by Ava Devlin
As the church came into view, Heloise was certain it was the first time in over an hour that she could breathe. She stopped where she stood, supporting herself with her hands on her knees, and stood stuck in one place, gasping in great breaths of cold night air as though she'd never had occasion to breathe before.
She did not know if Callum stopped or even noticed her sudden absence, for by the time she raised her head, he had vanished into the chapel with Abigail Collins, and there was nothing left to do but hurry after him.
10
The inside of the church was a surreal change of scenery, bright and clean opposite the disaster just without. Callum's arms were burning at the dead weight of a heavily pregnant Abigail Collins, but he held her steady. When he'd seen her on the floor of that charred little cottage, he had been certain she was dead. From the first moment he could feel her ribs swelling with small, vital gasps of air, his heart had been in his throat.
He knew this girl. He had sipped ale with her in the summers of his youth, had tumbled her once or twice in a flurry of youthful abandon. Just now he could remember her laugh and the sparkle of her oak-brown eyes, but he couldn't think of the last time she'd entered his thoughts. It was a numb shock to find her as she was, swollen with child and on the brink of death.
When he'd found Heloise in that house, he had been filled with rage and urgency. His heart had been thundering, his ire aflame that she'd put herself in such senseless danger. He had stopped feeling anything at all when he realized that she had been risking her life to save someone else. It might have been her lying in a slump in a smoldering ruin, breathing in gulps of black poison. It might have been both of them, if he hadn't followed her.
Now that he'd reached the fabled safety of the church, he found himself frozen in place, uncertain what to do next. He held the unconscious woman in his arms, blinking at the makeshift triage before him, with only her weight and the pain in his legs to remind him that he was not dreaming.
"Lieutenant Laughlin!" called Reverend Halliwell, hustling over where Callum stood. The man was still in his suit from the party, his cheeks round and pink with exertion. "What a relief you've found Miss Collins. Please, bring her inside. Her mother has been beside herself!"
Callum nodded, certain he couldn't find any words to respond, and found himself trailing after the good reverend like a duckling follows its mother.
Lady Rose Somers hustled past them with blankets piled in her arms. The lovely bride of Alex Somers was kneeling in her silver gown, showing a gathering of children how to cut strips of old linens for bandages. His own mother was holding a baby, rocking it with soothing words while the mother sobbed silently beside her.
None of it felt real.
"Here we are," Reverend Halliwell said, gesturing to a pile of sheets and a pillow near the pulpit. "Mrs. Collins and Lady Somers have been preparing for Abigail's arrival."
The dowager viscountess stood, shaking dust from her skirts, but Mrs. Collins stayed where she sat, tears brimming in her eyes as she awaited the delivery of her daughter to this humble bed.
Callum lowered her as gently as he could, uncertain how one should position a woman so heavy with child. As he got her settled into the sheets and began to withdraw his arms, her eyes fluttered, opening for just a moment to fix on him. Her mouth moved, as though she wanted to say something, but just as quickly, she appeared to faint again, her head lolling to the side like a doll's.
"Thank you, sir," Mrs. Collins moaned through her tears, placing a hand to Abigail's head. "Thank you for saving my girl."
"We are in your debt, Lieutenant Laughlin," the dowager said, placing a hand to his arm. "You saved two lives in one."
He nodded, uncertain what he could possibly say. He glanced down at Abigail as her mother began to clean the soot from her cheeks, and got the urgent desire to flee into the night.
"I must go back out," he said to Ruthie Somers, who withdrew her hand as though it were keeping him from his duty.
"Lady Somers, I was hoping to take a census of those we know are safe," the reverend said, stepping into the space at her side. "Perhaps you can assist me? After all, you are very good with names."
He turned just as Heloise came hurrying in their direction, her arms filled with supplies, her eyes bright and alert. She did not look at him as she brushed past, kneeling so suddenly at Abigail's side that her dark green gown belled out around her legs in an aura of ash-flecked wool.
He stumbled backward, forcing himself to tear his eyes from her, to turn back to the needs of the township. Alex Somers was aiding an old man with a bad leg to a pew, supporting him from the side. He had a nasty cut above his eyebrow and appeared to have swiped the blood away with dirty hands in an effort to get this gentleman to safety, leaving bloody fingerprint smears all along the left side of his face.
"Alex," Callum said, reaching the pew just as the old man settled into a relieved recline. "What needs to be done?"
The younger Somers brother gave an ironic little laugh, his teeth bright white against his dirty face. "Fire's out, I think," he said. "I've taken yet another blow to the head. Clinic's burnt to dust, so we've got no medicine for these people. Hell if I know what should be done! I'm the useless one, remember?"
Gideon Somers approached the two of them, still somehow giving off an aura that was crisp and clean, even with spatters of blood and charcoal on his perfectly folded cravat. "The fire is out," he confirmed with enough authority that if there were still any rogue fires burning, they would surely extinguish themselves out of embarrassment. "Alex, you're covered in blood. Go get that cleaned up before that cut festers."
"Am I?" Alex replied curiously, lifting his fingers to dab at the cut and pulling them back to examine the bright red that shone on the pads of his fingers. "Well, how about that?" he marveled. "I suppose it isn't the strangest thing."
"What isn't?" Callum asked, wincing at the way the wound had opened again under prodding.
Alex Somers shrugged with a helpless, wry smile. "I hear a lot of folks bleed on their wedding night."
He wandered off, presumably in search of Dr. Garber to have his injury cleaned and stitched, leaving Callum and Gideon side by side in his wake, the latter of the two frowning in disapproval at his brother's ability to make jests at such a dire moment.
"Laughlin! Somers!" Sheldon Bywater boomed from the doors, his big frame nearly filling the doorway. "Stop standing about! We need to open the kennels and check the rest of the houses! I can see to the dogs, you two head to the eastern side of the housing block."
Gideon closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in through his nose, and then gave a curt nod, setting out to do his duty.
Callum happily followed him, back out into the anonymous chaos of loss and tragedy. Perhaps it was the only type of world that made sense to him anymore.
It was a strange thing, to realize all at once, well after the gentle transition to dawn, that sunlight had returned to the sky. Perhaps it was to do with the smoke-tinged fog that sat on the ground like a great thundercloud, fallen from its net. More likely it was simply the body's way of coming to terms with being pushed to its limit, choosing to cast a sort of dull veil over the experiences that ate up miserable hours so that once they were past, a man could scarcely recall them. If not for such little blessings, no one would ever survive war.
Callum could scarcely account for the hours that had passed since he'd walked out of the church with Gideon Somers. He felt as charred as the buildings in the township center. Most of what remained in the thickest part of town were little more than blackened sticks and sagging foundations, still giving off a hint of steam in the bleary light of dawn. Some homes had half-survived the disaster, and now stood like grotesque memorials to what they once were. One home near the worst of the damage had its front wall completely missing, but the dinner table within still arranged with place settings, as though the family would be returning any minute to break their fast.
As they returned to the
church, blinking away the shafts of sunlight that permeated their microcosm of disaster, it was like returning to Earth after a trip amongst the stars. Suddenly the eerie sounds of abandon, fear, and destruction were replaced with the low hum of human voices, the bustle of bodies overlapping with the snores of those who had found sleep, somehow, in the quiet hours that followed unspeakable horror.
He found his eyes immediately scanning the heads for a bright crown of red hair. Heloise Somers could always be counted on to stand out amongst a crowd. He wasn't sure anything would soothe his soul like seeing her, bright and beautiful and well, glowing like a beacon on the sea.
She was with that damned doctor. Even so, he felt a tightness in his chest release once his eyes had found her.
She had taken her hair down. Her green dress showed no sign of the soot and ash that smeared most everyone else, though perhaps that was only because the fabric was dark enough to disguise the stains.
She was standing poised and alert, holding a woman's arm straight and steady while the doctor smeared a fatty salve to a series of burns that marred her skin from wrist to elbow. Heloise did not flinch from the injuries, nor did she waver in touching the arm of a dirty, bleeding woman who had been born far below the station of a lady such as herself.
Such airs were not in Heloise's nature, he knew. But to see it again, on display like this, sent a pang into his heart that he had not the energy nor the lucidity to process. He had traveled to many strange and new places in the last years, and never had he met a woman—or man, for that matter!—so unconcerned with any superiority the luck of their birth had seen fit to bestow upon them.
Heloise Somers wore all of the dignity of an empress with the careless humility of a milk maid.
The injured woman was weeping silently, her face turned away from the injuries as tears streaked down the grit on her face. Heloise frowned down at her and placed a comforting hand on the other woman’s neck, whispering something softly to her. Whatever she said seemed to provide the woman a modicum of comfort, for she nodded and sniffed, and wept no more.
He couldn't stand to look at her for much longer, lest his heart crumble to dust in his chest. He blinked, looking around the room for anyone else familiar, and instead falling on the only other bright flame of red hair in the room.
Alex Somers was asleep on the floor with his head in his wife’s lap. He’d had the cut above his eye sewn shut with black thread hatches that contrasted quite harshly with his skin. The bride was stroking his hair with a faraway look in her eyes, her silver wedding gown covered in what looked like tiny black handprints.
“Callum,” his mother called, snapping him out of his reverie.
He turned his head in time to see her hurrying over to meet him where he stood at the base of the aisle. She had tied her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head and had tied up the sides of her skirt to allow for easier movement. He was sad to see that his mother’s favorite blue dress appeared to have been utterly ruined by grime and gore.
She seemed unbothered, or perhaps too tired and weary to even notice, but Callum made a mental note to buy her a new fine dress as soon as he could. Perhaps something a little more frivolous and indulgent, in that same powder blue that complemented her so.
Despite it all, Brenda Laughlin greeted her son with a broad smile and pulled him into her embrace, unconcerned with his own state of filth nor how it mingled with her own. “Oh, my boy,” she crooned. “I am so proud to call you mine.”
“Mother.” He chuckled, giving her a firm squeeze in return. “I’m quite all right.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” she said breathlessly, pulling back to gaze up into his face. “But we all saw you stride in here with the Collins girl in your arms. Lady Heloise said that if you hadn’t come to the rescue, the girl might very well have died! She and the babe both.”
He shifted awkwardly on his feet. Heloise had gone in to save her, but he didn’t know if one woman might have carried the other’s dead weight successfully or for very long. The idea of Abigail having been so close to certain death was an uncomfortable one.
“Is she well, then?”
“Oh yes. Yes.” His mother nodded. “Lady Heloise and the doctor both spent some time with her, getting her cleaned up and quenched. She says the babe hardly noticed all the trouble and has been kicking up a storm all morning.”
The dowager viscountess approached from the direction of the pulpit, carrying a little stack of paper in her hands. “It is good to see you returned safely, Lieutenant Laughlin,” she said in her broad American accent. “You and my son were the final two missing from the town census.”
“Census?” Callum replied, giving a curious glance to the papers she held.
“Quite,” she nodded, chestnut curls bouncing. “Reverend Halliwell keeps records in the rectory of everyone who lives in the township. We have managed to come out of this unfortunate bit of disaster fully intact. There are some injuries, but nothing life threatening and not a single casualty.”
“None at all?” he marveled. “I am happy to hear it!”
“Lord Moorvale even accounted for all the horses and dogs, as well as one child’s pet bunny and two rather traumatized goats,” Lady Somers replied, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “We’re not sure about the chickens, however. It’s possible they flew into the moor to avoid the heat.”
“That hound of his came in damn useful in the thick of things,” Callum told her. “She’s got a very fine nose and found a couple of people we might have otherwise missed.”
“I shall be sure to tell Gideon that Echo was a help,” Lady Somers replied. “Perhaps he’ll allow her in the dining room now.”
Mrs. Laughlin scoffed. “Not likely.”
Callum laughed, surprised at how good it felt, for even a small moment, to indulge in a pocket of happiness after the last hours. “Where are all these rescued animals now, might I ask?”
“At Somerton,” his mother answered. “We’ve room in the stables and an unused kennel for the pups. The bunny, however, is here in the church, hopping around somewhere while her owner sleeps.”
“Reverend Halliwell has offered up the parish house kitchen if we require it,” Lady Somers said to his mother. “Though I rather think preparing a large meal at Somerton and driving it over would be more prudent.”
“Yes, I’m inclined to agree. Let me gather some of the staff and we will get underway with preparing enough to feed the whole town.”
Lady Somers tapped her chin, sharp and pointed just like Heloise’s. “Rose is putting together a list of necessary items, building supplies, medicines, and the lot. Many people have lost all of their belongings, including their clothes, so fabric will also be an absolute necessity with how cold it is right now. If you go speak with her, she can also create a list for pantry and larder. I rather think we’ll run out of food too quickly if we do not plan for it.”
Mrs. Laughlin heaved a deep sigh, though Callum couldn’t tell whether it was a sound of relief or trepidation. “Perhaps I will sleep on the morrow,” she said with a wan little smile. “Callum, you should go get yourself seen to. That burn on your arm looks rather nasty.”
Callum started, dropping his gaze to the arm his mother’s eyes were affixed on. Indeed there was raw, bubbled flesh there, though from what nor when he could not possibly say. He had been so numb in the chaos of the night that he hadn’t felt anything; not pain, nor fatigue, nor fear. Even now, as he became aware of his body again, his stomach rumbled loudly.
Mrs. Laughlin narrowed her eyes, as though her son had released the tell-tale grumble of hunger on purpose to hasten her in her task, but Lady Somers only laughed.
“Come along, young man,” the dowager said, taking his unburnt arm in her cool, manicured hand. “Let’s get you settled.”
11
Heloise lifted her arms over her head, indulging in a long, languorous stretch in this brief moment of rest. She had seen to so many people in the last few hours that she had
lost count of them. Her mother had stopped by as she worked, questioning each of the injured for their names, families, and the state of their home as last they had seen it, while Reverend Halliwell was doing the same along the walls where people were camping for the night.
The church’s position at the rear of town had been planned as a matter of convenience, for it was where the cemetery had been for hundreds of years and could continue to expand for a couple hundred more. Because it was so far from every other building, it had been the safest place in the township last night, far removed from any flames that might leap across a roof shingle or from one window to the next.
She had unwrapped the ribbon from her hair some time ago, as the pressure from it had begun to make her head hurt. She had braided her long, red tresses down her back in a loose plait and secured the end with the long length of green ribbon, as not to lose it, and continued her work with one less irritation distracting her from her charges.
Once she had been certain that Abigail Collins and her unborn child were safe and well, everything else had felt so easy. Even so, she was still fighting the urge to go disturb the sleeping Abigail and inspect her one more time, just to be certain.
She would never forget the sight of Callum Laughlin bursting out of that cottage with Abigail in his arms, his face stony and determined, his tall and broad frame supporting her as she lolled right on the edge of life and death. If he had been half so spectacular during the war, it was no wonder he’d earned an officer’s title and a medal to boot. It was no wonder at all.
Abigail had come to in stages, her lucidity sharpening a little more each time. Heloise had carefully sponged the dust and dirt from her arms, legs, neck, and face. She’d combed her hair as gently as she could, ensuring that none had been charred nor any burns had come to her scalp as she lay on the floor.
