Stands a Calder Man

by Janet Dailey

  A second later, he was drawing away from her. The broken look in his expression nearly tore her apart. Lilli discovered something that stirred and depressed her. It was taking hold of her heart, catching her up in a struggle as old as the ages, yet new to her. A raw and wild frustration ran in her.

  “Hey! Isn’t that smoke?” a man shouted, out of sight beyond some other wagons. “Look there! To the west!”

  The cry of alarm claimed Webb’s attention, which had been trained too long to alertness not to respond.

  It sobered him in an instant as his suddenly sharp gaze swept the western horizon, halting on the billowing black plume of smoke rising into the air.

  Fire. A man didn’t have to live long in this open country to know the kind of devastation a grass fire could do once it took hold. The smoke appeared confined to a narrow area, but it could spread to a whole hillside in minutes with all this summer-dry grass for fuel.

  Webb didn’t waste time confirming the sighting. He broke into a run for his horse. The area around the dance floor was emptying of ranchers and cowboys, all alive to the dangers of a prairie fire. The green settlers were slower to react, but the alarm of the Montana natives was contagious.

  When Stefan reached Lillian, he didn’t waste any more time with explanations than Webb had. He hustled her into the wagon seat and picked up the reins, slapping them on the rumps of the Belgian team. She grabbed hold of the seat with both hands and hung on.

  11

  Pounding hooves vibrated over the ground as riders and wagons raced toward the growing tower of smoke. Webb was among the first group to arrive on the scene. The fire had started in the tar-paper shack of some homesteader, raged through it, and set the grass around it ablaze. From there, it had begun spreading quickly. The heat from the fire generated its own draft to fan the flames onward.

  Cowboys peeled off their horses and paused long enough to strip off saddle blankets and use them to beat the flames. Loose horses scattered and milled, interfering with arriving wagon teams. A wide, plowed strip of fallow land formed a firebreak to confine the spread of flames on one side.

  The fire was inching fastest to the west, and the cowboys threw all their energies in that direction to check the spread. “There’s no damned water!” someone complained. Without water to wet blankets, they weren’t as effective.

  Next to the smoldering remains of the shack, there was a charred and blackened barrel that held the drylander’s water. The wet contents had kept the barrel from burning, but it was too far away with too much smoldering ground between it and the firefighters to do them any good.

  The cowboys had organized themselves into a combat unit, experienced at fighting prairie fires, but the drylanders, for all their eagerness to help, were milling about in confusion, not knowing what to do. As Webb was driven back by the heat of the flames, he noticed the directionless homesteaders advancing uncertainly toward the fire, without blankets or any weapons except their own will to stamp out the flames.

  “Where is the fire wagon?” one of them demanded. “Why hasn’t it come?”

  Webb stifled the run of impatience at the question and pulled down the kerchief he’d tied around his face to keep from inhaling too much smoke. Most of these drylanders came from the cities, where they relied on someone else to fight their fires. But they weren’t living in the city now.

  “If any of you have water barrels on your wagons, bring them up here!” Webb shouted the order. “Wet down blankets and jackets, anything you have, and use them to beat down the flames!” No one objected to his directives, relieved to know what they were to do, and Webb suddenly found himself taking charge. “Spread out and form a line! Don’t all of you bunch together! If the wind shifts, you’ll find yourself trapped in a circle of fire!”

  A homesteader came running up to him, stricken and pale, “You got to keep the fire from burning my wheatfield!”

  “To hell with your wheatfield!” Webb glared. “If we don’t stop this fire, it’ll blacken hundreds of square miles!” He pushed the man toward a gap in the newly formed line. “Get in there!”

  Two wagons came rolling up, the horse teams plunging and shying at the swirling curtain of smoke that heralded the advancing flames. Both had water barrels in back. Webb vaulted onto the back of one of the wagons and lifted off the barrel cover.

  “You ladies!” He waved to women hovering anxiously in the rear. “Start wetting down the blankets for the men so they don’t have to leave the line! And if any of you have shovels or tools in your wagons, bring them up here!”

  With all hands put to constructive use, Webb went up and down the line, pitching in himself wherever there were flash points. The fiery heat sweated the alcohol out of his system as adrenaline surged through his blood.

  The fire crackled nearly underfoot and the choking smoke filled Benteen’s lungs, paralyzing him with a coughing spasm. Webb saw it and grabbed his father by the shoulders, guiding him away from the fire to an unthreatened area near the wagons, where the air was relatively clear of smoke and blowing cinders.

  “Are you okay?” Webb paused long enough to ask and see the affirming nod from his father. Then he straightened and called an order to the first woman he recognized. “Ruth, take care of him and keep him here.”

  Ruth hurried over, bringing a dipper of water for the senior Calder. He accepted it, flicking a grateful look at the girl before his gaze traveled after his son. There were tears in his eyes. Some of them were caused by the burning smoke, but most of them came from pride. His son was finally taking responsibility for something and giving orders.

  “Dammit, I knew you had it in you all along, son,” Benteen whispered under his breath.

  “What did you say, Mr. Calder?” Ruth asked.

  “Nothing.” He shook his head and raised the dipper to his mouth, letting the water soothe his smoke-raw throat. God, he was tired, he thought and sank back against a wagon. Maybe he wouldn’t have to work so hard now; he’d let Webb take over some of the more arduous chores so he could spend more time with Lorna. The Lord knew she deserved more of his time than he’d given her.

  They had nearly beaten the fire to a standstill when Webb sensed something was wrong. He lifted his head, trying to identify the cause, as he scanned the fireline. It was a full second before he noticed the almost imperceptible shift in the wind’s direction. There was a sudden crackle and curl of yellow flames, angling toward the wagons.

  “The wind’s changing!” He shouted the warning to the others far down the line and headed to the fire’s new point of attack.

  Those closest had already seen the threat and were converging on it. As Webb hurried to join them, he saw Lilli whipping at the shooting flames in a kind of terrified frenzy. She was too close to be effective, and her frantic efforts were fanning the fire, not smothering it.

  Before he could call to her, smoke rolled from the hem of her long skirt, and he heard her scream. “Lilli, roll!” Webb started running. “Get down on the ground and roll!” But her fear put her beyond hearing as she first tried beating at her skirt, then turned to run to the wagons.

  Webb dived at her, sending both of them crashing to the ground. It seemed he’d never known fear in his life until that moment. Her hands clawed at him, trying to get away, but he kept her down and grabbed the water-soaked blanket she’d been using, throwing it over her kicking legs and the smoldering skirt. He pinned her struggling, heaving body to the ground with the weight of his and pressed the blanket tightly around her thighs and hips. It was long, agonizing seconds before the skirt stopped smoking. But she was still fighting him, sobbing hysterically, her eyes closed.

  “The fire’s out, Lilli,” he assured her and ran a stroking hand down the side of her face. “It’s all over.”

  “I can still smell the smoke,” she protested in a choked voice.

  “The fire’s out,” Webb repeated and eased some of his weight off of her as she began to relax. “I promise you it’s out.”

  She
brought a hand up to her mouth as if to smother her crying. “I can smell it,” she insisted, not opening her eyes.

  Webb moved, slipping an arm under her and lifting her up. She weakly buried her face in his shirt, crying softly now. He turned his head to her, his lips tightly brushing the singed ends of her hair. “You brave little fool,” he murmured, half in anger for the extreme danger she’d put herself in. He scooped up her legs to carry her when he stood.

  Then Stefan Reisner was kneeling in front of him, his smoke-blackened features making him look even older. Anxiety was in his eyes as he reached out a hand for his wife.

  “Is she all right?” he asked. “Vhat happened?”

  “She caught her skirt on fire, but I think I got it out before she was badly burned.” His arms tightened around her possessively. “I’m going to carry her over to the wagons where the women can see to her.”

  “I vill take her.” Stefan insisted it was his right.

  “I’ve got her.” Webb stood up, refusing to relinquish her and leaving Stefan with little choice except to agree. Lilli seemed oblivious to both of them, not caring whose arms were around her.

  Webb strode to the wagons, with Stefan staying right beside him every step of the way. His mother and several other women hurried forward as soon as they saw him carrying someone in his arms. Ruth was one of the few who hung back.

  “Is she hurt?” his mother asked. Immediately she suggested, “You can put her in the back of the wagon.”

  Someone lowered the endgate so Webb could set her down inside. “I think she’s more frightened than anything else,” he explained as he surrendered her to his mother’s care. “Her skirt caught on fire. There might be some minor burns on her legs.”

  “The poor dear, she’s fainted,” his mother murmured, cradling Lilli’s head on her lap. “Someone bring me a wet cloth.” Webb stepped back and Stefan immediately took his place. “Are you related to her?” his mother asked as Stefan’s trembling hand touched the unconscious woman’s shoulder.

  “Lillian is my vife,” he acknowledged. “She vill be all right?”

  “I’m sure she will,” Lorna assured him and shot a confused glance at Webb, as if questioning why he had carried the girl here instead of letting her husband bring her.

  He pivoted away, a nerve leaping along his cheek. He looked right past Ruth, not even seeing her, as he started back to the fireline. They had contained the flames and kept them from breaking through to the wagons. But it wouldn’t be over until the last ember was out.

  Lilli stirred, a panic surfacing, but there was still a glazed quality to her eyes when she opened them. “The fire . . . smoke . . .”

  “It’s all right, liebchen,” Stefan murmured, patting her hand.

  “Stefan?” She turned her head toward the sound of his voice.

  “I am here,” he assured her, and she drifted back into that unconscious world. His sad eyes lifted to the woman holding the wet cloth to Lillian’s forehead. “It is the fire she fears. Vhen she vas small, it burned the building next to vhere she lived. There vere people trapped inside. Her mind cannot forget it.”

  “I understand,” Lorna murmured and guessed it was one of the many bonds that held the older man and this young girl together despite their vast age differences. She wondered if Webb understood how strong such bonds could be. She had seen the look in his eyes when he’d carried the girl in, and her heart went out to him.

  There was no leaving until the fire was completely out. All prairie people knew how an apparently dead fire could smolder and break out anew. So they walked along the dead ashes, looking for hot spots in the sun’s gloaming. The fire had taken part of the wheatfield, but more than half was undamaged.

  A small group of homesteaders had ventured across the burnt ground to inspect the few charred timbers of wood still standing as skeletal evidence that a crude house once stood there. One of the group was the owner. He’d had so little to lose, but it was gone. All he and his family had left were the clothes on their backs, their wagon and horse team, and half of a wheatfield.

  “Nothing- There is nothing,” he murmured brokenly. Even the plow had been damaged by the fire. In the center of the burned-out shell, there was the charred metal of a broken lantern.

  “It vas the vill of God,” another offered.

  “No God did this,” Franz Kreuger declared. “Do you think this fire just happened? Someone started it.”

  “Vhy do you say this?” Stefan frowned.

  “Because it is true.” But Franz didn’t offer any proof. “They threatened us. Now they burn our homes.”

  “You think the ranchers did this?” the owner questioned in disbelief. “But they came. They helped put the fire out.”

  “So it would not burn their land, only your house and your wheat,” Franz pointed out. “They are probably sorry only that your entire field did not burn.”

  “We must tell the sheriff,” Stefan proposed as the next logical step. The others nodded agreement.

  “All of us, we will go tell him together,” Franz stated, but the dark cynicism in his gleaming eyes showed his skepticism that it would do any good. In his experience, the little man only got help from others of like circumstance. “Tomorrow we will all come to help build a new house for you.”

  “I cannot come.” Stefan spoke in silent apology. “I must look after my vife.”

  The homesteader Sokoloff nodded his understanding and offered, “I regret she was hurt.”

  “We are lucky no one else was.” Franz Kreuger gave them all a look that seemed to warn that one of them might be next. He had believed in the plottings of the powerful too long not to see it here.

  Assured that the danger was over, there was a general milling toward the wagons and buggies as smoky, soot-blackened families made tired motions to depart. Three drylanders had volunteered to stay on the place and keep watch through the night to be sure no fire flared to life. A half-dozen cowboys had ridden out to catch up the loose horses. Nate came back, leading Webb’s black gelding and two others.

  “We never did get to see them fireworks they were gonna have in town.” There was a dry, dancing gleam in his eye as he passed the reins to Webb.

  “I think most of us have had all the excitement we want for this Fourth of July,” Webb responded with a twisted smile and swung onto his horse. The purpling sky made indistinct silhouettes of tired figures straggling to wagons a short distance away. Only those close by were distinguishable. And Webb recognized Stefan Reisner carrying a blanket-wrapped figure to his wagon.

  “Here come Shorty and Abe,” Nate announced, pulling on the reins to back his horse and join the pair. “You comin’?”

  “In a minute,” Webb threw an absent glance at his friend and kneed his horse forward. When he reached the Reisner wagon, the whiskered man was in the seat, with Lilli huddled against his side. Webb strained to get a closer look at her in the fading light. She was conscious, but there was an unseeing quality about her eyes. “Is she all right?”

  “She vill be fine.” The man steadily returned his look with a kind of challenge. “I vill take care of her.”

  Webb’s mouth thinned out as he set the gelding on its haunches and pivoted it away from the wagon. As he rode over to rejoin Nate and the others, he looked back once. There was a hard knot in the pit of his stomach at the sight of a slim silhouette resting its head on the stooped shoulders of a second.

  In a dull lethargy, Lilli watched Stefan as he approached the bed, carrying a small bowl of gruel and a spoon. At the last minute, she roused herself sufficiently to push into a sitting position. Stefan paused and pulled one of the new chairs he’d built closer to the bed, then sat down. Her blank eyes watched him dip the spoon into the bowl, but it was halfway to her mouth before she summoned a protest.

  “I can feed myself, Stefan,” she said in a lifeless voice and lifted a limp hand to take the spoon from him.

  “But this vay I know you vill eat everything.” He ignored her attemp
t and carried the spoonful of gruel to her lips.

  It was bland and tasteless going down. Stefan was not the best of cooks, but he had fixed all the meals for the last two days. Lilli experienced a twinge of guilt at the way he had waited on her, not letting her lift a hand to do anything for herself. Physically there wasn’t anything wrong with her. The one or two little burns on her legs certainly didn’t incapacitate her. Yet she had been languishing in this bed ever since Stefan had brought her home that night, rarely talking, just lying there as if she were in some kind of trance. Through it all, Stefan had been kindness itself.

  “Most husbands would be complaining because they were doing all the cooking and the housework.” She looked at Stefan. “You haven’t said a word.”

  “Vhat is two days?” he reasoned with a gentle smile. “You do these things for me all the time. Now, for you, I do it.” He dipped the spoon again into the gruel. “Until you are better,” he added.

  He hadn’t even asked what was wrong, Lilli realized and studied him again with marveling confusion. “It was the fire.” She felt he deserved an explanation.

  “I know,” he said and pushed the tip of the spoon to her mouth. “Eat.”

  A frown knitted little lines in her forehead as she obediently swallowed the smooth mixture. “I don’t mean the grass fire. It was just a part of it. It was the tenement next door burning when I was little.”

  “You don’t need to speak of it,” Stefan assured her.

  “I . . . think I want to.” It was a gradual realization, unsure what purpose it would serve. “The other night, I was wetting blankets and taking them to the men fighting the fire. I started to give someone the blanket I had in my hand when I saw those yellow flames suddenly leap up.” She looked sightlessly beyond Stefan, reliving the experience that had trapped her in a childhood nightmare. “The fire started coming closer, but I couldn’t move. I had to stay there like those people in the burning building. Then my skirt caught on fire and I was one of them.” Her chest tightened, the muscles contracting and not letting in any air. “And the smoke. I can still smell the smoke.”