Into the Whirlwind (16 page)

In the coming days, Mollie looked forward to Zack’s visits each evening. It was often after dark when he arrived, but he always brought some sort of Polish delicacy cooked by his mother. He didn’t make any more attempts to separate her from the others, and it felt nice getting to know him in the presence of the other refugees. As they gathered around the brazier each evening, Zack told her about his days as a longshoreman. They listened to Ralph Coulter talk with pride about buying his first lumber schooner two years ago. Inevitably, the veterans drifted into talking about the war, but Mollie never minded. As old Gunner chewed on the butt of an unlit cigar, Mollie was eager to hear stories about her father, or of the valiant Colonel Lowe who became a national hero after saving the regiment at the battle of Winston Cliff.

Sitting on the steps of the church within the warm circle provided by the brazier reminded Mollie of how her father used to describe life during the war. Sometimes he and the other soldiers camped in barns, sometimes under the stars. They were usually either too hot or too cold. Hungry or wet or blistered. They were exhausted from not knowing what would happen the next day or terrified because they did. Throughout it all, there was a camaraderie that was forged by the harrowing experience of war that would blaze for the rest of their lives.

And in a strange way, Mollie knew these days would be the same for her. The fire had been the worst experience of her life, but it had brought out the best in the people around her.

She knew this magical spirit could not last forever. She had no home and no place of business, and the odds of her collecting on her insurance were slim. Sophie was probably an orphan, and the prospect of raising her was as appealing as hauling a millstone around her neck for the next ten years. The fire was forcing her to live in a world she had never prepared for, but as her gaze trailed to Zack, an irrational sense of well-being settled over her. Somehow, no matter what whirlwind would scoop her up next, she knew she could survive if Zack Kazmarek would ride it with her.

11

M
ollie’s insurance company was going out of business.

She’d been standing in line with Frank for the past six hours, getting sick to her stomach as the rumors raced down the line that stretched three city blocks long. Hundreds of policyholders were lined up outside the shack where her insurance company had set up shop. After years of faithfully paying that policy, Mollie was going to collect only three cents on the dollar. The shoemaker standing in front of her was weeping, blowing his nose into a huge handkerchief as his wife stared straight ahead with a face of stone. The air was thick with dreams that were collapsing. It was so hard to stand still in this infernal line as anger twisted her emotions tighter.

When it was her turn, Mollie saw the owner of her insurance company for the first time. Sitting behind a makeshift desk made of a door balanced atop two barrels, the old man wore a soot-stained suit and haunted eyes. Using the stub of a pencil, he wrote a promissory note to Mollie with shaking hands. This man had lost everything as well, and three cents on the dollar was likely better than some people would receive. She tried to be kind as she signed the papers, but exhaustion was settling in, and it was hard to even move the pencil across the page.

All Mollie wanted to do was sink into the barren wasteland that was Livingston Street and weep, but she needed to be alert as she guided Frank home. “What kind of business can I run for eight hundred dollars?” she asked weakly. It wouldn’t even pay rent and salary for a month.

“Don’t worry, Mollie-girl, we’ll figure something out,” Frank said. “Bankers are going to need to loosen up their credit, and the 57th has a strong reputation. We might qualify for a loan.”

But Frank couldn’t see what was in front of them. Miles of wasteland with mountains of rubble growing so massive the wreckage was beginning to tumble into the newly cleared streets. With a hundred thousand people burned out of their homes and businesses, the lines for bank credit would make the Great Wall of China look stubby in comparison.

She was tired as they neared the church when a well-dressed man approached her. “Excuse me, ma’am. Could I trouble you for directions?”

The gentleman was clearly a stranger to this neighborhood. Dressed in a fine black jacket with a peach satin waistcoat, he looked as dapper as if he were about to visit the queen.

“What are you looking for?” Mollie asked.

“I need to find the Livingston Street Church. I’ve business there.”

Mollie noticed the rolls of oversized drafting paper the stranger carried beneath his arm. She brightened. “Are you an architect coming to look at the roof?”

Confusion tinged the man’s face. “I am an architect, but haven’t been commissioned by the church. I am afraid I am booked solid with building engagements for the next two years, but I’ll be happy to have a quick look and lend my professional opinion.”

“I see,” Mollie said. She gestured down the street. “The church
is a few blocks that way. You can follow us, as we are headed to the same place. May I ask what your business is?”

The man fell into step alongside them. “My daughter is staying there. We were separated the night of the fire.”

“Are you Sophie’s father? Mr. Durant?” Mollie asked, a surge of hope blooming inside.

“Why, yes. Are you Miss Knox?”

Mollie didn’t reply, she just flung her arms around the stranger and hugged him with all her strength. Thank God Sophie was not going to be an orphan!

The gentleman seemed a bit taken aback by her exuberance, but Mollie’s sense of decorum had loosened its grip in recent days. The architect set his hands on her shoulders and patted her awkwardly. “Yes, well. I must thank you for looking out for my daughter. It seems she has been in good hands.”

Mollie introduced Frank and explained how they had found Sophie atop a flight of stairs during the fire. As they set off for the church, Mr. Durant explained what had happened that night.

“My wife and I have two-year-old twin boys. We had our hands full, and Sophie was clinging to my jacket as we made our way north. We got separated, but by the time I noticed, there was no sign of her. Just the crowds and the heat and the avalanche of noise.”

Mollie nodded. As long as she lived, the bellowing roar of the fire and incessant clanging of the bells would haunt her memory. It was easy to see how Sophie’s cry for help would have been lost in that chaos.

“I’m glad you finally saw our newspaper announcement,” Mollie said. “And you have a safe place to take Sophie? The church is not the best environment for a young girl.”

Mr. Durant affirmed that he did. “We’ve lost our home, but my brother has a fine mansion on Prairie Avenue where we have
been staying. My wife is finally beginning to recover and should be ready to take Sophie on.”

Mollie glanced up at the man. “Sophie is fine, but your wife was injured?”

Mr. Durant waffled a moment before answering. “Charlotte has a delicate constitution,” he finally said. “The fire rattled her senses, and the boys are a challenge. As is Sophie, of course. When we saw your advertisement in the paper, you can’t imagine how we rejoiced, but Charlotte nearly had a nervous breakdown at the thought of dealing with the girl on top of everything else. And as we are guests in my brother’s home, we needed to be sure Charlotte was capable of dealing with Sophie before we brought her aboard. Poor Charlotte got rattled at the very thought of Sophie underfoot.”

Mollie was stunned, and when she looked over at Frank, she saw his mouth open in disbelief. “More rattled then a ten-year-old girl who had been burned out of her home and lost everyone in the world?” he demanded.

A flush darkened Mr. Durant’s face. “You have my gratitude for looking after Sophie,” he said stiffly. “I am thankful she was in the care of a man with perfect judgment, for I surely am not. And while I enjoy a good intellectual debate about which child a man should focus on in a life-or-death situation, I believe I have been separated from my daughter long enough.”

Mr. Durant’s rebuke did not sit well with Frank, whose eyes turned hard as they walked back to the church in silence. Animosity crackled in the air between the two men, but all that was swept away the moment they drew near the church and Sophie looked up from where she was sorting bricks in the yard.

“Daddy!” she screamed. The girl was a streak of green flannel as she dashed across the yard. Mr. Durant squatted down to catch Sophie as she flew into his outstretched arms. Mollie’s
mistrust of the man dissolved as his hearty laughter filled the air and he rocked Sophie in his arms.

Sophie’s joy did not last. “Where did you go?” she demanded. “I looked for your name in the newspaper every day, and it was never there.” Mollie gasped as Sophie hit her father on the shoulder, pounding him with all the strength her spindly arm could deliver. “I couldn’t find you, and I’ve had to live in this smelly old church for days and days.”

Mr. Durant tried to hold her swinging fists. “There, there, my dumpling. My little princess. Daddy is here now. He’ll buy you a pretty doll on the way home. Would you like that, princess?”

She smacked him again. “I don’t want a doll, I want new clothes. And a puppy. And I want fried chicken and strawberry shortcake and hot chocolate.”

People on the street stopped sorting bricks, waiting to see how the fastidious gentleman would handle such demands. Mr. Durant stood and grasped Sophie’s hand. “We will stop at the sweet shop on the way home.”

Mr. Durant looked about until he spotted Mollie. “My thanks again for looking out for Sophie. I am indebted to you, Miss Knox. I am staying at Prairie Avenue with my brother. If ever you have need of anything . . .
anything
, I want you to remember the name Raymond Durant.” He pulled a square of paper from his pocket. “Here is my brother’s address.”

Mollie nodded. In all honesty, she was not sorry to see the last of Sophie, but in a strange way it was a bittersweet moment. Sophie’s departure was the beginning of the end of a chapter. Others would be leaving the church in the coming days, and this terrible but oddly wonderful time of her life would come to an end.

Later that day, an unexpected arrival came in the form of Mrs. Kazmarek’s second satchel. A burly train station employee
unloaded it onto the church floor, a cloud of dust kicking up as it landed with a thump. “It got buried beneath a dozen barrels of pickles.”

Mollie needed a strong man to help her lug the bag to the Kazmareks’ townhouse across the river, which ruled out both Frank and Ulysses. Declan was nowhere to be found, which meant that Andrew Buchanan, dentist, pillow maker, and baby deliverer, had volunteered to help her.

“The dental business isn’t going quite as smashingly as anticipated,” he said as they set off on the two-mile walk. Dr. Buchanan’s sign had been posted outside the church for twelve days, but no customers had surfaced. Frank joked they should have billed Sophie’s parents for metaphorically kicking them all in the teeth for a solid week.

Dr. Buchanan twisted the curl of his mustache as he walked beside Mollie. “I could use the income,” he admitted. “It looks like my insurance will be no good, and I still have debts from getting started in the business.”

Dr. Buchanan had shared his life story while everyone was gathered around the braziers one evening. He’d been orphaned at age ten and had no relatives, but a sympathetic woman down the street took pity on him and let him sleep beneath her stairs. He made pillows by day and studied hard by candlelight, always dreaming of someday becoming a dentist. By age thirty, he had finally had the funds to go to dental college. After years of struggle, his fledging practice had been wiped out in the fire. He now had little besides the clothes on his back and a case of dental equipment.

As they drew closer to Zack’s neighborhood, excitement began to pulse through Mollie. “A moment, please,” Mollie said as she adjusted the collar of her shirt and finger-combed her hair. Knowing Zack hated the braids, she had left her hair
trailing down her back, secured only by a clip at her nape. During the walk, it had taken on a life of its own, curling out at all angles.

Mrs. Kazmarek was delighted to see her. “How pretty you look,” she said, nodding approvingly at Mollie’s fall of hair. Then Mrs. Kazmarek caught sight of the battered leather satchel in Dr. Buchanan’s hand.

“My work!” she said as she clasped her hands together. Tears filled the old woman’s eyes as she knelt down on the front stoop of the townhouse to touch the bag.

All Mollie wanted to ask was if Zack was home. As if reading her mind, Mrs. Kazmarek stood and patted her on the shoulder. “Poor Zachariasz is going to be spitting nails that he has missed you.”

Mollie felt like the sun had just fallen from the sky. “He isn’t here?” For pity’s sake, it was Saturday. Shouldn’t he have been there?

Mrs. Kazmarek prodded them inside and back to the dining room, the only room that was not crammed with towers of boxes and books and papers. She pulled out a chair and bade Mollie and Dr. Buchanan to sit. “He needs to move quickly with those New York insurance companies. He is afraid they may try to declare bankruptcy before he can file his claims, so he has been working seven days a week.”