The Hull Home Fire (11 page)

Bill turned to leave with the others and was partway out of the kitchen when he
hesitated. “Missus, I’m some sorry I couldn’t help Tom out on the ship.”

“That’s the third accident this month,” Henry said. “The ones responsible for
the equipment’s safety are to blame, not you.”

Alice sat at the table while Henry escorted the men out. She dried her eyes
when he returned. “A fine bunch of men,” she said. “Especially Bill. Mom really
liked him.” Alice sobbed into her hands. “If only she’d moved in here last night
like we wanted.”

Henry didn’t know how to console her, or if anything could.

THE EVENING CLOSED IN ON
St. John’s. The stars flickered like
crystal chips in a clear, black sky. People hurried home from work. Women cooked
supper. Children played in the snow. The last autopsy concluded in the basement
at the General Hospital. Thirty-four bodies. Some burned beyond recognition.
Others without a single mark. They shared two
common features.
All perished at Hull Home. All died from smoke inhalation.

Dr. Kennedy stood next to the man who had signed every death certificate. Dr.
Sharpe pulled the sheet over Dot’s face. “This lady was in excellent health for
her age.” He sighed, his voice barely audible. “She didn’t suffer, Frank. Maybe
that’ll bring some small comfort to the family.”

Dr. Kennedy wheeled the body into the freezer. “God bless you, Dot,” he
whispered before shutting the heavy metal door on her. He took off the white
hospital coat and hung it up. “The judicial inquiry into the fire begins the
week after next. I’m not looking forward to that.”

Dr. Sharpe scrubbed his hands. “I want to get my testimony over with as soon as
possible.” He looked at his colleague. “And to think Valentine’s Day is just
around the corner.”

“A time to honour loved ones.” Dr. Kennedy shook his head as if trying to shed
himself of unwanted thoughts. “I heard Sir Edward Emerson will head the
inquiry.”

“That’s right. He’s a no-nonsense man who’ll cut through the bull and get to
the truth.” Dr. Sharpe turned off the morgue light switch and shut the door. The
two men walked down the long, dimly lit corridor. There was no one to hear the
echo of their footsteps. They came to the elevator, slowed, looked at each
other, then moved on to the stairs. Neither one wished to be confined to the
limited space of the elevator. They parted on the main floor, Dr. Sharpe to his
office, Dr. Kennedy to the parking lot.

Mrs. Simms had supper on the table when he arrived home. “Stew with dumplings
and tea buns,” she said. “Dr. Gibbs gave me a hand with the buns.” She flushed a
dark pink. “He’s some handy in the kitchen.”

Dr. Kennedy smiled despite the chill in his heart.

“All autopsies completed ?” Mike asked when the housekeeper
left to bring in dessert.

“I’ve witnessed plenty of terrible sights in my experience as a doctor. This
was the worst.”

“Frankie, do you think I should go home and forget about confronting Tom ? He
and Alice have enough to contend with.”

“Alice needs some peace of mind more than ever right now.” The doctor tore off
a huge piece of bun. “So, no. You do what you came here to do.”

Mrs. Simms brought in an apple crumble fresh from the oven and a second pot of
tea. “There’s another meeting about Confederation at seven,” she said, cutting
out two portions of the apple crumble. “I don’t want to be late. The dishes can
wait till I get back.”

Dr. Kennedy looked at Mike. “I don’t ever recall the woman asking my permission
for anything,” he said, as if she had already departed.

Mrs. Simms peered sideways at her employer. “Now, sir,” she said. “You know
darn well there’s not a single word of truth in that.”

“Confederation,” Mike said. “I heard a radio interview with a Mr. Joseph
Smallwood about that a week ago.”

The housekeeper’s expression became sullen. “He wants Newfoundland to become a
Canadian province.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I never heard the like
before.”

“There are many benefits to being Canadian,” Mike said.

Mrs. Simms planted hands firmly on her wide hips. “And here I was thinking you
were a fine fellow.” A knock on the front door prevented further comment.

Dr. Kennedy helped himself to an extra serving of apple crumble. “I hope that’s
not an emergency call.”

“I’m leaving now, so I’ll send in whoever it is on my way out.”
Mrs. Simms left the room to get her coat and boots in the foyer.

Henry came into the dining room. His eyes went directly to Mike. “You look like
Dad,” he said.

Dr. Kennedy threw down his napkin. “Is your mother all right ?” he said, rising
from his chair.

“That’s not why I’m here,” Henry said. “With Dad’s accident and Gran’s death,
Mom’s forgotten about Uncle Mike. I had to see if he came.”

“I didn’t want to intrude on your grief just yet,” Mike said. “And make matters
worse.”

“I agreed,” Dr. Kennedy added. “It’s better for your mother to wait until after
Dot’s funeral.”

Henry nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“Sit down,” Dr. Kennedy said. “You’re whiter than flour.” He sweetened tea for
Henry and made him drink at least half. “I didn’t get to the hospital today.
How’s Mary ?”

Henry held the cup between his hands. “She’s still unconscious and hooked up to
machines.”

The doctor passed him a piece of apple crumble. “Mary’s a strong girl. She’ll
pull through.”

Henry stared into his cup. The tea shivered like water when a rock is skimmed
along the surface.

Dr. Kennedy clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up on her.”

Henry turned to Mike. “Why didn’t you come home for your parents’ funerals ?” A
nerve ticked in his jaw.

“You don’t waste time in getting to the point.” Mike smiled. “You father did
the same even as a boy.”

“Answer the question.”

“When my father died,” Mike said quietly, “I wrote my mother
explaining why I couldn’t get home.”

“It goes without saying the excuse didn’t satisfy Dad,” Henry said.

“I send Tom a telegram when Mom died,” Mike continued. “And tried for years to
contact your father by letters, telegrams, phone calls.”

Henry dragged a hand over his face. “What possible reason could justify not
returning home for your parents’ funerals ?”

Mike pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Sweet Jesus !” Henry gasped.

FIVE DAYS AFTER THE FIRE
, many of the deceased residents from
Hull Home were buried on a sunny morning in cemeteries all over the city, the
choice of resting place dictated by the person’s religion. Church bells
tolled — a message to the living to reflect upon what had been taken away. The
procession for Dot moved up Patrick Street to begin the final journey. The
coffin rested on a sled drawn by a big, black horse. Its nostrils flared, the
breath escaping like smoke out of a chimney. The animal climbed the hill and
whinnied when it slid back a few paces on an ice patch. The driver calmed the
horse and it began the task once again. Near the top the
clap-clap
of
hooves was cushioned by layers of packed snow. Alice rode behind her mother,
silent, dry-eyed, gloved hands on her lap. Cars along the route stopped in
respect and waited for the hearse to pass, as did people in the street. The
aftertaste of death permeated the city.

The horse turned in to the gate of Mount Carmel Cemetery, the graveyard for
Roman Catholics, which overlooked Quidi Vidi Lake. Dot was laid to rest
alongside her husband, who had
passed nearly three decades
earlier, a casualty of the Spanish flu pandemic of 1918. Tom had insisted on
attending and had released himself from the hospital. He sat between Alice and
Henry, their heads bowed for Dot’s last blessing.

The priest made the sign of the Cross over the coffin. “Rest in peace, dear
friend,” he murmured, blinking away a tear from the corner of his eye. “We’ll
see each other again, God willing.”

“Thank you, Father Whitten,” Alice said. “Mom would be some delighted if she
knew her oldest friend in the world presided over her funeral.”

“Dot wouldn’t stand for anything less,” he said, a quiver in his voice.
“Nothing will ever be the same without her.” He glanced at the coffin. “My last
conversation with her was the night before the fire at the Home. She told me how
excited she was about the vote on Confederation.”

“If I knew Dot,” Tom said, “I’d say she was all for it.”

“Indeed she was. And determined to win you over.”

Tom nodded. “If anyone could, it was her.”

“I must say my farewell,” Father Whitten said. “Mr. Duggan asked me to do his
wife’s service.”

“His dog, Rusty, is the only thing keeping him going,” Alice said. “It’s sad
they weren’t blessed with children.”

The priest smiled at Henry. “Dot spoke often of you. The doctor-to-be, she’d
say. Needless to say your grandmother was delighted beyond words about
that.”

“I miss her,” Henry said. “She was easy to talk to.”

“And gave her opinion whether you liked it or not.” The priest smiled to
himself. “A great lady. Before I go, Alice, promise me you’ll keep in
touch.”

“Well, now, Father, you married my parents and me, you baptized me and Henry,
and you’ve attended every special
occasion in my life.” She
hugged the retired priest. “Mom would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“Here’s my ride,” Father Whitten said as a young priest from St. Patrick’s
Church drove toward them. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Alice watched him walk away,
his step less lively than the last time she saw him.

Bill made his way through the crowd. “I’m some sorry, missus,” he said. “Mrs.
Gatherall was a lovely lady.”

Alice smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Thank you, Bill.”

Well-wishers and mourners expressed their condolences one by one as they filed
past.

The cemetery all but deserted, Alice kissed the brass-rimmed coffin. “Dad’s
waited a long time for you, Mom. Be happy.”

Henry and Bill helped Tom to the car. “You haven’t missed much work,” Bill
said. “What with icebergs and packed ice, everything is slowed to a
standstill.”

“I’m going to walk home,” Henry said.

“That’ll take at least an hour,” Alice said. “You’ll freeze.”

Tom snuggled close to his wife. “Alice, love,” he said softly, putting an arm
around her. “Our son isn’t a baby anymore.” He turned to Henry. “We’ll have
piping hot tea waiting when you get home.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Henry shut the door and moved down the footpath between the long
rows of headstones which lead to the rear entrance, a shortcut to the boulevard.
Dr. Kennedy’s car honked at him on the way down Kennas Hill. He pulled a hand
from his pocket to wave to his parents. Something dropped to the ground.

He picked up the ticket stub from Silver’s Jewellery Store. The snow caked his
fingertips and stung like needle pricks.
“Oh, Gran, I forgot all
about the locket.” He turned left toward downtown, keeping to one side of the
street to avoid contact with the charred remains of Hull Home, and hopped on the
streetcar. Someone touched his shoulder from the seat behind. He turned,
sneaking a quick glance at the skeleton that had been his place of work and his
grandmother’s home. “Hello, Dougie.”

The boy sat with one hand in his pocket, his head to the side, his face grey.
“I’m on my way to buy Mary a box of candy for Valentine’s Day,” he said. “Mom
says they’ll help her come back to us when she feels how much we care.” Dougie’s
eyes glossed over. “Henry, do you believe that’s true ?”

“Yes, I do.”

Dougie opened his hand to reveal a hard candy made from boiled molasses and
brown sugar. “You know how much Mary loves Bullseyes.”

“She sure does,” Henry said.

The streetcar jolted to a stop. “I get off here,” Dougie said. “See ya.” His
arms dangled like rubber tubes.

Henry disembarked at the next stop. The clerk looked up from paperwork when the
bell over the door jangled. Wire-rimmed glasses hovered off the end of his nose.
“I see your grandmother isn’t with you today,” he said.

“Gran died in the fire.”

The clerk readjusted his glasses. “I am terribly sorry. Please forgive my
insensitivity.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

The clerk took the ticket stub and pulled out a drawer from a side cabinet. He
withdrew a small box wrapped in white tissue with a red ribbon. “Here you are,”
he said. “I hope it brings some small comfort to your mother.”

“Me, too,” Henry said. He wondered if the locket would be a
bitter reminder that Dot was gone forever.

The temperature seemed to be stuck well below zero since the beginning of
winter. Yet Henry was oblivious to the weather, to the passersby, even to the
smell from the bakery that, without fail, used to conjure up images of Mary and
laughter and happy times spent with his grandmother. Henry felt weary and knew
it had nothing to do with physical exertion. He neared his house. The walls
would suffocate him. Before he realized it, St. Clare’s Hospital rose up before
him, big, grey, sterile.

Henry scaled the stairs to the third floor.

“Miss Norris’s condition hasn’t changed,” the nurse at the station said to his
inquiry.

His weariness intensified. “Can I see her ?”

“Visiting hours are not till this afternoon.”

Henry ran a hand over his eyes.

The nurse smiled. “Seeing as she’s in a private room, you won’t disturb any
other patients. Go ahead.”

Henry opened the door, hesitant to go in. This was the first time he had seen
her since the day of the fire. Rather, the first time he’d had the nerve to face
her. The splotches of blood and soot cleaned away, she looked beautiful,
peaceful.

He moved a chair closer to the bed. “Mary, you probably don’t want me to be
here. Who can blame you ?” He touched her cheek. She felt warm, soft. “Please
give me the chance to explain, to apologize.”

Henry leaned on the bed rail and stared down at Mary. He watched her chest rise
and fall in a steady, even pattern. The sun travelled around the room, shifting,
changing shadows. He didn’t stir. Neither did Mary. His heart ached. The clatter
of
meal trays in the corridor broke his concentration. “I have
to go, Mary. Goodbye for now.”

Henry passed acquaintances on the way home. All took the time to extend their
sincere sorrow.
Thank you
became ingrained in his brain, uttered without
thought like a child reciting a memorized poem in front of his classmates. Snow
began to fall, light at first, then maddened into a whipping assault. Henry bent
his head into his chest and ran. He reached his house and barrelled inside to
rid himself of the clinging snow and the... if only he could verbalize the array
of emotions tearing at him, each one in a battle to overthrow the other.

“Where were you ?” Alice asked. “I was worried.”

Henry stood by the stove to thaw out. His numb cheeks prickled when the heat
frolicked around his face. “I went to see Mary.” He pulled the gift box out of
his pocket. “First I picked this up at Silver’s Jewellery.”

“I’d forgotten tomorrow is Valentine’s Day,” Alice said. “Mary will love
whatever you bought for her.”

“It’s not for Mary. This is the reason Gran asked me to take her shopping last
week.”

“Dear Mom. She wanted to surprise me.”

“She said that fifty is a milestone and had to be celebrated with a special
present.”

Henry held out the box to his mother. “Even though your birthday’s not till
tomorrow, Gran wouldn’t mind you having it a day early.”

Alice untied the ribbon and unwrapped the paper like they were precious,
delicate items made by Dot herself. The silver heart shone on white satin. “It’s
lovely.”

“Gran had it engraved,” Henry said.

Alice clicked the locket cover open. “‘Alice, my joy, ’” she
read. “‘You make me proud.’” She clasped the silver heart to her chest. “Oh,
Henry. You’ll never know what this message means to me.”

“I was afraid it might make you sadder.”

Alice threw her arms around Henry. “The locket is a perfect keepsake from Mom.
I’ll keep it always.”

Tom, concealed from sight, turned away from the side of the kitchen door and
took a deep breath to quash the rising lump in his throat. “Thank you, Dot,” he
whispered. “Alice needed that. So did I.” He hobbled down the hall to the living
room using his crutches and fell into an armchair. He dragged each foot onto a
small, cushioned stool. His heels hung over the edge.

A light rap on the front door was followed by a blast of cold air with Dr.
Kennedy in its wake. “I came by to see how you’re doing,” he said. “Since you
left the hospital without specific instructions about your care.”

Tom rubbed the crease between his brows. “How long before I can go back to work
is all I need to know.”

“Several months.”

Tom almost came out of the chair. “Tell me that’s a joke.”

“Tom, the bones in your heels weren’t just broken, they were crushed. Do as I
say to make sure they heal properly. Or would you prefer to walk with canes for
the rest of your life ?” The doctor moved the crutches out of Tom’s reach. “You
only use these to come downstairs in the morning, go to the toilet, and back
upstairs at night.”

“For how long ?”

“Until I say otherwise.” Dr. Kennedy glared at Tom. “You understand me ?”

“All right. I don’t have to like it, though.”

“You don’t have to sook like a youngster either.”

Tom looked toward the window next to the fireplace. “The damn icicles are
back,” he said to himself.

“What was that ?”

“Nothing important,” Tom said.

There was a knock on the door.

Alice entered the room with Henry and Fred Russell. She held three bags of
crinkles. “A little something for you and the missus,” Fred said. “I know how
much you all love our crinkles.”

“How about a nice cup of tea and a crinkle for everyone ?” Alice said.

“Lovely, Mrs. Gibbs,” Fred said. “At a time like this it must’ve been some good
to meet your brother-in-law after all these years.”

“What ?” Tom said, his body rigid.

Alice and Henry exchanged a look.

Tom sat up straight. “What’s he talking about ?”

“I was in the back when he came into the bakery. He hasn’t changed much. The
scattered grey hair and wrinkle is all.”

Tom looked at his wife. “Did you know about this ?” An icicle dropped and
plunked onto the window ledge.

Alice stared at him like a child stranded among strangers, hoping to see a
familiar face. “Tom, you... you know I never go to the bakery.”

Tom’s eyes slithered to his son. “What about you ?”

Fred flushed. “I’m real sorry, folks. Didn’t mean to start a ruckus.” He
slapped on his hat. “I’d best get back to work,” he said, and scurried out of
the living room.

“Take it easy, Tom,” Dr. Kennedy said. “I mentioned Mike to them on the phone
before I came over. He’s here as a favour to me. A medical consultation
concerning one of my patients.”

Alice knelt beside her husband. “Tom, this is a good
opportunity for you to talk to him, to have all your questions answered.”

“I don’t have any questions where he’s concerned.”

“Tom, please.”

“Alice, normally I’d do anything for you.”

She got up and moved a few feet from Tom. “I see. This is the one thing you
can’t... or should I say, the one thing you won’t do for me.”