I will never forget the date. March 26th, 1900. It was a Monday. The morning had started out somewhat ordinary. It was a wet, dreary day, and I brought a hot wurst to Papa for lunch. I remember that. It had that spicy mustard on it that Papa and I loved so much. I had another one without mustard for Spot, and I was glad I had brought extra food when Red joined us. I took care of Blackie, Papa's skittish new gelding, as Red threw a stick for Jimmy. Spot and Papa talked politics, and we all enjoyed our meal. Papa kissed my cheek and climbed into the carriage, and Spot, Red, and I turned to walk toward where I worked.
I never remembered hearing the trolley or the crash. Instead I remember Jimmy barking and someone yelling. It's funny how certain sounds stay with you. We spun around, and I saw the mangled carriage and Blackie thrashing violently on the ground.
"Papa," I screamed, running forward. Spot's arm grabbed my waist and stopped me in my tracks. "Papa!" I screamed again, struggling against Spot's iron grip around my middle.
"Hold her," he yelled at Red over my screams, and Red grabbed me, holding me in place as Spot ran toward the carriage. By now the trolley driver had crawled onto the road and several bystanders and a police officer were running forward. I turned to Red.
"LET ME GO! PAPA!" I know I was screaming and thrashing frantically, but I don't remember a whole lot else. At some point I was crushed to Red's chest, and I vaguely remember Spot and Red communicating around me. I don't really remember details. Actually, there is a big blank in my memory. I don't think I passed out or anything, but I don't remember much of anything until Spot and Red laid me on my bed at home. I must have fallen asleep.
When I awoke it was dark outside my window, and I looked around my room in confusion. I was fully dressed, but my collar button had been loosened and my boots removed. I sat up and blinked a few times, trying to clear my head, when Spot, who had been sitting in a chair nearby, came over and sat on my bed.
"Hey," he said softly, and suddenly the events of the day came rushing back to me and I sat up. Papa! Was he hurt? I needed to— Spot put a hand on my shoulder, and my gut clenched.
"Papa?" I asked. Spot just pulled me to him, and I knew.
"Katja," Spot whispered into my hair, "he's gone."
I don't know how long I cried into his chest. Suddenly it all seemed so unfair, and I pushed him away.
"Why didn't you let me help him?" I yelled. "I could have—"
"No, Katja, you couldn't have. He was already gone. I am just glad that you didn't see. You can't get pictures like that out of your head. I couldn't let you see." He looked at me with those probing blue eyes, and a part of me knew he was right. I didn't want to listen to that part at that moment, though.
"No, I could have helped him. I could have saved him," I insisted, as if my anger at Spot could somehow help me turn back time. I shoved his chest weakly as I continued, "It's your fault. You didn't let me help him. Why didn't you let me help him? Why didn't you let me? Why couldn't I help him? Why couldn't I . . . " my yelling dissolved into a fresh round of tears, and my hands stopped pounding Spot's chest and instead grasped the front of his shirt. I didn't know I could cry again, and this time I was surprised to see that Spot's eyes were also full of tears. I reached my arms around his waist, and we just held each other for what seemed like forever. Finally, it was my bladder that won the day, and I stood.
"I need to wash up," I rasped, surprised at how rough my voice sounded. Spot just nodded, and I went over to the washroom to clean up. When I returned, the covers of my bed were turned back, and a nightgown was on the bed. I saw Spot in the kitchen and quickly shut the door and changed. I padded into the kitchen, where Spot was pouring a cup of tea for each of us. We drank it silently. When we finished, Spot motioned toward the bed.
"You should sleep," he said.
"Stay?" I whispered. He considered for a moment, looked intently at me, then nodded. We headed back to my bedroom, and I crawled into bed but remained sitting up. Spot pulled off his boots and sat down beside me. I reached over and pulled him close for another hug. He hugged me back, and after a few moments he settled us both back on the bed, not letting go of me. I fell asleep still wrapped against him.