Free The Hull Home Fire by Linda Abbott

BEDROOM window as night gave way to day. The
     stars, which had dotted the sky like silver sparkles, had faded. White, fluffy
     clouds glided slowly, waiting for smaller clouds to catch up. Mary blew out her
     breath and watched it transform into a grey mist. The smell of bacon drifted
     into her room. Her stomach growled, yet the thought of food chased away her
     appetite.
    Light footsteps ran down the front hall and her mother’s voice chimed through
     the house. “Dougie, don’t forget to put on your cap. It’s extra nippy this
     morning.”
    Dougie had delivered the morning Daily News and Mary heard the front
     door slam when he came in. She scrunched into a ball and covered her head.
    “No need to shake the whole house,” she heard her mother mumble on the
     stairs.
    Mary closed her eyes to fight back tears.
    Her mother came into the room. “Love, you’re not up yet. Are you under the
     weather ?” She took hold of Mary’s chin to study her face, the way she had done
     when Mary was a child.
    “Where’d those dark circles come from ?”
    “Mom, I’m worried Hull Home might have to close.”
    “You’re whiter than new bedsheets. It must be more than that.”
    Mary lifted the quilts from her like it was a delicate operation and rolled
     over to the side of the bed. She held onto her head. “I have another migraine.
     The pain’s so bad I can’t see straight.”
    “Stay put. I’ll bring you up a cup of hot tea and call Mr. Hull.”
    “That’s not necessary, Mom.”
    Flora produced one of the sad smiles that had become the norm since her
     father’s passing. She kissed her daughter’s cold cheek. “One day’s loss of wages
     won’t send us to the poorhouse.”
    “Really, Mom. My head’s not bad enough to miss work.”
    Flora’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear me,” she said. “It just occurred to
     me you’re upset about Henry.”
    “He’s not the only man in the world,” Mary said.
    “Love, denying your true feelings won’t make them go away.”
    Mary rocked to help cope with the drumming in her head, which radiated down to
     her shoulders. The bed creaked. “I can’t think about anything right now,
     Mom.”
    Flora went to the door. “I don’t mean to preach, but running from the truth
     helps no one,” she said with a crack in her voice. “Breakfast is ready. Don’t be
     long.”
    Mary opened the night table drawer and took out a picture of her father. He
     looked up at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. A tear splashed onto the
     glass and slid down to the wooden frame. She tossed the photo back in the drawer
     and slammed it shut. Her head almost exploded from the loud thud.
    *

    SCRAMBLED EGGS , BACON , HAM , AND tea awaited Mary when she went
     downstairs. She succeeded in keeping down a piece of ham.
    “You’ll get sick if you don’t eat,” her mother said when she pushed the food
     away.
    Mary drained the tea in one gulp. “Mom, you know my stomach’s always off with a
     migraine.”
    Flora picked up the phone by the side of the fridge. “1590 M please,” she
     said.
    Mary spun in her chair to look at her mother. “What are you doing ?”
    Flora held a hand over the mouthpiece. “I’m calling Mr. Hull to tell him you’re
     sick and won’t be in today.”
    Mary took the phone and cancelled the call. “Mom, I told you I’m all right.
     Anyway, the fresh air will do me good.
    “Promise me you’ll eat something when you get to the Home.”
    “I will,” Mary said.
    She bundled up with an extra scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. Within
     seconds the air penetrated the woollen material, drying her mouth and stinging
     the back of her throat. A heavy snowfall overnight made walking more difficult.
     Her headache dulled to a tolerable throb. People merely nodded as they plodded
     by, eager to reach their destinations and bask in precious warmth. Grey clouds
     gathered, darkening an already gloomy day. Mary arrived at the Home and promptly
     put