The Hull Home Fire by Linda Abbott

away.”
    “Sweet Virgin Mary, you’re right,” Alice said. “That will only make him madder
     at us for not warning him.”

Chapter 8
    ALICE TROD SOFTLY DOWN THE stairs, dressed in her nightgown and
     housecoat, relishing the heat from the hall stove. Eggs frolicked in bacon fat,
     bread toasted in the toaster, and tea steeped on the stove when she walked into
     the kitchen. “It’s lovely to have someone else light the stoves and make
     breakfast once in a while,” she said, planting a kiss on her son’s cheek.
    Henry turned over the eggs. Fat flicked on his thumb. “You look awful, Mom,” he
     said, sucking the inflamed flesh. “Didn’t you sleep ?”
    “It was some hard to close my eyes without your father next to me.” Alice made
     tea for both of them. “It’s only six-thirty. Seems you didn’t get much sleep
     either.”
    “It’s the tenth, Mom. Don’t you remember what that means ?”
    “Mike’s due today,” Alice said. She sat down and tasted her tea. “I’ve thought
     about nothing else for days.”
    Henry placed two plates of greasy eggs and toast on the table.
    “Thanks, love,” Alice said. “Your grandmother says thatthinking
     good thoughts will make good things happen.” She cut the egg into small pieces.
     “It can’t hurt to give it a try.”
    “Gran always sees the best in everything,” Henry said with a wistful
     smile.
    “God bless her,” Alice said. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
    Neither spoke as they ate... or tried to. A quick succession of even beats on
     the front door pierced the silence. Alice knocked her cup over. Tea flowed
     across the table and dribbled over the edge. She pushed back her chair in time
     to escape staining her housecoat. “Good heavens ! That can’t be Mike already ?”
     Henry scrambled away from the table and hurried to answer the door. Burned
     rubber assailed his senses.
    Dougie stood on the concrete step. “Look, Henry,” he said, pointing toward New
     Gower Street. “A fire !”
    Dark grey smoke billowed up, blackening the blue sky. “It looks like Horwood
     Lumber,” Henry said.
    Alice stood next to her son. “I don’t think so,” she said. “The fire seems
     farther down than that.”

    ISAAC HULL HAULED OUT HIS chain watch from his pocket as he left
     the Annex, and walked across the backyard to return to the main building.
     Six-fifty. He was late getting breakfast under way.
    Mary rushed toward him. “Mr. Hull, there’s smoke coming from behind the stove
     and from under the kettle.”
    “It’s probably nothing serious,” Isaac said. “You go check on Sheila Vickers.
     She coughed something fierce while I was lighting the coal stove.”
    Mary wrung her hands. “But Mr. Hull, nothing like that ever happened before. We
     have...”
    Isaac disregarded her and made for the kitchen. Suddenly, flames
     surrounded the stove and licked at him, spreading along the ceiling. Isaac
     started for the sink to get a bucket for water when flames jumped across the
     space to the counter. “Goodness me,” he yelped. After one more half-hearted
     attempt, he turned and fled.
    Howard Pike ran out of the dining room. “Mr. Hull,” he said in a high-pitched
     tone. “We have to help the residents get out.”
    “Call the Fire Department,” Isaac said, and zoomed past the boy. “Fire !” he
     shouted, running down the stairs for the front door.
    Howard snatched up the hall phone receiver and dialled the operator. Sweat
     bubbled on his forehead as the fire bore close to him. His shirt stuck to him
     like he had been caught in a rainstorm.
    “Number please,” a female voice said.
    “Hull Home’s on fire !” Smoke curled around Howard. “Hurry,” he coughed. Flames
     crept along the wall and began to eat the wire connected to the phone. Static
     sizzled in Howard’s ear.
    “I’m sorry,” the operator said. “Please repeat...” more static.
    “Fire at Hull Home,” Howard shouted. “Call the