The Hull Home Fire (6 page)

Dot smiled at the young woman. “You’re not alone,” she said. “Never forget
that.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Gatherall, but I’m all right, like I said.” Mary
spattered more water on her face and touched up her lipstick. “Please tell Henry
I’ll see him at work.”

Dot combed her hair, washed her hands, and returned to the booth. “Mary’s gone
home,” she said.

Henry hadn’t touched his fish and chips. “Gran, she seemed really distracted
and I’m sure she’d been crying. Is she honestly that worried about her
job ?”

“No, Henry. I think it’s more than a job.”

A FULL MOON AND A
sky thick with winking stars
hung over the city when Henry left his grandmother at Hull Home. After lunch,
they had visited all the stores on Water Street and, to Henry’s utter disbelief,
Dot hadn’t bought another thing. Now, anxious to get out of the cold, he walked
briskly up Springdale Street to Central Street. The familiar smell of baking
bread from Walsh’s Bakery gave Henry a sense of comfort and he made a decision.
He neared Mary’s house and slowed. She hadn’t left his thoughts since the
Captain’s Cabin. She had never been so distant with him, not even in the days
following her grandfather’s death. He knocked on her door.

Mary answered on the first tap, dressed in boots, coat, and hat. “I saw you
from the kitchen window and figured you’d want to talk.” She closed the door
behind her. “So let’s get it over with.”

“Why don’t we go somewhere warm for a cup of tea ?”

“I’d rather walk. The air will help me think clearly.”

Henry fell into step beside her. As it was suppertime, they had the street to
themselves. They moved in silence, the space between them wide enough for
another person. “I told you about applying to medical school,” Henry said when
he couldn’t stand the quiet any longer. “Why are you upset that I’ve been
accepted ?” Mary stared ahead. He searched her profile for a clue to her
feelings. “Say something,” he said. She made no attempt to speak. Henry reached
for her. She eluded him and continued to walk. “How do you feel now that I’m
leaving for sure ?” he said.

“Yes, you did tell me about the decision to apply. But you didn’t consult me or
ask how I felt about it.”

“I hoped you’d be happy for me.”

Mary turned to him, her eyes ablaze. “Did you give any thought
to me or to our future together ?”

Henry looked down at his feet. “I grabbed at this one chance to make something
of myself. I couldn’t, can’t think about anything else.”

Mary took a few steps toward him. “You’ll be away for at least eight years.
What am I supposed to do in the meantime ? Twiddle my thumbs ? Read ? Or would
you rather I pine after you like a lovesick schoolgirl ?”

“We... we’ll sort something out.”

“Be serious, Henry. I’ll be close to thirty years old by the time you’re done.
There’s a right good chance you’ll meet someone else.” She slumped, drained of
energy. “Besides, I don’t want to be sorted out.”

Henry’s mouth opened but no words came out.

Mary sighed. “I went out with someone a full year before you. When you and I
made love you were well aware it was my first time.”

“I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

“Really, Henry. Then allow me to explain.” Mary moved even closer to him.
“You’ve known me my entire life. I’m not a casual person. I believed we were
committed to each other, intended to spend our lives together.”

“You make it sound like I played with your feelings, used you.”

“Think about it, Henry. One way or another, isn’t that exactly what you
did ?”

Henry wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t get his tongue to
function.

Mary stood tall. “Don’t worry. I won’t stand in your way.”

“Mary.” Henry reached out to her. She shrugged away from
his
touch. “We have to talk about this.” He didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Everything isn’t always about you, Henry.” Mary pushed past him and ran back
to her house.

Henry stared at her, his face whiter than the snow which had just begun to
whirl around him.

MARY STARED OUT THE BEDROOM
window as night gave way to day. The
stars, which had dotted the sky like silver sparkles, had faded. White, fluffy
clouds glided slowly, waiting for smaller clouds to catch up. Mary blew out her
breath and watched it transform into a grey mist. The smell of bacon drifted
into her room. Her stomach growled, yet the thought of food chased away her
appetite.

Light footsteps ran down the front hall and her mother’s voice chimed through
the house. “Dougie, don’t forget to put on your cap. It’s extra nippy this
morning.”

Dougie had delivered the morning
Daily News
and Mary heard the front
door slam when he came in. She scrunched into a ball and covered her head.

“No need to shake the whole house,” she heard her mother mumble on the
stairs.

Mary closed her eyes to fight back tears.

Her mother came into the room. “Love, you’re not up yet. Are you under the
weather ?” She took hold of Mary’s chin to study her face, the way she had done
when Mary was a child.

“Where’d those dark circles come from ?”

“Mom, I’m worried Hull Home might have to close.”

“You’re whiter than new bedsheets. It must be more than that.”

Mary lifted the quilts from her like it was a delicate operation and rolled
over to the side of the bed. She held onto her head. “I have another migraine.
The pain’s so bad I can’t see straight.”

“Stay put. I’ll bring you up a cup of hot tea and call Mr. Hull.”

“That’s not necessary, Mom.”

Flora produced one of the sad smiles that had become the norm since her
father’s passing. She kissed her daughter’s cold cheek. “One day’s loss of wages
won’t send us to the poorhouse.”

“Really, Mom. My head’s not bad enough to miss work.”

Flora’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear me,” she said. “It just occurred to
me you’re upset about Henry.”

“He’s not the only man in the world,” Mary said.

“Love, denying your true feelings won’t make them go away.”

Mary rocked to help cope with the drumming in her head, which radiated down to
her shoulders. The bed creaked. “I can’t think about anything right now,
Mom.”

Flora went to the door. “I don’t mean to preach, but running from the truth
helps no one,” she said with a crack in her voice. “Breakfast is ready. Don’t be
long.”

Mary opened the night table drawer and took out a picture of her father. He
looked up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. A tear splashed onto the
glass and slid down to the wooden frame. She tossed the photo back in the drawer
and slammed it shut. Her head almost exploded from the loud thud.

SCRAMBLED EGGS
,
BACON
,
HAM
,
AND
tea awaited Mary when she went
downstairs. She succeeded in keeping down a piece of ham.

“You’ll get sick if you don’t eat,” her mother said when she pushed the food
away.

Mary drained the tea in one gulp. “Mom, you know my stomach’s always off with a
migraine.”

Flora picked up the phone by the side of the fridge. “1590 M please,” she
said.

Mary spun in her chair to look at her mother. “What are you doing ?”

Flora held a hand over the mouthpiece. “I’m calling Mr. Hull to tell him you’re
sick and won’t be in today.”

Mary took the phone and cancelled the call. “Mom, I told you I’m all right.
Anyway, the fresh air will do me good.

“Promise me you’ll eat something when you get to the Home.”

“I will,” Mary said.

She bundled up with an extra scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. Within
seconds the air penetrated the woollen material, drying her mouth and stinging
the back of her throat. A heavy snowfall overnight made walking more difficult.
Her headache dulled to a tolerable throb. People merely nodded as they plodded
by, eager to reach their destinations and bask in precious warmth. Grey clouds
gathered, darkening an already gloomy day. Mary arrived at the Home and promptly
put on a pot of tea. She toasted one slice of bread to quell her nausea. Her
stomach churned even more at the first nibble.

Dot strolled into the kitchen. “How are you today ?” she asked, her eyes on the
toast Mary had hardly touched. “Still don’t have much of an appetite ?”

“Has Mr. Hull brought up the inspection to you ?” Mary said,
lowering her voice.

“I see you’re not ready to admit what’s really troubling you,” Dot said.
“That’s fine for now.” She looked down the hall. “By the way, there’s no need to
whisper.”

Mary’s face relaxed. “Mr. Hull doesn’t like me to meddle in his
business.”

“If the Home closes it will matter to us all.” Dot poured a mug of tea and took
a sip. “Mr. Hull’s not spoken a word to me. He doesn’t appear worried either.”
She moved the cup back and forth between her hands. “With what was printed in
the paper, I’d be a little more anxious in his place.”

Mary nibbled at a corner of the dry, crusty toast. “Is he here ?”

“Stayed all night again. He made breakfast and left when he received a call
from his wife.”

Mary stopped chewing. “She’s gotten bad news about the Home !”

“Not at all,” Dot said. “Mrs. Hull has the sniffles and wanted Mr. Hull to
fetch some cough syrup.” She chuckled. “Mrs. Hull demands immediate
attention.”

Nurse Jean Baker entered the kitchen wearing an extra sweater. “The rooms are
hard to keep warm in the winter,” she said, taking two mugs from a rack on the
sink counter. “I don’t want Sheila Vickers to catch pneumonia on top of
tuberculosis. Hot tea and toast will do the trick.”

“How is she ?” Mary asked.

“Dr. Kennedy stopped by earlier to see her. He’s pleased with her
progress.”

Dot retrieved a tray for the nurse. “The poor darling wants to be home by
Easter.”

“That isn’t likely to happen,” Jean said. “She’ll be here until
Christmas for sure.”

Dot placed milk and sugar on the tray. “Susan enjoys mystery books. I’ll go by
the library to take out a few for her.”

“She’ll appreciate that,” Jean said, and left with the tray loaded down with
tea, gingersnap cookies, and toast.

“Now, Mary,” Dot said once they were alone again. “Did you get an opportunity
to talk to Henry ?”

Mary rinsed her cup. “Yes. I told him to go to Toronto and not give me another
thought.”

BY NOON
,
MARY HAD SCRUBBED
the upstairs hallway
in the main house and made all the beds, including those in the Annex. She found
it easy to avoid Henry, as he rarely left the office. Her stomach had settled
down by one o’clock. The hunger pangs which had gnawed at her all morning drove
her to the kitchen. She hadn’t packed a lunch and helped herself to a bowl of
the tomato soup simmering in an oversized pot on the stove. She crumbled a
handful of salted crackers into the thick red liquid. The first taste burned the
tip of her tongue. She blew on the next one before gingerly putting it into her
mouth.

Mary slurped at the last dregs of soup in the bowl when Mr. Hull returned.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “I hope your wife is doing better.”

Mr. Hull passed the table without a word or a glance at Mary. He stirred the
pot, his eyes glued to one spot on the wall.

Mary stood up. “Mr. Hull. Are you all right ?”

He turned around. “Oh. Mary. I didn’t see you there.” Soup dripped from the
ladle to the floor. He didn’t notice even when several drops found his
shoe.

Mary carried her dirty dishes to the sink. “Is anything the
matter ?”

“Not a thing,” Mr. Hull said, resuming the task at hand.

Mary wiped crumbs from the table. “I’ll see if the residents are ready for
dinner.”

Mr. Hull opened a loaf of baker’s bread. “Good idea,” he said, again not
looking at her.

Mary glanced back at her employer as she left the kitchen. He swayed slightly
and stirred the pot with both hands as if the soup resisted his efforts. “He’s
acting some strange,” she murmured under her breath on the way to the dining
room at the far end of the hall. Many of the residents had assembled for dinner,
their voices buzzing as they waited for the midday meal to be served. The walls
were white, the top half covered with striped green wallpaper. Lighted by a
single light bulb in the centre of the ceiling, dark green curtains were pulled
wide open on the large side window. Dot and two other women occupied a table set
for four. Mary sat down next to Dot.

“Mary,” the woman across from her said, “what’s the soup for today ?”

Mary produced a crooked smile. “Tomato, I’m afraid.”

The woman groaned. “That makes five days in a row.”

“Oh, well,” the tiny woman next to her said. “At least it’ll be nice and hot.”
She pulled her cardigan more snugly around her thin waist. “It’s cold enough in
here to wear long johns.” Her teeth chattered.

The two elderly widows continued with the soup conversation, giving Mary the
chance to speak in private with Dot. “Mr. Hull seems a tad out of sorts.” She
bent close to Dot. “I had the impression he was tipsy.”

“He does like a nip or two every now and again.”

“Has he heard back from City Council or the Fire
Department ?”

“As a matter of fact — ”

“I knew it,” Mary said, cutting across her. “He has to correct all the
violations, doesn’t he ?” She babbled on. “He’ll close down rather than spend
all that money.”

Dot wagged a finger in front of Mary’s face. “You need to give up that habit of
always leaping to hasty conclusions,” she said. “He merely received a letter
from the city stating they weren’t aware he operated a nursing home. That’s
all.”

Mary twirled strands of hair around her forefinger. “Why go to the trouble of
an inspection if they don’t intend to enforce the recommendations ?”

“That’s City Hall for you,” Dot said.

Mary gazed around the dining room. “That does it,” she said. “They have the
power to close the Home.”

“Child,” Dot said. “What a thing to say. They wouldn’t put sick people and old
folk on the street in this weather.”

Mary pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. “Don’t bet all your savings on
that. I’d better get to the kitchen before Mr. Hull has a fit,” she said, and
bustled away.

A round old woman with thin white hair sat at the table drinking tea. “Hello,
love,” she said as Mary came in.

“Oh, hello,” Mary said, taken aback. “Are you here to see a resident ?”

“No, I came to see Mr. Hull. A friend of mine told me he charges three cents
cheaper a day than the government’s old-age home.” She smiled. Dimples formed in
her wrinkled cheeks. “I move in here tomorrow morning. Every penny
counts.”

Isaac breezed into the kitchen. “Indeed it does, Mrs. Hayes,” he said with a
light step. “Indeed it does.”

MARY SAT IN DR
.
WHEELER
’
S
spacious waiting room and looked
around at the unfamiliar area. Twelve chairs lined three walls, and a children’s
wooden table and chairs occupied a corner. A supply of blank paper and crayons
rested on the shiny red surface. In the centre, burdened with stacks of
magazines, stood a mahogany coffee table. Mary glanced at the cover of one
magazine ; a smiling woman was making a cake for a freckled-faced boy. He knelt
on a chair poking a finger into the batter as his father walked through the door
with an even bigger smile than his wife. She pulled out another magazine from
the pile. More images of happy family life. Mary threw down the magazine.

A man in his seventies sat on the other side of the room. Two seats down from
him was a woman with a boy of about ten or eleven. The boy’s runny nose never
quite cleared despite constant wiping. His cough — a hacking sound deep down in
the bottom of his lungs — eased occasionally. The receptionist, the man, and the
woman were engaged in a discussion about Joey Smallwood’s campaign to join
Confederation.

“In my opinion,” the woman said, “the man’s on a mission to destroy this
beautiful land. I heard talk there will be a vote soon to decide.”

“Good,” the receptionist said. “That’ll put an end to this nonsense once and
for all.”

Mary gripped her purse tighter.

“I doubt that,” the woman replied. “Mr. Smallwood’s very passionate about
Confederation. He won’t give up until he’s won.”

The man turned to her. “I’m afraid you’re right on that score, young lady.” He
shook his head as if to prepare his listeners for bad news. “I have friends from
around the bay
who swear that most of the outport communities are
all for Confederation. They think Mr. Smallwood knows what’s best.”

The intercom on the desk buzzed. “Yes, Doctor,” the receptionist said, then
showed the woman and child into the office. Mary browsed through a travel
magazine, her gaze constantly straying to the clock over the desk. Three
o’clock. She promised Mr. Hull to be back by three-thirty. He would dock her pay
for the extra time missed. She glanced at the clock again. The minute hand
slithered forward.