Free The Hull Home Fire by Linda Abbott Page B

pot with both hands as if the soup resisted his efforts. “He’s
     acting some strange,” she murmured under her breath on the way to the dining
     room at the far end of the hall. Many of the residents had assembled for dinner,
     their voices buzzing as they waited for the midday meal to be served. The walls
     were white, the top half covered with striped green wallpaper. Lighted by a
     single light bulb in the centre of the ceiling, dark green curtains were pulled
     wide open on the large side window. Dot and two other women occupied a table set
     for four. Mary sat down next to Dot.
    “Mary,” the woman across from her said, “what’s the soup for today ?”
    Mary produced a crooked smile. “Tomato, I’m afraid.”
    The woman groaned. “That makes five days in a row.”
    “Oh, well,” the tiny woman next to her said. “At least it’ll be nice and hot.”
     She pulled her cardigan more snugly around her thin waist. “It’s cold enough in
     here to wear long johns.” Her teeth chattered.
    The two elderly widows continued with the soup conversation, giving Mary the
     chance to speak in private with Dot. “Mr. Hull seems a tad out of sorts.” She
     bent close to Dot. “I had the impression he was tipsy.”
    “He does like a nip or two every now and again.”
    “Has he heard back from City Council or the Fire
     Department ?”
    “As a matter of fact — ”
    “I knew it,” Mary said, cutting across her. “He has to correct all the
     violations, doesn’t he ?” She babbled on. “He’ll close down rather than spend
     all that money.”
    Dot wagged a finger in front of Mary’s face. “You need to give up that habit of
     always leaping to hasty conclusions,” she said. “He merely received a letter
     from the city stating they weren’t aware he operated a nursing home. That’s
     all.”
    Mary twirled strands of hair around her forefinger. “Why go to the trouble of
     an inspection if they don’t intend to enforce the recommendations ?”
    “That’s City Hall for you,” Dot said.
    Mary gazed around the dining room. “That does it,” she said. “They have the
     power to close the Home.”
    “Child,” Dot said. “What a thing to say. They wouldn’t put sick people and old
     folk on the street in this weather.”
    Mary pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. “Don’t bet all your savings on
     that. I’d better get to the kitchen before Mr. Hull has a fit,” she said, and
     bustled away.
    A round old woman with thin white hair sat at the table drinking tea. “Hello,
     love,” she said as Mary came in.
    “Oh, hello,” Mary said, taken aback. “Are you here to see a resident ?”
    “No, I came to see Mr. Hull. A friend of mine told me he charges three cents
     cheaper a day than the government’s old-age home.” She smiled. Dimples formed in
     her wrinkled cheeks. “I move in here tomorrow morning. Every penny
     counts.”
    Isaac breezed into the kitchen. “Indeed it does, Mrs. Hayes,” he said with a
     light step. “Indeed it does.”

    MARY SAT IN DR . WHEELER ’ S spacious waiting room and looked
     around at the unfamiliar area. Twelve chairs lined three walls, and a children’s
     wooden table and chairs occupied a corner. A supply of blank paper and crayons
     rested on the shiny red surface. In the centre, burdened with stacks of
     magazines, stood a mahogany coffee table. Mary glanced at the cover of one
     magazine ; a smiling woman was making a cake for a freckled-faced boy. He knelt
     on a chair poking a finger into the batter as his father walked through the door
     with an even bigger smile than his wife. She pulled out another magazine from
     the pile. More images of happy family life. Mary threw down the magazine.
    A man in his seventies sat on the other side of the room. Two seats down from
     him was a woman with a boy of about ten or eleven. The boy’s runny nose never
     quite cleared despite constant wiping. His cough — a hacking sound deep down