It's been quite a while since I've written anything fiction! I've been stuck writing professional papers for the past few years due to school. My U.S. History class gave me the opportunity to write a historical fiction short story and I was amazed once I picked my topic how quickly my story came together and flew from my mind onto the paper. I've missed this! The historic part of it was really cool as I researched the Chicago Fire of 1871 and even my characters! I felt so emotional as I wrote about this experience, maybe because it was a little too close to home with so many of my friends who had experienced Hurricane Harvey; if we hadn't moved the year before, that could have been us in the midst of the disastrous hurricane! I'm pretty pleased with my little story and wanted to share it with you! The characters are fictional, but for the most part the places mentioned, the statistics cited, and the timeline and conditions are based on fact. Enjoy!
A
Short Story by Kayla Gisseman
A
work of historical fiction detailing the events of the “Great Chicago Fire of
1871”
The
Fire of Judgment
I shut my eyelids tight together,
willing them to stay closed and to finally
go to sleep, but there was no helping it. My mind was filled with worries and I
rolled out of bed, silently groaning in frustration. I dressed as quietly as I
could, careful not to wake up the children sleeping on the floor next to our
bed. Little Shea and Molly had fallen asleep quickly without a care in the
world, but Cadee had stayed up until an hour ago, worrying along with me. Their
father and my husband, Shea, was out in the night watching the fire that
steadily grew warmer and brighter, like the rising of the sun, turning night
into day.
I sighed again and grabbed a cloth,
quietly dusting our home again, my hands needing a chore to keep them busy. Our
home, if you could call it that, was in a small village of Chicago where the
Irish folk had settled. Conley’s Patch was a tightly packed community with
meager wooden shacks that hardly passed for houses. Shea was still looking for
a more permanent job so we could finally get ourselves a nicer home. Well,
small or not, this was still my home and I had taken great pride in keeping it
spotless and decorating it. We were snug in our home and I felt a small joy as
I looked at my sleeping babes; at least they were content.
Cadee
stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Ma, has Da
come home yet?” Cadee whispered, sitting up, her covers falling down.
“No,
darling. Not yet.” I looked towards the door, feeling my chest tightening with
worry. I opened the pocket watch and noted the time was close to 11:30 p.m. I
suddenly heard footsteps outside and our door flew open, Shea standing in the
doorframe, a cloth over his face, looking out of breath and wildly around the
room. He looked me straight in the eyes and I knew there was trouble.
He looked
at Cadee and then back at me. “Breena, a word with you outside.”
I nodded
and he turned quickly on his heel, disappearing out the door. I grabbed my
shawl and a cloth to cover my own face and gave Cadee a stern look. “Stay
inside.”
I followed
Shea around the house and he put his hand on my shoulder, leveling his eyes
with mine.
“Breena, I don’t know if we’re
going to be able to stay here much longer. The fire is getting out of control.
It’s already gone to Bateham’s Mills! I don’t think the river is going to stop
it, not with this wind and drought. We’re sitting here like tinder and brush.”
We hadn’t
had much rain since July. It had been very dry the past few months. I could
feel the heat in the air and see the sparks from the fire. We weren’t the only
people outside, which is partially why I had had such a hard time falling asleep.
People had been running around raucously bringing news about the fire since it
started at the O’ Leary’s barn only two hours ago. Folks had already been
overly excited by the fire from the following evening. That fire had been
stopped by the river and I was hesitant to leave. This was our home, no matter
how humble. Today was God’s day. We had gone to our church service earlier that
day and the children had played with the neighbors. Surely God would protect us
and see that the river stopped the fire.
The dry
wind whipped through my hair and I removed the cloth from my mouth to speak to
Shea. The cloth did little to keep the smoke from entering my nostrils and my
head was already aching.
“Shea, no!
It will be all right. We just have to have faith.”
Shea shook
his head emphatically, throwing up his hands. “Breena, God’s not going to stop
this fire. It’s up to us to save ourselves.”
My eyes
filled with tears, partially from the acrid smoke and partially from the
thought of leaving. We had only lived in
Chicago for a few months. It was supposed to be a city of opportunity! Chicago
was experiencing constant growth and prosperity and perhaps one day it would
even rival New York in all its splendor and industry!
A man was
suddenly hollering down the street. “It’s jumped the river! It’s heading
towards the Gas Works! It’s comin’ right for us!”
Even as the
man screamed the news, people could visibly see the fire now, too close for
comfort. The excitement and assurance of
safety instantly gave way to panic and mayhem. Shea and I barely looked at each
other before we both ran into our home, urgently waking the children.
“Cadee, we have to leave. The fire
is coming. Grab some cloths for you and children to put around your face.”
Cadee looked at me with wide, scared eyes, but instantly jumped into action. My
oldest girl was only nine, but she had always been my second pair of hands. I
grabbed some clothes and shoes, stuffing them into a bag, and not bothering to
dress the children. Little Shea was six and Molly was three years old. They
were both groggily rubbing their eyes, unaware of the danger that edged ever
closer to us outside, like an angry, spitting, fiery demon.
“Shea, our chest!” I wailed as I
looked towards the wooden box that held the only material things I valued.
Shea looked at it. “Leave it. Take
only what we can carry.”
I swallowed back a sob and squared
my shoulders. I couldn’t give way to my emotions, not in front of the children.
I grabbed Molly and carried her, while Shea picked up Little Shea and Cadee
grabbed on to the crook of her father’s arm.
We burst outside, instantly shocked
by the scene in front of us. People were running, trying to grab things, and
waking up neighbors and family members. It was absolute chaos.
“Where do we go?” I asked Shea in a
panicky voice, not wanting to be here a second longer.
“Towards the lake.” He replied
resolutely, turning our family away from the fire. We ran as fast as we could
and the fire seemed to chase us. I struggled to carry Molly and keep up with
Shea and I could see Cadee stumbling. I worried that we would lose him in the
crowd.
“Shea slow down!” I yelled
desperately, but also as a warning.
He looked behind us and I saw his
eyes fill with fear. Shea was never afraid. The fire was so close it was
practically licking our backs. It was hot as Hell.
An extra surge of strength filled
my body and we all ran faster, bumping into people, nearly falling and then
recovering. Everywhere people around us were fleeing like a stampede of wild
animals. A woman was screaming behind us and I saw Shea hesitate, looking
behind him once more.
“My baby!” The woman yelled. She
was standing a few feet from a house, beside herself with fear. The fire was
consuming her house and her child was clearly still inside. I could see it in
Shea’s face. He couldn’t just pass the woman by, but in my bitter, wicked heart
I wished he would.
“Go. I’ll meet you at the lake! I
promise I’ll find you!” He kissed me quickly, catching the side of my mouth as
I tried to grasp onto his fingers to hold him here with me, but he was gone so
quickly, and if I didn’t keep going we would be trampled. I gave Molly to Cadee
and I carried Little Shea. The crowd was surging like waves and we ran until
the wave finally broke, and it appeared that we were at last free of the fire.
The crowd was walking slower now, more like buoys floating in the water, than
the powerful waves we had known only moments before. Our family slowed to a
walk, sluggish with Little Shea now walking, completely exhausted. We stopped
and turned around again, to look at the fire that was engulfing our city. It
was surely a site like I had never seen before. The fire was so bright, it was
like Chicago was a giant beacon; but instead of attracting moths, we were all
fleeing from the light, still mesmerized by it, nonetheless.
We walked with the crowd and I
listened as people cried and children wailed. We didn’t talk much, and when we
did it was in hushed voices, as if talking too loud would attract the attention
of the fire. Our throats were sore from the smoke and our eyes were red and
burning. Our lungs were still recovering from the run and from the noxious
fumes. I felt as though we had barely managed to escape with our lives. What
about those that could not run? What of the the lame, the elderly, and those
too young to walk on their own? I thought about Shea and silently prayed he
would return to us. We reached the edges of Lake Michigan and it seemed to be
the place everyone had decided to stop. We finally felt as if we were far
enough out of the fire’s monstrous reach.
I could feel the air around us
lightening, both from the escape from the smoke and the emotional release of
tension and fear. I tended to the children, wishing now that I had put shoes on
Little Shea before we had left. His feet were sore and hurt from walking
barefoot. I took my own shirt out of my bag and ripped it into cloths to
bandage his feet. I realized that others around me needed tending as well, and
so I left Cadee with the younger children and helped others in whatever way I
could. I made sure to not wander too far from my family, and my eyes were
constantly scanning faces, hoping to see Shea’s. Eventually, I was too drained
to be of help to anyone and I found my way back to my family and held them
close. Molly and Shea fell asleep and Cadee wept silently into my neck,
dampening my hair. I hardly noticed as tears streamed down my own face.
At some point in the night we had
all fallen asleep. We woke up still tired and hungry and unsure of what to do
next. Shea was still missing and my mind kept thinking of the unthinkable while
my heart scampered desperately away from it. Everyone helped each other, each
of us uniting together as we grieved over what we had lost. Homes, businesses,
belongings, family, friends had all gone up in smoke. The social classes
dissolved and it didn’t matter if you were rich or poor. At this moment, we all
understood each other on a profound level, like kin. I hugged strangers and
consoled other wives and mothers. We searched together for our husbands and I
promised to look out for their missing loved ones. I brought food to the frail
and sickly and gave water to the weary.
Some people called the fire a
“conflagration,” while religious zealots were proclaiming this fire to be an
act of God. They accused the people of Chicago of being too worldly, immoral,
and of relying too much on industry, and not enough on God; claiming we needed
to return to living a more rustic lifestyle. I remembered my conversation with Shea,
before we had fled from the fire. It seemed so long ago when I had naïvely
thought God would keep the fire from us. I thought we were good people. We went
to church, we served our neighbors, and surely, we lived modestly. I could not
fully support the argument that God had damned us with hellfire, when I looked
around and saw so many other good people hurt by the fire. Perhaps some
disasters were an act of God, and others simply an act of nature.
Still, there were others that criticized
the construction of the city and said Chicago needed to improve its
infrastructure. Already, people were thinking about how they could move on and
make Chicago better than before. I could not be so optimistic, when I didn’t
know how to move on without Shea. He made life better. He had all the dreams,
and I was just happy to be a part of them. Any dreams that I possibly had meant
nothing without him.
Rain
finally came and smothered the rest of the fire on Tuesday, more than a day
after it had started. Families were being reunited, but so many were still
missing. We would later learn that while about 120 bodies had been recovered,
it was suspected that 300 people had perished in the fire.
We finally headed back into the
city of Chicago. Buildings had been brought to nothing but broken wood and ash.
Parts of the city were dangerous with small fires still burning and falling
debris. News reports and surveyors would later say that the fire had burned an
area 4 miles long and 1 mile wide, destroying 17,500 buildings and 73 miles of
street, moving southwest to northwest. An estimated 98,500 people were left
homeless. As days moved on, people from all over the country were donating
food, clothing, and money to help us recover and rebuild. My heart swelled with
the generosity of this country, when it hadn’t been long ago that my mother
country of Ireland had suffered from a great famine. This is what it meant to
be in America. This is why we had come to this beautiful country.
I helped those that needed medical
attention. I knew a little about nursing and I was eager to help those in need
of convalescence. I helped gather supplies, wrapped wounds, and administered
medicine. A few days after the fire, I was helping a young man with a twisted
ankle.
“We’ve got another one.” The nurse
next to me looked towards the flap of the tent and my eyes followed hers. A man
was silhouetted in the tent opening and I shielded my eyes at the bright
sunlight that spilled in. “Can I help you, Sir? Are you hurt?”
“Breena? Is that you?” The man
closed the tent flap and my eyes recovered just in time to see the man rushing
towards me. His hands captured my face and the familiar eyes of my husband
gazed astonishingly into my own. I could not hold back the sobs as I threw my
arms around Shea’s neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around me and we cried in
joy and in sorrow for what seemed like eternity. I never wanted to let him go.
“I thought…I thought…” I choked
out, unable to finish my thought. Shea put his finger up to my lips to silence
me.
“Don’t even say it. I promised I’d
find you and I never break a promise.”
I looked up at him with my
tear-filled eyes and felt all my dreams return like a numb limb reawakening
with restored, invigorated feeling. I had nearly given up hope. To be honest,
my hope was hanging on by a thread. So many had lost their loved ones and I was
no one special. Disaster and misfortune strike down the rich and the poor, the
young and the old alike. It is no respecter of persons.
While I do not believe that God
sent a judgment of fire to destroy our city, I do believe that God answered my
prayers when he brought Shea back to me. I also believe there is always
something to learn from our trials. Laws were passed that improved on the
infrastructure of the city, relying on fireproof materials like bricks, stone,
marble, and limestone. Shea was able to get a job working for a mason, making
bricks and constructing buildings, eventually opening up his own masonry.
Businesses were restored, homes were created, and with time, we all moved on,
taking with us what we could from that tragic fire, whether it was loved ones,
material possessions, or life lessons. With the help of the country, Chicago
was not only able to rebuild, but flourish once more, rising like a phoenix out
of the ashes, born again, and baptized by fire.
