33 

A string of trucks stampeded down the street, ferrying items needed for the assault—the hoses, ladders, chemicals, the water tower, another steam pump. One team of horses after another pounded the road, yanking behind them wagons and wheels painted bright red and carrying the best of Chicago’s firefighting equipment. Stunned pedestrians jumped out of the way.

By the time Sarah penetrated the crowd across the street from St. Andrew’s to get a clear view, the hose carriage had unfurled fifty-foot lengths and the steam pump was fastened on a hydrant. The hoses stiffened with the rush of water through them. Ladders had come off the truck, and dalmatians circulated to keep interference at bay. The water tower on the back of one truck was raised and aimed at flames belching from the upper floors as children clattered down the fire escape on one side of the building. Horrified, Sarah saw children still at the windows on the other side. She shoved people out of the way and slithered between the fire trucks, ignoring the dogs that protected the working horses.

A uniformed arm went down like a gate. “Miss, you can’t go through there,” a man’s voice boomed.

“I have to,” she pleaded. “I know people inside.” She looked past the uniform, her attention fixed on the building.

“No, miss, you’re not going inside.” The fireman was firm. He pointed down the street. “You can wait over there.”

“No, you don’t understand! I have to know—”

“No. You have to get out of the way. We know what we’re doing. You cannot interfere.”

The fireman herded Sarah, along with a few others who had ventured close, away from the trucks.

“I want to help!” Sarah shrieked.

“Then comfort the children coming out,” the fireman directed. “Over there!”

Coughing and spluttering, children tumbled off the staircase and followed instructions to move down the street, away from the scene. Dozens of them, then scores. Orphanage staff speckled the amassing huddle.

“Mrs. Davis!” Sarah screamed above the din.

Some of the younger children were screaming themselves. Older children clutched toddlers and babies. Siblings latched on to each other. The stream of people flowed steadily from the orphanage down the street until there were hundreds.

Sarah touched a few shoulders and faces as she passed by, murmuring words of assurance she could not be sure were true. Vacant, shocked faces mingled with terrified grimaces. Those she recognized, Sarah called by name as she wiped grime from their eyes with the corner of her cape.

“Mrs. Davis!”

At last the housekeeper turned.

“Are you all right?” Sarah reached the familiar figure now covered in soot.

Mrs. Davis nodded. “I was downstairs. The fire started upstairs. It’s mostly smoke.”

“What happened?”

“No one knows yet,” Mrs. Davis answered. She looked around. “Where is Mr. Tewell?”

Sarah scanned the amassing crowd as well. “I haven’t seen him.”

“And the others?”

“What others?”

“The people in the office,” Mrs. Davis said. “He had some visitors, but they’ll have to look after themselves. I’ve got to help the children.” She wiped the back of her hand through a streak of soot across her forehead, and both of them surveyed the growing crowd of children. “How will we ever account for everyone?”

“Sarah!”

Sarah turned toward the scream and Lillie stumbled into her arms.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Lillie’s chest heaved in its quest for air. “Where’s Lucy? Did she make it out?”

“Miss Lucy was still there?” Sarah asked. “What about—”

“Charlotte was there too,” Lillie said. “She came with Benny and Henry to pick up the baby. Lucy was in a meeting. I had just arrived to wait for her.”

“So Stella was not with Lucy?” Sarah asked.

Lillie shook her head. “No. One of the older girls was watching her. It was only supposed to be a few minutes.”

“And Simon?”

“In the meeting with Lucy,” Lillie said. “They were almost finished.”

“We must find them.” The urgency in her voice surprised even Sarah.

“They have to be here,” Lillie insisted. “They have to. We’ll find them.”

Smoke and ash painted a monochromatic picture. Sarah struggled to distinguish one form from another, but she began to move quickly through the huddle with Lillie right behind her. More of the St. Andrew’s staff emerged and began to take charge. Sarah heard them asking basic questions as they probed for injuries and instructed the children to arrange themselves according to their dormitories so they could discern who might still be missing. Sarah squatted to question a few children herself.

Sarah stood and shook her head. “There should be more children,” she said to Lillie.

“How can you tell?”

“Four hundred children live at St. Andrew’s. This crowd doesn’t look big enough to me.”

“They’re still coming.”

The winds that carried smoke also bore the wails of children still caught inside the building.

“They have the ladders up,” Lillie said. “They’ll get them out. We have to believe that. Look, there’s Jane!”

Sarah instinctively opened her arms and the girl plunged into them.

“It’s my fault!” Jane howled, hiding her face against Sarah’s chest. “It’s my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Sarah took the girl by the shoulders and searched for her reluctant brown eyes.

“I burned my journal!” Jane covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Sarah’s knees went weak. “We can’t be sure what happened,” she said. “The important thing is you’re safe and all these other children are safe.”

And Simon? Was he safe? And Lucy and Charlotte and the children?

“They should have let me burn to death,” Jane bawled. “I did this!”

Sarah looked at Lillie. “Keep looking for Lucy and the others,” she said. With an arm around Jane’s shoulders, she steered the girl to the edge of the crowd.

“Jane,” she said firmly, “you must get a grip on yourself.”

“You don’t understand! I wanted to burn my journal. It was all lies, and I wanted it to go away. So I stole matches out of Mr. Tewell’s office, from the fireplace mantel. I remember that they were Diamond matches. I took a tin wastebasket to the back stairwell on the fourth floor, and I put the journal in it and dropped in a match. This is all my fault!”

Sarah shook Jane by the shoulders. “Jane, listen to me—”

Jane twisted from her grip. “Don’t tell me it’s going to be all right! It’s not! Nothing ever will be again! Mr. Tewell came running up the stairs yelling for everyone to get out.”

Simon. “Did you see where he went?” Sarah asked.

“He went into the boys’ dormitory room. I couldn’t see after that. It got smoky really fast. Everybody was screaming.”

“There’s Lucy!” Lillie’s cry cut through the pandemonium, and Sarah peered in the direction where Lillie pointed.

To her relief, Lucy carried the baby in one arm, and Benny clutched her skirt. Lucy’s other arm gripped Charlotte’s shuddering shoulders. Sarah broke from Jane and ran toward Lucy.

“Henry!” Charlotte shrieked, twisting to look back at the burning structure.

“Where is Henry?” Sarah asked Lucy, meeting weary eyes.

“He let go,” Lucy said quietly. “He’s too big for Charlotte to carry now that she’s so far along, and he let go somewhere in the front hall. We couldn’t find him in the smoke. The firemen insisted we had to get out before . . . before . . .”

Charlotte crumpled to the ground screaming her son’s name. Sarah’s heart threatened to stop.

She took off before anyone could stop her.

This time Sarah was more devious in her approach. Every step along the way, as she staggered against the tide, she examined faces of small boys, but she also took careful note of where the firemen had stationed themselves and what consumed their attention. She knew the kitchen entrances, the delivery entrances, the cellar. The front door was not the only way into St. Andrew’s.

Sarah broke from the congestion at the front of the building, where firemen were helping children down ladders. She dodged the water tower truck that spewed a steam-powered gush at the upper floors. She avoided the tangle of hoses with copper rivets and brass fittings. At the back of the building, Sarah kicked the latch on the old cellar doors. The storage space had been replaced by a walk-in pantry on the ground level when she was twelve. Sarah yanked open the doors and stepped down into the darkness.

Her mind knew the way. Not being able to see was almost a help, as memory revived and she counted steps and trailed fingers along splintered wooden shelves. No one knew she used to come down here. She had not cared about the darkness in her pursuit of solitude. Now the girlish habit served her well.

At the other end of the cellar, Sarah counted rising steps. Seven. Eight. Nine. The door gave easily enough, and she was in the kitchen.

Then she was in the dining room, knocking against tables she did not see in the smoky gloom. Coughing, she lifted the hem of her skirt to cover her mouth and nose and fought to keep her stinging eyes open. As the dining room gave way to the hall, she stumbled again.

Something soft.

Sarah fell to her knees and gasped.

Melissa lay sprawled in the doorway. Next to her was Alonzo. She shook them both. No response. Vacant eyes above mouths frozen open stared back at her. A hand laid lightly on each still chest confirmed her fear.

Sarah started to cry, which gave way to a wracking cough. She covered her face again and crawled toward the front hall, still feeling her way by memory.

“Henry!” she gasped at random intervals. “Henry!”

A whimper.

Sarah stilled herself to listen below the roar of rushing water and swinging axes and slapping flames.

There it was again. She moved toward the sound and scooped up Henry.

Now she was on her feet, feeling his weight and staggering from breathlessness. She could see the front door, though. Charlotte had been so close to getting her son out safely.

“What in tarnation are you doing here?” the voice thundered. “I thought I told you to get out of the way.” The same fireman who had stood guard when Sarah first arrived now bundled her toward the fresh air.

“There are two others in there,” she gasped. “Dead, I think.”

“I can’t send a man in there now.” The fireman shook his head as a fresh burst of flame startled them both.

Sarah did not wait for further scolding, instead racing with Henry in her arms to where she had left the child’s mother.

Charlotte was not there.

Sarah sank to the ground, gasping for air and gently slapping Henry’s round face.

“Wake up, Henry. You have to wake up.” She rubbed his chest vigorously.

Finally his blue eyes opened. “Where’s my mama?”

Relief made Sarah fall back against a tree.

“Where’s my mama?” Henry demanded again.

“She’s fine. We’ll find her.”

Henry started to cry, and Sarah knew he was all right. She scanned the block and realized she had misjudged her location and fallen against the wrong tree. By now, though, Lucy and Charlotte had spotted her and were hurtling toward her. Charlotte collapsed with her son gathered against her chest and her belly heavy with the future.

Sarah’s shoulders heaved.

“Are you all right?” Lucy asked.

“Melissa,” Sarah muttered, “and Alonzo.”

“I haven’t seen them,” Lucy said.

Sarah put her head against the tree and closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, begging her lungs to function. “What about Simon?”

“I haven’t seen him, either,” Lucy said, “not since he ran up the stairs.”

Simon. Sarah shuddered in fear she would never have the opportunity to make things right. Simon did not deserve to go to his end this way.

When the image of Melissa and Alonzo invaded her eyelids, Sarah forced her eyes open.

“I know it’s chaotic,” Lucy said, “but I am going to try to find a cab to take you all to my parents’ house. Charlotte, you can wait for Archie there. Sarah, I want you to take my children. Will is out of town on business, but my mother can look after them.” She put the baby in Sarah’s arms and turned to her son. “Benny, you go with Sarah.”

“I want to stay with you!” Benny wailed.

“No, Benny,” Lucy said. “You go to Grandmama’s.”

“But Miss Lucy—” Charlotte protested.

“I have to stay,” Lucy said. “I won’t have any argument. We have to figure out who is missing and make some arrangement for everyone else. I don’t know what we’ll do with four hundred homeless children, but I’m going to stay and help the staff.”

“Find Simon,” Sarah said.

Lucy nodded. “Of course. Now stay right here. I’m going to get someone to drive you all home. I don’t know how I’ll find a cab in this mess, but I have to try.”

“Lillie,” Sarah said. “I mean, Miss Wagner.”

“She’s fine,” Lucy said. “I just left her.”

“No,” Sarah said, “what I mean is her driver is probably nearby. He would have been waiting for her.”

“Good thinking!” Lucy said. “Don’t move!”

Sarah dared not close her eyes again. The scene before her could not be happening. She had read newspaper accounts of dozens of fires in the last several years, but still it seemed this could not be happening. Not now. Not to Simon.

A man in a tweed suit squatted next to her. “I’m a reporter from the Chicago Tribune,” he said. “I saw you come out of the building with that boy and followed you over here. Can I get a statement from you?”

Sarah looked at Charlotte, who had eyes only for her son.

“People will want to hear this story,” the reporter urged. “Let’s start with your name.”

Sarah looked him in the eyes. “My name is Sarah Cummings. I grew up in St. Andrew’s.”