Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [92]
She rushed to the door. “The fire, we must light the fire.” Her voice was sharp.
Mary Anne straightened up from her position over the stove and looked at Peg. “A fire is a good idea,” she said, accepting without question this sudden request.
Peg nodded, looking about her, uncertain what to do next. Her father’s face came to her. If only he were here. He would know what to do. He’d have the fire in and lighted in no time. Suddenly she felt helpless and confused, unable to make a decision about a simple thing like lighting a fire.
Mary Anne was in the doorway, her arms laden with sticks. “Matches, Peg?” she called over her shoulder, stacking the dry wood with expert hands.
Peg, spurred into action, hurried to the kitchen and returned with matches. The fire leapt in the grate, warm, bright. Peg watched, transfixed. Black smoke puffed back into the room from the chimney.
“Crack the window, just a small bit. The chimney’s cold, we needs a draft.”
Peg sprang into action. The fire began to draw nicely and roar up the chimney.
“A few nice junks now and she’ll be best kind.” Mary Anne looked towards Peg and inclined her head towards the kitchen. Without a word, Peg hurried out of the bedroom and returned with an armful of logs and set them by the fire.
Mary Anne piled on the wood and, satisfied that the fire was going well, gave Peg the okay to close the window and then went to the bed. “There’s a change needed again.” She was gone to the kitchen before Peg could object.
Nobody cleaned and washed him but her. But like it or not, the job was underway and somehow Peg didn’t have the will to stop it. Something had gone from her in those last few minutes, like her energy had suddenly drained away, running backwards through her veins and out into the floor beneath her feet. But it was more than that. It was a kind of resignation, a feeling deep down that it was over, that she could no longer protect him.
They worked together then, washing, cleaning, intent on his comfort. The fire blazed, the smell of fresh linen sweet in the room. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. When they had banked up the pillows and settled him comfortably, Mary Anne turned to Peg. “You need a cup of tea, girl. Now build up the fire and come in the kitchen.”
Peg watched Mary Anne leave the room, the soiled sheets in her arms. It was all right, she decided, settling a junk on the blazing fire. It was just business that needed doing.
“I believe he has a like to die and it won’t be too long,” Mary Anne said gently over tea, with the assurance of someone who has witnessed the beginning and end of life on many occasions. “I’ll stay and be with you while he’s drawing a breath.”
Peg’s heart had ceased its pounding. The hot sweet tea had settled her as it always did. “Thank you, Mary Anne, I believe you are right, but I’d rather be alone tonight, if you don’t mind. I think I can manage now. Maybe you’d come by in the morning.”
Mary Anne looked at her friend. “Peg,” she began, but seemed to lose the words that were on the tip of her tongue. She tried again. “I knows how you are, you has your own ideas and you knows what you wants. I’ve learned that over the past few years so I’m not going to argue with you.” She tapped her mug with her fingernails, making a little tinkling sound like pennies dropping in a jar. “Time was, I thought you was a bit up on yourself, but I knows better now. You are a good, kind woman, no doubt about it, and strong too. I’ve wanted to tell you that, Peg, but didn’t know how. So there it is. Anyway, if that’s what you wants, girl,