“Maybe. Maybe not. All those things and situations you thought were wrong were just lessons. That’s all. They made you the person you are and that’s a good thing.” Laura released Beatrice and then halted. “I believe Rand is in love with you, Beatrice. Whatever obstacles you believe are between you can be melted faster than butter under a blowtorch, but that’s up to you two.” She glanced at the note she’d given Beatrice. “I’m betting he’s there. On the other end of that line, waiting.”
Beatrice bit her bottom lip to keep from sobbing all over Laura’s shoulder. She had never been this prone to tears and certainly never to outbursts. She could control her emotions.
She always had before.
“Thanks for this, Laura.”
“You’re welcome. And, Beatrice, if you want to talk about anything, I bought a new cell phone that doesn’t eat my voice mails. I’m here. Drive safely,” Laura said with a wave and picked up her watering can.
* * *
BEATRICE WAITED UNTIL she was back at camp, her chores finished and the children in bed for the night before she took out Rand’s new cell-phone number.
She sat on the edge of her bed and punched in the numbers, but she didn’t hit Send. She stared at the phone.
She had no idea what she should say other than to thank him for his help. That’s really all she’d wanted to do.
She wanted to get his new address in Idaho so she could send the check. Being a cashier’s check, he would have to cash it since the money had already been withdrawn. He’d be forced to accept her payback.
And then what?
They were even?
Is that what she wanted? Or was it more?
“More,” she said aloud as tears rose unbidden to her eyes. She kept swiping them away, but it was no use. They fell like a river. In all her life, she’d never cried so much and for no good reason as she had since she’d met Rand.
She hit Send. She sniffed as the phone rang. She wiped away a palm full of tears.
“McCall Smoke Jumper Base. This is Rand Nelson. I’m not available at the moment. Please leave a brief message and I’ll get back to you.”
Two days. It had been two days since she’d heard his voice and it felt like it had been forever. A lifetime of forevers. The pinch in her chest twisted and the pain sharpened.
If it was this difficult after only two days, how long would it take to get over him?
She heard a beep.
“Rand...” she said. Then another onslaught of tears broke through. She ended the call and fell face-first into her pillow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RAND HELD A copy of the “Decision Memorandum for the Director, Fire and Aviation Management” in his hand as he addressed the room full of rookies. There were sixteen eager-faced men listening to his every word. He’d only been on the job two days, but he knew a third would not make the grade. They would fail the rigorous drills or the tests, or find the work unglamorous and backbreaking.
In the United States there were currently 320 smoke jumpers. McCall Smoke Jumper Base was one of two base camps in Idaho, the other located in Grangeville. There were two Bureau of Land Management smoke-jumper bases, one in Boise and the other in Fairbanks, Alaska. Rand had been to both.
In his years as a smoke jumper, there had been changes, but the one he was about to speak to the recruits about, the Ram-Air Parachute Delivery System, was the most needed change he’d seen come through in a long time.
“The US Forest Service intends to replace all the FS-14 round parachutes we’ve been using with the new Ram-Air System. We’ve received a new shipment today. And we’re going to learn how to pack ’em, fold ’em and jump with ’em.”
A round of “hurrahs” nearly rattled the windows as the men shouted their approval.
Once they settled down, Rand continued. “We all know the stats, or you should. We’ve had too many injuries and even fatalities that were directly linked to the FS-14s. The ram-air will enable smoke jumpers to deploy in higher winds, allow slower vertical and horizontal speeds, which, in my opinion, is critical. This will help minimize impact-landing injuries. No more slamming into trees or onto rock, or granite-hard dirt. We want to glide onto the earth and that’s exactly what we’ll do with the ram-air. In addition, the ram-air is equipped with a reserve static line, which automatically opens the reserve container when the main parachute is cut away due to malfunction. It’s also got an activation device that automatically opens the reserve container if the jumper is unable to open the primary chute. In other words, men, this puppy is expensive.”
Rand put the document on the desk. “Today, we’re going to test-drive these ram-air parachutes. You will all suit up and I’ll time you. Yesterday, it took us nine and a half minutes to suit up. Today I want to cut thirty seconds off that record. Remember, every second at base is another acre that can go up in flames. The Twin Otters can only take eight to ten of us. Therefore, we’ll make two trips today. Also, we will have a spotter up with us, just as if we’d gotten the call.”
He continued. “Critical to the ongoing research and technology the US Forest Service has committed to, you all will make observations about the parachutes. I want you taking notes. Video. Anything you can. I’ll track velocity and winds on my end. So will the pilot. Every bit of data we can provide will not only help you and your fellow smoke jumpers, but it will help those who follow in our footsteps.”
He pulled out his stopwatch and looked around the room. They knew what was coming and were ready to spring into action. “Suit up!” he shouted and started his stopwatch.
Sixteen guys raced through the door to their gear.
Rand felt that familiar rush of adrenaline he always experienced whenever the call to action came. It didn’t matter if it was a forest fire, a warehouse fire or...a fire at a kid’s camp.
He rushed out of the room. “Get moving,” he shouted as he hit the door to the outside to check on the pilot and plane.
Revving up on the tarmac was the US Forest Service red-and-white-painted twin-engine plane. He waved to Cary Springer, the pilot. Cary was getting to be an old-timer, but no one could fly in and out of flames like Cary. Some said his plane and the man himself were immune to flames. Rand always joked that it had been fire that had seared off Cary’s hair and left him bald. Cary never disputed the claim.
Rand rushed into his office, where he stowed all his gear. He suited up in his regulation beige jumpsuit and timed himself. Eight minutes and two seconds. He was slowing down. His personal best had been seven minutes and forty-nine seconds.
“Maybe Cary isn’t the only old-timer around here.” He grabbed his red helmet and shot out of the office. He darted across the tarmac. An assistant held the straps of his parachute for him as he buckled into the chute. Ordinarily, he would have put his chute on himself, but this was a trial run. Everyone on base was watching him.
Rand was the first on the plane. He clocked the men as they hit the door. They were only three seconds behind him. Satisfied, he stowed his stopwatch in his pocket. He checked with Cary and got a thumbs-up.
The men scrambled onto the plane, sat in a straight line on the bench seat and strapped in. The plane taxied to the end of the runway.
The liftoff was smooth as glass, Rand thought, as he turned to address the men. “Remember, once on the ground, communication is key. We’re nothing if we don’t all work together. Every jumper depends on his team. Ordinarily, we would be jumping in pairs. After I jump and we test this ram-air, we will go back up and every one of you will test your own ram-air.”
“Sir? You mean today?” Willie Herod asked. Willie was the youngest recruit in the group. His father had been in the forestry service all his life. Willie had smoke jumping in his blood.
“Yes, Herod. Today.”
“Well, wahoo!” he hollered.
The group broke out in yells a
nd high-fived each other.
Cary’s voice announced the drop was imminent. Rand rose and went to the side door. It was a crystal clear summer day. The area had been dry for over six weeks. In another two weeks it would be Labor Day. As far as Rand was concerned, the end of summer brought the next season. Fire season.
From California through Oregon to Idaho and across the country, wildfires would burst into life. Some man-made, most not. Rand was well aware that the environment in which the US Forest Service operated grew more complex each year. Hazardous fuel buildups. Insect and disease infestations, nonnative species invasions and drought topped the list before even addressing climate changes. Scientists had confirmed that the number, size, intensity and duration of wildfires had increased, and if anything, fire seasons were longer. He’d read that some scientists predicted that by 2050 the number of acres burned would double and possibly triple by then. Due to another seventeen million housing units being built within 30 miles of national forests, which had proven to increase fires and dangers to those living near the trees, by the year 2030 that encroachment would make fighting those fires even more difficult.
This parachute drop today might seem like an infinitesimal punch at the huge wave of dire predictions for the future, but it was significant to Rand and every smoke jumper. If they could do just as Rand had said—glide down to earth without injury—precious minutes would be saved. The smoke jumper’s life would be saved. All would benefit.
“Go!” the spotter yelled.
Rand didn’t hesitate. He was out the door and sailing through the air before the spotter finished his command.
The ram-air performed as well as his superiors claimed it would. Rand easily directed his fall to the exact narrow clearing the spotter had chosen. There was a clump of tall pines to his right, a group of wide-limbed sycamores to the left. Rand was able to maneuver the chute first right and then left. He picked up a wind gust that normally would have blown him smack into the trees. But the chute obeyed his strong arms. His transit was swift. Just what the US Forest Service wanted.
He slowed the vertical slide to the ground when he was only twenty-five feet above the earth. The slower descent promised easy contact.
He hit the ground with a light thud, barely jarring his ankles, knees or hips as he often did with the traditional parachutes.
Carefully he folded his parachute and shoved it into the pack.
Using a recorder, he gave his data and began his “walk out” to the main road, where a fellow jumper was waiting in a truck to drive him back to camp. He shielded his eyes with his palm as he watched Cary dip his wing and fly back to McCall, where each of the rookies would test their parachutes in a controlled jump.
In a few hours, Rand would repeat his jump for the last group of recruits. Tomorrow, all the men would execute a second jump into the forest using their new ram-air parachutes and each would record their data.
As he hiked through the forest, smelling the dry pine nettles and hearing his boots crunch against already fallen golden leaves, he thought of Eli and Chris.
It was nearly summer’s end. The kids would be leaving camp and going home.
But where was home for Chris and Eli?
Strange. All these weeks he’d thought of them as part of the camp. As Beatrice’s “charges.” Her kids.
But they weren’t hers. Right now, they weren’t anybody’s. He didn’t understand parents who abandoned children. He didn’t understand Beatrice’s own mother, for that matter. Beatrice was the kindest, most openhearted, giving person he’d met. She was impossible not to love.
“Love?” He halted and nearly ran into a tree branch. He pushed aside the branch.
Had he thought that?
“I’m not in love with Bee.” He started walking again. “I’m not.”
For one thing, it was impossible. Their lives were incompatible.
He loved being a firefighter. And he believed what he was doing here in Idaho was important. Meanwhile, his first assessment of Beatrice had been dead-on. She was all about planting roots and watching them grow. Her camp alone proved that. She would wither and die if she didn’t have all those kids to watch out for. She adored them and they loved her in return. From what he could tell, most of the kids would be returning next summer just to be with her and learn from her.
He wondered if Eli and Chris would come back. Would Zoey Phillips make that happen for them? And what about those weekend botany field trips Beatrice had talked about? He’d bet both boys would have liked that. Though Eli more than Chris.
Chris.
He wanted to be a firefighter. After their trip to the station, Chris had caught the bug. He understood the feeling. He’d been like that when he was Chris’s age. He’d known exactly how he wanted to spend his adult life. The kid even showed an interest in cooking. Chris couldn’t be more like Rand if—
“If he was my own.”
He rubbed his eyes and then realized the burn in his eyes was a slow well of tears.
“Stop it, Rand,” he admonished himself.
He peered through the cluster of trees.
The scent of the forest reminded Rand of camping trips with his dad and siblings in his youth.
On those trips, Rand had fallen in love with the towering dense forests, crystal icy Michigan rivers and the wildlife that roamed free in them. His father had taught the boys to respect every shrub and pine tree, every brown squirrel and majestic elk they saw in Pigeon River Country State Forest, four hours north of Detroit.
It had taken only one camping trip with his family for Rand to figure out that he could never spend his life sitting behind a desk. He had to live outdoors.
But it was at the age of twelve, when a bolt of lightning started a forest fire barely a half mile from their rustic campsite in Sleeping Bear Dunes park, that his fate was inked. The fire had frightened his brothers and Cassie and, for the first time, he’d seen fear in his stalwart navy admiral father. His father had been afraid for his family. Rand knew then he never wanted to see that look again. Though it made no sense and he wasn’t even a teenager yet, Rand was sure he had it in him to keep that kind of fear at bay for other people. That day, as they hustled to break camp, pack their truck and head away from the fire, Rand made a vow to become a firefighter.
He’d come to respect fire, even appreciate its power and beauty. Even the way a blaze altered the light in the forest was like a magical siren. The glow would change from amber to crimson, sometimes to charcoal and then to gray blue. He would stop and hear the crackling flames and the crunch of his boot on a wasted stick or branch and the sound of his own breath inside a mask.
He was a firefighter through and through. He had a feeling that Chris would someday find that same sense of awe. At least he hoped so.
If Chris did become a smoke jumper, these tests Rand was conducting now might save the kid’s life. Rand was excited about the new equipment. Technology changes like this had to happen, and swiftly.
Of all the statistics that Rand had pointed out to the men there was one he withheld.
With the increase in the length of the fire season and the number of forest acres burned, the number of smoke jumper and wildland firefighter deaths had increased.
When Beatrice said she worried about Rand in Copper Country, she had good reason. Until these recent changes in the parachutes and some other equipment, the US Forest Service had been relying on hand tools and strong backs for too long.
Rand hoped this change was rolled out quickly because a high-tech parachute could save a life. His life.
Rand wasn’t a religious man, but he was a spiritual one. He believed that every person was put on the earth with a purpose. For most of his life, he’d told himself he was strong and fit because he was destined to fight fires. Save lives. Carry Beatrice and Eli out of danger.
Since knowing Beatrice, he wasn’t quite so
certain about his purpose.
A lot of things had become jumbled in his mind since he’d met her.
And he hadn’t the first clue how to unravel that jumble.
“Trainer Nelson!” A voice called to him from a US Forest Service truck that rolled across the dry grassy terrain.
Rand waved. The truck stopped.
The sandy-haired, green-eyed young man could only have been twenty-one at the most, Rand thought as the guy shoved his hand at Rand. “Clint McGowan,” he said proudly.
Rand eyed him. “Do I know you?”
“We haven’t met. I was at a family funeral when you came back to base. I was instructed to come get you.”
Rand’s eyebrows knitted. “And you were told to drive out to meet me or to stay up at the road?”
“Aw—” he put the truck into gear “—I saw you jump, sir. And I couldn’t wait to meet you. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s a small change to my orders.”
Rand shoved his parachute into the back seat. “Disobeying orders is never a good choice.”
“Well.” Clint winked. “I’ll remember that next time.”
“McGowan, do you know why you were instructed to stay on the road?”
“Just regulations?”
Rand got into the truck and shut the door. “No. There’s a reason for every rule. This area out here is rocky. Some of these rocks are sharp enough to split a tire. A tire that you’d have to change. On a truck. Which would take time. And what if there was a fire? Every second is valuable to a smoke jumper, McGowan.”
“Sure, but...” He kept driving toward the road.
“As a trainer the first thing I look for in a recruit is obedience.”
“Sir?”
Rand scrutinized the kid more carefully. He was a bit on the puny side as firefighters went. And he smiled too much, as if he was hiding something. “Why did you decide to become a smoke jumper?”
“My dad’s in Redmond, Oregon.”
Rescued by the Firefighter Page 20
