I am now five, David is two. Mother has taken the older brothers to church.
The kitchen wood stove needed a refill. The wood box was a few feet away. With the fire box door open, I stepped back and forth feeding wood pieces in.
I did not notice that when my back was turned, David had pulled out from the firebox a piece of wood burning at one end. He had walked across to the kitchen entrance where towels were hanging, and set them on fire. When I noticed, the blaze had run up the wall, setting fire to the wallpaper.
I ran to the kitchen and filled a pot with water from the sink faucet, throwing it onto the wall, flames, and burning towels. After several trips the fire was out. I took the towel remnants out to the trash and cleaned the mess as best I could, then took David by the hand to find mother and brothers. Soon we met them on their way back from church.
Mother asked why we had come out. My answer was “The towels burned up.”
No one understood, so I led them to the trash to see the burned towel remnant, and inside to see the burned wall—fearing it would lead to a spanking. Instead, mother took David and me in her arms and showered us with hugs and kisses. Then she gathered us around in a circle, knelt down and prayed her thanks to God for bringing us through such great danger.
God was her friend—I will always remember being in that circle while she talked to God, who took care of us