broken, Kate.” The strange chill flickered in his eyes again. “Unless you want it that way.”

  “Ah, Dylan. The last thing I want is to undo what we did at the courthouse and…here.” Even the most fleeting thought of his intimate caresses produced a blushing warmth in her. “But things don’t always turn out the way we want—”

  “Hush.” He stopped her with a firm kiss. His hand at her waist
mapped the small bulge where she’d concealed the diamond-and-emerald jewelry. “If you insist on finding your family, then of course that is what we’ll do. I’ll be with you every step of the way, Kate. I swear I will. I’d never abandon you, no matter what.”

  That was exactly what she feared. Every pledge he made, every promise, bound her to him more inexorably. Yet even as her mind framed a protest, her heart spoke for her. She adored him so insanely that, when she saw him smiling down at her, a new hope was born.

  Perhaps he would forgive her deception. Perhaps he was as deeply in love as she. Seeing where she came from wouldn’t change that.

  “All right,” she said. “And bless you for it, Dylan Kennedy.”

  A soft thoughtfulness came over his face.

  “What is it?” she asked anxiously. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  He smiled. “No one’s ever blessed me before.”

  * * *

  Finding their way through the smoldering city proved to be a dangerous ordeal. Fallen buildings and warehouses forced them to take a meandering path across the city. They passed Terrace Row, its once fashionable, expensive town homes now reduced to eerie, silent tombs. Field and Leiter’s marble palace, once a monument to prosperity, had been reduced to broken walls, the interior filled with unrecognizable debris fused solid by the tremendous heat. Everything looked so strange to Kathleen, from the sooty cornerstone of the Tribune building, to the jagged walls rearing up through the business district. An occasional naked tree or telegraph post pierced the horizon. The river moved sluggishly, littered to its banks with half-burned bridge timbers, ships blackened to the waterline and matter that exuded such a noxious odor she held her sleeve against her face and refused to look at it.

  Plumbing pipes and iron stoves lay everywhere. A pile of timothy hay, half-consumed, still burned with occasional jets of fire spurting from its sides. Coal heaps glowed like the inside of a volcano.

  All her life, she had lived in this city. Now she felt as if she walked the face of another planet. She did not recognize where she was. None of the familiar landmarks remained.

  Shadows darted in and out of the ruins, survivors who, for reasons of their own, did not want to be found. She recalled the prisoners released from the courthouse jail and shivered, but then reminded herself she was every bit the deceiver.

  A passing police patrolman hailed them. His breath reeked of alcohol, but he was helpful enough, directing them toward Madison Street where, he promised, the horse car was running.

  “And if you need it,” the officer added somberly, “they’ve set up a morgue in the livery stable on Milwaukee.”

  She felt Dylan’s eyes on her and set her chin. “No,” she said firmly. “No one we know died in the fire.”

  “The lady’s right,” Dylan said, tightening his arm around her.

  “The homeless and hungry will be served down at a packing house at Eighteenth and the river,” the officer said, eyeing their disheveled state. “The mayor has already issued a proclamation against sales of any liquor.”

  But not against drinking it, Kathleen thought wryly.

  “That’s sure to be a popular one.” Dylan thanked the officer and they continued half walking, half climbing over the still-hot rubble. From passersby they obtained more snippets of news. Hastily printed broadsheets with screaming headlines appeared, distributed by eager newsboys.

  And to Kathleen’s dismay, some reports named Mrs. Catherine O’Leary as the cause of the holocaust. The Tribune called her parents “The worthy old couple who owned the cow stable” while the Times was full of vitriol, describing her mother as “an old hag and a pensioner of the county.” Another report blamed “a tall, stout, Irish woman with no intelligence” and her husband, “a fast talker with a rich brogue, a stupid-looking sort of a man, who acknowledged himself that he could neither read nor write.”

  Each and every report darted painfully into Kathleen, though Dylan didn’t seem to notice her sinking emotions. The papers were absurdly wrong, but that didn’t seem to matter to the journalists bent on creating a sensation with words. She wanted to rip the accusing paper to shreds. Instead she decided to change the subject.

  “What of your family?” she asked. “Will they be frantic when they hear of the fire?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Of course. I’ll send a wire as soon as I locate a telegraph office.”

  “You’ve not spoken of them,” she pointed out, and suddenly the omission seemed odd.

  “Isn’t much to say.” He grinned. “But I assure you, the news of our marriage is sure to be received with delight.”

  He hadn’t really told her anything, she realized, but didn’t pursue it. Soon enough, her own secret would be revealed. Still, she couldn’t keep from imagining his wealthy parents. They probably lived very handsomely in a fine old Boston house. How proud they must be of their charming son. What would they think when they learned he had married a pauper?

  They wended their way through the wreckage. In the smoky distance she saw a hulking silhouette of stone. As they drew closer, the shape took on the familiar profile of St. Brendan’s church. Kathleen stared at it in astonishment. “It worked,” she said breathlessly. “It’s still standing.” She grew dizzy looking up at the roof, remembering how Dylan had risked himself to wet down the building and keep the steeple from igniting the rest of it. “You saved it. All but the steeple.”

  “Not hardly.” He seemed totally unimpressed with himself. “The thing’s gutted. It’ll probably have to be torn down.”

  “It could be rebuilt,” she insisted. “The walls and roof look perfectly sound. Come spring, the gardens will grow again.”

  “Sometimes the damage is too great,” he said gently but knowingly. “Some things aren’t worth saving.”

  “But you prom—” She stopped herself and shrugged. In truth, she had no business reminding him of any promise he had made, even his expansive pledge to spend his own fortune to rebuild the church. As soon as he met her family, he would understand her deception and she would have no choice but to release him from all vows.

  At McCormick’s reaper factory across the river, cables, anchors and pig iron formed an evil-looking soup. Iron fences had melted, columns pulverized. The courthouse had literally collapsed in on itself, its limestone walls reduced to liquid.

  A chill slid over Kathleen’s skin. The holocaust had decimated the place where she and Dylan had married. Surely that was a sign that they never should have gone through with it.

  Yet for the life of her, she still held off explaining. Though she knew it was weak and infantile, she could not bring herself to tell Dylan in plain words that she was the daughter of the infamous Mrs. O’Leary, an Irish immigrant who milked cows for a living.

  In a secret corner of her heart, she believed that taking him in person to her family would soften the blow. Perhaps when he met the O’Learys, he would take Lucy Hathaway’s point of view that social divisions were artificial and easily crossed. Oh, please, thought Kathleen. Let it be so. Let him love me for the person I am rather than despise me for the place I come from.

  She pushed aside her private misgivings over the deception. When he met her family, his heart would melt.

  Aye, that was it. Let him see for himself that her mother was a kind, good woman, not the irresponsible, drunken harridan the papers depicted. Let him meet baby James and Mary, and Connor and Frank and her dear father who worked so hard. Then perhaps Dylan would understand why she could not go away with him, could not simply disappear from the middle of her own life.

  And in an even smaller, more secretive part of her heart, she had another barely acknowledged hope. This was Dylan Kennedy. He was known not just for his charm, his looks and his family fortune. Last night, he had also proven his compassion and humanity. Hadn’t she seen it with her own eyes? Hadn’t she seen him pull a toddler from certain death and defend a church from the flames?

  Those were not the actions of a man who woul
d scorn people because they were poor. Perhaps he would take one look at her simple, hardworking family and see them for what they were—people who were worthy, though not lucky enough to be born in the right place to the right people with the right fortune.

  Dylan would love them anyway, because he was a man with a loving heart.

  Suddenly Kathleen felt sure of that. He would accept her family. He would use all his power and all his wealth to help them. Then Kathleen would have the genteel way of life she’d always craved. She trusted it as she had never trusted her instincts before. Yes, he would fall in love with the O’Learys as he had fallen in love with her. She should never have doubted him.

  As they exited the Madison horse car, she pressed him into a broken doorway where no one could see them and kissed him hard on the mouth. When she drew back, he was grinning.

  “What the devil was that for? This couldn’t be another of your last-thing-I-do kisses, could it?”

  She flushed, remembering her rash aggression the night of the fire. “No. I just wanted to show you that I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For misjudging you. I was wrong to think you were like that, and I apologize.”

  “Like what?” he asked cautiously.

  “A terrible snob who looks down on the poor and doesn’t believe they are fit to mingle with.”

  “When did I say that?”

  “You didn’t. I just thought you believed it, and then I realized how wrong I was, and I’m sorry I thought it at all.”

  Laughing, he took her hand. “My love, you will never grow bored with yourself,” he predicted. “You have the unique talent of conducting entire quarrels and conversations in your head, without even needing a second party to talk things over with.”

  His humor buoyed her along Clinton Street as they headed south. They had found the westernmost edge of the fire, a neighborhood of cottages and shanties. People were bringing lost children by the cartload to the Half-Orphan Asylum a few blocks north. To the east lay a wasteland of powdered embers. Every so often, they encountered a house or two that had managed to survive.