Secrets of the Heart (2 page)

While Kathleen washed the dishes, Patricia cleaned the table and cupboards. The younger girl admired her sister very much and hoped that one day she would be as pretty and graceful.

All three of the O’Malley women had the same shade of dark auburn hair. To Patricia, however, Kathleen’s hair seemed more beautiful with its shimmer of red-gold highlights.

On that Wednesday morning, October 4, Kathleen had the sides of her hair pulled up and fastened with a bow. The back hung down in rippling waves, almost to her slim waist. Patricia understood why many of the boys at school had eyes for her sister.

“Honey, will you open the door for me?” Kathleen said as she picked up the small tub they used to wash the dishes.

Patricia hurried to open the back door, and Kathleen carried the tub to the far end of the porch and poured the dirty water on the ground. Her peripheral vision caught movement in the yard next door. She turned to look and saw Katie O’Leary carrying a bucket of milk from the barn at the rear of her property.

“Good morning, Kathleen,” Katie called.

“And a good morning to
you
, Katie,” replied Kathleen, smiling warmly. “Milking the cows again?”

Katie, who was in her midtwenties, paused on her way to the back porch. “I don’t mind. Besides, it’s just every other day.”

“Well, I admire you for doing the milking when Patrick is away.”

“Thank you, but I really don’t mind. A wife’s supposed to help her husband in any way she can, and the milk sales from our cows to
your father’s store really help with the bills.”

Patricia drew up beside her sister. “Good morning, Mrs. O’Leary.”

Katie nodded with a smile. “‘Bout time for you girls to head for school, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” said Patricia. “We best be off.”

Katie climbed the steps of her back porch, holding the milk bucket carefully, then disappeared inside the house.

Kathleen glanced at her younger sister. “Patty, I hope I can be half the wife and mother Katie is when I get married and have children.”

“When you get
married?
Hah! No man will ever want to marry you, Kathleen O’Malley You’re too ugly!”

Kathleen playfully whacked her sister’s posterior and said, “The school bell’s going to ring in less than fifteen minutes, Miss Smart Mouth! Let’s get going!”

At 1:45 that afternoon, Company Six Fire Chief, Bill Murham, finished his inspection of the station, the fire wagons, the barn, and the horses, in that order. He felt a measure of pride as he returned to the station, where his firemen from both shifts were gathering. Chicago’s Chief Fire Marshal, Robert Williams, who was inspecting every station in the city, would arrive at Company Six at approximately two o’clock to talk about the city’s present fire hazard.

Company Six—affectionately called the “Little Giant” by the other companies throughout Chicago—was in the heart of the 27th District. Every man in Company Six was Irish and quite proud of it.

A low hum of conversation floated throughout the room as the firemen seated on wooden folding chairs waited for the meeting to begin. As soon as Chief Murham stepped before them, the room went quiet.

“Men, the Little Giant company has done an excellent job. You’ve cleaned and polished the station house, all three fire wagons,
and groomed those six nags in the corral to perfection. I am sure Chief Williams will be pleased. I didn’t like to have to ask you men who are off duty to come in, but Chief Williams said that what he had to talk about was of utmost importance, and he wanted all of you here.”

“Glad to do it, Chief,” said fireman Frank O’Brien. “For sure we need to know what’s on Chief Williams’s mind.”

Murham pulled out his pocket watch. “Well, men, looks like the chief is going to be late. Go ahead and visit if you want. Hopefully he’ll get here pretty soon.”

Murham entered his office, and the men picked up conversations where they had left off.

Company Six’s newest man, Mick Delaney, pricked up his ears when he heard one man say to Patrick O’Leary, “How’s the milk business doing?”

“Really good, Murph,” O’Leary replied. “It serves us well in providing extra income.”

“How’s this milk business work, Pat?” Delaney asked.

O’Leary looked at him with mock solemnity and said, “Well, first you have to have at least one cow.”

Delaney laughed. “Okay. I think I understand that. So how many cows do you have?” Five.

“Jerseys? Guernseys?”

“Holsteins. Their milk isn’t quite as rich as Jerseys’ and Guernseys’, but they give a lot more.”

“And how do you market the milk?”

“Do you know where the O’Malley Grocery Store is?”

“Oh, yeah. Corner of Fifth and Bolton. That’s where my wife does her grocery shopping. I’ve been in there a few times since we moved here.”

“Then you must know Shaemus and Maureen O’Malley.”

“Sure do.”

“They’re my next-door neighbors. We sell our milk to them.”

“I see. So my wife and I have probably bought some of your milk.”

“Probably have.”

Delaney rubbed his chin. “How do you milk those five cows on the days you’re here at the station?”

“I don’t. My wife, Katie, milks them.”

“Well, whattya know! She milks five cows twice a day?”

“That’s right. And does she ever have a grip! If you ever shake hands with Katie O’Leary, brace yourself She’ll give your hand a good squeeze!”

The men sitting around Mick and Pat had a good laugh.

“I don’t think my wife could milk cows, Pat, but I might be able to get one of my neighbors to do the milking for me on the days I work,” said Delaney. “I’d really like to look into the milk business. Would you care if I come by your house sometime soon and take a look at your setup?”

“Be glad to have you,” said O’Leary. “You know where DeKoven Street is?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“Well, from O’Malley’s Grocery, you go one block west on Bolton. That’s DeKoven Street. Turn south on DeKoven and go to the second block. Almost in the middle of that second block you’ll find 137. That’s our house. Come by on any off day. Be glad to have you.”

A carriage pulled up in front of the station house and got the attention of the firemen. While Chief Fire Marshal Robert Williams alighted from the carriage, Company Six’s chief hurried from his office to meet him.

Chief Murham guided Williams in a tour of the station, starting with the barn, and ten minutes later brought Williams before the firemen and introduced him to those who had never met him. “All right, Chief Williams,” he said, “the floor is yours.”

Williams, a medium-sized man in his late fifties, looked sharp in his dark blue uniform with badge and small-billed cap. “You men are to be complimented,” he said, smiling. “The place looks very good.”
A serious look came over his features when he said, “Gendemen, I am very much concerned about the dry spell were in. Since the first of July we’ve barely had two inches of rain. Ordinarily in this same three-month period, we get somewhere between nine and twelve inches. Grass in the vacant lots is tall and dry, and with the leaves falling from the trees and lying in heaps all over the city, we’re vulnerable to some real problems if a fire should get out of hand.”

“Chief,” said one man, lifting his hand.

“Yes, sir?”

“Couldn’t something be done about all the leaves in the yards and streets? And couldn’t whoever owns the vacant lots at least cut the grass?”

“I’m working on it,” said Williams. “I’ve been trying to get the city fathers to put pressure on the people to clean up the leaves, and to do the same thing about the vacant lots. But even if the city fathers tell the people what to do, most of them pay no attention. The leaves will stay where they are, and the grass will remain tall. It’s hard to get the populace to see the potential fire danger.”

“He’s right,” spoke up Chief Murham. “I’ve worked with the public all my adult life, and it’s hard to get them to listen when you warn of potential danger. Somehow they just don’t think anything bad can happen to them.”

Williams nodded. “Now, let me elaborate to you men some cold, hard facts. Chicago is in a period of rapid growth. Thirty years ago this was a town of some four thousand people. Today there are in excess of three hundred thousand. This growth has demanded the continual construction of homes and places of business, and both kinds of buildings have been put up quickly to accommodate the rising population. Only the very wealthy on the east side of the city are constructing their homes of stone or brick. All other residential buildings are wood, and about two-thirds of the commercial buildings downtown are wood.

“Of course this means that most homes are especially vulnerable to fire. Many of them have woodpiles for the coming winter stacked
against their outer walls. If any one of those houses were to catch fire, there would be plenty of fuel to feed it.

“As you men know, all of the 27th District is of wood construction. Some of the homes are little more than shanties. It wouldn’t take much to get a major fire going.”

Every man was listening intently, and many were nodding their agreement with Williams’s assessment of the fire danger.

“To make matters worse,” said Williams, “all of the fire-prone structures are tied together by a network of wooden sidewalks and fences, making it easy for fire to spread from one home to another, especially with the kind of winds that whip through this city.”

Fireman Mick Delaney raised his hand.

“Yes?” said Williams.

“Chief Williams, I’ve only lived in Chicago for about a month. I came here as a veteran firefighter from Milwaukee. It appears that these wooden sidewalks and fences have been here for some time. If they are such a hazard, why isn’t something being done about getting rid of them?”

“Let me explain…what was your name?”

“Mick Delaney, sir.”

“Let me explain, Mr. Delaney, that the wooden sidewalks are very necessary when we do have rain. Without them, the mud is horrendous and would make it impossible to walk in those areas. As for the fences, most people have animals of one kind or another. Fences are necessary. It would be too costly to have all of them replaced by fences of stone or brick.”

Delaney nodded. “So the point you are making, sir, is that the fire danger is extreme right now. And this is rare for Chicago, so most everybody would not be interested in making preventive changes.”

“That’s it.”

Another fireman raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Sir, my name is Thomas MacMahon. I’ve been here just a little
longer than Mick Delaney. Wouldn’t it help—since the city has grown so rapidly—if we had a better fire alarm system? I mean, one paid fire watcher in the Courthouse Tower downtown can hardly be sufficient in a city this size. Maybe even as recent as ten years ago the one tower would have been enough. But today—”

“You are correct, Mr. MacMahon,” said Williams, “but the city is in no financial position to erect more towers. We’re going to have to make do with one tower for now. The main thing I’m trying to say is that when you have a fire, fight it with tenacity and put it out in a hurry. With this lengthy drought on us, the city is a virtual tinder-box. If we get a combination of a fire out of control and high winds, I don’t even want to think about what could happen.”

Another fireman raised his hand. “Chief Williams…”

“Yes?”

“Have the city fathers talked at all about building more fire stations? Seems to me with this rapid growth, the fire department has to keep up with it.”

“It’s been mentioned in the meetings, but they all agree there just isn’t enough money to buy land and erect firehouses and barns, let alone pay the extra firemen they would have to hire. So it looks like we’re going to have to carry the load until—”

William’s words were cut off by the clicking of the telegraph key in Chief Murham’s office.

Murham dashed to intercept the message from the Courthouse Tower downtown and shouted over his shoulder, “We’ve got a fire, men! Cal Perkins says it looks to be about five or six blocks east of us and a little south! Let’s go!”

Nine of the dozen firemen on duty quickly boarded two fire wagons, set the bells clanging, and raced in the direction of the black smoke billowing toward the clear afternoon sky.

Chief Williams rode in the lead wagon with Chief Murham.

Three men and one wagon were left at the station in case of another emergency.

The fire was indeed some six blocks from the station. A vacant
lot was ablaze in the middle of the 700 block on Sampson Street. Tall brown grass and powder-dry weeds and leaves were sending up flames four and five feet high, fed by a stiff breeze.

As the fire wagons drew up, Bill Murham peered through the swirling smoke and said, “Looks like you were a prophet, Chief. This is exactly what you were talking about. And with all the grass, weeds, and leaves in this lot, the fire has plenty of fuel!”

T
HE LARGE CROWD OF PEOPLE GATHERED
near the vacant lot were keeping their distance from the searing heat. They applauded when the men of Company Six pulled up.

Men from the crowd offered to work the water pumps so all the firemen could fight the fire. Other neighborhood people were helping those who lived on both sides of the vacant lot to douse their houses, outbuildings, and yards with water.