Cursed (17 page)

“Is he an Irish draught?”

“Aye, he is.” He introduced me formally to Black Ben, or Ben for short, and noted I had a good way with the horse. He produced a piece of carrot for me to give to Ben, and he explained to me that this big black beauty was one of their strongest but only O’Malley had a way with keeping him in line. Most had wanted to be rid of him before the horse flu but, with the drop in animals, Ben quickly became the most powerful steed in their stable.

“Where are you from?” He asked, smiling down my way.
“I know the accent. Is it Dublin, now?”

“Yes sir, just South.
At Rathdown, near Killiney Bay.”

“I’m from Galway,
me self. Came over when I was a wee lad, not too much younger than you. Ah, but those were difficult times.” O’Malley shook his head, taking a good long look at me up and down. The threadbare clothes, the too short pants, and, to be honest, I was in desperate need for a bath. “Where are your parents, lad?”

Ben snorted and I rubbed his nose, pausing to decide if I should lie or tell the truth. I had been trying to make a go on my own, making money for food and sleeping where I could.
Keeping a low profile and avoiding the law to avoid an orphanage. O’Malley was watching me closely from his cheerful eyes and open face and I felt I could trust him not to turn me in.

I couldn’t look up, and Ben being such a good distraction, I decided to be direct.
“They died, sir, in the great fire. We had only been in America for six months or so. I have been making my way by helping with the clean-up efforts since we really didn’t know too many people here, but now with the re-building underway, I don’t have much experience. And with so many other men with families looking for day work. . .”

“Well, I have work for today only, if you need it, of course.
We got fresh hay in just this morning into the new firehouse. Do you want to come back to Engine 4 with me now and help clean out the stalls? You seem like you know your way around a horse.”

That was how I ended up at
5 Bullfinch Street, at Engine 4 and Chemical 1, for the next five years. It wasn’t all bad, I loved the horses and caring for them. Ben was always my favorite. The horses were kept in stalls on the ground floor of the station and the men’s quarters were a floor up above. In years past, the horses were kept nearby in stalls but they discovered they lost too much valuable time getting out to the stalls to unlock them and hook them up to pull the steamers. This fire station had built a spiral stairway to the second floor to keep the horses from trying to come up the stairs.

O’Malley had fed me that first day and rounded up a pair of pants that fit better.
He suggested I stay there the night since they had an extra bed and came up with one excuse of work or chores after another to keep me there at the station and always a warm meal in my belly. After a few weeks, he just stopped asking and expected me to stay. I couldn’t have been happier and I was forever grateful to him.

O’Malley’s wife Delia was a fine woman too.
She was barren and with me being alone, I think they felt I was somehow sent to them to watch over. Delia took a liking to me right away and when O’Malley couldn’t come up with anything at the firehouse, Delia would bring me over to their house to help fix something that she said O’Malley couldn’t, or to their church, St. Mary’s, to wash the floor or wax the pews. Anything to make me feel needed and wanted and it was exactly what I required to mend my broken heart and soul.

Every now and again, especially after a Sunday dinner, Delia would ask if I wanted to stay at their house but I liked the fire house and the constant male camaraderie. In the afternoons and evenings, after the work was done, we’d sit around and play bee-up or three card brag.
They were a good group but every time a fire box went off I would panic that I would lose one of them. I couldn’t help it, and I think a lot of people probably felt that way. That fire of ’72 killed a number of people, including eleven firefighters, so I am sure many of them had that pang of anxiety when the bell went off.

And of course the horses were a big part of my wanting to stay at the station.
Those animals were what kept me busy and when they weren’t being worked I would take them out for exercise. I became friendly with the blacksmith and would watch as he crafted a new shoe. And, the farrier who would go around to the different ladder stations and check the horse’s shoes or replace them would let me help and was training me. With running fast and hard, pulling the great weight of the steamers over cobblestones, these grand horses would go through many more shoes then most so we were constantly seeing the smithy and the farrier.

Over the years, I saw some of the horses retire.
They were proud beasts that took their job seriously. Many times they were auctioned off or sold to a merchant for deliveries and if one of those horses heard the fire bells ring they would turn and pull their wagon as fast as they could towards the fire. It was in their blood, that fearlessness of fire, but not mine.

O’Malley was getting set to retire in the year 1880 and he wanted to get me into the department.
He was waiting for the construction to be completed of the first brass fire pole in Boston based on a design from Chicago. It was believed the firemen would get from the living quarters on the second floor to the equipment and horses faster and was quite modern.

I was certainly old enough to become a firemen; many much younger than me were part of Boston’s Firefighters, and I was already fully employed by the station as a keeper at this point, knew their system, and could hitch the horses faster than anyone there.
The men trusted me and I them, but I did not even want to smell smoke that wasn’t originating from the hearth, never mind be close to a burning building or house. The pure fury of a fire left me frozen in fear. It was the main reason I decided to find employment elsewhere so I could make O’Malley and Delia proud, and avoid being forced into a life facing my worst fear.”



Sarah cleared her voice, coughing a little, and Mason opened his eyes.

“Is that why you didn’t want the candle burning last night?
Are you still that fearful of fire?”

“It is.
I am ok with a fire in the fireplace and being well tended, but it’s ridiculous, I know.”

“Not at all.” She shook her head, her eyes growing large with sincerity.
“It just makes sense now. So, what did you decide to become? You’ve done such lovely work here, did you become a carpenter?”

“No, not really, although I have done my share.”
Tilting his head, he looked at her closely, watching for any indication from her expression, “So, do you believe me then?”

“Yes, I believe I’m starting to. With this tale, the detail, and with the sorrow in your voice you could not be trying to trick me.
And really, why would you?”

It’s not a trick, I assure you.
Although I would imagine all this is hard to believe.”

“The only question I have is did you become a fireman after all?
Was this,” she motioned with her palm upward towards him, looking embarrassed and not knowing what words to use for his scarred and twisted body, “was it from a fire?”

Mason sat forward, elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair.
He noticed his scalp was smooth under his hair; the bumps like a toad had disappeared. Again that morning he wondered what was happening.

“It was a fire; but no, I was not a fireman.”

Checking his pocket watch Mason stood, feeling his muscles stretch after sitting so long felt good.
Sarah and Mason decided this would be a good time to take a break. He wanted to check on the snow and she desperately wanted to shower now that she felt better. They agreed to figure out food options and then come back to the story after Mason returned.

Mason checked Sarah’s bedroom before he left and there did not appear to be any sign of the cat on the fire escape. And, after opening the sheers, they found the blood smear on the window had dissolved somewhat with the wet snow.
Rising up from her position on the couch, Sarah had followed him around the apartment and then walked him to the door.

“I’m ok, really.
Go do what you need to do and I will shower, clean up, and figure out what we are going to do about food later.”

“I’ll be back up soon.”

Mason was hesitant to leave but she seemed much calmer than she had in the early morning hours.
He went downstairs and when he reached the lobby he approached the entrance to check out front.

Even standing inside the massive front door with its one oval window, he could feel the cold seeping in.
It must be bitter outside, he thought as he looked out onto the white landscape and listened to the howling wind.

The snow had covered the front walk again but the gully between both sides of the walkway was still very pronounced.
He estimated that there had been another four inches but it was only mid-day and the snow was still coming down. He decided to wait on the shoveling, but in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t just the continuing snow and bitter cold that was stopping him. He really wasn’t sure what was out there trying to get in.

Looking out the window up at the sky he was amazed how dark gray the clouds were, hanging low so you could see their tumbling movement.
The storm clouds appeared to swirl over the South End, his block in particular, and he felt mesmerized like looking up into a giant tornado. Story of his life, he thought, a gray cloud over his head. He turned towards his apartment, crossing the warmly lit lobby that echoed his limp in his ears.

Entering his apartment, he felt at peace again and took a deep breath.
Familiar surroundings and an antique dealers fantasy; with Catherine’s artwork adorning the walls, a tall bookcase covering the back wall full of first editions, tiffany lamps, and the grandfather clock ticking away the never ending seconds.

Moving to his couch he turned on the lamp and sat down, taking this moment alone to closely inspect his hands.
He held his hand under the bright light and could see there was a definite change, he was sure. Not only was the arthritic pain gone, allowing more movement and alleviating some of the twisted digits to look more normal, but he was now certain the discolored splotches and blistering bumps were almost entirely gone. His mind was whirring with this change, wondering how after all these years he could see improvement virtually overnight. He tried to remember if he saw any difference last night but the first he remembered taking notice was in Sarah’s apartment earlier today

By the time Mason returned to Sarah’s apartment, he was eager to continue the story.
It had become amazingly liberating to share his past with Sarah; having someone to talk had been therapeutic in itself, but knowing it was
her
, all the more reason. And, he was starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was her acceptance of him that was alleviating some of his ailments.

Mounting the stairs, he passed by the
Baldwins' door on the second landing and was thinking of how typically quiet this building was over the holidays. He had not shared a Christmas Eve with anyone since the 1950’s. Only eating for one every year, he never kept much food in the house but he did always cook on Christmas, following the recipe Delia O’Malley made every year for their Christmas dinner. Before the storm he had purchased a small goose for Christmas day, along with potatoes, apples and cranberry for stuffing the potato stuffing. He won’t have the full fare of Brussels sprouts and carrots, and of course the plum pudding. If she had no choice but to stay here for the day, maybe he should make it this afternoon for tonight. He was sure she would want to leave as soon as the transportation was operational again.

Mason rounded the last staircase and could easily here the television and a hair dryer shut off.
The door was ajar but he still knocked lightly before entering. Sarah padded barefoot across the hardwood floor towards the door and told him to come in.

“So I took a quick inventory and I must say I don’t have much. Enough coffee, thank goodness, and I do have eggs, bread, peanut butter and jelly, some yogurt, pasta and jarred sauce a few frozen dinners in a bag and a frozen pizza.” He had watched her tick off the items on her fingers and couldn’t help but smirk, even though he knew how contorted it would make his face look, at the pitiful contents of her kitchen thinking that it was scarily similar to his usual grocery list.
He also noticed the crisp smell of citrus and noticed she had showered and dressed in thick, oversized green sweater and black leggings.

“Well, I would be honored if you would allow me to prepare dinner for us.
I had planned a goose for Christmas day but if all goes well you will be on your way by then so we should have it tonight.”

“Goose?”

Mason looked at her with a confused expression. “Yes, a goose. With a traditional potato stuffing.”

“I’ve never had a goose, but I would love to try it.” She beamed at the offer and his heart clenched tight.

“It would be my pleasure.”