Secrets of the Heart (8 page)

“Kathleen, honey, you…you have to understand that your parents, and Donald, a-and Patricia…well, they were in the house when it was burning. They got trapped in there, and it…it collapsed with them inside.”

Kathleen shook her head. “No, no! They’re here somewhere, Mrs. Carbery. I’ve got to find them!” Her voice trailed off as she pulled her hands from the woman’s grasp and shoved her way through the crowd.

Hennie hurried to catch up to her. “Kathleen!” she called. “Wait!”

Others who knew Kathleen tried to stop her as she threaded her way through the crowd, calling to her parents and siblings. They repeated what Mrs. Carbery had said, but their words went unheeded.

Hennie squeezed her way ahead of Kathleen through the crowd and turned to stand in her path. “Kathleen, listen to me!” she said, taking her friend by the shoulders. “Your family is not here. I want you to come home with my parents and me.”

The dazed girl looked at Hennie as if she were seeing her for the first time. Blinking, she said, “I have to find them. They’re here somewhere.”

Hennie gripped her even tighter. “Kathleen! Your parents, and
Donald and Patricia, are not here. Please. Come with me.”

Patrick O’Leary, who was passing close by, heard Kathleen scream at Hennie, “Let go of me! I have to find my family! Our house burned down! Don’t you understand? I have to find them!”

Someone hollered that two more houses were on fire as O’Leary stopped beside the two girls and said to Hennie, “Has no one told her about her family?”

“Yes, but she’s not comprehending. I’m trying to get her to come with my parents and me.”

“I can’t do that, Hennie!” cried Kathleen. “Mama, Papa, Donnie, and Patricia are here somewhere! I can’t leave them! We don’t have a house anymore!”

The frantic girl freed herself from Hennie’s grasp and attempted to continue her search, but the crowd was pressed too tightly around her. She waved her arms and attempted to push past them, screaming, “Get out of my way! Out of my way!”

Hennie’s parents squeezed their way through the press and reached Kathleen just as Patrick grabbed her around the waist and stopped her frenzied movements.

“Listen to me, Kathleen!” he said. “I wish it wasn’t so, but your family went into the house after it had caught fire. They were trying to save some valuables, I’m sure. But they didn’t make it out. They died in the fire. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Kathleen clenched her teeth, shaking her head. “Patrick, don’t hold on to me! I have to find my parents! I have to find Donnie and Patricia!”

“Listen to me!” he said, gripping her upper arms. “Do what Hennie is asking. Go home with her. Your family is dead!”

Suddenly her head bobbed in utter defeat. Then an expression of horror etched itself on her face, and she began to stammer with an incredulous stare, “P-Papa and Mama…are dead? And Donnie and Patricia? In—in the fire?”

“Yes.”

Kathleen’s knees gave way, and Patrick kept her from falling. As
he held her up, her tear-filled eyes found Hennie, and she said with quavering voice, “Hennie, my family is dead. They burned to death in this awful fire. Why, Hennie? If God is so loving as you say, why did He let it happen?”

Hennie touched her friends shoulder and said, “Kathleen, we need to take you home with us.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

Patrick loosened his grip on Kathleen as her gaze went to the spot where the O’Malley house had stood. She stared at the ruins for a long time, then said, “All right, Hennie. I’ll go with you.”

Hennie’s parents closed in around the girls.

“Follow me,” Turlough said gently. “I’ll get us through the crowd.”

Hennie and Evelyn walked arm in arm with Kathleen. They had taken only a few steps when Kathleen stopped and looked back at the blackened spot where the house had been, as if she expected to see her family somehow rise from the ashes.

As the Killanins drove home, Kathleen sobbed and wailed, calling out the names of her family, begging them to come back. Hennie and Evelyn tried to comfort her, but she was inconsolable.

When they arrived home, Turlough stood on the front porch and looked back at the spreading fire while Hennie and Evelyn took a sobbing Kathleen to the spare bedroom and helped her to lie down on the bed.

While Hennie stayed with her, Evelyn went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of warm milk. When Kathleen had stopped crying long enough to drain the glass, Evelyn said, “Honey, I’m heating some water so you can take a bath. There’s soot on your face and clothing, and in your hair. Hennie and I will wash your clothing. It’ll be dry by morning.”

“You can wear one of my nightgowns,” Hennie said.

Turlough appeared at the bedroom door. “How’s she doing?”

“Not too good, yet,” said Evelyn. “She’s going to take a bath.
She’ll feel a little better then, I think. What about the fire?”

“The wind keeps changing directions. Right now, from what I can tell, its going north, and of all things, southeast of us.”

The fire raged on as Hennie stayed with Kathleen and helped her into the tub. The grieving girl continued to weep, sometimes mumbling things Hennie couldn’t understand.

When the bath was over and Kathleen was clad in a borrowed nightgown, she curled up in an overstuffed chair in a corner of the bedroom and wept anew. Evelyn and Hennie stood over her, looking at each other helplessly, wishing there was something they could do to ease the girl’s anguish.

Throughout the long night of October 8, 1871, the sky over Chicago was alight with an orange glow. By the time the fire was brought under control the next day, a total of 2,124 acres in the city were charred and still smoking. Eighteen thousand houses had burned to the ground, leaving ninety thousand people homeless. Many commercial buildings were also in smoldering ruins. Approximately one-third of the city had been destroyed.

The
Chicago Tribunes
evening edition estimated that some three hundred people had lost their lives in the fire. Some of the deaths were from drowning. With the fire raging on both sides of the Chicago River, many people found themselves trapped on the wooden bridges. Caught in a pushing, frightened mob, some fell into the river and drowned.

On Monday night, a merciful rain fell for three hours, helping to quench the small fires that were still burning.

On Tuesday morning, October 10, trainloads of food, medical supplies, clothing, tools, and building materials began to arrive from other cities.

Chicagoans doggedly went to work, clearing debris in preparation to rebuild.

During the next few days, stories of Katie O’Leary’s cow kicking
the lantern over spread far and wide, but the O’Learys were not castigated by the people of Chicago, helped in part by an article on the front page of the
Chicago Tribune
that quoted Chief Fire Marshal Robert Williams. He boldly laid the blame on the Chicago Common Council, who had shown no desire to provide more firemen and firefighting equipment, though he had pleaded with them for many months. Williams stated that had there been more men and wagons in the 27th District, the fire in the O’Leary barn could have been extinguished. He closed the article by saying that had Mrs. O’Learys cow not kicked over the lantern, a similar destructive fire would probably have taken place because of the city’s dry condition.

Even though Chief Williams’s article helped Katie O’Learys emotional and mental state, she would be a long time getting over her part in the fire.

On Thursday, October 12, a gaunt and pale Kathleen O’Malley attended the memorial service held for all who had died in the fire. Because the fire had destroyed so many of the church buildings, the service was held in the city’s largest church, which was in the heart of downtown Chicago.

The coffins were already at the cemetery and would be waiting for separate burial services to be conducted by the individual pastors when the memorial service was concluded. For some of the dead there were no coffins, for their bodies had been annihilated in the fire. Kathleen had been notified by her minister that the bodies of her family were identifiable and would be in separate coffins at the cemetery. The coffins had been paid for by people who had done business with the O’Malleys and knew Kathleen’s situation.

As she sat in the funeral service the girl’s usually sparkling eyes were dull and red-rimmed from her unceasing tears.

While Scripture was read and ministers of different denominations made their comments about the fire and its wake of destruction, Hennie and her mother sat on each side of Kathleen, offering
their strength and comfort, but Kathleen was barely responsive to their efforts. Though she was there physically, her heart and mind seemed closed to what was going on around her. Hennie’s tight squeeze on her hand finally caused her mind to clear, just as the service was coming to a close.

“Kathleen, are you all right?” Hennie asked.

“Yes. I’m all right.”

“Do you want to go to the cemetery, honey?” Evelyn asked. “We’ll be glad to take you if you want to go, but if you’re not up to it, we’ll take you home to our house right now.”

Kathleen was still shivering as she said softly, “I…I want to go to the cemetery. I must tell my loved ones good-bye.”

A cold wind whipped across the cemetery as Kathleen’s minister spoke a few solemn words over the coffins of her family. When the minister was finished, he stepped toward Kathleen and told her she would be all right because she was in God’s hands; then he left.

A small group of people had come along to pay their last respects to the O’Malleys, who had sold them groceries for many years.

The Killanins, who remained standing close beside Kathleen every step of the way, left her side to allow the others to speak with her. While words of comfort were being offered to the grieving girl, the Killanins spoke in quiet tones among themselves, agreeing that they would offer to let Kathleen live with them permanently. The poor girl had nothing. The grocery store had burned to the ground, and Kathleen had mentioned that the family savings had gone up in smoke because her father did not trust banks.

When the last person had left the gravesite, the Killanins returned to Kathleen’s side.

“We’ll stay here just as long as you want,” Turlough said. “You tell us when you’re ready to go.”

Kathleen nodded and walked to the four coffins, which stood side by side on carts next to the first of four graves dug in a row. As
she tenderly touched the first coffin, tears spattered its wooden surface. “Good-bye, Papa. I love you. I will miss you terribly. I…I hope someday we will meet again.”

The Killanins looked on with heavy hearts as Kathleen moved to each coffin, speaking her final words to her mother, brother, and sister. When she had said good-bye to Patricia, she turned and took hold of Hennie’s hand and said, “I’m ready to go now.”

During the ride to the Killanin home, Evelyn turned on the front seat and looked back at the weary girl for a moment, then said, “Kathleen, we want you to live with us. The room is yours, and well just sort of adopt you.”

Kathleen’s heart fluttered, and her mouth went dry. She did not want to live in the Killanin house. She was uncomfortable with the Bible being read every morning at the breakfast table and the Killanins talking so much about Jesus and so many things related to their Christian life.

She cleared her throat nervously and said, “That is awfully nice of you, Mrs. Killanin, but…but I will have a place to go to within a few days.”

“Oh, really?” said Evelyn, surprised.

“Where will you go?” Hennie asked.

“With some friends of my parents. You remember when those people gathered around me there at the cemetery?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, one of those families offered me a place in their home, and I told them I would come. I…I didn’t know you were going to make this offer, but I can hardly back out on them now. You understand.”

“Of course we understand,” Evelyn said. “But we’ll leave the door open just in case the other place might not work out.”

“Thank you,” Kathleen said. “I’ll need to stay with you just a few more days until they can fix up my room. Will that be all right?”

“Of course,” Evelyn said.

The next day, Kathleen walked downtown alone. She needed some money to rent a room somewhere. And she would have to drop out of school and get a job. She also needed to buy some shoes. The dress lace-up boots were hurting her feet. That is, the right one was. On the night of the fire, when she was frantically trying to find her family, shed caught her right foot in the wooden sidewalk and torn the sole loose. It wasn’t flapping yet but it soon would be, and the way she had to turn her foot when she walked made it hurt.

At the Chicago Land Office, Kathleen was met at the front desk by a man named Ralph Martin. She introduced herself and explained about the death of her family and that she was the rightful heir to the lot where the house had stood at 139 DeKoven Street. What would she have to do to sell it?

“I might be interested in the lot, myself, Miss O’Malley, but first you would need to bring some witnesses to this office who will swear that you are who you say you are.”