Into the Flames

by Multi-Author

  She knew he needed a meal and a bath, but she desperately wanted to prolong this moment. “Where was the fire?”

  “An abandoned timber warehouse by the pier—Brennan Brothers.” He twirled her braid in his fingers.

  “That’s where my pa used to work.” They’d shut down operations about a year before her mother’s death. Pa had lost his fingers to one of the sawblades. Though they’d offered to keep him on, he’d never gone back. Ma had taken in some sewing. After she died, Nettie started working at the store.

  Eli kissed her cheek. “A lot of men lost their jobs when the timber mill closed. Most of them found work somewhere else—fishing or the railroad, one of the factories in Grand Rapids or Muskegon. They didn’t rely on their underage daughters for support.”

  “I know.” She’d been away long enough to get her eyes open about Pa. “Eli—I don’t want him at our wedding. I’m sure he’d find some way to spoil it.”

  “Would you rather elope? I wouldn’t mind that. I’m not so keen on getting my own family together on a day that’s supposed to be special for us.”

  She leaned against him, glad they were on the same page. “Not an elopement, exactly. Maybe something here, in the parlor, with Diana and the Websters and VanCleves.” Eli was fond of his employees, so even though they hadn’t really warmed up to Nettie, she wouldn’t exclude them. “Your mother of course, too, if you want.”

  “I’ll think about it. Now sit here for a minute. I’ve got something for you.” He brushed a kiss against her hair and leapt to his feet, stopping in front of a painting on the opposite wall.

  “It can wait. You need to wash up and have something to eat.” She watched him slide the painting aside and then open the safe behind it.

  He came back to her with a small velvet box. “My grandmother’s. Now their marriage was happy. Lasted forty-eight years, until he died. Afterward, she didn’t fade away. She played cards with us and hide-and-seek. Then one night she died in her sleep with a smile on her face.”

  “What a lovely story.” Nettie gazed at the pair of rings the open box revealed. The engagement ring held a modest diamond, surrounded by tiny blue sapphire chips. The wedding ring was a slender band of matching gold. “Eli, they’re beautiful.”

  “My mother’s parents didn’t start with a lot of money. He offered her a new, bigger one every year, and she always refused. I thought you’d like it.” He took the engagement ring out and gently placed it on her finger—where it slid right up to the cast and stopped.

  “I’ll wear it on the other hand for now,” she said with a warm glow in her heart. She held out her right hand and he slipped it onto her third finger. “I love it. It’s a perfect fit.”

  “Meant to be.” He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “You don’t want something bigger?”

  “Not in a million years.” She caught his hand and kissed it. “Now go upstairs and clean up. I’ll warm up the dinner Mrs. V left out for you.”

  “Already acting like a wife.” He smiled and ran up the steps two at a time.

  * * *

  The next day, Nettie checked Eli’s hand and re-bandaged it, assured that it really was a minor cut without a serious risk of infection. She kissed Eli as he went downstairs to his office. The VanCleves had officially been informed of the engagement at breakfast. They seemed to be moderately pleased, which was better than openly hostile, as she expected her father would be when he found out. Eli was planning to telephone his mother that afternoon.

  “I wish I could sew,” she grumbled to Diana, who sat by the fire, knitting a baby sweater. “But I can’t do anything one-handed.”

  Diana didn’t miss a stitch. “Not to mention that my brother doesn’t have a sewing machine. Read and recover, my love. I’ve asked Gordon to bring back some bridal magazines from your shop. What sort of china do you think you’d like?”

  “Who cares? They’re dishes. You eat off them. Eli has plenty of those. I’d rather have the sewing machine. Preferably my sewing machine. It’s one of the few things he didn’t destroy of my mother’s.” Diana would know who he referred to. “Probably because I still made and repaired his clothes on it.

  “Make a list and give it to Eli at lunch,” Diana said. “He said he was stopping out there this afternoon to look for an address book. I imagine he wasn’t going alone. He’d want someone with him, if only to hold him back in case they run into your father. They can collect the sewing machine and anything else you want.”

  It was odd getting used to a house full of valuable objects, but Nettie didn’t think much of the bric-a-brac meant anything to Eli. She’d had so few things that each of them felt important. “Just that. Everything else I cared about was hidden in that little black suitcase.” She’d put out the photograph of her with her mother, but not the other few treasures she’d saved from her father’s wrath. “Oh—and the quilt from my bed.” She and her mother had made that together. It might not be nice enough to use in a guest room in Eli’s house, but maybe she could keep it for herself—or maybe one day for a nursery.

  “Have you always made your own clothes?” Diana looked up from her knitting. “I’d have never guessed—they were always so well done.”

  “Well, when I was very young, my mother made them. She was more talented at needlework than I. But yes, my skirts and blouses are my own creations. It’s actually very strange to be wearing store-bought clothes.” Today she wore a pink frock with ruffled cap sleeves and a matching pink scarf as a sling. The dresses had proven easier to deal with than skirts and blouses. With the straight, dropped waist that was popular and wide necklines, Nettie was able to dress one-handed. Fortunately, she was thin enough to skip a corset and simply wear short, silky underpants and a slip beneath the expensive dresses.

  “Has it changed tremendously since I was here last, or do there seem to be far more fires of late? I swear there’s been one nearly every day.” Diana frowned down at her needlework. “Will you be able to stand it, do you think?”

  “I’ll have to, won’t I?” Nettie sighed. “He’s not going to give it up—or if he did, he’d be miserable. Though of course I’ll worry, especially since there do seem to be a lot more fires these last few weeks. Anyway, I had an idea on how to make good use of my sewing skills—and my worry time. I know it isn’t often that a family in Carstairs loses a home to fire, but I thought I could make up some quilts for when it does happen, or to wrap around people if they’re caught outside. Maybe even some clothing for emergencies, or soft toys for the children.” She went on to tell Diana about her idea for a wives’ auxiliary.

  “That’s brilliant.” Diana beamed. “I could knit small blankets or mittens perhaps—maybe even spread the idea to Chicago. No wonder Eli loves you.”

  Nettie flushed, not wanting to get into that conversation with her future sister-in-law. She still had every hope that Eli would eventually love her, in his own way. If not, she had enough love for both of them. “Of course, I can’t sew until my arm is healed, but I can talk to some of the other wives and sweethearts. I know most of them already from the shop.” Most of the volunteer firemen were more from Nettie’s social strata than Eli’s, so she felt sure she’d be comfortable with their families—more so than with any of Eli’s legal colleagues or the other members of the City Council. She picked back up the magazine she’d been reading, and returned to an article on “Hosting the Perfect Dinner Party,” which was infinitely more complicated than she’d ever dreamed. If Diana and Eli hadn’t kept assuring her otherwise, she’d be running by now—even though she had nowhere to go.

  * * *

  Eli dreaded coming face-to-face with Alfred Price—not because he was afraid. Price was too old and drunk to be a danger to a full-grown man. No, what Eli feared was facing a prison sentence for murder. For that reason he’d asked Stan Glenn, the fire department’s mechanic and best ladder man, to accompany him out to Nettie’s former home. Never, he swore silently, she’s never setting foot
in there again.

  He’d been utterly honest with her when he talked about love, but he also couldn’t deny that he cared about her—so deeply even he couldn’t understand it.

  Eli had been engaged once before—to the daughter of one of his father’s colleagues. Clara had been a model bride for an up and coming young businessman, but Eli had never felt the kind of protectiveness or, almost contradictory, respect, that held for Nettie. Nettie might be vulnerable physically, but her intellect was a sharp as anyone’s. Eli could see himself discussing cases with her over dinner, and her helping him sort fact from fiction. Her common sense was extraordinary, and her courage could put some of his fellow firefighters to shame. Lord knew he wanted her in his bed, but he could also happily look forward to fifty years of seeing her at the breakfast table. He’d been ready to announce their engagement in this Sunday’s paper, but Nettie had asked for a little more time.

  Still, someone had to know. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut entirely. So as they barreled down the dirt road in Stan’s Model-T pickup truck, Eli said, “There’s something you should know—in case something happens to me at a fire, or anywhere. I’m engaged to Nettie Price.”

  Stan whistled. “You’re a braver man than I am to take on old Al as a father-in-law. Figured something was up, though when I heard she’d moved into your house. Beat the tar out of her, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah.” The amount of damage the bastard had inflicted still made Eli’s stomach turn. “I don’t want him to ever get his hands on her again, even if for some reason I’m not around. Get the boys, take her to Lawson Pines, or put her on a train to my sister in Chicago. I should have my will changed by the end of the week, but that will only make him want to get his hands on her even more.”

  “Right.” Stan didn’t even question the instructions. “Always thought she was a good girl. Sweet. Hard worker. Pretty. A fellow could do a lot worse—except for the old man, of course. When’s the wedding?”

  “As soon as she’s out of that blasted cast.” She still had three or four weeks left, by his reckoning. “Small wedding, but I’d like to invite the boys and their ladies.”

  “You’d be in for it if you didn’t.” Stan chuckled. “So what are we doing out here? Can’t you afford to buy her a brand-new machine?”

  “She wants her mother’s.” Eli had tried bringing up the other option. She’d said it would be fine. Every man knew that when a woman said fine, it meant anything but.

  “Ah.” Stan went silent for a minute or two, and finally said, “You noticed we’ve been a bit busier than usual?”

  “We have, haven’t we?” Of course Eli had noticed. He wasn’t stupid. “Smelled kerosene or gasoline at a few of them too—maybe most. We’ve got ourselves an arsonist, don’t we?”

  “Could be.” Stan nodded slowly. “Hate to say it, but it looks that way.”

  “Any idea who?” Eli couldn’t think of a likely suspect off the top of his head.

  “Nobody new in town. We saw a few back before your day, when the Brennan Mill closed down, but those tapered off after a month or so. Figured whoever it was either burned himself up in one of the fires, or wandered away.”

  “If we’re looking at old employees of the mill, that’s a whole lot of men—and it doesn’t make sense. That was what? Six—seven years ago?” Eli had opened up his practice only five years earlier, so he’d been away at school when the mill had closed. “What would make him start up again now?”

  “Oh, maybe his daughter running off with a big-shot lawyer? Without her as a punching bag, Price might have gone around the bend.” Stan turned onto the rutted driveway of the Price property. Once again, Eli noticed all the char marks on what might have once been a nice lawn.

  “Damn it to hell.” Eli gasped as he looked out over the still-smoldering ruins of the house where Nettie had lived. “How did this happen without us getting a call?”

  They both climbed from the car and made their way to the fallen timbers. “Last night was cloudy, and this place is a ways out from any other houses.” Stan picked up a shovel from the back of his truck and handed Eli a rake. “Let’s see if we can find a body.”

  There weren’t enough live embers to warrant calling the rest of the company. Grimly, they set about raking and digging out the remains of the fire, and removing what they could of the roof and rafters.

  “Well, there’s her sewing machine.”

  Eli used the rake to haul the wrecked carcass from the rest of the debris. Maybe something of it could be saved as a memento, at least.

  “And it fell on whoever was sitting under it.” Stan dug out the second story flooring to reveal the charred remains of a human. The face had been obliterated, showing bare skull in a grim smile. Even the hair was gone. Bits of flesh remained, one arm covered in coarse black hair, while the other hand was missing. “Average-sized, male, dark haired. Looks like our firebug did himself in.”

  “Looks like.” Eli had come across bodies a time or two in his work with the fire department. It was never pretty, but this—this burnt pile of flesh had once been Nettie’s father. She’d broken off from him, but this would still hit her hard. She’d see it as a validation of his need for her, and bear the guilt of breaking her unrealistic promise. Eli mechanically went through the motions of putting out the remaining embers and wrapped the body in a tarp before stowing it –or rather the falling apart pieces of it—into the bed of the truck. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stomach the smell of bacon again.

  “Most of the machine is all right, the metal parts, at least.” Stan knocked bits of charred wood from the sewing machine. “We can get a new case for it.” He laid the parts alongside Price in the truck.

  “Thanks.” Eli climbed into the cab and sighed. “So much for a romantic dinner with my new fiancée tonight.”

  “Might be the best thing, in the long run.” Stan’s tone was grave. “You smell the kerosene in there? It wasn’t an accidental fire. Whole town might be safer with him gone.”

  “And Nettie will be for sure.” Eli understood that. “She’s going to blame herself.”

  Stan gave a short chuckle. “Women do that sort of thing. And that, my friend, is why I’m single.”

  “You’re a bastard, Stan.”

  “Naw. My parents were married.” The older man laughed. “You’ll get past it, you know. All you have to do is be there for her and give her the time she needs.”

  “Pretty smart for a single chap.” Eli forced his muscles to relax. Nettie was safe now. That’s what he had to focus on.

  “Grew up with four sisters,” Stan said. “Had enough women around to hold me for the rest of this lifetime.”

  “Sure. You wait. One day you’ll meet someone like my Nettie.” Eli liked the sound of that. My Nettie. “Then, boom, you won’t know what hit you.” At least that’s what it seemed like to Eli—although he’d never considered himself a confirmed bachelor, at least not after the initial shock of being jilted by Clara.

  Jesus, he hoped Nettie wouldn’t leave him over this. Clara had hurt his pride. Nettie would hurt something far more vulnerable.

  Chapter Eight

  Nettie wished she hadn’t sent Eli to retrieve her sewing machine. It was easily replaced, and based on the amount of time this errand had taken, something had gone wrong. Eli was irreplaceable.

  The front foyer doorbell rang—a first, in Nettie’s experience. Eli hadn’t had a single caller in the almost two weeks she’d been there, other than those in his office. She jumped up to get it, but Diana shook her head. “Mrs. V has her pride too. Let her do her job.”

  The door opened and closed, then two sets of footsteps climbed the stairs to the main parlor. Nettie set aside the magazine she’d been trying to read while Diana lay her knitting in her lap.

  “Mrs. Elias Lawson, Jr.,” Mrs. VanCleve announced in a lofty tone. “To see Miss Price.”

  Diana squeezed Nettie’s hand and whispered, “Don’t wo
rry. I won’t leave you with the shark.”

  Nettie stood and held out her right hand. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lawson. How lovely of you to visit.” She’d been paying attention to Diana’s manners as well as the ones she’d gleaned from her reading. “Would you care for coffee or tea?”

  “No, I would not.” Eli’s mother ignored Nettie’s hand and turned to her daughter. “Diana. I wish you to return home immediately. All these stairs cannot possibly be healthful in your condition.”

  “My bedroom at the Pines is also on the second floor, Mama.” Diana pronounced it in the British manner, ma-MA. “I’m quite content here with Nettie. We’ve been renewing our friendship. You might say we’ve become as close as sisters.”

  Nettie returned to her seat and bit back a grin at Diana’s sauciness. “My intention is to stay with the Websters when they return from their trip.” She smiled at Mrs. VanCleve. “I think Mrs. Chalmers and I would like some tea anyway, please. You may bring up a third cup, in case Mrs. Lawson changes her mind.”

  Mrs. VanCleve bobbed her head and left. Nettie must have imagined the slight gleam of approval she thought she’d seen in the older woman’s eye.

  “Mama, allow me to introduce you to Eli’s intended.” Diana picked up her knitting and grinned. “Nettie, this is my mother, Araminta Lawson. Mama, meet your future daughter-in-law, Nettie Price.”

  “What sort of name is Nettie?” Mrs. Lawson sniffed. “You cannot possibly be serious about marrying my son. I presume you are in the family way? I could make your life very lucrative if you’re willing to walk away from Eli—and Carstairs. Would a check for ten thousand do the trick?”

  “Nettie is short for Annette, to which I do not choose to answer.” Nettie drew in a deep breath and firmed her spine. “As to your other assumptions, you are incorrect. Your son is a gentleman. He and I have not been intimate. Nor am I of a mercenary bent. I have no interest in his bank balance, and neither presence nor absence of funds in said account will cause me to leave him. If you are inclined to throw away good money, I’m sure there are numerous charities which would be delighted with such a generous donation.”