The Hull Home Fire (18 page)

Tom sighed. “A fine woman who took no nonsense,” he said. “Henry must miss
her.”

Alice plastered a smile on her face. “Homemade apple pie for dessert,” she
said. “Hope you all saved room for it.”

“Lovely,” Dr. Kennedy said. “I’ll have an extra-large slice.” He turned to
Mike.

“Don’t let on to Mrs. Simms. The woman would have my head if I
stuff myself with sweets.”

Forced laughter around the table soon died.

Alice cut the pie and everyone watched the steam rise from the delicious,
steaming dessert.

MARY YAWNED AND TURNED ONTO
her side. She winced as her broken
shoulder made contact with the mattress. Pain shot across her collarbone and
down her arm. She turned onto her back and looked at the alarm clock. For most
of the night, she had been awake thinking about Henry’s visit. He was racked
with guilt and willing to do anything to appease his conscience. She leaned on
her good elbow trying to sit up. Another jab of pain. The room spun, nausea
assaulted her without warning. “Not again,” she groaned, swinging her legs over
the side of the bed. Her stomach gurgled, the contents threatening to gush up to
her throat. She swallowed and the sensation passed.

Her feet touched the canvas floor. So cold. Sweat broke out on her neck, her
arms, the back of her knees. She bolted upright, whipped open the bedroom door,
and ran for the bathroom. The uneven floor creaked like scared mice as she fled
down the hall.

Dougie burst out of his room. “Mary, what’s the matter ?”

She dashed past him.

“Mom,” Dougie shouted. “Mary’s sick.” He flew after his
sister.

She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and vomited. Her tongue stung.
Specks of bile spattered on her nightgown and clung to her hair. The sour smell
saturated the air. Dougie gagged.

Mary fell back on her heels. “Dougie,” she said, dragging a hand over her
mouth. “Wet a face cloth for me.”

Flora appeared behind her son. “Dougie, get dressed. You’ll be late for your
paper route.”

“Oh, God,” Mary wailed, and reached for the toilet. Tears flowed down her
cheeks as her stomach emptied.

Flora soaked a cloth in icy cold water and pressed it to her daughter’s
forehead.

Dougie lingered in the hall. “What’s the matter with her ?” he said, eyes
large.

Mary’s head hung over the toilet. Her chest hurt. Her broken shoulder smarted
like it had been rammed into a brick wall. She lowered the lid and flushed the
toilet.

Flora turned to her son. “I promise your sister will be all right.”

Dougie stared at Mary’s grey complexion. “But she’s throwing up some lot
lately.”

Flora twirled Dougie around and, with hands on his shoulders, directed him to
his bedroom. She opened the heavy, beige curtains. The sky was overcast and very
little light came in.

“Mom. Please tell me the truth. Is Mary going to get better, or...” With a big
toe, he poked at a spot on the floor only he saw. “Is she going to die ?”

Flora took his face in her hands. “Throwing up is normal for what ails her.
It’ll pass and she’ll be back to her old self.”

Dougie held his mother’s gaze, his expression serious, older.
“Mom, would you tell me if she wasn’t going to be all right ?”

“I promise to never keep anything that important from you.” Flora tousled his
hair. “Now get dressed,” she said, closing the door on the way out.

Mary wobbled down the hall. She supported herself with a hand on the wall. The
floor rose up. A few more steps to go, she thought, and put a foot forward. Her
knees gave way.

“You poor dear,” Flora said, catching her daughter. “Let’s get you back to your
room in one piece.”

“Mom,” Mary moaned. “Will this sickness ever end ?”

“Sadly, you take after me in this instance.”

Mary sat on the edge of the bed and nursed her shoulder. “Poor Dougie,” she
said. “He’s some worried about me.”

Flora sat next to her daughter. “He is,” she said. “Furthermore, it’s not fair
to him.”

“Mom,” she sobbed. “I can’t take you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad. I’m concerned about you and about the effect this situation is
having on you and your brother.”

“Mom, I didn’t get pregnant on purpose.”

“For heaven’s sake, love, that’s not what I meant. How long do you intend to
hide it from Dougie ? From everyone ?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to sort anything out.”

“Love, time is running out. Soon the decision to reveal your big secret will be
out of your control.” Flora wiped away a few traces of vomit from her daughter’s
face with the tail of her apron and helped her lie down. “Henry has the right to
know where he stands.” She sighed and left the room.

When Mary heard her mother go down the stairs, she buried her head under the
covers and wept.

Dougie slurped tea from a saucer as he looked across the table
at his mother. He laid the tea down and dug into the porridge. “Mom, why does
Mary get mad every time I bring up Henry ?”

“Mary gets testy very easily since the fire. She’s been through a hard time.”
Flora cut a slice of toast into four pieces. “It’s going to take time for her to
come ’round.”

Dougie ran his spoon through the thick, milky oatmeal, and then let it go
against the side of the bowl with a slight clink. “Henry never comes by
anymore.” He dropped his chin into his hand. “Mary never talks about him, not
even when Mrs. Gibbs is here.”

“Like I explained before, she — ”

“Mom,” Dougie said, cutting her off. “I’m almost thirteen, not a youngster
anymore. I know you and Mary are keeping something real important from me.” He
frowned. “It must involve Henry.”

Flora opened her mouth to deny the statement.

“I deserve the truth,” Dougie said. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through
his hair.

Flora stared at the boy who was nearly as tall as a man. “Your father used to
do that,” she murmured, and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Dougie. Mary does
have a...” she paused to consider the right word. “... situation she doesn’t
want you to know about yet. I can promise you that your sister’s health isn’t at
risk.”

“Then why is she throwing up all the time ?”

“That will pass.”

“Johnnie Smith told me last year his sister used to throw up all the time for a
couple of months.” Dougie lifted the spoon in and out of the porridge.

“What are you getting at ?” Flora said.

“Mom, I might be young, but I’m not stupid.” He pushed the bowl of oatmeal
away. “I have to go deliver the papers now. I’ll finish breakfast later.” He
stopped at the kitchen door. “You and Mary can trust me.” Without giving his
mother a chance to respond, he hurried down the hall.

Mary shuffled into the kitchen, poured tea, and joined her mother. Flora
watched her add sugar and milk, then stir and taste the hot liquid.

“Mom, you’re awfully quiet.”

“Dougie is worried to death about you. He’s questioned all the excuses we’re
giving for you being sick.”

Mary almost dropped her cup. “Please, Mom. I can’t bear for him to know.”

“I’ll make a batch of pancakes,” Flora said, and went to the cupboard. She took
down a mixing bowl. “Your little brother isn’t so little anymore.”

Mary trembled all over. “What does that mean ?”

“I think Dougie has figured out that you’re pregnant and that Henry is the
father.”

“Oh, God, Mom. He might tell Henry’s parents. We must warn him to keep
quiet.”

“Love, your brother is becoming a fine young man and more sensible than either
of us give him credit for. He’s concerned about you.” Flora measured out flour
and butter. “He’s ready to hear the truth.”

Mary moved on the chair like she had spent hours sitting on the hard surface.
“I’ll wait till after school,” she said. “It’ll give me time to think of the
best way to explain everything to him.”

“He won’t understand why you’re pushing Henry away. He’s like a big brother to
Dougie.”

“Don’t you think I know that ?”

Flora cracked two eggs into the bowl. One contained a blood spot. “Not to
worry, love. Dougie will keep your secret if that’s truly what you want.” She
added water and whipped the mixture with a fork. The blood spot blended in with
the creamy liquid. “Henry’s parents will have to be told.”

“Our money will run out soon,” Mary said. “I’ll look for work as soon as my
shoulder is better.”

“There’s no rush. I have a job.”

“What ? When did that happen ?”

“I start work next week at Bowring’s in the dress department.”

“Oh, God, Mom. It’s all my fault you’re forced out to work.”

Flora spooned the pancake mixture into the frying pan. “No such thing,” she
said. “I worked outside the home before I married and rather liked it.”

The smell of bacon fat made Mary’s stomach churn. She covered her mouth with a
hand towel.

“Besides,” Flora went on, “I’m looking forward to meeting new people and
earning a wage again.” She smiled. “There’s not enough here to keep me busy all
day.”

Mary reached for her cup. The tea had gone cold. “You’re saying that so I won’t
feel bad.”

Flora flipped over a pancake. “Indeed I’m not. I can’t wait.”

“Did you tell Dougie ?”

“Yesterday morning. He thinks it’s a grand idea.”

“He never said a word to me.”

“Which proves he can keep a secret when asked.”

“Mom, I can’t believe how relaxed you are about my mess-up.”

Flora slid the cooked pancakes onto a plate and dunked the
frying pan into cold water. It hissed. The noise slowly faded. “I learned
years ago to take life in stride. Worry never helps.” She placed the pancakes in
front of Mary. “We coped when your father took off. We’ll do it again. Now eat.
I don’t want you getting sick on me.”

Mary cut off a tiny portion of pancake, not bothering to smother it in
molasses.

Flora untied her apron and sat down. “What are you going to do about the
baby ?”

Mary shrugged her shoulders, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Time is getting on, love.”

Mary didn’t speak.

Flora cleared her throat and forced sternness into her voice. “An unwed mother
is not permitted to give birth in any of the hospitals. You’ll have to go to the
home operated by the Salvation Army. They’ll talk to you about giving the baby
up for adoption.” She paused. “Have you thought about that ?”

Mary’s hand shook as she raised it to her forehead. “I’ve done nothing else
since I found out.”

“I hate to pester you, love, but it’s high time to think long and hard about
the future.”

TOM AND MIKE SAT IN
matching armchairs Dot had given the family
as a Christmas gift five years earlier. Each man had a drink of screech. The
flames in the fireplace, the only source of light in the room, licked at the
grate, spitting and hissing like tomcats in a fight.

Tom rested his glass on his knee with one hand. “I don’t know what to make of
Henry lately. Becoming a doctor was all he could talk about since he was a small
boy.”

Mike swallowed a mouthful of his drink. “I spoke to him this
morning. All he would say was that something more important has come his
way.”

“If it’s so damned important, why’s he acting like the world’s about to crumble
into ashes ?” Tom scratched his nose. “He hasn’t been the same since the
fire.”

“Henry has a few more months before school starts. If he changes his mind, call
and let me know.”

Tom stared at his glass, swishing the contents around and around. A little
splashed out onto his hand. He didn’t appear to notice. “Life was so much
simpler when Henry was a youngster.” A flicker of sadness glazed over his eyes.
“And when Dot was here.”

Mike smiled. “Frankie told me she stood for no nonsense.”

Tom simply sighed.

“I heard an interesting thing,” Mike said to cut through the sombre mood. “The
date for the referendum vote on Confederation is set for the third of June. The
campaign will really pick up speed now.”

Tom’s head shot up. “What rot ! We’re doing fine on our own.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Mike said.

“You’re out of touch with Newfoundland. You’ve been in a different
country.”

“Not for long !”

“Don’t start that again.”

Mike grinned. “By the time the vote rolls around, you’ll be one of Smallwood’s
strongest supporters.”

Tom gulped down the last of his drink. “Dr. Kennedy is late,” he said. “I hope
he wasn’t called out on an emergency. The pease pudding will be dryer than
parchment paper if it’s kept too long.”

Mike stood, stretched his legs, and walked to the fireplace.
“Maybe Frankie will find a way to get to the bottom of Henry’s problem.” He
leaned against the mantel and looked out the window. “I’ve never seen so many
icicles in all my life. You can hardly see the street.”

“Henry started work as an accountant at Newfoundland Margarine today,” Tom said
as if he hadn’t heard his brother. “It’s good honest work, but it’s not what
Henry wants for the rest of his life. I wish he’d tell us what’s gnawing at
him.”

“Speaking of Henry,” Mike said, indicating the window with a nod of his head,
“here he comes.”

HENRY WALKED UP THE STREET
, hands in his pockets, his head held
high. He went to the Norris house and knocked.

“Hello, Henry,” Flora said. “Come in. It’s nice to see you again.”