Strange find in smouldering ruins

 Week of September 24

 The house seemed quieter than usual. Michael, my seventeen year old, had just left in the car for the store to return some soda cans and my mother, who lives with us, was away visiting my sister. 

 

It was “Maddy” and I relaxing in the living room  in the glow of the candlelight. “Maddy,” our miniature Schnauzer, was sprawled on the rug where he usually is when I’m in the room. I had no clue how this tranquil evening was about to change.

 

It was about nine on a work night so I decided to take my shower and get ready for bed.I normally take long showers but on this night I cut it short. I don’t know why but it is a good thing I did. As soon as I turned off the shower I heard the smoke alarms screaming and the dog scratching frantically at the bathroom door. I put on a pair of slacks, grabbed a towel and without thinking flung open the bathroom door. A thick wall of black smoke rushed in and I instinctively gasped—mistake. I choked, fell backward s and fainted.

 

I don’t know what happened in the next minute or so. My first recollection is I’m standing outside, still

 

wrapped in a towel staring at my house that is completely engulfed in flames. Maddy is with me barking frantically but I have no idea how either of us escaped that overpowering smoke. I rushed to my neighbor’s house and Marcel took one look at the inferno behind me and called 911.

 

Michael had just left the store when he heard the sirens of the fire trucks. He pulled his car over to let the fire engines pass and as is his habit he raised his hand and offered a little prayer for those in distress. Little did he know that he was praying for his mother and his own house?

 

When the fireman arrived it seemed half the town was right behind them. The fire fighters did everything they could but the house was too far-gone. I never saw anything burn so quickly. Like many New England homes built in the 19^th century the walls had been stuffed with newspapers and hay to provide insulation. Our old colonial went up like a tinderbox. All we could do was stand helplessly and watch our home burn.

 

A school friend of Mike’s pointed out an eerie sight. Framed in the window of an upstairs bedroom was the velvet portrait of Jesus hanging on the wall over  Michael’s bed and illuminated  by the flickering flames below.

 

 We learned latter that the fire was started probably when the dog knocked over a candle on a table by the window that fell igniting a phone book left on the ataman. The window curtain caught on fire and the flames literally raced through the walls.

 

The next day, after spending a short night at my friend’s house, Michael and I returned to the ruins. There was only one wall standing. We found only two things not completely destroyed by the fire. One was a blanket my mother had crocheted although it reeked of smoke. The other was the framed portrait of Jesus that was still hanging on the one remaining wall.

 

When we took the portrait down there was no evidence of the fire. It didn’t even have a smoky smell to it. How do you explain that?  

 

Sylvia Jarvis

Sturbridge, Massachusetts