That first night, Lem navigates the streets of our neighborhood. I follow behind him. The rain is violent and angry. Thunderclaps and lightning flashes explode in the dark skies.
We walk past the church in the city center to a stone bridge. Lem scurries down a dirt path to safety from the rain, under the bridge. He is quite a bit ahead of me but I manage to follow.
The stone bridge is the color of a storm. Gray and black. It lies over two hills separated by a narrow river below. There is a small landing under the bridge where the hill is not steep. The gentle incline in the landing is enough to provide a safe place to camp. The bridge above our heads provides cover and safety. The water below feeds the grasses and flowers growing on the hills.
“What do we do?” I ask when we safely arrive under the bridge.
“You heard Father. We survive,” Lem says.
He puts down the bag containing the money and Mother’s silver spoons. I carefully put down the canvas sack filled with the bottles of oil. I wipe wet hair from my eyes. Then, it hits me. A waft of smoke coming from the direction of our home.
“Father …” I cry. “We have to go back. Lem! We have to go back to Father!”
Lem rushes to me and holds me back from running.
“We can’t go back.”
“No, he’s alive. He’s alive, Lem.”
“We can’t go back.”
“Don’t you smell the smoke? He will burn! What is wrong with you?!” I scream at Lem. “He will burn! We have to go back!”
“We can’t go back, Rose. We can’t.” His arms cross my shoulders like a backward hug. I struggle to free myself with all my might, but he is bigger and stronger than me.
“Fire! Fire!” I scream to alert help.
Lem holds me for a long time. We look in the direction of our shop. I can feel his body shudder.
After a while I hear shouts in the distance. Perhaps help has come at last. I imagine men forming a line, passing buckets filled with water from the docks to the shop. The last man would throw the bucket of water on the flames and toss back the empty bucket back to the men in the line for it to be refilled. They would keep going until the flames were out. Until Father was saved. Or until there was nothing left.
“We will go back once the fire is out … right, Lem?” I whisper.
“There will only be ashes,” Lem whispers back. “The shop and apartment are all wood. It will burn quickly.”
Lem lets me go. His attitude goes back to the way it was when Mother was dying. Busy. Overly busy.
He turns his attention to clearing rocks off a spot on the ground. He tosses rocks here and pebbles there. He does it with such a rush of priority. Like his life depends on it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“One more word … one more wail … and I will feed you to the dogs,” he growls. He points to the spot he cleared on the ground. “You sleep there.”
He brushes his hands on his breeches. Double-checks his spot for rocks. Lies down on his side with his back to me.
I lie down beside him, my back on the cold, hard ground.
I am numb from the shock of being orphaned and homeless all on the same day. Tears run down the sides of my eyes to my ears. I look up above me. The bridge is made out of big gray blocks of stone.
I can hear voices talking in the distance on the road above.
The rain eases over time. It is dark except for what little light the moon provides. Below, there is the gentle rush of a river. I hear insects buzzing around my head. There are sounds of rats scurrying amongst the leaves.
I quietly say a prayer for Mother and Father. Swat the insects with my hands. Smack a stick down onto the ground when the rats come close.
I think I hear Lem cry too but don’t dare whisper a word.