Fire: Chicago 1871 Read Online Free Page A

tomorrow anyway, Father. And Mother wants me to begin reading that book on etiquette.”
    Her father moved a few more flour sacks to the front of the wagon. “I want you to grow up to be a proper lady, but it’s not right for you to stay in that house all the time.”
    Julie nodded. “But Mother—”
    â€œI know,” her father interrupted. “Your mother worries about everything. I don’t want you exposed to improper influences any more than she does. But you must learn something about life.” He looked up at the hazy sky, then smiled at her. “This would have taken me a lot longer if you hadn’t come along.”
    â€œI like helping you, Father.”
    â€œYou’re good at it, too. Mrs. Hansen was telling me how you helped her carry her groceries out to her wagon.”
    Julie grinned, as she always did when her father complimented her. She went to get another sack of flour.
    â€œJust bring that one, and then let’s load some beans and maybe some fresh bread,” her father called after her. “Lots of these women aren’t going to have a place to cook for a while.”
    Julie started bringing the brown paper bags of beans, handing them to her father so he could arrangethem neatly up against the flour. When the wagon was full of groceries, Julie’s father boosted her onto the bench.
    He backed the wagon around, turning to go down the alley. Once they were out on Cass Street, he whipped the team into a spanking trot. It was getting dusky; the lamplighters would soon make their rounds. Julie pushed her hair back from her face and held it against the wind.
    After a few minutes, Julie’s father swung the team westward onto Madison Street, heading almost straight into the wind. Ahead of them, the south branch of the Chicago River flowed in a wide, dark ribbon, cutting across the city. The sky was still hazy with smoke from last night’s fire.
    Julie slid closer to her father as he urged the team into a canter. When they crossed Wells Street and passed into Conley’s Patch, Julie gripped the edge of the driver’s bench. She hated this place. As they rolled past the saloons and the shanties, her father kept the team moving fast. Men stood in the doorways, some of them drinking from bottles, others staring out into the street as though the world were a place to hate.
    As the horses clopped across the Madison Street Bridge and Conley’s Patch fell behind them, Julie relaxed and her father let the team slow back into a trot. Julie gathered her hair in one hand and looked down into the dark water below.
    There were ships on the river. Julie could hear the sailors shouting as they worked to take down their sails. She glanced at her father. His face was stern, remote.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Father?”
    He seemed startled, then patted her arm. “Look.”
    Julie followed his gesture. There was a blackened strip of land along the far shore. “The fire?”
    He nodded. “I just wish this blasted wind would die down.”
    Julie gripped the edge of the bench as they came off the bridge and headed toward Canal Street. Two wagons approached them going east. They were loaded with charred lumber and piles of goods so jumbled that Julie couldn’t tell what they were. Her father raised a hand in greeting, but neither driver so much as looked at him.
    Julie scooted closer to her father on the bench again. The wind was warm, and she rode along insilence as they turned south on Canal Street. She held her nose against the acrid, smoky smell of the burn as they drove past it, crossing Jackson Street, on down to Van Buren. Julie stared. Most of the houses had been burned to the ground, and she suddenly understood what had been in the wagons—the charred remains of houses. For an instant she imagined what it would be like to have her own home destroyed.
    â€œLook there,” her father said as he pulled the team around the