Who by Fire

by Fred Stenson

  “Tom’s the one you should talk to, and he’s at our Lower Place. If it’s important, I’ll give you directions.”

  Lance gave false-sounding excuses why he could not look for Tom but had time to come to the house right now. That he wanted to see her badly enough to lie and cavil touched her hard, like a finger jabbing the bone at her collar.

  “Come, then.” When she hung the earpiece in its cradle, she was out of breath.

  Billy had long ago tired of waiting for her. He had switched to cards and had them laid out all over the hooked rug. Ella did not ask why. She went into the bathroom and, behind the closed door, looked at herself in the mirror and primped her hair. She wanted to tell herself that she had no intention of leading the young man on—but she had already kissed him. In the mirror, she saw her face redden. “Kissed him,” she said aloud, so she could watch her mouth make the words. She brushed the red spot on her cheek. Her hand, veined and corded, looked like her mother’s.

  She smoothed her dress tight over her breasts. She told herself she was doing something for her family that Tom could not do. Right now, Lance was on his way with information they probably needed. The fact that she had not written anything in the binder or told Tom what Lance had already said was something she batted away like a fat old fly. She could still do it. She would when she was ready.

  Minutes later, Lance sat at her table. He was having his usual problem raising his eyes. They were focused into the orange tea in his cup. His nose was slim and precisely made, unlike any nose she had seen on a man. She suspected he would have preferred coffee but they were running low. She could have served Lance water stirred with ashes and he would have thanked her very much.

  He asked about Billy. “You said you were taking him to the doctor.”

  “They phoned during the snowstorm. The tests show that he has anemia.”

  Lance winced. “Did they give him something?”

  “Iron pills. I haven’t picked them up yet because of the storm. They want him to eat liver. What’s this about, Lance?”

  He looked into his tea. His ears were red. “There’s going to be testing. The air will be tested, to see if it’s safe.”

  “Because of your accident at the plant?”

  “It’s more because of complaints from the community.”

  Ella had signed the letter, while telling Tom that she sincerely doubted that a letter from a few farmers and their wives was going to change anything. She was having as much trouble imagining it now, but where else could the complaints Lance was talking about have come from?

  “Who will be doing it? The testing. You people?”

  “Someone else. His name is Dr. Hemmel.”

  “Who is he?”

  “An independent expert, a scientist from a university down east. He’s an expert in industrial fogs and acid in rain.”

  “When will this happen?”

  “Sometime next week.”

  Everything Ella could think to say was critical. The tests would be faked or fixed. They would not lead to the closure of the plant no matter how bad the results were. Lance had probably come here imagining the news would fill her with delight—and that the delight would spill over onto him.

  “You’ll hear this again, officially,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you as soon as possible.”

  “I wish Tom was here. He would have questions. How does a scientist test air?”

  “He’ll bring vacuum bottles, bottles with the air sucked out. When he’s in a place he wants to test, he breaks the vacuum and lets the bottle fill.”

  “And will he test our farm?”

  “I’m sure of it. Probably right here in your yard.”

  She took slow breaths. She got up and put scones on a plate, brought butter and a pot of jam. As he scooped both onto the scone, it occurred to her that he must not be eating properly.

  “If you were in our shoes, would you trust these tests?”

  “I’d trust Dr. Hemmel. I mean I do trust him. I phoned one of my professors in Edmonton when I heard. He couldn’t believe Dr. Hemmel was coming here. He said he’s a world authority.”

  “And is Aladdin paying him?”

  “I’m not sure. Aladdin or the government. Or both.” After a moment, Lance spoke again. “I know how that sounds but I doubt a man of his standing would risk his reputation to please an oil company—or a government, for that matter.”

  It was time to get him out of her kitchen. She did not want him here when Tom came home for lunch. But she had another question.

  “Why are you excited about this? What if they find the gas is bad and shut your plant down?”

  “I want things to be safe. If it isn’t, we should shut down. Like you said.”

  Watching him dab crumbs from the plate with the pad of his finger, she asked, “Are you still at the motel?”

  “I’m renting a house with someone now.”

  “Who?”

  “A mechanic from the Crowsnest Pass. A guy named Andy.”

  “A friend.”

  “Yeah. He’s a friend.”

  “The two of you could save to buy your own houses if you cooked your own meals. Men can cook, you know.”

  “It’s good advice.”

  “Take a couple of scones. One for Andy. I need to finish them up before I bake again.”

  She was careful not to touch him, to stay far back so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her either. All the same, she was sure she had sent him away happy and didn’t mind that she had.

  Tom was having supper, and his girls were arguing over who could sing better, Bobby Vinton or Bobby Curtola. Tom had heard of neither of them. Billy was doing everything with his liver but eat it. Then Ella said that Lance Evert had been around again, to talk about air testing.

  “They’ll be doing it next week.”

  Tom cut a little piece of liver and waggled it on his fork until he had Billy’s attention. Tom put the liver in his own mouth and chewed slowly, smiling. “Good stuff, eh, Billy?”

  Billy scowled.

  When Ella told Tom about the anemia and that Billy should eat liver, she’d said, “We will all eat liver—and like it.” There were bits of chewed grey at the edges of each plate. The piece in front of Tom looked like the sole of a hobo’s boot.

  “Can I go now?” Jeannie asked.

  “Not yet, dear. Finish your meat.”

  “What else did he say? Lance.”

  Ella rattled off a few things about an expert from down east. “I have to admit, I think it was your letter that caused it,” she said.

  “Did Evert say that?”

  “Not in so many words. He said it was about the complaints, and that’s the impression I got.”

  “You should’ve asked him.”

  At once, she was angry. “I told him he should talk to you. I told him to find you at the Lower Place. But he wanted to come here.” She jumped up and started scraping liver from all the plates onto one. “If you’re not satisfied with how I handle things, you can go to the plant and talk to Dietz or Lance Evert yourself. I suspect Lance was telling us before Dietz was planning to. A favour, in other words.”

  “Why would he do us a favour?”

  “You kids can go now,” she said, but she was glaring at Tom.

  “When will they do these tests?”

  “I already told you. Next week.”

  “Will they come here? To the farm?”

  “Where else would they go?”

  The kids were gone. Tom pulled his tobacco can toward him, unscrewed the lid, began rolling a smoke.

  “I can’t stuff the liver into him, now, can I?” Ella said.

  Tom snapped the lighter wheel, sucked in deeply, coached himself to keep quiet.

  Ella needed a friend. Though they hadn’t talked in a while, she phoned Dora Bauer and asked if she wanted a visitor. Dora sounded hesitant. “When?”

  “I was thinking of today, but it could be another day. The plant has been so smelly, and Billy gets quite
sick with it. I was thinking of going to town with him to shop, but then I thought how long it’s been since he’s seen Petey.”

  “We call him Pete now. He insists on it.”

  “It sounds like I’ve picked a bad day.”

  “No, no. You come. You and Billy.”

  When they got to Bauers’ new place, about halfway to town on the gravel roads, Dora was in the yard to greet them. She had on a thick grey sweater, the kind Indians make on the coast. Pete came from around the corner of their house. He had grown, but what was more pronounced was a change in his manner. He was less giddy; stern and a bit suspicious.

  Billy must have seen it too, for he stood back as if waiting for an introduction. The Bauer dog stood at a distance, barking. The fool. Ella had known that dog since it was a puppy.

  “Go to your house, you blasted thing!” roared Dora. Then she hooked Ella’s arm and said, “Come to the barn.” She led for a few steps, then stopped. “Billy, I didn’t even say hello. Come closer, Pete, for heaven’s sake. It’s your friend Billy.”

  The two boys came side by side and walked together, but, continuing to the barn, Ella could not hear any talk between them.

  Dora went ahead through the gloom. It was very clean for a barn, and the light bulbs were high up and cast little light. Over the wall of a box stall, a horse of incredible height shoved its head and murmured. Dora drew a carrot from her sweater pocket and fed it into the horse’s teeth. The crunch was loud and made them laugh. The boys laughed too.

  “What is he?”

  “Purebred Tennessee Walker. A stallion. I’ve always wanted one.”

  “Do you ride him?”

  “Of course! And what a stride, Ella. Like a rocking chair, and very fast. I haven’t seen a horse that can outwalk him.”

  “But how do you get on?”

  “I need a fence or a stool. I don’t mind. He’s quite patient as long as I keep the oats and carrots coming.”

  After the horse, Dora showed them a few fancy chickens she’d gone to great lengths to buy. Finally, they were in the house. Pete invited Billy down a hallway to his room to show him sports cards. Dora seated Ella at the dining room table while she went into her big kitchen to make tea. She kept talking in a loud voice, though there was no partition between them. Ella kept noticing things about Dora that she thought were new, but was it possible she had forgotten what her friend was like? Or wanted to believe that she had changed?

  “We haven’t gone to the old place much. I find it easier to accept if I don’t go. The sacrifice is that I don’t see you. But I do like this house. I do think it’s better.”

  She was begging confirmation of her choices, and Ella gave it. But while she praised the house, she was finding flaws. The dining room being part of the living room was a big space to heat. Long after she heard the propane furnace cutting in, she was chilled.

  When they got down to visiting, Ella realized she did not want the conversation they were having. It could not go where she needed it to. Maybe if Dora had never moved, they could have taken one of their long walks, and Ella could have said something about the young man at the plant. “He has a crush on me, odd as that might sound.” But here in this strange house, with this strange Dora, who would rather talk about her Tennessee Walking Horse than anything else, it was not possible to say even that little bit, let alone the absurd truth that she had kissed the young man.

  Dora’s company was only making her feel lonelier, and she longed to leave even before the tea and squares were on the table. She considered hopping up and saying, “Oh my goodness, Dora, look at the time. We have a doctor’s appointment.” But she sat slack shouldered, dazed, and let Dora account for the time that had passed.

  “You’re very quiet, Ella. I thought you’d be full of news.”

  “I don’t have any, really. I’m just thinking what a mistake we’ve made to stay. We would have been better off selling like you and Curt did. Maybe we’d still be neighbours if we’d sold at the same time.”

  “I’m amazed to hear you say that! I can’t imagine you anywhere except on your home place. I’ve often told Curt that’s what made it easier for us.”

  “You’re right,” Ella said. “It would break my heart to leave. But it might wind up breaking my heart anyway.”

  “Oh, dear. I hear that the gas has been awful.”

  Maybe Ella imagined it, but she thought Dora brightened a little as she said it.

  Ella finished her tea and one small square. She told Dora it had been a great pleasure to see her. Dora asked her to stay longer, let the boys get reacquainted, but Ella rose, said they were out of time. She had much to do in town and was needed back home for chores. Billy was back with her by then, and perked up at the word “town.” He had twenty-five cents burning in his pocket.

  When they were in the car, Ella turned for home.

  “You said town!”

  “We have no time for town.”

  “Mom!”

  “We’ll go tomorrow. You’ll get two trips in two days.”

  “I want to go now!”

  “You’re being childish,” she said, and he began to cry.

  “You lied to Mrs. Bauer.”

  She took a shortcut over seldom-used roads, having to bash her way through drifts. She hoped that would catch the boy’s attention, but he preferred to cry. She felt her own tears welling, and what she kept seeing in her mind was the sweet treble clef brooch that Tom had surprised her with at Christmas. Why had that not worked? she asked herself. Why had they started bickering again so soon afterwards?

  The kiss with Lance would not fade away. She would have to confess it to the priest if she was ever going to be rid of it, and her faced burned at the thought of saying the words through the confessional screen. And there was absolutely no sense confessing a sin you were likely to commit again.

  Another night of smell, of Billy thrashing in his bed. Another flat discussion in Tom and Ella’s bed about whether to get the kids up and take them to town.

  Tom asked Ella to phone the plant, thinking she would rage less and get more out of them. But she was practically shouting herself when she asked for Dietz. After a while, in a quieter voice she asked for Mr. Evert. But he wasn’t there either. She asked that Dietz call her first thing in the morning. Tom thought the conversation was over when Ella said, “I know we can leave. We’ve left often enough. You should try living like that, picking up in the night like people in a war.”

  In the end they let the kids sleep as long as they could. They checked on Billy a few times and hardly slept themselves. When they got up, it was still in the solid dark, and Ella said she would take Billy to her parents after chores were done. She had shopping to do: more bloody liver.

  Tom told her to leave straight away and take the girls. It would give them a break from the school bus.

  “What about the cows?”

  “I’ll milk them.”

  “How will Mr. Snow know not to wait?”

  “You’ll see him on the road. Flag him down and tell him.” He could see she was working up other complications. “Just go.”

  Tom got the buckets and was headed for the barn. The two Holsteins waited at the half door with their tight bags. One groaned at the sight of him. Then Lance Evert’s car tumbled down the hill from the plant, looking like a toy. Tom stood with the buckets, expecting a blue roof to crest the top of their driveway. Instead the car appeared farther along, headed north toward Gerstens’. He dropped the buckets, jumped in his one-ton, and drove as fast as it would go. Paul had pigs of all ages, and Tom wanted to know if they could live in this gas, wanted to know too what Evert would say if Paul’s pigs weren’t doing well. That’s where he was headed.

  Evert did make the turn into Gerstens’, and when Tom got there he edged his truck up tight to Evert’s rear bumper, so he had the little car trapped against a row of caraganas.

  He walked the footpath to the top where he could see Paul’s hatless head, then the whole of his la
nk body crossing his yard to the pigpens. He had full slop buckets weighing his long arms. Luke, his twelve-year-old, was close behind, dragging a straw bale on a hook. Lance Evert came last, his hands plugged in the pockets of his jacket. As always, he looked out of place. Tom’s girls used to cut the people out of the Eaton’s catalogue and glue them into their colouring books. That’s what neat, clean, slender Lance Evert looked like walking behind Paul and Luke Gersten: like a cut-out from an eastern catalogue.

  Already Tom was dizzy from gas. Whatever it was at home, this was worse. Paul reached one end of his line of pigpens and leaned a bucket on the first trough. He spilled slop as he moved along, changed buckets and continued down the line. Luke had broken the straw bale. He climbed the fence with an armload of flakes and landed in the muck, a sow grunting at his legs.

  “C’mere,” Paul called to Evert when the second pail was drained. He led the engineer to a larger enclosure thick with weaner pigs.

  Tom was quite close now, but neither Lance nor Paul had seen him. Lance was staring into the pen blankly, the way town people always look at farm animals. Then one of the weaners fell on its side, and the others stampeded over it. Paul leaned in and knocked them away. The downed pig got woozily to its feet.

  “It’s like they’re drunk,” he said to Lance. “I bet they die.”

  Turning away from this pronouncement was when Lance saw Tom. There was a second before his blank face broke into a smile.

  Paul said, “Hello there, Tommy.” His long wrists hung slack over the bristled fence. “You got pigs yet?”

  “Two sows are due any time.”

  “Hope you have better luck than me. Mine are dying and walking into walls.”

  “What do you make of it?” Tom asked Lance, who was rummaging in his coat pocket.

  “I don’t know much about pigs,” he said.

  “You can see they’re sick, can’t you?”

  “I see that.”

  This got a lazy laugh out of Luke.

  “We did some work on the amine tower,” said Lance. The thing he had pulled out of his pocket looked like a thermometer. He broke the tip off and brought the tube close to his eyes. “The tower’s been overflowing and we’ve almost fixed that. It should have reduced the gas loss.”