The Hull Home Fire (7 page)

The boy and his mother came out of the office. “You’re ever so kind, Doctor,”
the woman said over her son’s cough. “I can’t thank you enough for the
medicine.”

Dr. Wheeler, a man well into his sixties, waved the thanks away. “It’s not
doing anyone any good sitting in my cabinet.” He turned to the old gentleman.
“Your turn, Mr. Gough.”

The receptionist smiled at Mary. “It won’t be much longer,” she said. “Mr.
Gough takes no more than a minute or two.”

True to her word, the man had exited the office by the time the boy and his
mother had put on their coats.

“Go right in,” the receptionist said to Mary.

An overwhelming desire to close out the world anchored Mary to the chair. She
wished she could be anywhere else. Her palms were clammy when she seated herself
before the doctor.

“What brings you here today, young lady ?”

“I...” Mary paused and lowered her eyes.

“Come,” Dr. Wheeler said softly. “My new patients soon learn there’s nothing
they can’t tell me.”

Mary looked up, her eyes moist. “I have awful bad headaches and feel like
vomiting all the time.”

“How’s your appetite ?”

“Food turns my stomach.”

“Let me examine you and find out what’s going on.”

A plump nurse led Mary into a room off the office. The white-sheeted
examination table conjured up an ice-covered lake ready to crack open and drown
her. The stirrups belonged to a horned monster eager to trap her in its grip.
The colourless, lifeless walls were harsh, sterile.

The nurse passed her a gown. “Put this on,” she said with a cheery voice. “The
doctor will be in presently.”

Mary’s fingers trembled as she took off her clothes and sat up on the
table.

A slight tap on the door made her jump. “This won’t take much time,” Dr.
Wheeler said.

Mary lay back and stared at the ceiling. Her fingers dug into the sides of the
table’s mattress.

“I understand you’re worried,” the doctor said. “Try to relax.”

Mary closed her eyes as the doctor probed every inch of her. She tried to
imagine sitting in front of a roaring fireplace.

“All done, Miss Norris. I’ll see you in my office when you’re ready.”

The nurse helped Mary into a sitting position. “Now that wasn’t so bad,” she
said.

Mary shivered even though the room was warm. She tried to put on a smile but
couldn’t muster one.

DR
.
WHEELER FINISHED WRITING IN
Mary’s file when
she returned to his office. “I’m afraid the news may not be what you want to
hear.”

Mary squished her hat into a tiny ball between sweaty hands.

The doctor closed her folder. “We have to do more tests, of
course. Once those are done, we’ll discuss your options.”

The pain behind Mary’s eyes intensified. She saw double.

ALICE WALKED TOWARD DR
.
KENNEDY
’
S
surgery. She had convinced Tom to stay at work and not fuss about her. Alice
increased her speed and saw Mary come out of a building at the end of the road.
She called to her. Mary pressed on, lost from sight by the time Alice reached
Dr. Kennedy’s house.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibbs,” the receptionist said. “Lucky for you we’re not
busy today.”

Alice smiled at the only other patient, a man her age she didn’t know. She
leafed through a magazine about institutionalized care and only looked up when
the man was shown into the office. Her back began to hurt.

“Your turn, Alice,” Dr. Kennedy said in his professional voice.

Alice slowly rose, a hand gripping the small of her back. Once she straightened
up, the pain eased enough for her to hurry into the office.

“Looks like arthritis has settled in,” Dr. Kennedy said after a brisk prodding
of her spine and lower back

“I was afraid of that,” Alice said. “Dad suffered from crippling arthritis. He
ended up in a wheelchair.”

“Your father was diagnosed with severe arthritis in his early twenties.” The
doctor smiled. “Your symptoms are milder and associated with aging.”

“Tom will be glad to hear that.”

“Is he still angry with Henry ?”

Alice slumped back in the chair. “Henry might as well be a boarder for all the
attention Tom gives him these days.”

“Have you told him that Mike’s coming ?”

Alice stared, then smiled. “I should have known he’d write his closest
friend.”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Dr. Kennedy said. “He wrote that you would decide
whether to tell Tom or not. I take it you haven’t.”

“He’d go out of his way to avoid Mike. I won’t take that chance.” Alice moved a
fraction to alleviate the dull knot in her back. “He’ll be some mad with me when
he finds out I kept it from him.” She put her elbows on the desk. “He’ll be put
off that you gave me Mike’s address.”

“I’ll risk that,” the doctor said. “Tom is a reasonable man, yet when it
concerns Mike he becomes a different person.”

Alice picked up her purse from the floor. “Tom won’t speak to Mike.”

“Maybe he’ll give in when he’s face to face with him.”

Alice sighed. “Do you really believe that ?”

“Tom wouldn’t stay this angry after all these years if he didn’t still love his
big brother.”

TOM TRUDGED THROUGH THE FRESHLY
fallen snow on his way home from
work. Every muscle in his body screamed from hours of unloading heavy crates
from the cargo ship. He pulled his coat collar up to cover his ears. The wind
whipped snow, which felt more like chips of ice, into his eyes. He tugged his
salt-and-pepper hat down over his forehead and jogged the last few yards to his
house. Baby icicles jeered at him from the edges of every window. “You won’t win
over me,” Tom said, and hurried inside. The smell of meat roasting in the oven
and a wave of heat welcomed him.

“I’m home,” he called, and sat on the hall chair to untie his boots.

Alice’s voice drifted toward him, humming “Let Me Fish Off Cape St. Mary’s” in
the soft, sweet tone she had used on Henry when he was a baby. He paused to
listen, sure she could have been a professional entertainer if she had wanted. A
sadness he hadn’t heard before resonated from every word. Boots placed on the
mat to dry, Tom went into the kitchen. A light whirl of steam rose from a
gingerbread loaf cooling on the sink counter.
“Hmm,” he said,
breaking off a considerable chunk. “There’s nothing tastier than gingerbread
with tinned cream.”

Alice whacked his hand with a spoon when he reached for another piece. “Save
some for the rest of us.” She donned an oven mitt and pulled open the oven door.
A lock of her hair blew in the heat.

Tom moved next to her. “Ah, that’s feels good,” he said. “Too bad we can’t heat
up the docks like that.”

Alice lifted the lid from the roaster. The juice hissed and popped like a
summer hail shower on asphalt. “I didn’t expect you for another hour,” she
said.

“Some of the men complained they couldn’t feel their toes, so we were let go
early.”

“You have to go back after supper then ?”

“There’s not much left to do.”

Alice basted the meat, closed the oven door, and tweaked her husband’s nose.
“That’s redder than beet juice, not to mention colder than an ice cube.” She
reached up to the cupboard for plates. “Ow !” she cried, grabbing hold of the
sink counter. “My arthritis is some bad today.”

Tom took down three plates. “This weather’s not much help either.”

Alice pressed a hand to the small of her back. “I asked Mom to supper. She’s
coming with Henry.”

Tom placed an extra plate on the table. “I’ll go shave before they get here.”
He scratched the stubble on his chin. “You take it easy. I’ll set the table when
I’m done.”

“Hold on a minute,” Alice said when he turned to leave. “I want a word with you
while we’re alone.”

“Can’t it wait ?”

“Do you want to be a part of Henry’s life ?”

“I’ll get aspirin from the bathroom for you,” Tom said.

“I’m waiting for an answer.”

“Of course I want to be a part of Henry’s life. What kind of question is
that ?”

“A reasonable one considering you’ve hardly spoken to him since his acceptance
to medical school. If it keeps up you’ll push him away for good.”

Water boiled out of the kettle spout and sizzled on the stove. Tom snatched the
handle and moved it to the back of the stove.

Alice put on the remaining oven mitt. “Are you going to answer my question ?”
She bent forward to get the roast from the oven. “Oh, God,” she cried. “I can’t
straighten up.”

Tom grabbed a dishcloth and took the roaster from her. “Let me get that aspirin
for you.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Tom Gibbs. Henry’s going whether you approve
or not.”

“He’s made it clear he doesn’t need my approval,” Tom said, and walked out of
the kitchen.

HENRY COPIED DOWN NUMBER AFTER
number into the accounts ledger,
yet one number stuck in his head. Two. Mike would arrive in two days. He
yawned.

Isaac glanced up from the papers on his desk. “You look more tired than I
feel,” he said. “It’s five-thirty. High time you were off.”

Henry threw down his pen and shut the ledger. “I was supposed to meet Gran in
the entrance a half-hour ago.”

“You’re right about that,” Dot said. She stood in the office doorway with hands
on her hips. “I had half a mind to go on without you.” The phone rang. “That’ll
be Alice wondering where we are.”

Isaac picked up the receiver. “They’ll be there shortly, Mrs.
Gibbs. And by the way, I didn’t ask Henry to stay late.”

“For a change,” Dot mumbled as she turned to leave the office.

“Sorry, Gran, I’ve been preoccupied all day,” Henry said from behind her. He
took his coat from the hook. “Have you seen Mary ?”

“She brought supper over to Sheila Vickers in the Annex.” Dot shot him a quick
look. “Did you want her for anything special ?”

“I haven’t had a quiet talk with her in days.” Henry buttoned up his coat
lopsided.

“Something is distracting you,” Dot said, fiddling with his buttons.

Henry sighed. “I want to make sure Mary’s all right.”

Dot took off her gloves. “I’ll wait in the entrance while you drop over to the
Annex. Only an idiot puts off important business.”

“Promise I won’t take long,” Henry said, and scurried to the Annex. He met Mary
at the bottom of the stairs, hedging around the hall stove.

“Your grandmother’s not in her room,” she said.

“I wanted to see you.”

“You shouldn’t keep Mrs. Gatherall waiting any longer.” Mary stepped around
Henry. “I’m much too busy to talk.”

Henry blocked her path. “I really thought you were all right with me applying
for medical school.”

Mary held his gaze.”You really do have a high opinion of yourself.” She sighed
as if bored. “Do as you please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The door opened. Icy wind chased Mr. Hull inside. “Mary,
for
goodness’ sakes, what’s the holdup ? You should have the soup on the dining room
table by now.”

“It’s my fault she’s late,” Henry said. “I kept her talking.”

Mary left without a word to either man.

“She’s not herself lately,” Mr. Hull said with a shake of the head. “This is
the second time today I had to go look for her.”

“Mary is probably suffering from another migraine,” Henry said. “The smell from
the oil paint is still some strong.”

Mr. Hull smiled at Dot on his way back to the kitchen. “Have a good evening,”
he said.

“I tried to delay him from spoiling your chat with Mary,” Dot said when she and
Henry were at the streetcar stop. She rolled her eyes. “It would’ve been easier
to get a day-old infant to waltz. Did you get a chance to find out what’s on
Mary’s mind ?”

Henry looked down at his grandmother. “To tell the truth, Gran, I’m more
confused than I was before.”

The wind churned up the snow and sprinkled it over their faces. Henry thought
his lungs would crack like an eggshell if he breathed in too deeply.

Dot sneezed three times. “The air has a bite like a hungry wolf,” she said,
pinching the bridge of her nose to ward off another sneeze.

“Maybe we should catch a taxi,” Henry said, and waited for the usual
objection.

“I am feeling stuffed up,” his grandmother said.

“You must really be under the weather.” Henry hailed down a car. Dot insisted
she would pay the driver, but Henry paid the fare plus tip before she could open
her purse.

The taxi man tipped his salt-and-pepper cap to them. “Have a good night,
folks.”

Dot hurried inside. She went directly to the kitchen, leaving on
her winter attire. “I’ll never be warm again,” she said, huddling close to the
stove. Snow melted into a puddle around her boots.

Tom took her coat and placed a shawl around her shoulders. “The Home never
seems to quite warm up, does it ?” he said.

“Thank you kindly, love,” Dot said, sitting down at the table. “That’s much
better.”

When everyone had dug into the meal of meat, turnip, carrots, and gravy, Tom
grinned at his mother-in-law. “I wonder what’s for supper at the Home ?”

“Look here,” Dot said in a voice that belied the stern expression on her face.
“You ask the same question every time I come over. I’ll give the same answer as
usual. Canned fish, fruit, cheese, and toast.”

Tom folded a slice of bread in two. “You forgot biscuits.” He smacked his lips
together. “Sounds delicious. Are you allowed jam with the toast ?”

Dot heaved an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be annoyed. “Yes, Tom. We’re
allowed jam. Before you lecture me about the food at the Home like you always
do, it’s not that bad.” She turned to her daughter. “I have to admit your daily
visits with leftovers lend a bit of variety.”

“Dot,” Tom said, “there will always be a room here for you. And,” he added,
“you’d be company for Alice.”

“I knew you’d get around to that sooner or later.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Tom,” Alice said. “Mom won’t leave Hull Home.”

Dot patted away a drop of gravy from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.
“Actually, I’ve been giving that some thought these past few weeks.”

Alice gaped at her mother. “You’ve been so adamant about the
Home. What’s changed your mind ?”

“I’d love to have a room to myself again.” She looked at Tom with a sheepish
expression. “To be honest, I am kind of turned off from canned fish and tomato
soup.”

“Grand,” he said. “We’ll stop by for your belongings tomorrow.”

“I’m paid up to the middle of the month. Wait till then.”

TOM LEFT HOME AT SIX
the next morning, the early dawn dulled by
cloud cover. Alice’s back had bothered her most of the night. He had crept out
of bed without disturbing her when she had finally gone to sleep. He reached the
waterfront where other longshoremen were already gathered to begin work.

A middle-aged man came up behind Tom. “Days like this are cold enough to freeze
your socks off,” he said. “I reckon you wish you’d stayed at Newfoundland
Margarine all those years ago.” His breath vaporized with each word.

Tom bunched up his shoulders against the weather. “Sure do, Bill. A comfortable
office would be some nice right now.”

Bill’s face lost its humour. “My weary bones won’t be able to take this
strenuous work for much longer.”

The two men looked toward the cargo ship from Canada, which had docked an hour
earlier, low in the water with the load of food and clothes. “This one will take
all day to unload,” Henry said, sighing inwardly. “Maybe into tonight and
tomorrow as well.”

The foreman called from the end of the wharf. “Tom ! Bill ! The sooner we
start, the sooner we get out of this cold.”

The specific tasks assigned, the men got under way. Bill and several others
brought up crates from below deck. Tom
hooked them onto the crane
to be lowered to the wharf. The crates were then hoisted onto trucks to be
delivered all over the island. Mid-morning, a heavy snow fell. The men took a
tea break to warm themselves and waited for the weather to clear. The snow
tapered to a light dusting and work resumed.

Bill handed Tom a crate of winter coats. “We should get extra pay for working
under these North Pole conditions.”

Tom chuckled. “I’d say you’re too old to be a dreamer.”

Bill flexed his fingers. “They’re stiffer than a starched shirt collar.”

The sun came out as the morning wore on with little effect on the temperature.
“One more crate to load and we can go to dinner,” Bill said on his way below
deck.

Tom removed a glove and reached into his pocket for a clean handkerchief. About
to blow his nose, an odd grinding noise caught his attention. The hair bristled
on the back of his neck. He looked down to the wharf. The men had stopped
working. They stared up at him, waving their arms like puppets, shouting. He
couldn’t make out a single word. Tom glanced behind him. Nothing unusual. He
turned to the right. Everything normal there, as well. He stared down at the men
once more. They pointed, their faces white. The grating, strained sound grew
louder. Closer.

Tom whirled around. A large crate spun out of control, twirling like a spin
top, bearing down on him, mere feet away. He snapped his head in every
direction. Nowhere to run. No protection. The crate swooped nearer, hungry to
smash into his body.

“God help me,” Tom whispered, and leaped over the side of the ship. A crate
whizzed by and crashed, crumbling into shreds of wood and broken dishes.

Bill bounded up from below deck. “Tom, what in God’s name made
that racket ?” He looked around for his partner. “Tom. Where are you ?” He
blessed himself and scrambled over the debris to the side of the ship.

The men on the wharf stood motionless, a prayer on each pair of lips.

The taste of blood and the crunch of bone were the last Tom knew before the
world blackened around him.

BILL RAN INTO THE OFFICE
at Hull Home, panting, clutching at his
chest.

Henry almost vaulted over his desk. “What’s the matter, Mr. Bartlett ?”

“Henry,” Bill said between gasps. “An... accident...” He doubled over to get
air into his lungs.