Fire: Chicago 1871 (9 page)

Julie walked slowly, squinting her eyes against the gritty wind, letting the woman pull her along. Men and women filled the street, shouting and drinking. Julie could see the flames of the Parmelee Building and two or three smaller fires, spreading northeast, driven by the constant wind.

As they started up the rise toward Market Street, Julie looked up and saw a slender crescent in the sky. It was the color of embers—it was as though the moon were on fire too.

◊ ◊ ◊

Nate hesitated at the end of the bridge. A timid girl like Julie wouldn't have gone into Conley's Patch on her own. He stepped aside for a woman who carried an unwieldy length of stovepipe in her arms. She had barely made it past him when a dray, the team keeping up a weary trot, came toward him.

The driver had two people next to him on the bench, a well-dressed couple braced against the wind, looking anxiously from one side to the other. The dray was stacked with rolled carpets, an overturned table with heavy carved legs, a bed frame, and rows of wooden crates. The couple probably had paid the drayman dearly to haul their belongings. Nate hoped
the driver would be honest enough to take them as far as he had promised.

A rat dashed across the roadway in front of Nate, a snapping terrier close behind it. Starting forward, Nate saw a trio of people emerge from the alley just ahead of him. He recognized Julie instantly. The other two were strangers. He watched them for a few seconds, then, hiding behind a slow-moving wagon, he worked his way closer. He could see Julie struggling against the woman's grasp.

As the wagon turned up Market Street, Nate came out from behind it and shouted Julie's name. Her face lit with relief as she spun around to face him and he saw the quickness with which the woman pulled her back. The man took a step forward, positioning himself between Nate and Julie.

“What do you want?” The man was big, his clothing stretched over the size of his frame.

Nate hesitated, trying to figure out what he should say.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. “You're no gentleman's son to be calling her by her Christian name like that.”

Nate ducked his head, cursing his own foolishness.
“I work for Miss Julie's family,” he said humbly, looking up after an instant. He saw a look of confusion cross Julie's face, then her eyes narrowed. She nodded, a tiny, nearly imperceptible motion. She understood what he was trying to do.

“I work in the family stables, ma'am,” Nate told the woman.

She cocked her head to one side. “And why aren't you there now, helping?”

Nate shrugged. “I was taking my Sunday afternoon—I was going to visit my aunt. But with the fire, I ended up having to help her pack up and get out.” He let his eyes meet Julie's for an instant, then looked away. Her face was pale. He wanted to help her, he just wasn't sure how.

“We were just walking Miss Julie back home,” the woman said, looking at Julie intently. Julie gave a little nod, and the woman smiled. “So we will perhaps see you there.”

Nate murmured some polite response and gave Julie a respectful little half bow. Her eyes were full of pleading. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't really going to leave her with these two, but he didn't dare. The woman pulled at Julie's arm and turned her
around. The big man fell into step and they walked away, Julie a prisoner between them.

Julie glanced back once, and Nate almost waved to reassure her. But then the woman turned around, and he instantly lowered his eyes, pretending not to notice. After a moment he looked southward. The fires were spreading, and they were coming this way. There was no time for an elaborate plan.

Impulsively, Nate turned off Madison onto Fifth Avenue. If he could get around in front of them. . . . Sprinting, pounding along the boardwalk, he made it to the corner of Fifth and the less-traveled half block of Calhoun Street. Ignoring the burn of the smoky air in his lungs, Nate rounded the corner and ran down the narrow boardwalk of Calhoun Street.

Only a few people were walking here, and he passed no wagons at all until he skidded around the next corner, turning right onto La Salle. Praying that his detour would bring him back to Madison Street ahead of Julie, Nate slowed down as he came close to the final corner, then stopped. Breathing hard, he stood in the shadow of an elm tree, watching the flow of people and wagons. After a few seconds, he saw Julie, the man and woman still on either side of her.

As they approached, the woman jerked Julie to one side, yelling at her so loudly that Nate could hear her shrill voice, even though he was almost a block ahead. Julie kept glancing backward. The man put his arm around her shoulders and forced her to face front. She walked between the couple, her head down, her weariness showing in every step. Nate forced himself to wait until they were close. Then he drew in a deep breath and sprinted into the street.

“Julie?” Nate ran up to them. “Julie! I just saw your father. He's up on the corner of Calhoun with a couple of policemen. They were looking for you. Let's go.”

Nate saw the woman cast a worried glance at the big man. Before he could react, Nate had hooked his arm through Julie's and was pulling her forward. The woman balked, hanging on tightly to Julie's arm.

Julie was staring into Nate's face. “My father? Oh, I am so grateful to you, Nate.” She shook herself free and glared at the woman. When Nate offered her his hand, she took it. He started walking, and she matched his steps. In the distance, a strange rumbling sound swelled, then died.

“We agreed about your father,” the woman said loudly, hurrying to keep up.

Nate increased his pace, glancing back at the big man. Julie had bunched her skirts in one hand and was walking fast. A wagon was coming toward them, clattering north on Fifth, the driver a big, fierce-looking Negro man.

Nate glanced back again. The couple was now a half step behind. Their faces were set, grim. “You promised you would talk to your father for us,” the man accused. The woman turned and said something to him, her voice low and scolding. The big man nodded and looked up suddenly.

At that instant, Nate squeezed Julie's hand. “Run,” he whispered. Julie nodded and pulled him forward, running so fast that it took him three or four strides to match her pace.

“Hey! You come back!” The big man was coming after them, only a few strides behind.

Desperate, Nate glanced around, searching for a way out. The Negro driver met his eyes, and Nate yelled out to him. “Help, please. They're after us!”

The driver hesitated, then reined in. “Jump on the back, children. Be quick.”

Nate swerved, using one stiff arm to keep from slamming into the wagon as it slowed. He helped
Julie onto the back, then vaulted up among the stacked boxes, shouting to the driver. Instantly, the team lunged forward again.

Nate lurched, steadying himself with both hands against the wagon gate. Julie let out a little scream, but managed to hang on. She fought with her skirts, rolling dangerously close to the low side rail. Nate grabbed her arm to steady her until she could sit up.

A few seconds later, they were riding along side by side, staring back down Fifth Avenue. The wind slammed against the wagon, cinders and grit like ugly sleet spattering the boxes. The big man had stopped and stood with his hands on his hips. The woman was still running, cursing them with every step.

Nate could still hear the courthouse bell. Had it been ringing all this time? Facing south, he saw pockets of orange-gold flame all over the South Division. Another rumbling sound vibrated through the street planks. Nate could not imagine what would make a noise like that. The wind whistled through the buildings. The firemen had been right. Nothing was going to stop this fire.

The Negro man drove hard; the gale seemed to push the wagon along. As they left Ned and his awful wife behind, Julie sat back and closed her eyes. They stung from the soot and grit in the wind. Her left knee was throbbing. She couldn't remember when she had hurt it.

When she opened her eyes again, Nate was looking over the wagon gate at the fire south of them, just a few blocks away. Julie stared at the flames as they roiled, rising and falling like a crimson curtain. Maybe the fire was gong to burn this side of town, too, all the way to the lake. At least she was getting close to home.

She leaned toward Nate. “Thank you!” She had to
shout over the roaring of the wind. She straightened her skirts, then rubbed at her bruised knee, wincing. “You didn't really find my father, did you?”

Nate shook his head. He looked so apologetic that Julie smiled to let him know she was grateful for his lie. The wagon rumbled over the planks. The streets were less crowded here, but Julie could see people at their windows and atop the roofs, watching and waiting.

The driver pulled the horses back and stopped in front of a brick building. Three or four men started toward the wagon. “This as far as I go, children,” he yelled into the wind. “If I was you, I'd get on out of here.”

Nate jumped off the wagon, and Julie let him help her down. She called a thanks to the driver, and Nate echoed her words. They got a curt wave in response. The men were already unloading, stacking boxes on the boardwalk.

The sudden, muted, crashing sound was so close that Julie understood for the first time what it had to be. Stone buildings were collapsing in the fire. She took a deep breath and coughed. The smoke stung, and her throat felt raw. “I'm so thirsty,” she said aloud.

Nate nodded, hooking his arm through hers. They walked toward the boardwalk as another wagon went past, filled with brown hens. Julie stared into the slatted crates. Most of the chickens were already dead. Nate tugged at her hand, and she turned to face him.

“Where do you live? Where's your house?”

Julie looked at him, then turned in a circle. Nothing seemed familiar to her in the weird reddish glow of the fire. “On Michigan Avenue,” she said. “Washington is the cross street,” she added, mimicking the directions her mother always gave hansom cab drivers.

Nate was pacing, staring at the fire south of them. “Good. That's northeast of here. We can go up to Washington, then follow it straight east to the lake.”

Julie looked at the fire. It was spreading so fast. The roaring was constant now, broken only by the thundering of what had to be another building collapsing. Above all the other noise, the courthouse bell tolled on and on. Julie wiped at her eyes.

“I think the courthouse is on fire,” Nate said, pointing. Julie followed his gesture and felt a tremor go through her body. The courthouse was such a big, grand building. It was made of stone. Could it burn?
Julie had been inside it several times with her father. A sudden thought made her cringe. The jails on the floors beneath ground level had prisoners in them all the time, her father had said. Would they be trapped?

“We'd best not stay here!” Nate shouted. “If we don't get across to the lake quick, the fire is going to cut us off!”

Julie turned so that the vicious wind pushed her hair back from her face. She swallowed painfully. “If we can get to my house, my father—”

“Your parents might be gone,” he interrupted. “Especially if your father doesn't think you're still alive. And he—”

“It won't matter if they're there,” Julie told him. “The lake is just across the street.”

“Okay,” Nate said, “but I have to get back across the river as soon as I can.”

Julie nodded to show him she understood. “I hope your aunt is all right!” she shouted over a sudden rumbling sound that made the street planks vibrate. Nate looked startled, then gestured for her to hurry.

Julie walked as fast as she could. Her knee was aching, and her throat and lungs hurt with every breath. The smoke was getting worse, and every time
she glanced over her shoulder, the flames seemed higher and closer, like a rising flood.

They turned right onto Washington Street. Julie could see the courthouse more clearly now. The roof was in flames. The bell still rang out, pealing madly. As they got closer, Julie saw that there were steamers set up all around the big stone building, their hoses throwing water on the fire.

She shoved her hair back from her face. The wind was like a live thing, twisting through the streets, scattering ash and glowing cinders along the planks. The heat was maddening, and her thirst was almost unbearable, and a new misery had worked itself into her consciousness: Her feet hurt. The stiff, polished leather of her shoes had rubbed her ankles raw.

As they passed the courthouse, Nate walked a little slower, staring. Julie dropped back, shortening her own stride to watch. Firemen ran heavily back and forth, shouting and dragging hoses. She saw one man stumble, barely managing to right himself. Up on the boardwalk across the street, an old man with a gray beard ran a zigzagging course, his coat on fire. Julie watched him drop into a horse trough to put out the flames.

She forced herself to keep going. The air here was so hot she put one hand over her nose and mouth. As they passed the courthouse, her skin stung and pinpricks of pain marked where tiny cinders struck her face and hands. A rhythmic thudding made her look back. Men were battering down a door at one end of the courthouse.

She gestured questioningly, and Nate turned to look, then shrugged. A moment later Julie understood. Prisoners were streaming up from the cells beneath the courthouse. Most of them staggered outside, then began to run, fanning out. A few were handcuffed and forced to march eastward with a guard. Julie walked a little closer to Nate until they had passed.

The scorching air made it hard to breathe, but Julie knew their only hope was to hurry. “My God,” Nate yelled suddenly. Julie turned to see him pointing. Only two blocks south of them, Madison Street was carpeted with glowing coals. There was a man trying to run across them, screaming. She looked aside, sickened. Nate grabbed her arm, and they staggered on under the pressing weight of the increasing heat.