Big Decisions (25 page)

“Oh, goody! Then I can make meat loaf and barbecue sandwiches and vegetable soup and lots of good things for Stephen’s supper,” Lizzie said, smiling.

The rest of the day passed in a happy glow, with good advice from Mam about being careful not to give Baby Laura more than two ounces of formula before burping her. She also told Lizzie to hold Laura’s head up when she gave her a bottle, although Lizzie still felt inferior watching Emma and Mandy peacefully nursing their babies, relaxed and at ease with the whole deal. Oh, well, sometimes life just was that way, and you had to do the best you could, even if it meant giving your baby formula from a bottle.

I
N SPITE OF ALL
of Lizzie’s insecurities and her lack of expertise when it came to babies, Laura thrived and grew, although crying lustily much of the time. Lizzie switched to a different formula, but with no success. One evening Stephen’s mother, Annie, persuaded Laura to try goat’s milk, which was natural and she thought as close to mother’s milk as nature could provide. Laura drank well, cried just the same, and smelled exactly like a baby goat. Lizzie switched to a soy-based formula, and Laura smelled exactly like a little soybean.

But they continued on with the soybean formula, simply because her crying bouts were fewer, her nights were better, and she seemed more relaxed. That, in turn, made Lizzie feel better and calmer about babies in general.

The winter was a harsh one, with many snowstorms and temperatures hovering around zero degrees many days. The township plows, with their bleary-eyed drivers, did their best, but still some of the less traveled roads remained closed for days with snowdrifts making the roads impassable. Still the snow fell and the wind blew great walls of it to distant places, blowing anything shut that bore even the semblance of a dip. Lizzie loved the snow and the excitement of seeing cars slip and slide, revving their engines as they tried repeatedly to make their way to the top of the small, steep incline below their house.

On one of those days after yet another snowfall, when the weather turned bitterly cold and a strong, steady, forceful wind began to blow during the night, Lizzie was awakened by the tingling of her nose. She lay shivering beneath the heavy comforter, listening intently to the steady whine of the wind, ever increasing outside the window.

That morning, Stephen got up a bit earlier to make sure there was plenty of wood in the box beside the stove in the living room. He had a good strong fire going by the time Lizzie got up to make breakfast and pack his lunch.

“I’m glad I have work inside today,” he said.

“Won’t you have a problem getting to your job?” Lizzie asked worriedly, knowing their weekly paycheck had been decreasing during most of the winter months because of the weather, but their mortgage payment was due on the same date every month.

“I don’t think so, not with Jerry,” he replied, grinning. “He’s not afraid of anything with that four-wheel drive.”

“Just be careful,” Lizzie said.

“I want you to be careful, too,” Stephen said seriously. “Don’t let the woodstove get too hot in this wind. Sometimes I don’t really trust the chimney. I don’t think it’s built well enough with just the flue liner and chimney block.”

“Doesn’t everybody build their chimney that way?” Lizzie asked.

“Pretty much. But I’d still feel more comfortable if we had built a better one.”

Lizzie tried to heed Stephen’s advice, but the house would not warm up sufficiently. Laura’s little hands were cold, and shivers went up and down Lizzie’s spine as she sat at the sewing machine. She stopped treadling just to listen to the wind as it wailed and howled around the little house, rattling anything that wasn’t securely nailed down. She felt thankful for their good sturdy home, covered with bricks, white or not. They kept out the cold, increased the strength of the little structure, and helped her feel safer.

She added a few pieces of wood to the stove and opened the draft in the back, telling herself there was no sense in being chilly all day, especially with Laura shivering. She returned to the sewing machine, quickly becoming engrossed in putting in a difficult sleeve, and forgot about the draft in the back of the woodstove.

Suddenly she felt quite warm, so she stopped sewing and went to check the fire. She was alarmed to find the stove radiating much more heat than usual. She quickly turned the knob to shut down the draft and was rewarded with an instant crackling sound as the wood lost the draft that had caused it to overheat. Anxiously Lizzie put her hand close to the stovepipe. It didn’t feel red hot. Everything would be all right, she thought, hurriedly returning to her sewing while Laura slept.

The wind increased its fury, whining and making the snow swirl in great expanses across the countryside. Lizzie could hardly understand how Stephen could get to work on a day like this. But she shrugged off her concern, knowing he would be safe as long as his crew worked on the interior part of the new building.

She resumed sewing, then stopped to listen. What was that noise? A bumping sound seemed to be coming from upstairs. Bump! There it was again. It sounded like someone dropping a stone or a brick on the floor.

Hurriedly she left the sewing machine and stood, barely daring to breathe, at the open stairway listening. Bump! Another one! What if someone was up there, trying to lure her upstairs so he could grab her as she opened the door?

Now she heard another sound, only a bit lighter, like popping. Pop! Pop! Oh, dear! Lizzie looked left and right frantically before realizing there was only one thing to do. She had to charge up the stairs and see for herself what was making that unusual noise.

Quickly, she raced up the stairs, flung open the door, and peered inside. Nothing. The bed with its multicolored Sunshine and Shadow quilt stood against the opposite wall. The rugs lay straight beside the bed and in front of the dresser.

She dashed across the hallway, opened the door on the opposite side, and instantly knew there was something wrong when a wall of warm air hit her. It was much too hot in the room. Reaching out tentatively, she touched the wall surrounding the chimney and yanked back her hand when the drywall burned her fingers.

Pop!

Now she heard the sound quite clearly, coming from the chimney. The chimney was on fire, popping and crackling in its ferocity. Laura! Her baby! She was all alone and had to call the fire department with no telephone in the house. Dat’s phone shanty at the bottom of the hill was farther away than their next-door neighbors, a young English couple named Lance and Alice Wingert, with three children. She wondered wildly if Alice was home and which direction she should go. She could not waste one moment. The chimney was burning, and perhaps their little house would be next.

Dashing down the stairs, she grabbed the heaviest homemade comforter in the bedroom, threw on her coat and scarf, rolled Laura in the comforter, hearing her cries of protest, and dashed outside, running a short distance from the house.

The cold and the wind hit her with unbelievable force as she turned to look at the top of the chimney. She began crying as the evil-looking flames leaped out and danced around the top of the chimney while black smoke pour out in thick plumes.

Oh, dear God, don’t let our little house and all our stuff burn, she prayed, as she ran as best she could, carrying Laura in the heavy comforter. Never had the short distance between her house and the Wingerts’ home seemed so far. She finally slipped between the shrubs by their back door. She tried not to pound madly, but knocked louder and more quickly than usual until Alice opened the door, peering out at Lizzie.

“The … the house! The chimney is burning! I need to call 911!” Lizzie burst out.

“Oh, my! Where? Your house! Come in! Hurry!”

She stood aside as Lizzie hurried past, then reached for the phone and dialed 911, those blessed three little numbers that meant help would be on the way soon. Alice spoke in a clear articulate voice, giving the operator the correct address and describing the house.

“You go back now, stand in your driveway, and direct the fire trucks,” Alice ordered, taking control of the situation quickly. “I’ll watch Laura.”

“But … she doesn’t have a bottle!” Lizzie said hopelessly.

“She has her pacifier. She’ll be fine. Go!”

So Laura ran, sobs catching in her throat as she saw the bright orange flames still leaping from the chimney. She had never felt quite so helpless or so inadequate in all her life. What would Stephen say? That was the most terrible thought.

She stood, then, in the gently curving driveway in the bitter cold with the strong winds blowing her skirt around her legs. She watched the chimney burning, until she finally, blessedly, heard the wail of the fire siren. Even then, it seemed like a very long time before the huge red trucks, with all the white and gold lettering, the fancy silver grillwork, and the yellow whirling lights on top of their cabs, actually came into view.

Lizzie waved her arms, pointing, but it was a useless gesture, as they had likely spotted the burning chimney half a mile away, since the house sat on top of a hill.

“We can’t get up the drive!”

The firefighter rushing past her explained this to her, as he held a large fire extinguisher with both arms. He was followed by another, and then another fireman. There was nothing left for her to do except follow as they dashed up the front porch steps and into the living room, already on their way upstairs before Lizzie entered the house.

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard, hearing the sound of chopping, followed by the hiss of the fire extinguishers. More men came charging in through the front door and up the stairway, their heavy firefighting gear clanking as they went. Then there was nothing to do but wait. She listened anxiously to the firemen stomping about upstairs, talking in low tones, until she smelled a smoky sulfurous odor wafting down the stairway, swirling around the living room.

Lizzie coughed, barely able to contain her curiosity, wondering if her house would burn down after all the firemen did to stop the burning chimney. She bit down hard on a fingernail and watched anxiously up the stairway as a fireman came back down, looking as if he wanted to talk to her.

“Do you live here?” he asked kindly.

“Y…Yes,” Lizzie answered uncertainly, not sure if he would scold her for letting the stove become overheated.

“Let me tell you, you are a very fortunate young lady. The chimney block was so hot the rafters were beginning to burn behind the drywall. Five more minutes and your roof would have been aflame.”

Lizzie watched him speak, her eyes wide, barely able to comprehend what he was saying.

Five more minutes!

What if she hadn’t heard that sound? Or had not gone immediately for help? Or what if Alice had not been home? Oh, surely God had heard her prayers and had not let the house burn to the ground. Their very own house!

“You have a bit of a mess upstairs, but everything is replaceable. I suppose your husband isn’t home?”

“No, he isn’t. He’ll be home around six.”

“The fire in the stove will be out, so you’ll have to find another source of heat until he returns. In this cold…Is there any way you can get ahold of him at work?”

Lizzie nodded, remembering the phone number stuck to the refrigerator door. After thanking the firemen, she ran over to the Wingerts, made the phone call to Stephen, and then ran back to the house with Laura still wrapped in the comforter. Already, the house was cool, so she turned the oven on and propped the door open, figuring that would help a small amount until Stephen arrived. Laura was screaming at the top of her lungs, protesting the great weight of the comforter wrapped around her, trying with all her mighty little strength to worm her way out of it.

Lizzie laughed, calm now and so relieved that the fire was extinguished. She wrapped Laura tightly, telling her she should be grateful for the warmth of the big comforter instead of complaining like that. Finally Stephen arrived. His face was pale; his eyes wide with alarm. Lizzie felt like crying when she caught sight of him climbing out of the truck, but she didn’t.

“What in the world, Lizzie!” he burst out, as he came through the back door.

“It … it just …”

“Are you all right? What about Laura?” he asked, coming over to peer into the heavy comforter.

“Yes, we are both all right, Stephen. It was…was my fault, letting the stove get so hot.”

“No, Lizzie, not entirely. I never did feel safe building that chimney cheaply like that. Now we’ll do something different. I’ll go to the lumber company in town today and ask them what to do.”

Lizzie followed him upstairs to see the damage the firemen had made in order to extinguish the flames. There were huge, ragged holes chopped in the drywall, and when they peered into the wall, they could see the shiny blackness of the charred rafters. The entire room had a smoky, sulfurous smell, and the chimney still radiated some heat behind the battered drywall.

Stephen gave a low whistle as he laid his hand on the chimney block.

“That’s scary, Lizzie. We came so close to losing everything.”