The Stars Are Fire(23)
But to give birth and go home empty-handed had upset Grace. What was the point?
“I’m a fairly good seamstress,” Grace announces. “I just need a mill store with remnants. I can work up a dress in no time if you have a machine.”
“I’ll see if Matt, when he gets home, can go into Biddeford with you on your way to or from the church.”
“I have to find a way to make money,” Grace says.
Joan glances at the clock. “Matt will come home early to get you to the church. You must be worried about your husband.”
“I am,” says Grace as she places finger food in front of Tom. Claire insists on using a grown-up fork, which, in her eager hands, acts as a catapult, sending bits of eggs onto the wall and floor. Grace cleans them off as best she can. “You know, I feel fine, but my life ahead seems overwhelming.”
“We’re here to help, and I think when you get to the church, you’ll find lots of people willing to help, too. All the organizations have mobilized: the Red Cross, the Salvation Army, the Grange, any church that didn’t burn.”
Grace stares through the kitchen window at the unremitting black. So this is what it means to survive a disaster.
The bulletin board is surrounded by a handful of people. Grace, in her blue suit, makes her way to the wall and, when she can, shifts so that she can read the notices.
Henri, I am at Arnaud’s. Come at once.
Lost: dark terrier. Answers to Scruff. Leave note here if found.
Mother, we are at Bishop’s parents’ house in Kennebunk. Anne.
Please leave any word of David Smith or David Smith Jr., father and son, last seen in the vicinity of Hunts Beach.
Any sheep found with red marking on right hind leg belongs to Piscassic Farm, Route 1, Sanford, Maine.
Grace studies each message. To be doubly sure, she scans the board again. Nothing. Below the board is a table with scraps of paper and a pencil. She writes her own message.
Looking for Eugene Holland, Marjorie Tate, and Rosie MacFarland. Write to Grace Holland, in care of Matthew and Joan York of Cape Porpoise.
She finds a small bare patch in a lower corner. There she pins her query.
Grace finds Matthew, who reports no luck, and together they leave the cacophony of the sanctuary for the door. Grace hears heavy footsteps behind her. She turns to see a haggard Reverend Phillips.
“Grace,” he says, out of breath. “This came for you, directly to the church. I didn’t want to put it up on the board.”
Grace waits an eternity for Reverend Phillips to hand the envelope over. If he expects her to open it in front of him, he’ll be disappointed. Grace folds the envelope and sticks it into a purse borrowed from Joan. “This is Matthew York. He and his wife are helping me and my children.”
“Bless you, son,” says the minister. “This is a catastrophe. More and more arrive every minute.”
Matthew drives for nearly an hour and parks in front of the Pepperell Mill. “I don’t know a lot about fabric and such, so I’ll wait in the truck and read the paper.”
“Thanks,” Grace says.
When she opens the mill door, she sees that the rooms are being used as temporary shelters. She scans faces but doesn’t recognize anyone. She studies the bulletin board with no result. Through the large window of the mill, Grace can see Matthew reading a newspaper in the truck. She slips closer to the window for better light. She opens the letter.
Dear Grace,
Rosie was never much good at letter writing, so I am writing you instead. But she’s sitting at my elbow telling me what to write, if you can imagine her there. First, I have to thank you for saving her life and the lives of our children. From what Rosie has told me, if it hadn’t been for your instructions, she almost certainly would have been caught up in the fire. I cannot even think about that.
Rosie doesn’t know where you are, and she asks that you write to the address on this envelope. You might notice that it’s a Nova Scotia address. We aren’t there yet, we are still driving down east, but we are headed to the town where my parents live. There we’ll settle for a bit, see if I can find work. There is nothing for us in Hunts Beach. The house is gone with no insurance. The auto mechanic shop burned. As soon as you get this, please write where you are staying. Rosie misses you so much. She feels as though she abandoned you, but she had no choice when the fire department came and made her get into the truck. They promised her they would go right back for you.
I wish I could tell you something about Gene. As you know, five of us went to the edge of town to make a firebreak so that we could stop the blaze from entering Hunts Beach. Before we knew what was happening, the fire came roaring down the hill straight at us. Two of us fled, I and one other man fell flat onto the ground, pushing our faces into the dirt. We were sure we were going to die. But as luck would have it, the fire crowned and leapt over us. When we stood, Gene was no longer with us. One of the men swore he saw Gene walking toward the fire, which was not a completely insane thing to do. If you can bury yourself in the dirt, it can sometimes be but a short moment until the fire passes, and then you’re safe because everything behind the fire has already burned. I cannot and do not want to say that Gene perished in the fire. He was the smartest of all of us. I pray that he escaped unharmed.
Rosie says she will die of boredom in Nova Scotia, so you must be our first visitor when everything is settled.