“THEY SEEMED LIKE NICE enough people,” Flo commented on the drive back to Brooklyn after the Farr Christmas party. The snow had ceased to fall, but a suck, light coating of it covered the road, forcing Flo to drive slower than usual. “And a fine house it was. Shame about the father. Titanic, it was. Terrible thing.”
“I was on that ship,” Katie said without meaning to. The words slipped out easily, surprising her. She never talked about it anymore. She had learned not to, from Paddy. And then, although John was a good enough listener, he hadn’t been there that night, so what was the point in speaking to him of it?
Flo was so shocked, the car swerved on the road. “Go on, you weren’t! On that ship! And never mentioned it before?”
“You never brought it up before. And anyways, it’s not such a good thing to talk about. ’Twas a terrible night, not somethin’ people take any joy in remembering.”
“But you survived. One of the lucky ones, sitting right here in my car. That’s a wonder.”
“Yes, I was lucky. And Paddy, too.”
Flo glanced over at her sharply. “I thought it was John you were keeping company with now. Thought you were all over Paddy.”
“I am. I was just sayin’, he survived, too. His brother didn’t. And his body wasn’t recovered, like some of them. But Paddy survived.”
“That must be a hurt,” Flo commented. “Losing his brother in such a way. Wouldn’t that give you nightmares, though? Thinking of your own brother, down there in the deep, dark sea.” She shuddered. “Wouldn’t imagine your Paddy ever gets a good night’s sleep.”
“I wouldn’t know. He never said. And he’s not my Paddy.” It was upsetting … how saying that still pained her so. She hadn’t seen or talked to Paddy in months. That girl, Elizabeth Farr, had said she had “great stage presence.” Maybe that just meant pride was keeping her head up. What she really wanted to do was bury it in a pillow and bawl her eyes out, she still missed Paddy so.
Not that bawling would do any good.
They were still nearly ten blocks away when they saw smoke in the distance. It was thick and dark, spiraling steadily upward to bruise the night sky, turning it a deep, ugly purple.
Noticing the smoke, Katie sat up straight on the seat. “That smoke there, see it? It looks to be near my aunt’s house. Maybe you could go a bit faster?”
But other drivers returning from a night out in the city had noticed the smoke, too, and had slowed their pace, sensing excitement and fearful of missing it. Flo had no choice but to proceed cautiously. Katie, anxious for her aunt and uncle’s safety, began fidgeting, sitting very far forward on the seat and peering through the windshield.
By the time they had less than three blocks to go, the smoke had intensified, a high wall of gray wool so thick, it was impossible to discern which roominghouse might be the victim. Katie couldn’t even be sure on which side of the street a fire might be raging. She knew only that it was raging, knew that what she was seeing from a distance was no boiling pot overturned on the stove, no ashes from a coal burner setting a small throw rug ablaze, no heated iron burning a hole the size of a silver dollar into a wooden ironing board. It took more than a small fire to spew forth such giant clouds of evil black smoke.
With two blocks still to cover, Flo’s car, held captive in a long line of curious drivers, was moving at a snail’s pace. Katie could stand it no longer. Taking advantage of the lack of speed, she shoved the door open and jumped out. As late as it was, almost eleven o’clock, she could see just fine. There were streetlights, and lights from houses. Besides, she’d walked this avenue many times with John or with Mary and Tom. She knew the way.
Flo shouted after her, “You stay away from that smoke! It’ll be the ruin of your voice!”
Katie was already racing up the street, slipping and sliding on the suck sidewalk. Heart pounding, holding up the hem of her green dress to keep from tripping, she ran toward the smoke. She saw no flames, but perhaps she was still too far away. Another block, and now she could see the source was a house on this side of the street, not on her aunt’s side. Her knees would have gone watery with relief then except that just as quickly she realized that the house directly across the street from her aunt’s was Agnes Murphy’s. Where Mary and Tom lived. And Bridget.
Katie ran faster.
When she was close enough to realize that it was indeed Agnes Murphy’s house spewing smoke, her eyes quickly scanned the scene for some sign of a skinny little girl with bright red hair. There were no small children present. It was late. They were safely in bed, asleep. Most of the neighborhood men worked the night shift at a nearby factory. They wouldn’t be working on Christmas Eve, but that was tomorrow night. Not tonight. That left only elderly neighbors, some with nightwear poking out from beneath their winter coats, to gather on the lawn.
Katie saw no sign of Bridget.
But her eyes did locate Mary, sobbing in the arms of her landlady. Tom was away at work, and wouldn’t be home until seven in the morning. Katie pushed her way through the crowd. The wind had changed, now blowing the smoke toward the rear of the house. Though there was plenty of the thick, dirty gray stuff pouring from the open front door and first floor windows, she saw no flames. Perhaps there was no real fire, only smoke, though Katie couldn’t imagine how that could be so.
She ran to Mary and Agnes. “Where is the baby?” she called, tapping Mary on the shoulder. “Where is Bridget?”
Incapable of speech, her face still hidden in Agnes Murphy’s ample bosom, Mary could only point. She pointed straight at the house.
“She’s in there?” Katie cried, horrified. “Has no one gone in after her, then?” She whirled, her eyes flying accusingly from one face to another. She saw no one who looked hale and hearty enough to enter a smoke-filled house. They were all too old.
Katie turned back to Mary. “Are you certain sure she’s inside?”
Silent nodding from Bridget’s mother.
“She was sleepin’, Mary was,” Mrs. Murphy said over the top of Mary’s head. Her tone was not unsympathetic, even though it was her house that might be burning. “Had herself a bad day, so she went to bed early. I was next door, havin’ a cuppa tea with Mrs. O’Donnell, when we seen the smoke. Come right over here and woke up Mary, but the smoke was so thick we couldn’t stay in there. ’Twas grabbin’ us by the throat and yankin’ all the breath out of us. When we tried to call for Bridget, we swallowed smoke so bad, nothin’ came out. I don’t…”
But Katie was already gone, pushing open the gate and dashing up the cobblestone path toward the smoke-filled house.
She paid no attention to the warnings shouted after her.