Remember Me When: A Women of Hope Novel

by Ginny Aiken

  From where she stood about ten feet away, she could see the flames now dancing outside the glass of the window. She couldn’t go that route.

  With another prayer on her lips, she pulled open the door. Heat and smoke slapped her. Her eyes watered, and she could barely see. A solid wall of fire roared to her left outside the kitchen window, the flames she’d watched from inside. To her right, the short pile of firewood Roger kept by the kitchen door had caught fire as well. Smaller flames licked at the two wooden steps below the door.

  If she was to make it out safely, she would have to do it right then. And she’d have to go over or through those smaller—but just as dangerous—flames close to her feet that came closer every second she delayed.

  Eyes shut tight, arms wrapped around her chest, she ran out, into the heat, into the thick smoke. She ran, ran, ran. When she couldn’t bear the not knowing any longer, she stopped and opened her eyes. To her amazement, she’d made it past the steps and into the small area between the house and the barn.

  Faith cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She watched the flames eat away at the threshold to the kitchen. Beyond the fire, in the middle of the sitting room, she could still make out the faint bumpy contours of Roger’s body. Guilt filled her.

  She hadn’t spared a thought to getting his corpse away from the raging inferno. Shame and remorse writhed in her heart. She should have taken him outside.

  But…could she have?

  Roger was—had been—a heavyset man, taller than her by a couple of inches. Logic told her she couldn’t have carried him. Still, logic wasn’t taking the lead right then.

  Could she have dragged him? In spite of her bulky clothes and the flames at the door?

  She glanced down…and saw the hem of her skirt scorched and still burning a hungry path upward. She dropped to her knees, slapped the fabric against the hard-packed dirt, paying little attention to the state of her hands.

  Moments later, her skirt was once again safe. She was safe.

  Or so she thought.

  A rattle sounded out from somewhere to her right, from the vicinity of the barn.

  The barn!

  The mules…

  A pang of anguish and fear squeezed her, and she raced to the ramshackle structure, another prayer in her heart. She glanced over her shoulder, and saw sparks catching at the scraps of dead grass beyond the back steps. Could she outrun the encroaching flames and get the mules to safety?

  Panting, she dragged open the slightly ajar barn door and rushed to the pen. To her horror, that door was wide open, swinging on its flimsy hinges, the latch hanging uselessly by only one nail. “Maisie…?”

  A quick look around the dark confines of the barn revealed nothing unusual, no movement, no mules. Her heart quaked as she realized the mules had panicked and broken out of the poor pen to escape out the open barn door. Relief filled her.

  Almost on its heels, a knot blocked her throat and a tear rolled down her cheek. While she was relieved by their safety, the thought of them being lost to her tore her heart in two. Where would they have gone? Would they be warm enough wherever they went? Would they find food, water, shelter?

  The snapping and spitting flames sounded closer than before.

  She had to get out—get away. With a last look at the empty stall, she slipped back outside, and was horrified by how close the flames had come. The heat struck her from that side, sent her stumbling in the opposite direction.

  Catching her footing, she stood frozen, dazed and distressed, heart heavy, thoughts in chaos, terrified. She swept the clearing with her gaze. While she saw nothing unusual but for the burning building, her heart didn’t pause or slow a single beat of its ferocious pounding. Thoughts of escape found footing in her mind.

  Followed by questions that began to urge her forward. Roger was dead. She hadn’t killed him. Was the killer still around? Was he watching her? Was he about to pounce?

  Her husband’s killer wouldn’t hesitate to kill her, too.

  She had to get away.

  Fast.

  She took one cautious step, and peered around again. Nothing, no sign of any animal, no human, nothing to fear.

  Except the flames.

  Another step. Nothing happened once again. She walked farther into the center of the clearing, out in the open, in full sight of any creature that might care to do her harm.

  A second later, she stopped, clasped her head. What was she doing? Where was she going? Should she try to find her way, in the dark, to the town of Bountiful?

  Reason told her she’d never make it there on foot. Even by horse or by wagon, it took hours. That only left her one choice. She had to wend her way up the forest trail for the second time that day, only this time, in the dark. She stood a better chance to make it to the logging camp than to seek safety anywhere else. Surely Mr. Bartlett would remember her efforts on his behalf when she showed up. Surely he would offer her shelter in her moment of greatest distress.

  As she stood, gazing for a last time at the place she’d called home for three years, a gust of wind carried a sharp, familiar smell past her nostrils. Kerosene! Horror overwhelmed her. The only way for kerosene to give off its pungent odor in the outdoors was if someone put it there.

  Faith crushed a fist to her mouth, stifled a cry. While she might escape the fire, she couldn’t escape the truth. Someone had set the cabin, the general store, on fire. After they’d killed Roger.

  They had tried to kill her.

  She prayed that someone was by now long gone. Even if she didn’t know for sure, she wasn’t about to stand there and wait to find out.

  She ran to the mouth of the path, praying the forest canopy didn’t prove too thick to let in the scant glow the sliver of moon cast down. Without light, she didn’t know how she would find her way along the twisty trail. In spots, the cleared path grew narrow and hard to find.

  Firm determination in place, Faith started her trip to the logging camp, heart pounding, the will to live pushing her on. “Go, go, go!”

  With each step, her thoughts sorted themselves out more. Bits of memory flashed through. Echoes of fear…a wild flight…embers of devastating fire…

  She couldn’t believe how eerily this night paralleled that afternoon years earlier. She’d come back from town, the flatbed wagon filled with Mama and Papa’s order from the mercantile. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of the farmhouse ruins, still burning here and there, a haunting silence over the devastation, broken only by the occasional crack of smoldering wood. The stench of smoke swirled around her. Nothing remained. The house and the barn had become piles of ashes. Few boards still stood.

  Bitter tears scalding her face, she’d flown back to town.

  And here she was, fleeing another place where she’d lived, fearing for her life, horror-filled by yet more loss of life.

  Had Indians struck again?

  She sped up, keeping her gaze on the ground to avoid tripping on the uneven surface of the trail.

  The times Indian men had come to do business with Roger, the thought of what their kind had done to her parents had sent her seeking refuge in the storeroom. She had to wonder what her husband could have done to enrage any of the stragglers from the reservation to such a pitch as to lead them to this atrocity.

  A shudder racked her, and she nearly lost her footing. She gritted her teeth, focused on her goal.

  She’d never thought it wise for Roger to sell to the Indians. This might prove her right. If the culprit was an Indian.

  Behind her, a crash resounded, reverberating against the trees.

  She moved faster still.

  Her breath came in pants of steam. The wind pierced through her outer garments, chilling her. The odd sounds of the forest had always frightened her, but tonight they terrified her.

  She kept going.

  Then she heard what sounded like horse’s hooves.

  Close.

  To her rear.

  No! She was nowhere near the camp
. She had to get there. Keep moving!

  A glance over her shoulder revealed nothing in the dark. Wrapping her determination more closely, she began to run, more afraid of what might be coming her way than a twisted ankle. In an effort to calm down, she told herself she must have only heard sounds from the raging fire. Or a small forest animal, fleeing the flames.

  But when she heard them once more, closer to her this third time, she could no longer deny the truth. Someone was after her.

  It had to be Roger’s killer. He must have waited after starting the blaze, watched the destruction from near enough to witness her escape. Was he on the way to finish the job? Or maybe he didn’t know she was here, was only riding along the path. She couldn’t risk him catching up to her regardless.

  Panic—panic—panic!

  If he was following her she couldn’t outrun her pursuer if he was on horseback, but she was fairly certain she could lose him among the trees. She doubted a tall, somewhat delicate horse could pick its way through the dense forest undergrowth.

  For a moment, she hesitated. Could she maneuver the pitfalls within the forest herself in the dark? She had to. It was the only way out of danger. She had to get away, find a place to hide until he passed. She darted off the path into the damp and dank embrace of the trees. Despite the hush within the thickness of the foliage, she still could hear the distant crackle of flames and the sound of hooves growing louder on the path. But instead of continuing whoever approached on the trail seemed to veer off it as well. In her direction.

  The only thing that fit inside her head was her desperate need to escape. That, together with the ever-louder sounds of her pursuers. Too many hooves for only one horse.

  Faith’s chest burned with the sharp, shallow breaths of icy air she’d been taking since she’d left the house. She couldn’t keep up the furious pace. She slowed. The hoofbeats drew closer with each passing moment.

  Then she fell, tripped over a rock or a root, a dead branch, she didn’t see which.

  Now the riders sounded almost upon her.

  Eyes shut tight, she shivered and prayed…

  Until a warm, wet nose rubbed her neck. “Maisie!”

  Relief rendered her weak. She laughed a nervous titter, utterly unlike her. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks.

  Daisy nuzzled her left cheek.

  Faith reached up to pat her. “How did you get here? Both of you!”

  And then, to make it all the more absurd, Lazy butted her head from the right side. “Oh, goodness gracious. All three of you. You poor things. You must have been so scared—”

  The shriek she’d heard while she’d gathered her senses after coming to must have been from one of the mules.

  “All of you are clever critters, aren’t you?” For once, she was elated Roger hadn’t bothered to make things right. The damaged lock on the door to the stall must not have given them much trouble. After that, it was simply a matter of doing what they always did. Maisie led, and the other two followed her out.

  None of the mules was talking.

  “Thank goodness you’re all safe. And now here you are. With me.”

  She nearly wept, she so appreciated their company out in the dark. Her confidence grew by the minute. “Amazing what a few staunch companions can do for a body, wouldn’t you say?”

  Maisie let out her gentle bray.

  The others responded, and it seemed to Faith as though they’d echoed the lead mule’s sentiment.

  “Well, then. We’d better be on our way. It’s a long walk up the mountain, and all of us are tired from the first time we made the trip today. We need to get there, and soon. Before the fire spreads much farther.”

  And before Roger’s killer found her.

  Determination firmly in place once again, Faith resumed her flight to the logging camp and the relative safety it would provide.

  Under her breath, she prayed Mr. Bartlett would help her.

  She had no one else to turn to.

  Chapter 6

  After what felt like hours of wandering in the dense woods, Faith collapsed on a fallen log. She had to admit the truth.

  She was lost.

  Hopelessly and completely lost.

  With three mules who trusted her enough to follow wherever she led.

  Tears of frustration burned in her eyes, spilled down her cheeks. “What am I going to do now?” she asked her faithful companions.

  None, not even Maisie, answered. They did, however, surround her, their warm bodies giving off the steamy heat they’d worked up.

  Faith’s limbs felt as heavy as the mossy, rotting piece of tree trunk where she sat. Her muscles quivered from the unaccustomed exertion. Her back ached in unfamiliar places. Her toes had grown numb from the cold, and her fingers were icy and stiff. Her cheeks stung from the bite of the cold night wind, whose eerie whistle kept her on edge.

  She’d never felt so weak. Exhaustion drained her of all her strength. And still, she had no idea where she was or how she was going to get them out of the woods, much less to the camp. How was she going to get them all to safety?

  The weariness led to a yawn. The thought of sleep filled her with a sense of longing, of something that might solve the unsolvable, and if not solve it, then at least to put it out of her conscious mind for a peaceful while. She rubbed Maisie’s head. “What a fanciful and crazy notion, don’t you think?”

  Maisie snuffled, drawing closer to Faith. Then, in a gesture heartwarming in its understanding, the mule lay down at her side. While she knew her animals slept lying down at times, usually they rested, dozing, while on their feet. They rarely ever allowed themselves the luxury of fully resting, choosing instead to remain ready to flee at the first sign of danger, a trait inherited from their equine parents. The donkey half did the same.

  “You’re tired, too, aren’t you?”

  Lazy answered by following Maisie’s lead, choosing to bed down as close to Faith’s back as he could get.

  The toll of the long day and horrifying night felt too great to bear. Her eyelids felt heavy, sleep the only thing she could envision right then.

  Of course, there was the matter of finding her way out of the forest. She’d have to wait until daylight, or she’d most likely wind up even more lost than she was. Then, too, the mules were counting on her. They trusted her, knew she’d provide all their needs, and in her current state she would do none of them any good. Sleep was the best option.

  “But here?” She looked around, taking in the trees in all directions where she looked, the forest floor, dense with fallen pine needles, the one log where she sat. The heavy silence held no hint of approaching danger.

  She noticed how the mules’ bodies had formed a small space where her body would fit just right, cradled within their warmth, sheltered in the protection their bulk offered. Daisy remained on her feet, as Faith suspected she would do until one of the other two animals awoke and relieved her of her sentry duties. She’d seen the three do it before.

  Her head found a cushion close to Maisie’s neck, and she only drew a breath or two before slumber overtook her.

  Peace…

  “You’d better come see this, boss,” Purcell told Nathan as soon as he’d opened his bedroom door. “Don’t know where it’s at, but it looks like a pretty big cloud of smoke.”

  “Smoke?” He pulled on his boots. In the forest, any hint of fire presented too great a danger to ignore. A blaze found too much fuel wherever one looked. “Show me.”

  The two men ran outside, and in spite of the night’s darkness, Nathan saw the billow that had alarmed Purcell. It rose from the lower reaches of the forest, and swelled as it rose. A faint orange glow reflected off the gray smoke, clearly visible against the dark winter sky.

  He spun and headed back to the cabin. “Get the others. Tell them to dress well, but to be ready. Fighting fire in the woods is an ugly matter.”

  Less than ten minutes later, Nathan pulled on his heavy coat, a knitted cap, and thick winter gloves. Th
e other five men did the same, and between them, they carried the camp’s three buckets and assorted empty food supply tin pails. In silence, they set off down the path, carefully guiding their horses on the rugged trail, unsure where the actual source of the flames might lie, in doubt about where they’d get the water they would need to douse the blaze.

  After they’d gone a substantial way down, a sick suspicion gripped Nathan. Could the general store have caught fire? The trail led directly to the store, and the smoke seemed to come from that direction. If so, were the Nolans safe? Had the slovenly brothers grown careless and allowed a blaze to break out? And what about Mrs. Nolan? Was she in danger?

  He remembered her courage. How could he not? She’d braved not only the woods, but also Roger Nolan’s anger to help him and his men.

  “Let’s go straight to the store,” he said. “We can get a better idea of what’s happening once we get there. It’s in a large clearing, and without the trees overhead, the location of the fire might be easier to identify.”

  Matt matched his steps to Nathan’s. “Let’s not rush in there. I’m thinking that smoke’s rising from somewhere awful close to that store.”

  Nathan cast him a glance. Matt didn’t look his way, looking instead up toward the smoke-filled sky. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  A grim nod was his only response. He picked up his pace. The others followed suit.

  The closer they drew to the Nolan’s property, the greater their certainty grew. The blaze was indeed at the store. When they finally reached the clearing in the woods, they dismounted and looped their reins over branches of trees a safe distance from the fire. The moment drew out, sickening in the reality before them. They were too late to save the building. The barn, however, still stood, although flames were creeping closer, even as they watched.

  “There’s a good well,” Nathan called out, pointing in the direction of the water source. “Let’s start there, and see if we can’t save the barn.”