22
Fire!
Right away Charlie grabbed two buckets and ran to the horses’ water trough out by the corral fence. I followed him and could see black smoke pouring out of the side door to the house.
“Call nine one one,” I said.
“Take these,” he answered, ignoring my suggestion. “I’ll find more.”
They were heavy and I tried not to slosh too much out of them as I ran up to the house. By this time the little kids were out in the yard. Brigid was keeping them back.
“I’ve got water!” I shouted as I climbed the steps.
“Here!” It was Sean. He took my two at the doorway and handed me two empty ones. In the meantime Pat came out of the regular kitchen’s door and had a big pot of water in his hands. Both of them dashed back into the summer kitchen.
Smoke made my eyes burn. I could taste it.
I ran back outside and met Charlie half way to the trough. He had found and filled another pail. “Take it,” he said, thrusting it at me and grabbing the two empty buckets I had dropped. I turned and Pat was right there.
“Ma’s using the kitchen pump,” he said. “You get the buckets from Charlie and bring them to me. I’ll take them to Sean.”
“Where’s Uncle . . .”
“In there,” he said and I knew where “there” meant. The summer kitchen. “Now hurry up but don’t go so fast you spill a lot.”
He dropped two empty buckets on the ground at my feet, took the full bucket Charlie had just given me and sped away. I brought the empty ones back to the trough and picked up two full ones.
That was my job for the next several minutes. Taking the empty ones from Pat and giving them to Charlie and taking the full ones from Charlie and giving them to Pat.
Smoke was rising straight up in the late afternoon sun. I could hear the burning wood crackling. There were small orange flames licking at the side of the summer kitchen where the outside wall met the roof.
I kept listening for a siren, a wailing off in the distant that would get louder and louder until the fire engine would finally pull up in the driveway.
Instead there were horses. The riders—three men—came from two different directions but arrived at almost the same time. Each had brought more buckets and they joined the line between the house and the trough, quickly passing empty buckets one way and full ones the other.
I don’t know how much time passed. It seemed like hours but it was probably only a few minutes. The smoke was turning from deep black to gray to almost white. The flames were no longer along the eaves. The snap, crackle and pop —I couldn’t help thinking of a breakfast cereal—were growing dim.
Still we kept passing the buckets. My arms were getting tired. Everyone coughed a lot. It was very hot.
More time passed but the sense of tension wasn’t there anymore.
“Saved the house anyway,” one of the men said to another and the second one nodded.
“Almost got away from us,” the second said.
By now Brigid had moved the little kids way down by the barn and most of them were crying. She kept one eye on them while she continued to help Charlie scoop up water.
It was probably another ten minutes before Aunt Mary came out of the house. She was filthy. She looked as if she had tried to climb down a chimney. The only clean spots on her were pale, white streaks on her cheeks. She was crying and coughing. She took about five steps into the side yard and then sat right down on the grass.
Uncle Peter came out about a minute later. He stumbled past her and then leaned over, his hands dangling in front of him. He threw up.
Two of the men who had come riding in to help took two full buckets each and went into the house. The third man knelt down next to Aunt Mary. He had a full bucket, too. He stripped off his shirt, dipped it in the water and handed it to her. She buried her face in it.
Then he went over to
Fire!
Right away Charlie grabbed two buckets and ran to the horses’ water trough out by the corral fence. I followed him and could see black smoke pouring out of the side door to the house.
“Call nine one one,” I said.
“Take these,” he answered, ignoring my suggestion. “I’ll find more.”
They were heavy and I tried not to slosh too much out of them as I ran up to the house. By this time the little kids were out in the yard. Brigid was keeping them back.
“I’ve got water!” I shouted as I climbed the steps.
“Here!” It was Sean. He took my two at the doorway and handed me two empty ones. In the meantime Pat came out of the regular kitchen’s door and had a big pot of water in his hands. Both of them dashed back into the summer kitchen.
Smoke made my eyes burn. I could taste it.
I ran back outside and met Charlie half way to the trough. He had found and filled another pail. “Take it,” he said, thrusting it at me and grabbing the two empty buckets I had dropped. I turned and Pat was right there.
“Ma’s using the kitchen pump,” he said. “You get the buckets from Charlie and bring them to me. I’ll take them to Sean.”
“Where’s Uncle . . .”
“In there,” he said and I knew where “there” meant. The summer kitchen. “Now hurry up but don’t go so fast you spill a lot.”
He dropped two empty buckets on the ground at my feet, took the full bucket Charlie had just given me and sped away. I brought the empty ones back to the trough and picked up two full ones.
That was my job for the next several minutes. Taking the empty ones from Pat and giving them to Charlie and taking the full ones from Charlie and giving them to Pat.
Smoke was rising straight up in the late afternoon sun. I could hear the burning wood crackling. There were small orange flames licking at the side of the summer kitchen where the outside wall met the roof.
I kept listening for a siren, a wailing off in the distant that would get louder and louder until the fire engine would finally pull up in the driveway.
Instead there were horses. The riders—three men—came from two different directions but arrived at almost the same time. Each had brought more buckets and they joined the line between the house and the trough, quickly passing empty buckets one way and full ones the other.
I don’t know how much time passed. It seemed like hours but it was probably only a few minutes. The smoke was turning from deep black to gray to almost white. The flames were no longer along the eaves. The snap, crackle and pop —I couldn’t help thinking of a breakfast cereal—were growing dim.
Still we kept passing the buckets. My arms were getting tired. Everyone coughed a lot. It was very hot.
More time passed but the sense of tension wasn’t there anymore.
“Saved the house anyway,” one of the men said to another and the second one nodded.
“Almost got away from us,” the second said.
By now Brigid had moved the little kids way down by the barn and most of them were crying. She kept one eye on them while she continued to help Charlie scoop up water.
It was probably another ten minutes before Aunt Mary came out of the house. She was filthy. She looked as if she had tried to climb down a chimney. The only clean spots on her were pale, white streaks on her cheeks. She was crying and coughing. She took about five steps into the side yard and then sat right down on the grass.
Uncle Peter came out about a minute later. He stumbled past her and then leaned over, his hands dangling in front of him. He threw up.
Two of the men who had come riding in to help took two full buckets each and went into the house. The third man knelt down next to Aunt Mary. He had a full bucket, too. He stripped off his shirt, dipped it in the water and handed it to her. She buried her face in it.
Then he went over to
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