But life hadn’t always held arguments. She still remembered the first time he’d called on her. Henry had been working, but Thomas had somehow wrangled a day off. He’d taken her to the Chicago Academy of Science, where they’d looked at all manner of specimens. The butterfly collection had been remarkable, displaying a host of brightly colored butterflies from various regions of the world.
It snowed that day—as it had always seemed to do that first winter when they met. On the way home, Thomas stopped and bought her an angel, one with blonde hair and blue eyes. “Just like you,” he’d said.
She could recall the day as though it were yesterday, with snow falling around them and the light from the streetlamps illuminating the rich blonds and browns in Thomas’s hair. The noise from passersby and horses and streetcars, and the smoke from…
Smoke?
She coughed. There hadn’t been smoke. The night had been cold and crisp. She didn’t remember any smoke then, but there was certainly smoke tonight.
She coughed again, then her eyes sprang open.
More smoke. Even in the darkness, she could see the dirty gray cloud of ash surrounding her.
She dragged in a breath of thick, foul air, only to cough again.
“Mama!”
“Meg—” Her daughter’s name caught in her throat, the smoke so thick she couldn’t speak through it. She scrambled from bed and made her way toward the door, ducking her head against the burning in her eyes and throat while she groped for the handle in the dark.
“Mama!” Megan called again.
“Ma!” The second cry came from Olivia.
“I’m coming.” She felt her way down the hallway in the thick, black cloud.
Olivia met her at the door to the bedroom. “I think there’s a fire downstairs.”
Yes. The heat of it rose through the floor, her bare feet absorbing the unusual amount of warmth for this time of year. But even worse than the heat was the sound, a dull roar, like the lake on a day when the wind didn’t let up. A snap sounded from downstairs, followed by a popping sound.
She glanced toward the stairway, filled with smoke, but the thick gray cloud couldn’t quite hide the eerie red glow from the first floor.
“Ma, where are you?” Claire’s voice rose over the din.
“I’m here,” she choked, her throat growing grittier. She made her way across the hall to the room opposite Olivia’s.
Olivia clutched the sleeve of her nightgown and followed behind. “What are we going to do?”
“Mama, I’m scared.” Megan rushed to her legs the second she stepped into the room.
“We have to get out!” Claire’s shadowed form started for the door.
“No, we can’t go downstairs. The fire’s too bad to get to the door.” She wasn’t quite sure how she knew. Maybe it was the rumble she felt underfoot, the way the floor almost seemed too hot to stand on, or her memory of the piles of fabric and clothes that would be engulfed with flames in a mere second’s time.
They’d have to go out a window.
A second-story window. She swallowed. Was it too high to jump, even with a fire at their backs? If only they had more snow, then the mounds of white could cushion their fall.
She headed to the window along the opposite wall, thrust it open, and looked down. Too far to jump, yes. But a window in Thomas and Isaac’s apartment sat directly opposite the girls’.
“Megan, find me a shoe. You too, Claire.”
Did the window lead to Isaac’s room, or Thomas’s?Please, God, let someone be in that room, let them sleep softly enough to hear.
“Help!” She tried to call, but her throat was so raw she could barely speak above a whisper.
Olivia rushed to her side and shouted into the night, her voice stronger.
“Good.” She patted her oldest daughter’s back. “Keep shouting while I close the door.” She rushed to the back of the room, where the smoke grew thicker. She didn’t dare peek down the stairway lest she see flames climbing them already.
