your people back at the hotel, ma’am.”
Her eyes were not those of some unfortunate in shock, but of a woman who could envision her duties on some chalkboard slate only she could see.
“I will do my supervising from here, sir,” she said, tempering her manner as not to sound like she was giving the orders. “May I suggest sir, that when folks are finally allowed to cross back from West Palm, you could please have a few at a time come out to their houses. I will make sure they can see what they need to see, sir. Then I’ll get their work schedules right and send them back.
“Will that be acceptable, sir?”
The assistant manager seemed to focus on something slightly beyond the crown of her head while he considered how to explain it to his own superiors and make the plan his own.
“I’ll take these folks with me,” he said. “And send the next directly.”
When he walked away Ida took up her spot in front of the ashes of her house and supervised the comings and goings. She watched the disbelieving expressions of each new arrival as they approached the blackened cluster of charred timbers and ash. And when the faces broke with despair or with anger, she passed her whispers of strength or possibilities along.
“Gone be alright now, Mazzie. You safe, that’s all that matters. Right?”
“Careful now, Earl. You know the Lord don’t take anything ya’ll really need. You know that, Earl. Right?”
“It’s OK now, Corrine. Come here, give a hug, sweetheart. Your children are all safe, right? They with you and that’s everything, you know?”
After an hour or so that particular group would straggle back from their individual tragedies, their skin smeared with soot, the men carrying the head of some metal tool or heat-warped tin box, the women with a scrap of seared cloth, a blackened iron cook pot or an empty, charred picture frame.
Marjory McAdams was aboard the third wagonload to arrive. She had left the Styx while it was still dark and the sparks of the fire were just beginning to settle. She’d waited there with Ida May for hours after young Thorn Martin had left in the calash, promising he’d soon return with help.
“I cannot believe someone hasn’t responded,” she’d said in the middle of the night, looking expectantly back down the road to the hotel as if a fire brigade would surely come swinging round the corner at any second like it was midtown Manhattan. Ida May had ignored her comments, knowing the truth and thus the futility in the young woman’s expectations. Marjory had finally given up trying to talk Ida into returning to the hotel with her and had marched off on foot. When she returned now, she had not changed her clothing, which was still soot-stained. Her face had been hastily wiped clean but she had not even taken the time to change her shoes, which were dust-covered, as was the bottom eight inches of her skirt. In the light of day, the destruction before her had changed from the smoky blur of varying shades of gray and black to the stark outlines of broken angles and spires of charred wood pointing oddly up like giant corroded fingers. The rising wind from the ocean had just begun to sweep the browned wisps of smoke from the surrounding treetops. Marjory waited until the new arrivals passed Miss Ida’s consoling whispers and then watched them as they walked into the remains, their heads moving back and forth, taking in the alien sights and saying nothing. When they had all wandered off she approached the head housekeeper, softly cupped her shoulder and bent her cheek to the woman’s grayed and soot-stained head.
“I have heard that everyone has been accounted for, Mizz Ida. Everyone is alive. Thank the Lord that the fair drew most everyone across the lake. That in itself is a blessing.”
The old woman did not move her head, neither away from nor into the consoling hug of the young white girl. Her only reaction was a slight movement of her cheeks, which sucked in as if a
Her eyes were not those of some unfortunate in shock, but of a woman who could envision her duties on some chalkboard slate only she could see.
“I will do my supervising from here, sir,” she said, tempering her manner as not to sound like she was giving the orders. “May I suggest sir, that when folks are finally allowed to cross back from West Palm, you could please have a few at a time come out to their houses. I will make sure they can see what they need to see, sir. Then I’ll get their work schedules right and send them back.
“Will that be acceptable, sir?”
The assistant manager seemed to focus on something slightly beyond the crown of her head while he considered how to explain it to his own superiors and make the plan his own.
“I’ll take these folks with me,” he said. “And send the next directly.”
When he walked away Ida took up her spot in front of the ashes of her house and supervised the comings and goings. She watched the disbelieving expressions of each new arrival as they approached the blackened cluster of charred timbers and ash. And when the faces broke with despair or with anger, she passed her whispers of strength or possibilities along.
“Gone be alright now, Mazzie. You safe, that’s all that matters. Right?”
“Careful now, Earl. You know the Lord don’t take anything ya’ll really need. You know that, Earl. Right?”
“It’s OK now, Corrine. Come here, give a hug, sweetheart. Your children are all safe, right? They with you and that’s everything, you know?”
After an hour or so that particular group would straggle back from their individual tragedies, their skin smeared with soot, the men carrying the head of some metal tool or heat-warped tin box, the women with a scrap of seared cloth, a blackened iron cook pot or an empty, charred picture frame.
Marjory McAdams was aboard the third wagonload to arrive. She had left the Styx while it was still dark and the sparks of the fire were just beginning to settle. She’d waited there with Ida May for hours after young Thorn Martin had left in the calash, promising he’d soon return with help.
“I cannot believe someone hasn’t responded,” she’d said in the middle of the night, looking expectantly back down the road to the hotel as if a fire brigade would surely come swinging round the corner at any second like it was midtown Manhattan. Ida May had ignored her comments, knowing the truth and thus the futility in the young woman’s expectations. Marjory had finally given up trying to talk Ida into returning to the hotel with her and had marched off on foot. When she returned now, she had not changed her clothing, which was still soot-stained. Her face had been hastily wiped clean but she had not even taken the time to change her shoes, which were dust-covered, as was the bottom eight inches of her skirt. In the light of day, the destruction before her had changed from the smoky blur of varying shades of gray and black to the stark outlines of broken angles and spires of charred wood pointing oddly up like giant corroded fingers. The rising wind from the ocean had just begun to sweep the browned wisps of smoke from the surrounding treetops. Marjory waited until the new arrivals passed Miss Ida’s consoling whispers and then watched them as they walked into the remains, their heads moving back and forth, taking in the alien sights and saying nothing. When they had all wandered off she approached the head housekeeper, softly cupped her shoulder and bent her cheek to the woman’s grayed and soot-stained head.
“I have heard that everyone has been accounted for, Mizz Ida. Everyone is alive. Thank the Lord that the fair drew most everyone across the lake. That in itself is a blessing.”
The old woman did not move her head, neither away from nor into the consoling hug of the young white girl. Her only reaction was a slight movement of her cheeks, which sucked in as if a
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