They were still getting settled in the Chapman home when Mr. Chapman came in from his chores accompanied by a Mr. Dalton Cullwick. Apparently, Mr. Cullwick had been staying with another family some distance off — a family he lost no time in abusing with one insult after the other. The tick he’d been supplied wouldn’t serve for a dog, the food was better fit for pigs — if even pigs would eat it — the people were unpleasant, their children were ill-behaved, and, what was worst of all, judging by the attention it received from Mr. Cullwick, their rum seemed to have been watered down.
“I told the missus, ‘Good woman, if I want water, I’ll go to the well!’” he’d said, his voice full of indignation.
Mistaking the stunned silence in the room for sympathy, Mr. Cullwick expounded further on the things he’d suffered — in a home that had been kind enough to take him in!
Equally shocking was his treatment of his new hosts. Skye was appalled as he made it abundantly clear that he was accustomed to much finer lodgings than those in which he presently found himself.
“Nevertheless,” he added, in a failed attempt at humility, “under the circumstances, I can bear a few inconveniences with good grace — and will do so if you can arrange private sleeping quarters, for I have never been able to rest adequately in a common room.”
Skye was not alone in her disgust of this detestable man, but no one raised a voice to chasten him for his bad manners. Rather, Mrs. Chapman told him he was welcome to stay with them until something more suitable could be arranged — an offer she was obliged to make under the circumstances, for the hour was very late and the idea of turning anyone out — even someone as disagreeable as Mr. Cullwick — would never enter her mind.
The next morning saw no improvement in the unpleasant guest. Beginning each sentence with the falsehood that he didn’t like to complain, Mr. Cullwick managed to find fault with a number of things, including the bed he’d been provided and the breakfast Mrs. Chapman had prepared.
It had looked as though Mr. Chapman might be about to speak up but instead, lips clamped tight, he had pushed himself away from the table and headed out to begin his day. Logan Haverill rose at once and accompanied him, eager to make himself useful to his host.
Skye was shocked to see that Mr. Cullwick showed no sign of doing the same. Instead, he offered a heavy sigh and commented that he didn’t suppose there was any decent reading material in the home.
“We’ve a Bible,” Mrs. Chapman replied meekly.
“An excellent choice,” Hannah said from the corner, where she sat nursing the baby. Her face was impassive, but Skye could see a spark in her eyes.
“In fact, I was looking for something, ah, more modern,” Mr. Cullwick said. Then he turned haughtily toward Hannah. “I do hope, madam, that you didn’t mean to suggest that I am in need of spiritual fortification.”
“By no means,” Hannah said. “The Bible is always a good choice, but in our present state of distress, it is even more fitting. Do you not agree?”
“Yes, of course,” Cullwick said, “only at the moment I was hoping to be distracted by something a little more fanciful.”
While Cullwick was complaining, most of the town’s inhabitants were offering prayers of thanks, for, in spite of the threat of another storm the evening before, no further calamity had come and, in fact, the smoke had begun to abate.
It was through this clearing air that Skye Haverill, looking rather odd, made her way toward the docks in Chatham.
She had been glad to exchange her filthy nightdress for warm, decent daywear, but the heavy woollen dress that had been provided for her had clearly belonged to Mrs. Chapman herself and was ill-fitting, to say the least. It was both too short and too loose on the young girl’s slender form, which made it resemble a brown sack whose contents had been half emptied. Even tying it at the waist with a braided length of yarn had done little to improve its appearance.
A grey scarf on her head and a shawl about her shoulders added protection from the elements, but their style was matronly and more fitting for a grandmother than a girl of fourteen.
Even less flattering were the shoes that now adorned her feet. It had turned out that the only footwear that could be spared for her was an old pair of boots once worn by Mr. Chapman. They did nothing to enhance the outfit, and although the extra pair of thick, woollen socks that kept them from falling right off her feet actually made them cozy and warm, Skye found little comfort in this benefit.
She could have stayed inside and spared herself from public scrutiny, but two things made her willing to endure the embarrassment.
First and foremost was her desire to know what had become of Tavish and Stewart. It was only because her father and stepmother shared this longing that she had been permitted to venture out at all. Although they’d allowed her to go, both had cautioned her to restrict her walk to the dock and back, and to watch carefully for any sign of trouble.
Her second reason for going was to escape from the insufferable Mr. Cullwick!
She had nearly reached her destination when a voice reached her.
“Skye!”
Turning to the sound of her name, Skye saw a familiar figure coming toward her. “Emily!” she cried, throwing open her arms and stepping forward to meet her friend. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“And I you,” Emily said as they hugged.
“Your family? Are they all safe?” Skye asked.
“Yes. And yours?”
“Tavish and Stewart were with Uncle Collin when the fire came. Uncle William was working in a lumber camp, so it will be a few days at least before there’s news of him,” Skye said.
“You’ve heard nothing at all?”
“No, but I’m even now on my way to the docks to wait for them, or word of them.”
“I’ll come along with you,” Emily said. Her voice fell to a whisper and she spoke again. “Did you hear about Mary?”
“Mary Taylor? No. What news do you have of her?”
“Mary and the two youngest.” Emily’s eyes filled with tears and her voice broke. She drew a breath and managed to add, “All three perished.”
“No!” Shock immobilized Skye. “Are you certain?”
“I heard it from her sister-in-law, Ellen. Mary was carrying the little ones, Edward and Elijah, running toward the marshes, when she stumbled and fell. It seemed she twisted her ankle in the fall, and was unable to continue with enough speed to outrun the fire. Ellen saw the whole thing, but she had her own baby to carry and couldn’t stop to help.”
Mary and her two little brothers, dead ... burned alive! It was too much to bear. Tears spilled freely as Skye and Emily wept in each other’s arms.
When they could speak again, the pair vowed that they would never forget their friend.