Into the Whirlwind (15 page)

It was an evening unlike any he’d ever known before. With Mollie in his arms and the laughter of her friends around him, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

10

W
aiting in line at the relief wagons became a daily ritual for Mollie. Each day, wagons loaded with food and fuel wheeled into designated locations throughout the burned district. Normally the refugees were orderly and patient as they endured the long lines, but Sophie had proven to be a trial.

One morning, Sophie sneered at the corn bread being distributed and demanded fried chicken instead. When the kind lady working the relief wagon apologized to Sophie for the poor selection of food, Sophie threw a tantrum, kicking the wagon and accusing the lady of being fat and lazy.

Mollie was stunned into mute stupor by the child’s belligerence, but not so Ralph Coulter, the lumber merchant who was accustomed to dealing with brawny laborers. He marched Sophie back to the church and ordered her to sort an entire mound of bricks before she would be allowed to have a slice of corn bread. Sophie refused to work and approached each person in the church for a share of food. Having heard of her behavior, no one gave her anything until she finished sorting the mound of bricks.

Mollie had been mortified by Sophie’s tantrum, but Dr. Buchanan was more sympathetic. “That girl is a brat and a half,”
he said to Mollie, “but some of her behavior may be simple fear over what has become of her family. I lost my own parents around her age, and that sort of fear isn’t something you forget.”

After the incident, Sophie had been banished from the relief wagon, which was a shame because this morning the wagons brought a welcome blessing. Mollie’s heart kicked up a pace as she eyed the piles of clean clothing, pairs of donated shoes knotted together by their laces, and amazingly, bars of soap. After wearing the same filthy dress for over a week, Mollie was anxious for something that did not reek of smoke. It felt like Christmas morning as she and Alice riffled through the mound of clothing on the street corner, holding skirts up to the early morning light and eying them for size. Most were patched and threadbare, but they were
clean
. Mollie grabbed a couple of items that looked like they might be small enough for Sophie.

They carried their treasures back to the church, where the rumble of snores from the nave indicated others were still sleeping. Mollie and Alice tiptoed to the rear corner, where two blankets had been strung up for privacy. It would be wrong to step into clean clothes when she was so grubby, meaning a frigid sponge bath was necessary. Mollie fetched a bucket of water from the barrel outside the church, but she dreaded taking her clothes off in the chilly October air.

Huddling with Alice behind the screen of blankets, her numb fingers unlaced her bodice and peeled out of her clothes. The stone floor was cold and grainy beneath her feet, but prancing helped minimize the contact. Alice’s teeth chattered as she held the cake of soap in her hand. “My husband had his leg taken off without anesthesia,” she whispered. “You’d think I could face an icy sponge bath without complaint.”

Mollie grinned and snatched the soap. “One would think, you awful chit!” She tried to be quiet in deference to the sleepers
on the other side of the blanket, but it was impossible once the chilly rag trailed across her skin. Both of them giggled and whimpered like children, and a sponge bath had never been accomplished with such speed.

Alice usually wore a pre-Raphaelite artist’s smock from London or a Japanese kimono or some other wildly impractical garb. Today, though, she put on a brown muslin dress that looked perfect for milking a cow. Mollie’s gray plaid skirt clashed with the black blouse dotted with little pink flowers, but neither of them cared. The garments were clean and warm.

Unfortunately, Mollie had found no suitable shoes among the mounds of donated items. Over the past few days, the soles of her boots had split as she’d walked mile after mile, looking at the dwindling supply of spaces for lease. She didn’t need a lot of space to make watches, only someplace that was spotlessly clean and well lit. She’d looked at the basement of an orphanage and the storage shed of a hardware store. Both were too grubby to be turned into the pristine condition necessary for the assembly of precision watches, and she was growing disheartened as fewer spaces remained available.

But today she would venture forth and try again. She’d be lucky if her split boots could withstand the walk, but what other choice did she have?

“Let’s gather up those nasty clothes and burn them,” Alice said of the discarded pile of filthy clothing. Every item of their clothing was scorched with holes from falling cinders and reeked of smoke.

“Good plan,” Mollie said, scooping them up and piling them into Alice’s outstretched arms. Then she saw her green paisley scarf. That scarf had been draped over her head and shoulders as they fled through the burning streets. It had protected her from the sheets of rain. Later, she had wadded it up and used
it for a pillow. It was so filthy and marred with cinder holes, it was hard to even see much of the original paisley pattern.

Mollie lifted the shawl, letting it drop into a large square, dots of light shining through the dozens of tiny holes. A wave of pressure swelled in her chest, and she began carefully folding the shawl. It was dirty and smelly, but she would find a place to keep it safe until she could wash it properly. She would never wear it again, but she never wanted to forget it either.

After Sophie awoke, Mollie helped the girl change into the clothes that had been donated by strangers. The muslin skirt fit well enough, but the green flannel shirt was far too big. “This will have to do for now,” Mollie said as she folded the cuffs up Sophie’s arms, so small they looked like toothpicks emerging from the sleeves.

Mollie glanced at the dirty white nightdress at Sophie’s feet. “Would you like to keep your nightgown?” she asked the girl. “Someday you might want to show it to your children so they will believe you survived the great Chicago fire. It will help you remember these days.”

Sophie’s lip curled. “I don’t need to remember anything. I hate these clothes and I hate living in this smelly church. At my house, I get to eat whenever I want and I never have to do chores.”

Mollie no longer got annoyed when Sophie mouthed off like a brat. Besides, Sophie was more tolerable when she was fully occupied. “Well, we have plenty of chores for you today. I will be hunting for space to lease, so that means you will need to fetch the coals to heat water. You remember where they are distributing coal?”

Sophie nodded.

“And you can read to Frank when today’s newssheet comes out. And if he has any errands for you to run, I want you to do them without complaint, is that clear?”

Sophie had developed a curious fascination with Frank Spencer. Each time a newsboy brought a fresh sheet of news, Sophie scrambled to snatch a sheet and rushed to Frank’s side to read it to him.

Within the past few days, word of Frank’s free legal advice had circulated among the homeless, and people had begun visiting the church to speak with him. Frank’s memory was an amazing thing, and he was able to cite the legal code that people would need to file their insurance claims. Many of the visitors were illiterate or had broken English, so Sophie carefully wrote out Frank’s instructions on scraps of paper that had been brought by the relief workers. Dr. Buchanan had offered to help, but Sophie seemed strangely determined to be the only one to help Frank. Mollie figured it was because writing notes was easier than sorting bricks, but so long as Sophie was contributing, she would not quibble.

With only a handful of spaces left in the city to lease, she had bigger problems to worry about.

After four days of failing to find a space to lease, Mollie could delay her trip to retrieve her belongings no longer. Besides, if her watchmaking equipment had not survived, the desperate quest for rental space was pointless.

Ulysses accompanied her on the train to Evanston. With each mile, her nerves twisted a little tighter as she worried that her watches might not have survived, but upon arriving at the appointed depot, that fear dissolved.

A clerk was eager to tell her of the heroism of the railway operators on the night of the fire. The train carrying her watches and equipment had been the last one to make it out of Chicago. It was a 120-ton force of iron and steel that barreled through
the flames to safety, and now Mollie clutched a precious bag of watches in her lap on her return journey.

She had her watches, all six crates of watchmaking tools, and a large bag belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Kazmarek. The only thing they hadn’t been able to find stacked in the cavernous warehouse was the couple’s smaller bag. Mollie and Ulysses had prowled the warehouse for almost an hour, looking beneath bolts of fabric, piles of furniture, and crates that had been whisked out during those final desperate hours. If the bag was there, they couldn’t find it.

She was still thinking about that lost bag on the journey home, but the visual splendor outside the train window was spectacular. The autumn countryside was painted in vivid shades of orange, yellow, and scarlet. Looking at the riot of color, it was hard to believe she was only a few miles away from the barren wasteland of Chicago. After a week of seeing only shades of ash gray, the rich autumn colors were a balm to Mollie’s spirit.

Ulysses’s words broke her calm. “Alice tells me she thinks you’re being led astray by Zack Kazmarek.”

At Mollie’s indrawn breath, Ulysses continued. “She says the man looks at you like he wants to lay the world at your feet, and that you are just as smitten. I’ve never known you to show that sort of interest in a man before.”

Mollie shifted in discomfort. No man had ever sheltered her body as buildings exploded behind them. No man had ever looked at her with his heart in his eyes or kissed her soot-stained face while he smiled in joy. Zack had been coming to the church every day to see her. Some days he teased her, others he flirted, and others he worked alongside the laborers to help clear the street of rubble.

“He has been kind to me, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to throw a cold rag on your enthusiasm, but Frank doesn’t trust him.”

Mollie tensed. “Frank doesn’t know him as well as I do.”

“Frank Spencer is one of the wisest men I’ve ever known,” Ulysses cautioned. “Last night, as we were heating coals in the brazier, he told me that there are precious few advantages that come from being blind, but one is that you are never swayed by a pretty face. ‘I’ll bet my last dollar Kazmarek is a looker,’ he said.”

The jostling of the train made the deed tucked inside Mollie’s bodice chafe against her skin. She rested her forehead in her hand, the weariness of the last week catching up with her. “I wish I could forget about this deed. It would be so much easier to pretend I never saw it and continue business as usual. Zack has been nothing but kind and helpful to me. I don’t believe he knew anything about this deed.”

Ulysses smiled sadly. “Sun Tzu warned, ‘Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.’ Sounds to me that may be what Mr. Kazmarek is trying to do by being so nice to you all of a sudden.” Ulysses shifted in his seat, twirling his crutch like he always did when he was pensive. “Look, I don’t know Mr. Kazmarek or Louis Hartman, but these are desperate times. Men do strange things when their livelihood is on the line. Don’t let any smooth-talking attorney convince you otherwise until you have proof. Frank has concerns, and you need to pay them heed before you let yourself fall into Kazmarek’s hands like a ripe plum.” Ulysses sat back and set his crutch to the side. “Then again, Frank could just be a worrisome old woman.”

Mollie let her gaze trail outside. Frank and Ulysses were her father’s oldest friends, and she would trust them with her life, but they hadn’t seen Zack that night. They hadn’t been clasped in his arms for a few moments when they thought they were
about to die. The morning after the fire, as she stood outside the church, filthy and soot stained, Zack’s exhausted face had such a mingling of hope and affection on it. Frank and Ulysses knew nothing of
that
Zack Kazmarek.

She was twenty-six years old, and it was time to trust her own instincts without being discouraged by the well-meaning concerns of her father’s old friends.