MY FIRE IS BIGGER THAN YOUR FIRE! by Marisa Masterson

Fire, elemental and necessary. And agressive and deadly. 

from the Peshtigo Fire Museum

As a girl in Wisconsin, I learned about that horrible night in October, 1871. An intense blaze raced through the North Woods with deadly consequences. In fact, it is considered the deadliest wildfire in recorded history.

It began with the winds. That night they gusted over 100 miles per hour. Those gusts found a fire purposely set to clear land, the easiest way to get rid of brush. Sadly, the extended dry season had turned the area around the brush into fodder for the fire.

I include glimpses of that night in my fictional book Compromised:

As she leaned her head back, she again sighed. The man across from her arched his brow. To ignore him, she shut her eyes. That allowed memories to flood her mind.

They suffered through a dry summer. The drought continued into the fall. Around Peshtigo, fields and forests crackled from it.

Someone had decided to burn brush. It was the best, easiest way to clear the land. Sudden winds grabbed at the fire and used it as a deadly weapon. The winds hurled it at her town. The blaze murdered more than two thousand people as gusts drove it.

The late fall cold sent shivers through her, bringing her out of the memory. She tugged the woolen cloak closer around her shoulders and fingered the ends of her scarf. Across from her, a throat cleared.

She glanced up to meet the other passenger’s sympathetic gaze. He offered a gray army blanket. “You want this, miss. I’d gladly give it up if you need it.”

Sympathy. The expression in his eyes repelled her. Too often, she glimpsed that look instead of true understanding from people. Her lips tightened, and she struggled to force words past them.

As he offered her the blanket, she shook her head. Purposefully, she turned her face away from him. After weeks of sympathy, Gracie wanted to scream if the merest hint of the emotion flashed in her direction.

No kind words or caring gesture softened her situation. Mother. Father. They were dead, and no words could make their passing tolerable.

Again, the cold sent tremors through her body. An icy wind blew and reminded her of the terrible night only one month earlier. It had created an almost unbelievable contrast for the desperate people trying to escape the fire. Icy gusts had chilled them while the hot fire raged ever closer to the river.

And there, she had found questionable safety, standing in the Peshtigo River. At the warning cry, “Fire! Fire!” she had grabbed for her cloak and scarf. She stood, shivering in the cold water as the wool grew heavy with it. Her mother, clothed only in her nightgown and wrapper, had held tightly to Gracie’s hand while they watched Father run into the blaze.

Mother had pleaded, “Stay with us. Come into the water!”

He turned to shake his head. No words. No goodbye. Without words of comfort or explanation, her father raced toward the blaze, risking his life to save others. 

Burning of Peshtigo, Rust Belt Magazine

The enormity of the disaster, I fear, was understated in my novel. The blaze gobbled up the forest. It consumed small communities and the largest town in the area--Peshtigo. When it was over, one million (plus more) acres had been destroyed. Worse, 2,500 people died--five times the number killed in the Great Chicago Fire.

Why don't you know about this disaster? The Great Chicago Fire, that's why.

Chicago in Flames, Currier & Ives

 

That city's fire happened at the same time as the Peshtigo Fire. A city burning grabbed the headlines away from the North Woods. In the end though, five times more deaths happened in Northern Wisconsin than in Chicago.

My heroine resembles how I imagine many were after the fire. She is a person in shock and struggling to go on with life. Little wonder that we discover, as the story progresses, that she fears the fireplace.

Find out more in Compromised. Click here to find the book.