by Kim Redford
“Is there no other way in?”
“I’ve come this far, so I’m going on through.”
He started on the bois d’arc, hacking out the deadwood first, then moving on to the live limbs. He tossed away debris, working as quickly as possible until he’d made a tunnel through the thorny, twisted, dangerous mess.
And then he stepped through to the other side.
Chapter 24
Fern watched uneasily as Craig disappeared from sight. She wanted to run after him, but she decided to be practical, so she stayed in place just in case he needed her to take him something or go for help.
“Fern, get in here! You’re not going to believe it.”
“I’ll be right there.”
That was all the encouragement she needed to carefully slip through the opening and step into a glade that was mostly shadow, because only dappled sunlight reached through the green, leaf-laden trees to the bare ground below.
When she stopped beside Craig, he put an arm around her shoulders and nestled her close to him. She needed his warmth and presence, because she felt chilled even on the hot summer day.
“Why is that structure here?” he asked.
“I’m not sure.” And she wasn’t.
She felt as if she’d stepped back in time to another era captured in the perfection of a small Victorian building with gingerbread trim around the peaked roof and a railing around the front porch with a crawl space underneath. It even had a fancy bell tower. After a hundred years or so, it still looked beautiful. Of course, the white paint had faded or eroded to almost nothing except bare wood, and pieces of gingerbread hung haphazardly from the eaves, but overall it looked remarkably well preserved for its age.
“Looks like we found your hardwood structure,” Craig said. “That building was well put together with the finest of material for the era.”
“But what was it used for? It’s certainly no dance hall since it’s too small and too fancy. And it doesn’t look like a farmhouse either.”
“No idea.” He gestured around the area. “What I find even stranger is that these trees were planted in a perfect circle around it. Next to white oaks, post oaks are the hardest, longest-lasting oak in existence. And dogwoods have deep spiritual meaning to many people.”
“Long spiritual life?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but it looks as if that building, this glade, these trees carry a special message sent to us over a hundred years ago.”
“But what? And why isn’t there a record of it?”
“Maybe there was at one time, but it might have been lost as time and people moved onward.”
“Still, you’d think word of it would have passed down through the generations at least as a legend.”
“I agree. It’s definitely a mystery.”
“And it’s one on my property.” He tugged her closer. “Now that I look back, the sale appears odd. Nobody snatched up this property. It’s as if buyers couldn’t see it any more than we could see inside this glade.”
“If we had all the facts, there are probably simple explanations for everything surrounding our mystery…as well as the mystery itself,” she said thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I’m probably overthinking the whole thing anyway.”
“I admit it’s strange.”
“Let’s take a closer look.”
As they got nearer, things didn’t look quite as pristine as they had from a distance. In fact, the front door had been boarded over in a way that could only have been fast and rough. It was a sharp contrast to the meticulous gingerbread work on the eaves. Blackberry vines twined up the railings and across the floor of the porch, creating a thorny barrier.
“Something happened here,” Craig said in a low tone. “Whoever nailed those boards up used hardwood that would last a long, long time.”
“And it has done exactly that, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” He clasped her hand, entwined their fingers, and led her to the north side of the house.
She felt a little more chilled all the time, as if they shouldn’t be here, as if they were disturbing a long-buried secret.
“One window and it’s boarded up, too.” He squeezed her fingers while gripping his ax in his other hand. “I like this less all the time.”
“Me, too.” She moved closer to him.
“Let’s check the back.” He turned the corner and stopped completely still and took a deep, ragged breath that sounded loud in the quietness of the glade.
“What is it?”
He raised the ax and used it to point toward the lower half of the building, where dark stains tarnished the wood and stroked upward toward a brick chimney that was blackened with soot and partially crumbled to the ground.
“What am I looking at?” She felt his right hand tremble slightly as she held more tightly to him.
“Fire.” He dropped her hand and reached palm out, as if to hold back the flames. “Long ago. It must have started in the fireplace or the chimney. The smoke would have been tremendous and more problem than the fire…at first. No back door. There’s only one, small, high window on this side and probably the same on the other side.”
“This isn’t a home. Maybe nobody was here at the time.”
“But if there was a blaze in the fireplace, then…”
“Volunteer firefighters. Whoever was in there was saved by firefighters.”
“They didn’t have the resources we have today, but still folks probably got out in time.”
“And they didn’t want to use the building anymore, so they boarded it up.” She didn’t really believe their scenario any more than he did, but it comforted them for the moment, so she let it stand.
“Still, it’s odd. They could’ve repaired the structure.”
“We don’t know what it was used for, so maybe they just moved into Sure-Shot to be closer to resources and people.”
“Maybe.” He turned back. “Let’s go inside.”
“Is it structurally sound?”
“We’ll see.” He took off in a long-legged stride as if he could still rescue whoever’d been trapped in there with a rampaging fire.
She understood his impulse. He was a first responder at heart. When the need arose, he’d always put his life on the line for others. Only this time, he was a hundred years too late…and she knew he would still grieve if there had been loss of life on land that was now his responsibility.
She watched as he edged up the stairs leading to the front door. She could tell he was being careful, as he tried one step after another, to make certain the wood wasn’t rotten or termite eaten as he trampled down blackberry vines.
When he reached the door, he glanced back at her, gave a quick nod, then hefted the ax, swung, and embedded it into one of the boards.
As far as she could tell, it didn’t look as if the solid wood gave much under the impact. Maybe they wouldn’t get inside today—and maybe she didn’t really want to see what was in there anyway.
Still, he was strong, and he wasn’t giving up. After several deep cuts on the boards, he changed tactics and used the flat of the ax to pry up one long nail after another until finally the boards gave way and he tossed them over the railing onto the ground.
Now she could see the door. It had been a pretty thing, probably hand-carved with lots of fancy designs that went with the rest of the building…except it had no doorknob or latch or anything except a round hole where the hardware must have been at one time. She didn’t think that looked good, not if you’d been trapped inside.
“Do you want to join me or wait to learn what I see inside?” He pointed toward the stairs and porch. “If you come up, step where I stepped and you’ll be okay.”
“Wait for me. I’ll join you.” Even if she dreaded what they might find, she was not so weak of heart that she would let him go in there alone.
She knew firefighters frequently saw troubling things nobody else had to see, but she still wanted to be by Craig’s side in times of trouble as well as happiness.
He pushed on the door, but it resisted until he put a shoulder against it, shoving hard. Finally, it squeaked under protest and slowly edged open to let in the light of day.
She carefully ascended the stairs, then cautiously walked across the porch. For a brief time, she stood with him, not moving a muscle, as they gazed into each other’s eyes, prolonging the moment before they discovered something inside that might change their lives or even their view of the world forever.
“Ready?” He spoke in a low tone, as if not to disturb the house or the glade. He held out his hand, palm up.
“Yes.” She also kept her voice soft, almost reverent, as she handed him the flashlight.
He switched it on and stepped into the house, illuminating a single room with wide sweeps of the flashlight.
She followed, sneezing at the odor of dust, decay, and smoke. The building had been shut up for so long that all the old scents were still trapped inside. After that, she took shallow breaths as she followed—the squeak of old floorboards loud in the stillness.
He cast the arc of light slowly and carefully around the room.
It wasn’t a big room. It wasn’t even a fancy room. It was utilitarian. Wooden walls. Wooden ceiling. Wooden floors. And wooden benches that had seats and backs made of single boards with circular saw marks. Most were overturned on their sides. A single, straight-backed chair with charred rungs lay crumpled near the fireplace where the floor was scorched and blackened from the fire.
And hats. It’d been winter. To one side of the fireplace, three round felt hats still hung on the rows of pegs that had been pounded into the wood for that purpose. All the other hats were on the floor near the fireplace in various stages of decay from completely burned to partially burned to twisted and crumpled and stomped on.
“They used the hats to put out the fire.” Craig broke the silence in a deep, sad voice as he aimed light at the hats. “It was a good idea.”
“Yes. But was it in time?”
“I don’t know. Smoke would have been their biggest danger.”
She walked closer. “All the hats are small.”
“I know.”
She took a deep, ragged breath, almost unable to contain the emotion that flooded her as he turned his light on a single book, splayed open on its back with broken spine and charred pages.
“Schoolhouse,” he said, voice breaking on the word.
“Children. They got out in time. They escaped the fire. I know they did—surely they did.” Yet tears filled her eyes at the sight of the small hats and what they meant to those who might have been trapped inside a burning building.
“It would explain the trees.”
“They put a sacred memory to rest, didn’t they?”
“And now we’ve disturbed it,” he said.
“Yes.”
“We don’t know what happened here other than there was a fire. And they fought it the best way they knew how. And it probably worked because the entire building didn’t go up in flames.”
“That’s true.”
“But they wouldn’t have trusted their children here anymore,” he said.
“No, of course not.”
“They would have taken them to town for their educations.”
“Yes. That’s right.” Still she felt forlorn at the loss, even if it was a hundred years in the past.
He walked over and clasped her hand. “There’s nothing more we can do here today. Let’s go to the ranch.”
“I’d like that.” She walked to the door with him, then glanced back. “There was fire here, yes. But there was great love here, too. That’s what I want to remember.”
“I’m sure that’s exactly the remembrance they wanted to leave in this grove.”
“And they did it well.” She stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
He closed the door behind them. “I’ll come back and nail this door shut later. I’ll also push back some of the vines so the entry point is less noticeable.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want the place disturbed until we know exactly what happened here.”
“Will we be able to find out?”
“Somebody will know. It might take a bit of asking around…and we can’t follow up until after Wild West Days.”
“It’s waited a hundred years. I’m sure it can wait a little longer…if we’re ever meant to know the truth.”
Chapter 25
Clouds scudded across the sky, blocking sunlight as Craig drove toward the Thorne Horse Ranch. Fern sat quietly beside him, reflecting his somber mood. Lack of bright light suited them after their schoolhouse discovery.
“Life’s not always fair,” he said thoughtfully, breaking their silence.
“I know. It’s just…children.” She held her new red ball cap in her hands, turning it around and around thoughtfully. They hadn’t felt like wearing them after their discovery since they simply seemed too frivolous. Another time, they could enjoy them again.
“Sometimes it’s least fair to them because they’re so vulnerable. We do our best and still…”
“Tragedy strikes.”
“Yeah.” He gripped the steering wheel harder. “But sometimes we get miracles. I suspect maybe all or at least some of those kids got out alive.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes. I’ve seen the destructive power of fire up close and what devastation it can leave in its wake. That structure is still very much intact.”
“What about the deadly power of smoke inhalation?”
“I know…believe me, I know. Yet everything I’ve experienced fighting fires and what I saw in that schoolhouse tells me at least some of those children lived to ripe old ages and left descendants.”
“That’s what I want to believe.”
“Then that’s what we’ll believe…until we learn different.”
“Okay.” She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as if to block out the memory of the one-room schoolhouse.
He felt the same way. He was more than ready to let the past stay in the past. They had plenty in the present that required their attention, and they needed to focus on that for now. Later, they’d figure out what happened in the Sure-Shot community that led to the creation of a beautiful memorial grove.
When he saw the entry to the ranch up ahead, he felt an uptick in his heartbeat. Good news—he wouldn’t have to think about fires there. All was safe and secure. He just needed to drive up to the house, park his truck, take Fern inside, and hold her in his arms until they had a chance to let love renew their spirits.
All of a sudden, she sat up straight and leaned forward. “Maybe I just have fire and smoke on my mind, but are the cowboys burning brush on your ranch?” She pointed toward the horizon.
He felt his gut clench as he followed her line of sight. She wasn’t wrong. There was a dark-red smudge where none had any reason to be.
“Craig? Please tell me I’m wrong.” She set the cap down on the floorboard near her purse.
“I wish I could, but you’re right. That is all wrong.”
He gunned the engine and tore down the highway, hoping against hope that what he thought he saw he didn’t see, but the closer he got to the ranch, the higher the smoke rose into the sky. Fire on Thorne Horse Ranch, no doubt about it.
“Fern, would you call Hedy? She’s probably at the fire station. We need a rig at the ranch. It looks like there’s a blaze near or at the horse barn.”
“Oh no.” Fern snatched her cell phone out of her purse. “I’m so sorry. Surely it’s not—”
“I don’t want to take any chances. It’ll take time for a rig to get here. In the mea
ntime, I have firefighting gear in the pickup and more in the shop.”
“But what could’ve happened?” She hit a programmed number, then clicked speaker phone so he could join the conversation.
“Anything.”
“Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue,” Hedy answered in a no-nonsense voice.
“Hedy, this is Fern. I’m with Craig. We’re headed to his ranch. We see smoke near his horse barn. He wants a rig.”
“Is one enough?”
“We won’t know till we get there,” Craig said.
“I’ll send Slade and Sydney with a booster, but I’ll alert Kent and Trey to be on standby. Keep us posted.”
“Will do.” Fern clicked off and put her phone back in her purse.
“Okay.” Craig glanced over at her. “I’ll take you to the house and leave you there, where you’ll be safe, then I’ll—”
“There’s no time to lose and you know it. We go straight to the barn. Are cowboys up there? Are horses in the barn or the corral?”
“Don’t know.” He hit the brakes as he turned off under the Thorne Horse Ranch sign, crossed a cattle guard, and barreled up the road toward the barns. “This late in the day, cowboys ought to be out in the pastures, but it’s about time they headed home.”
“I’m not trained to fight fires, but I can point a fire extinguisher or do whatever else needs doing.”
“Thanks. I may need your help.”
“You’ve got it.”
“For now, reach over the back seat and snag those jackets. We need them again. And there’s a pair of fire-resistant pants I can slip over my jeans.”
“One good thing.” She glanced at him. “There aren’t any kids involved in this fire.”
“Yeah…but what about innocent horses?”
“I hoped the barn was empty.”
“Maybe it is, but don’t count on it.”
She leaned over the seat, then tugged the jackets and pants into her lap. She shrugged into a jacket and rolled up the sleeves.
