She threw back her covers and thrust her feet to the floor rug. Without stopping for her slippers, she grabbed her robe and wrapped it about her as she hastened toward the door.
Mama,
was her immediate thought.
A man that she did not know stood on her step. His shoulders were rising and falling with each breath that he took, the little streams of steam puffing out on the crisp night air.
Berta opened her mouth to ask his mission when he blurted out, “The library’s burnin’.”
“Burning?”
Berta, not believing the man, leaned from her door and looked toward the section of town where the library had stood for many years. There was a bright glare in the night sky. Suddenly she realized that she smelled smoke.
“What happened?” she demanded.
“No one knows—yet,” the man replied. “They just told me to fetch ya.”
“What on earth can I do?” asked Berta frankly. “Have they called the fire engine?”
“Fire fighters are already there,” he panted, about to bolt again. He was missing all the action.
“How bad is it?” Berta asked quickly, not wanting him to get away before she had as much information as possible.
“Pretty bad,” he said and turned to go. “Better see for yourself,” he flung back over his shoulder.
In her anxiety, Berta almost forgot to close the door. Hurriedly she dressed and left her little house at a run.
Ahead she could see the glow of fire reflected in the night sky though she could not see actual flames.
“Whatever happened?” she asked herself over and over as she ran.
She turned the corner to see a tower of flames. The smoke nearly choked her, even at this distance.
It seemed that the whole town was there. People were shifting and scurrying and rushing about. The fire engine was indeed there. Black-clothed firemen manned a hose that kept sending arcs of water into the hissing flames.
They’ll never save it. They’ll never save it,
Berta’s thoughts whirled.
All our books—gone. Whatever will we do?
She felt a sickness deep inside, and for a moment she wondered if she was going to vomit. With all her will she fought against it and finally managed to get control of herself
Someone pulled on her coat sleeve, and she turned to see Miss Phillips at her elbow.
It was hard to speak. The roar of the flames, the noise of the fire truck, and the shouts of people drowned out one’s own voice. The smoke was so thick that Berta avoided taking a deep breath. She moved her head closer to Miss Phillips to try to catch the words from the pale, tight lips.
“It’s gone,” the woman said pathetically. “Gone.”
Her words were so mournful—so totally without hope. Berta instinctively reached out and placed an arm about the older woman. “You should go home,” she said, leaning to speak in her ear. “You can’t do anything here. You should go home.”
Miss Phillips began to tremble.
“Come on,” said Berta. “I’ll take you home.”
She didn’t know where Miss Phillips lived. She was hoping that the stricken woman would be alert enough to find the way.
“It’s gone. All gone,” Miss Phillips kept mumbling as Berta led her down the street away from the burning building.
“Miss Phillips—we must get you home,” Berta said, giving the woman’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Where do you live?”
They turned the corner. The noise and smoke lessened.
“Miss Phillips,” Berta said again, stopping the woman. “You need to get inside. Where do you live?”
The woman only looked more bewildered.
“Your home? Where do you live? Think,” Berta commanded.
“I—I—” The woman began to look around in confusion.
“Can’t you remember? Think. Where do you live?” asked Berta again.
The woman started walking. Berta pulled her heavy coat more tightly about her and followed along in the bitter cold.
They stumbled their way along the snowy street.
I hope we get there soon,
thought Berta.
I’m about to freeze.
She looked at Miss Phillips. She was wearing only a light coat over her flannel nightgown. Berta noticed that she had on only house slippers.
She’ll freeze to death before I can get her in,
thought Berta.
Suddenly Miss Phillips stopped and looked around again, her face blank.
“Miss Phillips—we must get you in out of the cold,” said Berta.
“I—I don’t understand,” mumbled Miss Phillips. “It was right here.”
“What was right here?”
Miss Phillips looked around her, fear now showing in her face.
“I used to live on this street,” she said to Berta, “until someone moved it.”
“Moved it?”
“My house—it’s gone. I don’t know what they’ve done with it,” the woman continued in a bewildered voice. “Used to be here—somewhere.”
Fear gripped Berta’s heart. Miss Phillips was totally confused.
“Come,” said Berta. “I’ll take you home to my house. We must get indoors before you freeze.”
But the older woman resisted her help, pulling against Berta’s gentle tug.
“Please, Miss Phillips,” Berta pleaded, “please come with me.”
“It’s all gone,” Miss Phillips was saying again.
“We’ll find it,” replied Berta. “You come with me and we’ll find it—together. Please, Miss Phillips. Come along with me.”
The older woman still resisted, but she did allow Berta to draw her along through the streets until she came to her own little gate. Berta’s teeth were chattering and her shoulders trembling from the cold as she coaxed her numb fingers to open the door.
“Now, Miss Phillips—you sit right here,” Berta said, lowering the woman to a chair. “I’ll stir up the fire. We’ll soon be thawed out.”
Berta tried to hurry. She had to get the banked fire coaxed into flame. She crouched before the fireplace and began to blow on the log.
“It’s all gone,” murmured Miss Phillips. “The books—my room. It’s all gone.”
A little flame quickened. Berta took heart and placed some small kindling near the flickering coals.
The next thing she knew she was flat on her back. Miss Phillips had caught her completely off guard and given her a shove with strength that Berta never guessed she had. The elderly woman now stood over her, a look of panic on her face. “The fire,” she cried wildly, pointing at the small flame. “It’s here now! We’d better run.” And she made a dash for Berta’s door.
“No,” cried Berta, scrambling to her feet. “No—don’t go.”
She managed to stop the woman before she fled the house, but Miss Phillips still kept staring at the fireplace with fear in her eyes.
“I won’t start the fire,” said Berta. “We’ll just leave it. Come. Come to the kitchen.”
She half pulled the woman through the door into the little kitchen, carrying the lamp in one hand so they could see their way. There was still warmth in the room from the banked kitchen range.
“Sit here,” Berta commanded, easing the woman into a kitchen chair.
Berta crossed to the kitchen stove and turned her back to shield the range from the woman as she lifted the stove lid. The fire had not gone out. With her body still hiding the flames from the woman, Berta covertly added a few pieces of wood to the fire box. She prayed that the smoldering coals would soon light the wood.
“I smell smoke,” Miss Phillips said in panic, and Berta quickly dropped the stove lid into place and whirled, ready to protect her frightened guest again.
“Sit down, Miss Phillips,” she ordered sternly. To her surprise the woman obeyed, but she was still sniffing the air.
“I’m going to fix us tea,” said Berta.
“It’s all gone,” the woman mourned, shaking her head sadly.
She lowered her face into her hands and began to sob. Berta crossed to her and put an arm around the thin, shaking shoulders.
“It’ll be all right, Miss Phillips,” she comforted as she drew the woman close and patted her shoulder. “It’ll be all right. They’ll take care of it.”
But Berta wasn’t sure it would be done in time to be of help to Miss Phillips. The woman seemed to be totally out of her mind.
Berta was relieved to hear the teakettle finally begin to sing. She set about preparing the tea while Miss Phillips sat in the kitchen chair, rocking back and forth, her eyes unfocused. “It’s gone,” she kept mumbling. “Everything’s gone.”
Someone knocked. Berta cast a glance at Miss Phillips, then another at her kitchen door. It was secured with a bolt. Still, she was afraid that the woman might somehow be able to pull the bolt and dash off into the night while Berta answered the front door.
“Someone is knocking,” she said to the woman. “Let’s go see who it is.”
Miss Phillips looked hesitant.
“Come,” said Berta, pulling her to her feet. “We must answer the door.”
“No,” the woman responded sharply, jerking her arm from Berta’s hold. “Mama said never to open the door at night.”
Berta looked at her. The woman stared back, a look of confusion on her face.
“It is night—isn’t it?” she inquired of Berta.
“Yes. Yes—it is.”
The knock came again—more insistent this time. Berta cast a glance around her, then made her decision. She would run to the door and hope with all her heart that Miss Phillips would stay put.
“You wait,” she flung over her shoulder as she hurried out.
Parker stood on the step. Berta was never so glad to see anyone in her life.
“Come in,” she urged him, anxious to close the door and get back to the kitchen.
“We were worried about you,” Parker said. “Someone told us they’d seen you at the fire—then didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“It’s Miss Phillips,” said Berta, leading the way to the kitchen. “I’m afraid she is—” She stopped and looked at him. “I know nothing of these things, Parker,” she whispered, “but I think she’s—lost her mind.”
“Shock?” he asked her as they started toward the kitchen again.
Miss Phillips was still in the kitchen chair. She continued to rock back and forth, a wild look on her face. When she saw Parker she looked ready to bolt again.
“Did
you
take it?” the agitated woman asked him.
Parker crossed to her and reached a hand out to touch her shoulder.
“Miss Phillips,” he said in a soft, reassuring tone. “Miss Phillips—your books will be just fine. The firemen are taking good care of them.”
“Did you take it?” she repeated.
“Did you lose something?” asked Parker gently.
For a moment she seemed perplexed. Then she let her gaze sweep over the kitchen.
“I used to live here,” she tried to explain. “But they’ve changed it. My—my blue pillow—it’s gone.”
“We’ll find it,” promised Parker. “You come with me and—”
“She’s half-frozen,” Berta explained. “I was just fixing her tea. Would you like a cup?”
Parker nodded. “Sounds good,” he said. “I’m about beat.”
He looked carefully at Miss Phillips. “While you’re doing that I’ll slip out for my medical bag,” Parker said softly. “I’ve some tablets I think might help her until I get her to the hospital for care. I’ll just pop one in her tea.”
Berta looked at the older woman. She had put her face in her hands again, still rocking back and forth in the chair. Berta could hear her mumbling, but she couldn’t understand the words.
———
In the morning Berta dreaded going out to face the day. She especially hated to make the walk to the library. What was left? Anything? She’d had no report. She had no idea what she would find.
Just as she stepped from her door, Thomas pulled up in the Ford.
“I thought you might like a ride this morning,” he called to her.
Berta had no intention of arguing.
“I hear you had quite a night,” he said as he helped her into the car.
She nodded.
“Have you heard any word—about Miss Phillips?” she asked him.
“Saw Parker. He says that the poor old soul isn’t in very good shape. Complete shock. She’s still totally confused. If it hadn’t been for you last night she likely would have died of cold, out on the street.”
Berta brushed that aside with a little gesture. “The poor thing,” she said. “The library has been her life.”
Thomas nodded. He turned to her.
“And you?” he asked. “How are you faring?”
Berta paused. She still hadn’t had a chance to work it all out in her thinking.
“I—honestly don’t know,” she responded. “I’ve no idea what I’ll find.”
“There is still a library,” he informed her. “The firemen were able to put out the flame before it was totally destroyed. But—I don’t think you will be working in it this morning. It’s quite a mess.”
Thomas’s words had not prepared her for what they found. Everything was ice-covered from the night before. The blackened bricks of the library front were brightened only where stout boards had been nailed across the gaping windows. Even the door was gone—replaced by heavy boards.
“It—it looks terrible,” murmured Berta under her breath.
Thomas pulled up before the building and let Berta study the damage. But before she could get out of the car he spoke again.
“I thought you’d need to see it,” he said. “But you won’t be working. Mayor Henderson said for you to pay a visit to his office. He’ll discuss with you the future plans.”
Berta nodded. She didn’t wish to look at the charred and scarred building any longer.
“Let’s go,” she replied stiffly.
Thomas moved the car out into the street and toward City Hall.
Mayor Henderson was blustering about the office as they entered.
“Miss Berdette,” he said when he saw Berta. “Terrible thing. Terrible thing—losing our library.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head as though he was still in a state of shock.
“Come in. Come in,” he invited. “We need to work some things out.”
“You don’t need to wait,” Berta informed Thomas.
He nodded. “I do have a class to teach,” he admitted.
“Thank you—for coming for me,” she said wearily, and she turned to follow the fussy little mayor into his office.
“Terrible thing. Terrible thing,” he was still exclaiming.
They spent a good deal of the morning discussing the library and what could be done in the future. They both knew that Berta would not be able to start any work of salvaging books at the present site, since there was no way of heating the building. Berta had no idea what she might find anyway. She dreaded the task ahead.