Between blinks, I dozed, and in a flip-book second, town appeared around us. In the next, Theo gathered me; another flash, and I found myself handed into new arms.
They carried me inside, into a building fresh with the scent of menthol, tangy with the bite of an iron stove nice and hot. The air was thick with water, pleasant humidity laced with camphor to settle the senses.
"All right, let's take a look," an unfamiliar man said. He peeled my layers, raising my face to his. He washed with lye soap—his hands were rough with it, though his touch was gentle.
Birdie appeared from nowhere to take my hand. "Lightning struck her; I thought she was dead at first. She was insensible for most of the drive and just started to come round."
"Did the house burn?" I asked.
No one answered, and the doctor grew rather more insistent in his examination. Pulling the quilt open, he murmured in surprise. My day gown was in rags, at least along my left side. With some detached amazement, I marveled at the char that was my bared shoulder. It matched the sole of my foot, and I wondered where my shoes were.
"She seems intact physically," the doctor said. He picked up a little mirror to flash in my eyes.
My ears rang, but each flash recalled the one that had addled me so completely. As I lay blanketed in pleasant humidity, the doctor bade me follow his finger.
"What's your name?" he asked pleasantly, and I told him. "Good. Can you say your ABCs?"
Furrowing my brow, I searched for the first letter a long time. When the A finally floated to the surface, I rattled the whole twenty-six easily. With each test, I came back to myself. So much so that when the doctor thrust his thick fingers into my mouth without warning, I slapped them.
"Zora!" Birdie exclaimed.
My face flushed. "I'm sorry; you surprised me."
The pinhole width of my world widened. Birdie sat beside me; Dr. Julian leaned back on his stool, fortunately for me, half-smiling. Medical diagrams covered the walls; the camphor burner sputtered a bit.
Light glinted off the sheen of Dr. Julian's skin as he put his tools aside. Rubbing his hands dry on a towel, he seemed to mull over his diagnosis a moment, then finally said, "Well, Mrs. Neal, I'd say she's going to be just fine. She might be discomposed for a spell, but nothing lasting, I don't think. Bring her back if you're concerned, and stop by in an hour or two. I'll mix a salve for those burns."
"Thank you, Dr. Julian," Birdie said. She had tears in her voice, but she swallowed them. "What a lucky girl."
"Or unlucky," the doctor joked.
But sitting there among them, I felt neither lucky nor unlucky. I was simply myself—Zora Stewart, late of Oklahoma Territory—the springsweet and now rainmaker. Shuddering, I pulled the quilt around my shoulders modestly. Never again a rainmaker, I decided. I was no god; my gift had limits.
Birdie helped me up; I felt odd, as if my feet didn't quite touch the ground. But with her arm around my shoulder, I could totter along. The cooler air outside was a blessed relief, rain still a mist in the air. The road that ran through West Glory was a creek at the moment, so Birdie led me the long way around to the hotel.
Just before we went inside, I frowned. "Birdie?"
"Watch your step," Birdie said. "What?"
I remembered a fire; I still tasted smoke. Pushing sodden hair out of my face, I asked her quietly, "Did the house burn?"
"No, duck." The worried lines on her brow deepened. But patiently, she tightened the quilt around my shoulders, then led me inside.
***
The hotel was our home for the moment. It had been a few days, though how many exactly I couldn't count. We had to wait for the rain to stop and the smoke to clear—and, though it was unspoken, for me to recover enough of my wits that Birdie wouldn't go mad tending me on her own.
It was strange to sit between walls so thin. I heard conversations on the other side, as if they were whispered directly into my ears.
The rain had quenched most of the fire. The single line that had swept on toward town was drowned by a makeshift brigade of firefighters—mostly cowboys on rest and the shopkeepers who peopled West Glory by day and night.
The Baders had lost their new barn and most of their livestock; Jim Polley's back forty had burned, leaving him with half as much crop as he'd expected for the year.
No one had died—everyone said this in hushed, reverent tones. I had yet to witness the tornados and the dust storms, the grasshopper legions and the droughts that this land apparently boasted on dark occasion.
People found death an unfriendly neighbor here, sadly regular, reluctantly expected as the price of living far from the bounds of a city. To believe it a miracle when all managed to breathe another day—it was more cynical than I could bear.
The sitting room door opened, and I groaned inwardly when I heard Birdie greeting Theo and Mrs. Herrington. We'd had a steady stream of callers—Birdie's friends, of course, but curiosity seekers as well. They wanted to get a glimpse of the girl who'd called down lightning.
None of them were Emerson—I wondered about him, for I had last seen him carrying the baby away on horseback. I thought it possible he'd delivered her and ridden on—to find some impossible piece of land that was his alone. It was a naïve, reckless fear—but after all my reason and rationale, it seemed I wasn't entirely immune to lovesickness.
Theo's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Have you talked to her, Birdie?"
I arched a brow. Since when did Theo call my aunt by her given name? Turning away from the window, I crept to the door to listen more deliberately. Some of the conversation was hard to make out, because Mrs. Herrington had decided to play with Louella.
"Riding a horsey, riding to town," Mrs. Herrington sang. Her heel thumped on the floor—no doubt she dandled Louella on her knee. "Riding a horsey, don't fall down!"
Between that, I caught a snatch of Birdie's reply, "...just need to be certain she knows what I'm telling her."
Theo hummed thoughtfully. "Is she still asking if the house burned?"
"Riding a horsey!" Louella cried, so I didn't hear the answer. It piqued my curiosity, because now I desperately wanted to know: how many times had I asked? And had it? I almost opened the door to inquire; I was glad, in the next moment, that I hadn't.
"...you come courting, I'm sure she'll understand."
"I don't want to give the impression that I'm inconstant..."
Laughing, Birdie said, "I've got news for you, Theo—I don't give a tinker's damn what people think about me or you."
Mrs. Herrington crowed, "Don't fall down!"
My head hurt, and I pulled my wrapper on. My thoughts were not so quick as before, but if I rubbed my temples, I could sort them out well enough. The bare slips of conversation I'd overheard didn't make sense if Theo meant to try to court me again. But if he meant to call on Birdie...
I covered my smiling mouth with my hand. And then I shivered, for I felt a familiar tremor run through me. My heart jumped up, my blood running fast with anticipation. He hadn't gone; he'd come for me.
The tremor was distant, struggling through planks and nails to reach me, so I rushed to the window to look out.
Through the gray cloud of rain, I saw Emerson hitching his horse across the street. Throwing the sash up, I leaned out and waved to catch his eye. He turned, as if he'd known exactly where to seek me, then ducked his head as he started across the street.
Instead of coming through the hotel's foyer, he stood at the edge of the porch and called up. "Hold this for me, Zo."
I was confused, until he threw his hat for me to catch. I managed, just barely, and the mad fool grabbed the porch roof and hefted himself up. In spite of inclement weather and all good senses, he scrambled up the slope toward me.
Catching the windowsill with one hand, he leaned in to kiss me hard before reclaiming his hat. His lips were cold from riding but tasted sweet with rain. We were bright and alive, a two-penny imitation of Romeo and Juliet, but I had no plans to say goodbye, and I
felt certain he would not end up drinking poison from my lips.
Giddy, I clasped his face and kissed his brow, his cheek. Before he could speak, I pulled him in again, tasting his mouth once more before murmuring into it, "You don't care at all that I'm ruined."
"Not a bit," he answered.
From behind me, Birdie cleared her throat. "Well, I do. You get down right now and come to the door like your mama raised you decent, Mr. Birch."
Nineteen
"Where will you be going?" Birdie demanded.
I think she simply needed to assert her authority one last time. That I had buttoned my shoes and pulled my wrapper around my shoulders told her I intended to go.
Emerson stood at the door, not because he hadn't been invited in—he had—but because Louella had burst into tears the moment she saw him. Whatever memory she might have had of his magic had been erased by a terrifying ride through fire.
Fussing sweetly, Mrs. Herrington had carried Louella into the bedroom to soothe her, but still Emerson ventured no farther inside.
Blessedly, Theo had excused himself, claiming he would fetch lemonade for the ladies. From the length of time he'd been gone, it seemed he had caught a train south to harvest the lemons himself.
And who could blame him? Even if he had decided to court Birdie, he had a heart, still recently trampled. I could hardly hold it against him, finding a long errand to run.
Slipping my hand into my pocket, I fingered the warped glass of Emerson's pendant. The lightning had transformed it, too. What was once a bottle was now a sealed, elongated tear. I worried it with my fingers, trying to find an answer to Birdie's question—but in the end, I didn't have one.
Since I said nothing, Birdie cut Emerson a look. He would take the blame, whether he deserved it or not. "Well?"
Emerson finally said, "We haven't decided yet."
Huffing, Birdie caught me by the shoulders, fixing my wrap. "I can see the telegrams now. Pauline shouting down the wires at me— You let my addlepated daughter run off with a sooner, and you don't know where they're headed? That's some position to put your poor aunt in."
"You don't have to tell her anything. I'll write as soon as we light somewhere," I promised.
"I've never been to Baltimore," Emerson offered.
Birdie turned on him, hands on hips, surveying him with her glass-green eyes. "And you'd best not set foot in it until there's a ring on her finger."
Blushing, I murmured, "Birdie, please."
"Her father's a lawyer," Birdie told Emerson. Her eyes widened with a wicked glint, and she went on. "And her mother's a dragon. I hope that hide of yours is thick, boy."
Certain now that I would be leaving with him, Emerson dared a smile. "That's a lie, Mrs. Neal. You hope they'll split me like a game hen, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same."
Wonder of wonders, Birdie laughed. But she didn't embrace him—it wasn't her way. What she owed him for carrying Louella away from the fire she'd repaid by letting me go. There would be no fondness between them.
In fact, when I embraced her, she whispered into my ear, "Keep the well money in case you need a ticket away from him."
I kissed Birdie and stole into the bedroom to kiss Louella goodbye too. I wondered if I would be a faint memory for her or if I would disappear from her thoughts entirely once I was gone from her sight. Picking her up, I buried my face against her curls one last time, breathing in her baby sweetness.
"Don't punch any chickens while I'm gone," I told her.
She smiled sleepily as I returned her to Mrs. Herrington's arms. "You hit the birdie."
"I certainly did," I told her.
Then I slipped away, with one more kiss for my aunt, one more look back to catch a glimpse of Lou's round little face. Without much notice, we slipped down the stairs and outside, where the rain had finally stopped.
Looking back at the hotel, I caught sight of Theo in the window. He dipped his head, as if trying to make me out for certain. And then he smiled gently, raising a hand in farewell. I waved back, and the tightness in my chest from doing him so badly dissipated at last.
This place, I realized as Emerson pulled me onto Epona, I wouldn't miss at all. For all the bright moments, for the rain-washed skies and the golden wave of grasses that flowed across the land—for the satisfaction in learning to wrest a life from hard, dry earth—this was no place for me.
As we passed out of town limits, I counted the homesteader stakes that marked each plot—and I couldn't help but wonder who had peopled these acres before the government had cut it into parcel prizes.
For the moment, it was a black, stubbled field. Smoke no longer rose, but it was clear where the fire had stopped—and how far it had reached. The ground shone like fired clay. All that remained was ash.
Though I wouldn't miss this place, I would miss the people all my days. Leaning against Emerson, I rested my temple against his jaw and said, "Could we stop at Birdie's for my things?"
"Already did," he said. He looked down at me, tightening his arm around my waist. "She knew I was coming for you. She told me what to pack."
My throat tightened. "I had a memento..."
"Your dance card?" He kissed my hair, urging Epona on a little faster. "I've got it. Couple of dresses, a sampler you did with Louella. Some mail, too. Is there something else?"
Relief spilled over me, and I pulled his hand up to keep and clutch between mine. Thomas had nothing to say now; my love for him was pure and true, and it remained within me yet.
That was a memento too—something precious to remember, even as I looked forward to a future at Emerson's side. I kissed his fingertips and murmured my thanks against them.
"No, that's everything. Thank you."
I was then content to ride off in his arms. To drive on toward our future. But the Territories, as I previously noted, were hard, and though I thought they would let me slip away in a gentle embrace, I was most assuredly mistaken.
***
"Whose horse is that?" I asked when Emerson's cabin came into view.
Wandering the ruined yard, a white horse searched for something to graze. The fire had, perversely, preserved the cabin's walls and its windows but swallowed the roof whole.
None of his garden remained, nor his lean-to. His buckboard was there but a cindered mess. The fire had swept through so voraciously, it devoured every bit of wood from it, leaving only the iron frame and trappings.
Shaking his head, Emerson slowed. Tension ran through him; I felt him tighten everywhere. "Not sure." I could tell he wanted to follow that with a You stay here, but two in a saddle was an ungainly thing. He had to let me down first so he could follow.
"I'll be right back," he said, putting my hand on Epona's flank.
I was still unsteady on my feet, and though I was clearheaded enough to want to defy him, I was likewise sensible enough to refuse the urge. There was nothing gained in being contrary for contrary's sake. "I'll be right here."
Emerson headed inside, and I turned to take in the enormity of the fire around me. My nose stung a bit—the rain had pounded away the smoke, but wet remains had their own acid to them. After all, we made lye for our soap from water and wood ash.
Smoothing my skirts, I sighed at the senselessness of it. A whole prairie gone in one night. And yet, among the ashes, I noted the smallest of green shoots. The white horse had found them easily—unconcerned with what it all meant.
I started at a sudden crack. Jerking my head up, I saw motion in one of the windows, and glass glinting as it rained to the ground. Sharp voices rose up. I couldn't make them out, but I didn't need to.
They were angry; I was afraid. In spite of the trembling set loose in me, I ran to the house.
Though I hurried, I felt the world temper its pace. At the door, I took in the tableau in an instant. Emerson locked in struggle with a blond man. Broken glass. A ransacked cabin.
It was ruined. Soot coated every surface but the table. A leather bag lay open there, s
tuffed with a lantern, a few books, and a knife. I recognized the knife; I'd taken it once from Emerson, to clean rabbits for stew.
I caught a glimpse of Emerson's face as he twisted and then ... Royal Wakes'. My fear turned to fury. Robbing coaches wasn't enough for him. The coward had resorted to looting after a disaster.
They crashed into one of the walls. It threatened with a groan. A trickle of blood ran down Emerson's face. Royal struck again, the awful sound of flesh colliding with flesh too visceral and real.
I could take up the knife—I could. I screamed when they crashed into the opposite wall. Their bodies flowed together, one muslin shirt very much like another. I would never forgive myself if I stuck a blade into the wrong flesh. In truth, I wasn't sure I could forgive myself if I stuck it in the right flesh, either.
In a panic, I spun around, looking for something—anything—and then I saw it. Emerson's rifle lay in the soot, barely visible. I snatched it up by the barrel.
When I had a clear shot, I brought the stock down on Royal's head. A sickening crack filled the air. He dropped to the ground. Ash and dust puffed around him, stirred by his breath. But he moved not at all—he'd been a puppet, and I'd cut his strings.
Emerson stood there, mute in his surprise. I threw the rifle down and grabbed the bag from the table. "Come on! Come on!"
Coming around, Emerson snatched up the rifle and followed me outside. He dashed straight for Epona. It took but one step into the stirrup and he threw his leg over, the motion easy. Turning her around, he reached for me, but I brushed past.
Catching the white horse by its reins, I pulled myself up. I was a graceless, lumbering thing compared with the way Emerson handled a horse, but I managed all the same. Taking reins in hand, I geed the horse.
She was an arrow, flying fast and straight. It took only the gentlest touch to command her. I'm not sure how far we ran, but with every pounding step, my fear peeled away. Hesitation rattled from my bones; I made my own thunder. I was new and vibrant, drunk with audacity.
The Springsweet Page 17
