The Hull Home Fire (16 page)

“I have three more witnesses to call,” Carter said when Isaac returned to his
seat. “The first is Miss Mary Norris, the charwoman at Hull Home.”

Henry watched her walk to the witness box, pale, her bad shoulder strapped to
her side. Her eyes fell on him, lingering a few seconds. His face burned.

“Miss Norris,” the Crown prosecutor said, “you sustained serious injuries in
your attempt to rescue residents during the fire, with no thought to your own
welfare.” He turned to face the spectators, then looked back at Mary. “Very
commendable indeed. As you are not yet fully healed, I will endeavour to keep my
questions brief and to the point.”

Mary produced a weak smile.

“What can you tell me about the condition of the stove at Hull Home ?”

Her gaze shot to Mr. Hull. Henry was certain he saw an apology in her
expression. Isaac twisted a pencil around and around in his hand.

“It leaked often,” Mary said. “Mr. Hull would try to fix it
himself. When that didn’t work, he called in a mechanic.”

“Miss Norris, did you ever ‘tinker’ with the stove ?”

“No. Mr. Hull wouldn’t let me.”

“Did Mr. Hull do anything else concerning the stove that bothered you ?”

“He hung wet dishcloths on the pipe behind the stove to dry them.” Mary swayed
slightly and grabbed the box rail.

Henry sprang to his feet and was about to run to her when Flora rushed
forward.

Emerson turned to the court clerk. “Bring the young lady a glass of
water.”

The man left and came back almost immediately. Mary drank slowly, swallowing
after each sip, and her colour returned.

“Thank you, my dear,” Emerson said. “You may step down.”

Flora helped her daughter back to her seat.

Henry’s heart lurched when his name was called. Carter smiled at him. “You
worked as an accountant at Hull Home. Did you ever witness problems with the
kitchen stove in the main building ?”

“Sometimes you could smell the oil when it leaked. Mr. Freeman was called many
times to repair the stove.”

“Can you comment on the quality of food served ?”

“I only ever ate tea and toast there.”

“Your grandmother, Mrs. Dorothy Gatherall, was a resident.” Carter paused. “My
sympathies on her passing in the fire.”

“Thank you,” Henry said.

“Did she ever comment on the conditions ?”

“Gran, my grandmother, was leaving the Home to come
live with
us. She was tired of the same food all the time and wanted a room to
herself.”

“One final question. In your opinion, was Hull House a good place to
reside ?”

Henry looked straight at Mary. “There were some good people there.”

She blushed and looked down.

Dr. Kennedy took the stand. Henry hadn’t noticed him before.

“From what I observed on my weekly visits to the Home,” the doctor began, his
voice strong and clear, “the tuberculosis patients were well looked after. In my
considered opinion, the nurses treated them with care and respect.”

“Doctor,” Carter said, “do you feel that three nurses were adequate for the
number of tubercular and other sick patients in the Home ?”

“They worked long, hard hours.”

“Would you go so far as to say they were overworked ?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. No more questions.”

Dr. Kennedy returned to his seat.

Emerson ran his eyes around the room. “A catastrophe certainly brings things
out into the open,” he said.

Henry looked to Mary once more.

“Before I conclude this inquiry,” Emerson went on, “I have a personal statement
to make.” He directed his gaze to where senior officials from City Hall and the
Health Department sat. “I cannot believe that, having the power and the
obligation to enforce safety measures, the city chose to do nothing. As for the
Department of Health and Welfare, health and welfare should be a practised
priority, not simply a title.” He gathered up his
notes. “I will
review the evidence presented with extreme care and consideration, then render
my conclusions as to the cause of the fire and those responsible for the
needless, tragic loss of so many lives. Good day.”

TOM ENJOYED A THIRD CUP
of tea and a raisin bun. “I wonder how
long it’ll be before Emerson releases his findings ?”

“I don’t expect there’ll be any surprises,” Alice said, hanging up the
dishtowel. “There’s more than Mr. Hull to blame.” She rooted around in the
pantry. “I was sure I bought more than one,” she muttered.

“What are you looking for ?” Tom asked.

“Flour. I wanted to make an apple pie for dinner.” Alice closed the long,
narrow door and searched all the bottom cupboards. “I could have sworn I bought
an extra bag last week when Mr. Royal had the two-for-one sale.”

“You must’ve used it, love. Henry should be back soon. He’ll go to the grocery
for you.”

“I’ll go. Do you need any cigarettes ?”

“No thanks. I have a half-carton left.”

Halfway down the hall, Alice called to her husband. “By the way. Don’t budge
from that chair while I’m gone,” she said. “See you in a few minutes.”

“I’m not a youngster,” he grumbled back.

“You are while you’re on the mend,” Alice said sweetly.

Tom picked up the
Daily News
from the table. “More garbage about
Confederation,” he said, and threw down the paper. He reached into his pocket
for a cigarette. The package empty, he stared at the top cupboard next to the
pantry where he kept his supply. Tired of having to depend on either his wife or
son to even go to the toilet, he reached for his crutches and stood up. He
hesitated. Alice would be upset if he attempted anything she considered an
unnecessary strain or risk. “Rubbish. I’m a grown man.”

He crossed the kitchen on his toes, his fingers almost crushing the handgrips
on the crutches. He steadied himself against the pantry and raised a hand to
open the cupboard door. As he did, the crutch fell away. Tom lost his balance
and tried to grab hold of the door. His missed and knocked a biscuit tin to the
floor. The lid popped off and the contents scattered around his feet. “Damn it,”
he spit out. “I can’t even manage a cupboard door.” He looked at the wall clock.
The grocery store was only around the corner. Alice would be home any
minute.

Tom went down on his knees, gathered up the envelopes, and stuffed them in the
tin. About to return the can back to the cupboard, the lid popped again. He
noticed a return address on an envelope. His pulse hammered while he checked
several more, the dates going back ten years.

Tom struggled to keep the crutches from slipping out from under him on his way
to the living room. “How could she ?” he murmured over and over. He sat and
stared out the window. The icicles had thickened to twice their original size.
He saw Alice walk up the street with a seven-pound bag of flour under her arm.
She stopped to talk with Flora Norris. She smiled a
smile which
reached her eyes, almost obliterating the traces of grief. His gaze remained on
the window even after she had entered.

“Tom,” she called. “I saw Bill in the grocery store. There’s been another
accident with the crane at the dock.” She kicked off her boots and went into the
living room. “Thank God no one was hurt this time.”

Tom kept his head turned toward the window.

“Did you hear me ?”

No response.

“Tom, are you all right ?”

He pulled out the letters from under the cushion. “What do you think ?”

Alice paled, whiter than she had been since the day Dot died. “I... I’m sorry,”
she said.

“Sorry. Is that all you have to say ?”

Alice took a deep breath and walked right up to her husband. “You’re well aware
I’ve wanted you to hear your brother’s side of the story,” she said. “I took it
upon myself for Henry’s sake to get to know Mike in whatever way
possible.”

“How could you go behind my back like that ?”

“I only wanted to reach out to the brother you’re afraid to admit you still
love.”

“I bet he made up all kinds of excuses about why he stayed away.”

“No. That was the one subject he wouldn’t talk about.”

“Mike could always twist words to his advantage.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Alice said. “Read the letters. Your brother isn’t the
devil you make him out to be.” She turned and left before he could answer.

Tom tossed the letters on the coffee table and stared at the
pile. He reached for the top envelope, hesitated, then pulled his hand
back.

MIKE TOOK OFF THE NAPKIN
tucked into his shirt collar and laid
it on the empty plate he had been tempted to lick clean as Dr. Kennedy came into
the dining room.

“You’re late this morning,” Mike said.

“My first patient isn’t until ten. It’s the only day I can catch up on some
sleep.”

Mike patted his stomach. “Mrs. Simms makes a delicious breakfast.”

The doctor smiled. “Don’t mention that in her presence. She might ask for a
raise.”

Mrs. Simms carried in a hefty serving of pancakes. “A raise is a dandy idea,”
she said, and placed the dish on the table in front of her employer. Her eyes
twinkled at Mike. “There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry, Dr. Gibbs.”

“If I touch another bite, I’ll have to let out my trousers.”

Mrs. Simms graced him with a huge smile. “Give a shout if you change your mind.
I’m handy with a needle and thread as well.”

The doctor dribbled molasses over two large pancakes. “Seems like you’ve made a
conquest in my housekeeper,” he said. “Mind you, she’s not easily won
over.”

Mike held up the morning paper for his friend to see the headline about the
inquiry. “How did it go ?”

Dr. Kennedy’s fork paused midway to his mouth. “It was a terrible business. An
awful heartache for the families dredging up what happened, trying to find the
cause and assign blame.”

“I imagine Henry was called to testify.”

“And his girl, Mary Morris. The residents loved her.” The
doctor put the knife and fork on his plate as if he had lost his appetite.
“She’s not quite physically recovered from the ordeal. Her mental state might be
another issue altogether.” He stared at Mike. “She found Alice’s mother seconds
after she died of smoke inhalation.”

“The poor girl,” Mike said. “That memory will most likely haunt her for the
rest of her days.”

“I’m glad Henry was spared that at least,” Dr. Kennedy said. He dug into the
food once more. “Mike, not to change the subject, but you’ve been here for ten
days.”

Mike laughed. “Outstayed my welcome, have I ?”

“Never, old friend.” The doctor chewed a chunk of pancake, swallowed, and cut
off another piece.

Mike supported his chin on the heel of a hand. “I’m waiting for the point
you’re taking too much time to make.”

“Time for reasoning with Tom is over. Show him what a headstrong dope he’s been
these forty years.” Dr. Kennedy removed the cozy from the teapot and filled his
cup. “I know it’ll be somewhat of a shock for him.” He added enough milk to
render the tea lukewarm. “Tom’s a grown man. He’ll just have to take everything
in stride.”

“I’d rather try to get him to listen to me one more time.” Mike pushed back his
chair and stood up. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll take your advice into
consideration.”

“Mike, if you want to see your own family anytime soon, I suggest you do more
than consider my advice.”

“My wife has given me her blessing to stay as long as it takes.” He took out
her picture from an inside pocket. “She’s a lot like Alice. Anyway, I’m going to
Tom’s this morning. I’ll fill you in on what happens.”

“Good luck,” Dr. Kennedy said. “You’ll need it,” he
mumbled
under his breath when Mike vanished out the door.

“Need what ?” Mrs. Simms said.

“Nothing. I was thinking out loud.”

MIKE WALKED OUT OF CABOT
tower and got into the back of the ABC
taxi. His ears were numb, his lips dry. “This has to be the coldest place on
earth,” he said.

The driver tossed the last of a Camel cigarette out the window, rolled it up,
and turned on the ignition. “Where to now ?” he asked, glancing in the rear-view
mirror. A mixture of smoke and mist from his breath hovered around him. He wound
stiff fingers around the steering wheel. “Doesn’t take long for the heat to seep
out once the car’s turned off.”

Cabot Tower had been the second stop on the spur-of-the-moment city tour. A
ride through The Gut and past Quidi Vidi Lake had been the first. Mike wiped
steam from the glass and looked out at the Atlantic Ocean, mere yards beyond the
concrete railing used as a protection against the hill’s rocky landscape. The
sky was a brilliant blue. The sun reflected off the smooth water, undisturbed by
wind or waves. He had seen icebergs poke up from the depths like white melted
candles the last time he had visited Signal Hill. Several small fishing boats
studded the vast expanse.

The taxi rounded the sharp curb at the entrance to the parking lot and started
the long, winding ride down Signal Hill. “Buddy, made up your mind yet where you
want to go next ?”

“Yes, I have. You’ll be happy to know it’s a house,” Mike said, and gave Tom’s
address.

“It don’t bother me none if I have to drive all over the city.
It’s freezing to death while you’re traipsing around our historic sites is the
hard part.”

“Can’t say as I blame you,” Mike said.

“Not to be butting into your business, but you sound like a St. John’s man born
and bred. Surely you’ve seen everything by now.”

“This is my first time back in forty years.”

The car inched down the steep incline, slipping at every sharp curve toward the
ditch. “The hill is icy enough to skate on,” the driver said. He gazed at Mike
in the rear-view mirror. “Not to worry. I’ve been driving for nigh on fifteen
years and never had an accident yet.”

“Winter driving on St. John’s hills can be treacherous and nerve-racking,” Mike
said as they neared the bottom. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“That’s a fact. The horses have an even tougher time of it with their metal
shoes and all.” The driver passed the Hotel Newfoundland and turned left onto
Military Road. Shortly they were abreast of the CLB Armoury on their right.
“I’ll wager that Joey Smallwood and his crew are in there right now planning the
ruination of this country.”

“He is determined,” Mike said. “I hear a referendum is a few months
away.”

The driver scowled. “A proper waste of time that’ll cost a pretty penny no one
can afford in these hard times.”

Mike spied a beautiful black horse trotting toward them. “Is that a funeral
horse ?”

“That it is,” the driver said. He stopped, took off his hat, and waited for the
funeral procession to pass by.

“It’s been years since I’ve witnessed such a sign of respect for a deceased
person.”

The taxi man plopped his hat back on and headed toward
LeMarchant Road. “I’ve seen enough funeral processions this week and a half to
last me five lifetimes.”

The car had warmed up again by the time they arrived at Tom’s house. Mike paid
the fare along with a sizable tip. “Thanks for your patience,” he said, and
stayed on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, until the taxi drove out of sight.
He turned to the sound of a door opening.

Alice came out, dressed in her coat and boots. She wore no hat or gloves. “I
wondered when you’d be back,” she said.

“Tom needed a few days to cool down,” Mike said. “Is this a bad time ?”

“The mood he’s in, there’ll never be a good time.”

“Has something happened ?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Alice looked toward Mary’s house. “I was going to
drop in on a neighbour. I can do that later and come in with you.”

“Would you mind if I spoke to Tom alone ?”

“The door’s unlocked. Go on in.”

Mike turned the handle, hesitated a second, then went inside. The warm air
hugged him like a playful child. He sat down on the hall chair to remove his
boots.

Tom knelt in front of the fireplace stoking the flames to a roaring fire. “Is
that you, Henry ?” he said, reaching for a log from the heap in the steel
container. Tom crawled back to the armchair and the tea he had left to cool on
the side table.

Mike walked into the room without making a sound. “Hello, Tom. How are
you ?”

Tom’s hand shook when he laid the delicate china mug down. Tea slopped over the
side. “What the hell are you doing here ?” he demanded.

Mike sat down on the couch. “I told you I wouldn’t give
up.”

Tom soaked up the tea with his white handkerchief. “I don’t want to talk to
you.”

“Tell me, little brother. Why are you afraid to hear me out ? What harm could
it do if it turns out you’re right about me ?”

Tom turned to him. “You’re still a master at spinning a situation to your
benefit. You haven’t changed.”

“Exactly.”

“So you admit it.” Tom glared at Mike. “Now get out and leave me and my family
alone.”

“You misunderstand. I haven’t changed in any way. I still like to read mystery
books, listen to ghost stories on the radio, skate on frozen ponds, be near
those I love. “