12

The fire chief clicked his cell phone shut. “People? Can you all hear me?” Sniffles quieted; murmurs died away. The old man pulled open the door of the big dryer so it would stop rumbling. “The Salvation Army will be here in thirty minutes with blankets, food, and some warm clothes. But their shelter is on overload tonight. We, uh, we’ll try to find a place for you all to go, but for now just sit tight. It might take—”

“Uh, chief?” Josh glanced at me, as if he wanted confirmation. “I think I know a place we can take these women and children for the night.”

My mind spun. Of course! “That’s right.” I got off my duff and joined my son. “Our church is only twenty minutes from here. But we need to make some calls . . .”

Rev. Handley mutely offered her cell phone to Josh. The old man—who gave his name as Rosco Harris—shuffled over with half a roll of quarters. His laundry money. “Pay phone over there.” He pointed.

“Bless you,” I whispered, giving him a hug. “You are definitely a Good Samaritan.”

He waved it off. “Hey. I still got a roof over my head, lady.”

I didn’t know Pastor Cobbs’s or Pastor Clark’s numbers by heart and neither did Josh. So we started with the numbers we did have. Denny. Avis and Peter.

“Dad,” I heard Josh say. “We’re okay . . . yeah, she’s okay too. Look, we need a place to take these women and children for the night. Could you call—”

The pay phone was ringing in my ear; then I heard someone pick up on the other end. I glanced at Rochelle, arms wrapped around Conny, rocking and crying silently in a corner of the brightly lit Laundromat. No, I was not going to ask Avis or Peter to make any calls. “Peter? It’s Jodi Baxter. There’s been a fire down here at Manna House. Everybody’s okay. But you and Avis need to come now.”

THE DOUGLASSES WERE THE FIRST TO ARRIVE. Peter jerked open the door of the Laundromat, searched faces, then strode to the corner where Rochelle and Conny still huddled. The big man knelt beside his stepdaughter and pulled her and the child in her lap into a big embrace. “Oh, Rochelle, baby.” His voice, though muffled against Conny’s blanket, was more like a groan. “I’m so sorry, baby . . . so sorry. I never should have—” His shoulders began to shake.

Avis also knelt beside her daughter and put her arms around them all. Some of the other women respectfully moved away, giving the little family a scrap of privacy.

Peter finally helped Rochelle to her feet, took Conny into his arms, and made for the door. Avis hesitated before following her husband and daughter out into the night. “Jodi? Edesa? Should we take anyone else?”

“No, no! Go.” Edesa gently pushed her out the door. “We’ll be fine. Others are coming.”

The Douglasses had no sooner left than a Salvation Army van squeezed past the police barricades. A man and three women in navy blue uniforms quietly and efficiently carried in armloads of colorful fleece blankets, baskets of sweet rolls, jugs of hot coffee, and boxes overflowing with sweatshirts, hats, mittens, socks, children’s boots, and adult gym shoes. In one way or another, all of us got fitted with something to keep body and soul together for the next few hours.

The clock on the wall said 2:45. My eyes burned with unshed tears.

While the Salvation Army people were gathering names, ages, and contact information for any relatives in the local area from the Manna House residents, Pastor Clark showed up, rail thin even in his bulky parka and big rubber boots. He asked no questions, just said, “The church van is around the corner. I can take fourteen people. Several other church members with minivans are coming. The Cobbses are over at the church, making calls and collecting blankets, food, and air mattresses.”

I wanted to throw my arms around Pastor Clark and hug him. But Denny arrived, ashen-faced, unshaven. He looked terrible. He looked wonderful. He held me a long time. “You okay, babe?” he whispered into my hair. “You sure?” I nodded my head against his chest but couldn’t speak.

Finally, he gently pushed me away. “Let me go see Josh, okay?”

I nodded again. For the first time I noticed Josh sitting in one of the ugly plastic chairs, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Denny sat down next to him, stretched an arm across his son’s bent shoulders, then . . . just sat without speaking. My heart ached as I watched my two men sharing a silent pain.

Edesa didn’t sit. She joined Pastor Clark as he made his way from person to person, touching one. Hugging a child. Whispering something to another.

But within the next half hour, several other members from Uptown–New Morning Church arrived with minivans and SUVs, lined up just outside the barricades. Josh, Edesa, Karen, and I managed to park our feelings and assigned small groups of women and kids to the various cars, agreeing all would meet at the church building in the Howard Street shopping center. Rev. Handley said she’d stay with the Manna House residents until they got situated. Pastor Clark promised to stay in touch with the Salvation Army people, and we moved amoebalike out of the safety of the twenty-four-hour Laundromat into the night.

Most of the women, dead tired, wrapped in blankets and assorted sweatshirts, plodded silently behind their assigned driver toward the cars. But, like Lot’s wife, I turned and looked back at the smoldering remains of Manna House. The stained-glass windows were broken. Smoke had blackened the outside bricks and still rose in stubborn ribbons from holes chopped into the roof. Leaking water from the hydrant and drips from the broken windows were turning into ghostly icicles. The wide sidewalk, steps into the church, and the front of the church itself glistened like sheets of ice.

Unlike Lot’s wife, I didn’t turn into a pillar of salt. But the image of the shelter—shattered, broken, no longer a refuge—burned itself into my spirit, especially as Precious and Sabrina, and Mikey, Jeremy, and Margo climbed into our Caravan for the trip up an empty Lake Shore Drive toward Howard Street. From somewhere in my memory, the words of the psalmist floated to my lips. “God is our refuge and strength,” I murmured. “Our ever-present help in trouble.”

“I know that one,” Precious said from the back. “My grandma used ta say it. ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. Though the waters roar, though the mountains shake . . .’ Somethin’ like that.”

“Huh,” Margo muttered from the third seat. “Don’t say nothin’ ’bout no fire.”

“Yeah, but there’s another one. Lord, Lord, my grandma knew ’em all! Somethin’ ’bout passin’ through the waters—”

“I said fire,” Margo grumbled. “An’ keep it down. Mikey’s asleep.”

Precious was not deterred. “I’m gettin’ there. Mr. Denny, you know what one I’m getting’ at?”

Denny kept his eyes on the drive as the tall streetlights passed over us like gentle waves. But I saw the tightness in his face soften slightly. “Uh, think so. The one that goes, ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you . . .’ ” He glanced at me, as if asking for help.

Now I knew the scripture Precious was remembering. “ ‘When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flames kindle upon you. For I am the Lord your God . . .’ ”

“Yeah.” Precious blew out a long sigh. “That’s the one.”

PASTOR JOE COBBS and First Lady Rose cheerfully welcomed the stream of homeless women and children as if the shopping center church were always open at five in the morning with the temperatures outside hovering at fifteen degrees. A small crew of volunteers—I saw both Uptown and New Morning people among them—had stacked up the chairs in the large meeting room, and assorted “beds” had already been laid out. More blankets and air mattresses were in some of the back rooms used as Sunday school rooms. “Get some sleep,” Rose Cobbs urged the bedraggled band, giving hugs to as many women and children as time allowed. “We’ll be back at nine o’clock with breakfast.”

Oh yes, God. Sleep . . . Suddenly I felt as if all my body parts might disconnect and clatter to the floor if I didn’t lie down somewhere.

Pastor Cobbs pushed the church keys into Josh’s hand and herded the drivers and other volunteers out the door. I hesitated. Rev. Handley was spreading blankets on the floor as a makeshift bed for herself. Should I leave? Could I live with myself if I did? After all, my twenty-four-hour volunteer stint wasn’t up yet. But Pastor Cobbs tapped a finger on Denny’s chest. “Brother Baxter, take your wife home. Reverend Handley, Josh, and Sister Reyes can stay with these people. But you’ll both be more helpful sorting things out for these women if you go home and get some sleep.”

I didn’t protest. I didn’t even look back this time as I numbly shuffled behind Denny across the icy parking lot to the car. But when I crawled into the front seat and Denny turned the heater on full blast for the one-mile trip to our house on Lunt Street, I cried all the way home.