and a whoosh as a blazing wall tumbled to the ground. Red-and-gold flames leapt and danced as wood buckled and collapsed. Fiery ash landed inches from our feet, and a wave of scorching heat engulfed the street, followed by the blackest smoke I had ever seen.
Chapter 4
The smell of smoke was still in the air when Elias attended his first water meeting. After supper, he and Levi left the house in Ezra Weeks’s elegant calash. Seated on the plush upholstery, Elias was clearly pleased, nodding at neighbors and laughing a bit too loudly. I may have shook my head, but, truth be told, I was relieved Elias was adjusting to city life. My days were infinitely easier when he was in good spirits. With childlike naïveté, I buried any concern that we might be punished for our complacency and pride. Caught in the whirlpool that was engulfing our lives, I set my values aside.
Elma disappeared the moment the men were out of sight. It was unlike her to leave without cleaning up. She had spent the afternoon sewing in silence, her head resting on the back of her chair as if observing the household from afar. I know now, with a crystalline pain, that we were both errant, soon to be lost entirely. But at the time I was more concerned with fussy children and dirty dishes.
I wanted to speak to Elma about Levi, though I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Could I tell her not to sway like a blade of grass while he spoke? Not to hover as if anticipating his every whim?
I called for her in the yard and up the stairs, increasingly bothered by the silent house. Charles tagged behind me, holding my apron strings and pretending to drive a horse.
“I want a story,” he said, his mood as bearish as mine. “Where’s Elma?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to do tonight,” I said, steering him toward the bedroom.
Only half paying attention, I told a dull tale about a well-behaved boy who was kind to his little sister. Charles interrupted with endless comments: the boy had brown hair, not blond; he hated peas and deserved a later bedtime. Eventually, his objections became fewer until finally, he closed his eyes. I went in search of Elma.
Over the past year, I had grown accustomed to our home’s odd sounds, from snoring men to rattling windows. But that night the entire house was still as death. My steps slowed, and I could hear my breath as I reached the third floor. Elma’s bedroom door was closed. For some reason it filled me with dread. My hand shook as I turned the knob, and when the door swung open, I gasped. Croucher stood, candle in hand, leaning over Elma’s narrow bed. For a stout man, he cast a long shadow.
“I ’eard ’er babbling,” he said. “Sickness came on fast.”
“Sickness?” I rushed to her side. The idea that Elma was ill had not occurred to me, but as I gazed down at her I could not help but wonder how I had been so blind. Her hair was tousled, her lips caked and dry, and her teeth chattering. I set my hand on her forehead, then snatched it back. Her face was flushed with fever, yet her skin was clammy. “She needs a doctor!”
“Those slick doctors and their slimy leeches bleed you dry. I’d ask Ring first,” Croucher warned.
I wanted to tell him that I could call for a doctor with or without Elias’s approval, but I knew with a pang of anger that he was right. Elias would be irritated at an extra expense, especially one for Elma.
“Elias has gone to the water meeting,” I worried out loud. “Would thou fetch him for me?” I did not like asking Richard Croucher for a favor. He was the kind of man who would request something in return.
He shook his head forcefully. “I wasn’t invited,” he snapped.
I was suddenly calm with purpose. “A rather odd time to stand on ceremony, I should think,” I said, as I started out of the room. “Very well, then.” I would get our neighbor Elizabeth Watkins to stay with the children and find Elias myself.
“Where you going?” Croucher called.
I did not
Chapter 4
The smell of smoke was still in the air when Elias attended his first water meeting. After supper, he and Levi left the house in Ezra Weeks’s elegant calash. Seated on the plush upholstery, Elias was clearly pleased, nodding at neighbors and laughing a bit too loudly. I may have shook my head, but, truth be told, I was relieved Elias was adjusting to city life. My days were infinitely easier when he was in good spirits. With childlike naïveté, I buried any concern that we might be punished for our complacency and pride. Caught in the whirlpool that was engulfing our lives, I set my values aside.
Elma disappeared the moment the men were out of sight. It was unlike her to leave without cleaning up. She had spent the afternoon sewing in silence, her head resting on the back of her chair as if observing the household from afar. I know now, with a crystalline pain, that we were both errant, soon to be lost entirely. But at the time I was more concerned with fussy children and dirty dishes.
I wanted to speak to Elma about Levi, though I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Could I tell her not to sway like a blade of grass while he spoke? Not to hover as if anticipating his every whim?
I called for her in the yard and up the stairs, increasingly bothered by the silent house. Charles tagged behind me, holding my apron strings and pretending to drive a horse.
“I want a story,” he said, his mood as bearish as mine. “Where’s Elma?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to do tonight,” I said, steering him toward the bedroom.
Only half paying attention, I told a dull tale about a well-behaved boy who was kind to his little sister. Charles interrupted with endless comments: the boy had brown hair, not blond; he hated peas and deserved a later bedtime. Eventually, his objections became fewer until finally, he closed his eyes. I went in search of Elma.
Over the past year, I had grown accustomed to our home’s odd sounds, from snoring men to rattling windows. But that night the entire house was still as death. My steps slowed, and I could hear my breath as I reached the third floor. Elma’s bedroom door was closed. For some reason it filled me with dread. My hand shook as I turned the knob, and when the door swung open, I gasped. Croucher stood, candle in hand, leaning over Elma’s narrow bed. For a stout man, he cast a long shadow.
“I ’eard ’er babbling,” he said. “Sickness came on fast.”
“Sickness?” I rushed to her side. The idea that Elma was ill had not occurred to me, but as I gazed down at her I could not help but wonder how I had been so blind. Her hair was tousled, her lips caked and dry, and her teeth chattering. I set my hand on her forehead, then snatched it back. Her face was flushed with fever, yet her skin was clammy. “She needs a doctor!”
“Those slick doctors and their slimy leeches bleed you dry. I’d ask Ring first,” Croucher warned.
I wanted to tell him that I could call for a doctor with or without Elias’s approval, but I knew with a pang of anger that he was right. Elias would be irritated at an extra expense, especially one for Elma.
“Elias has gone to the water meeting,” I worried out loud. “Would thou fetch him for me?” I did not like asking Richard Croucher for a favor. He was the kind of man who would request something in return.
He shook his head forcefully. “I wasn’t invited,” he snapped.
I was suddenly calm with purpose. “A rather odd time to stand on ceremony, I should think,” I said, as I started out of the room. “Very well, then.” I would get our neighbor Elizabeth Watkins to stay with the children and find Elias myself.
“Where you going?” Croucher called.
I did not
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