The Fire (Northwest Passage Book 4)

by John A. Heldt

  "What was she even doing there?" Kevin asked Marie. "She asked you to warn them."

  "I did," Marie hissed. She glared at George before returning to Kevin. "I did. They wouldn't listen. They went to bed instead."

  Kevin threw a hand to his head and spun around as confusion joined the mix.

  "Let me get this straight, old man. Marie here warned you not to go into your house, but you did anyway?"

  George nodded and lowered his head.

  "You people are insane!" Kevin screamed.

  "Calm down, young man," the doctor said.

  "Calm down yourself! I allowed her to come here because I thought she'd be safe."

  Payne looked at the others and pointed with his head toward the room.

  "Why don't you two return to the patient?" he asked.

  George and Marie complied without a word.

  "OK. Let's hear it," Kevin said as he tried to control his anger. "What's wrong with Sarah? Why is she barely conscious?"

  "She took some smoke, son, a lot of smoke. She's suffering from respiratory failure. Fluid is building in her lungs."

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  "There's not anything I can do."

  "The hell there's not. Give her some oxygen, damn it!"

  "I don't have it," the physician said firmly.

  Kevin turned away as the truth set in. He wasn't talking to a doctor in a major medical center in 2013. He was talking to a doctor in a small rural hospital in 1910 – a doctor who didn't have access to the even the most basic tools of modern respiratory therapy.

  "Then let me take her to a place that does."

  "I will not let you move this patient, Mr. Johnson. I will remain firm on that."

  Kevin walked to the far side of the corridor and punched the wall. This had become a nightmare of unimaginable proportions. He knew the doctor was right. Even if he were able to get Sarah to 2013, he might have to drive her as far as Spokane to find the treatment she needed – treatment that might not work in any event. When he looked again at Payne, he broke down.

  "Please tell me she's not going to die. I can handle anything else. Just tell me she's going to walk out of here. Just promise me that."

  The physician embraced Kevin as he fell into his arms and succumbed to sobs. A moment later, he stepped back and put his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

  "I can't promise you anything," he said. "I know only that time appears to be growing short. Go to her, son. Go to her now and don't waste a minute. I'll clear the room."

  Payne led Kevin into Room 15 and motioned for the others to leave. When the three walked out, he closed the door and left the couple to themselves.

  Kevin returned to his chair and retrieved Sarah's hand. She seemed weaker now and far less alert. When she subtly squeezed his hand, he kissed her on the cheek.

  "I'm back, sweetheart, I'm back, and I'm not leaving."

  "Kevin, are you OK?"

  Kevin looked at his fiancée through eyes that could barely function. Tears that had started in the hallway now flowed freely. He couldn't imagine what he had done to deserve this day.

  "I'm fine, Sarah. Please rest. Please save your energy."

  Kevin placed his head next to hers and noticed a change. The breaths he could hear were shorter, harsher, and far more labored. He attempted to straighten her pillow but stopped when he heard her cry out.

  "It hurts," she said. "It hurts."

  Kevin slammed his free hand against the side of the bed and cursed. He could not believe that fate could be so incredibly cruel. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, said another prayer, and tried to pull himself together. When he returned to Sarah, he saw she had worsened.

  "Can I get you anything, sweetheart? Just name it."

  "No," she said in a barely audible voice. "Just stay. Just stay."

  "I'm here. I'm not leaving."

  Sarah clutched her chest as her breathing became even more labored. For more than a minute, she moved her hand over her body in a desperate attempt to find comfort. When the pain apparently subsided, she turned toward Kevin and opened her eyes as far as she could.

  "Kevin?"

  "Yes, Sarah. I'm here."

  "Make me a promise."

  "Don't talk, honey. Save your strength. Please!"

  "Be happy," she said.

  She opened her eyes a little wider.

  "I love you."

  Kevin stared at the most beautiful human being he had ever known and watched her eyelids flutter to a close. When he saw her head drop and settle into the pillow, he put his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently.

  "Sarah? Sarah? Wake up, honey. Wake up," he said as his head began to swim. "Don't die on me. Please don't."

  Kevin rested his head on her chest and started to sob.

  "You can't die," he said in a barely audible voice. "You can't. We have babies to make and a life to live. We have so much to do. We have so much . . ."

  Kevin squeezed a corner of the bed and tried to wish away the pain, which now came at him from every angle and crushed him like a python. When he could stand it no more, he shut his eyes and forced himself to think of other things – the comet, the circus, even the stupid pig on Bertha Marshall's Easter table – but the other things eventually led to the same sad place. They all reminded him of the dead woman in his arms – a woman who would never bear him a daughter or ever again bring a smile to his face.

  He released Sarah a few minutes later and fell into his chair. He wanted to yell, scream, and throw things at the wall but found he could do little more than sit motionless and stare into space. The paralysis of grief had already set in, stripping him bare of emotion when he needed it most.

  Kevin didn't fight the feeling or lack thereof. Indeed, he embraced it. For a moment, he set aside his crippling pain and drifted to a place where people didn't feel or love or die. He tuned out a world that seemed hell-bent on driving him under and withdrew into himself. The moment was like an oasis in a desert of despair, but like most such things, it didn't last.

  Minutes after one hospital event sent him into the numbing daze, another brought him out of it. Kevin turned his head sharply when he heard a piercing sound in an adjacent room: the primal scream of a newborn baby. Strong, violent, and relentless, it was at once beautiful, jarring, and insulting. How dare new life intrude so quickly on death!

  When he mustered the strength to get to his feet, Kevin returned to the bed and tied up loose ends. He grabbed Sarah's hands, brought them together, and straightened her sheets and pillow. He knew the actions were unnecessary, entirely unnecessary, but he did them anyway. They seemed strangely appropriate, a fitting tribute to a woman who cared about order.

  Kevin gazed at Sarah and noticed that she was as beautiful in death as she had been in life. When he studied the contours of her soft, colorless face, he saw a woman at peace. He hadn't the slightest doubt that she had moved on to a better place.

  A moment later he kissed her gently on the lips and stepped away from the bed. He moved toward the door but stopped and abruptly changed direction when he heard an irregular tapping sound. He walked toward the room's sole window. When he reached the glass, he saw something he hadn't seen since the end of March. He saw rain – sweet, bitter rain.

  It appeared that Walking Walt had been right about that too. He had told Kevin at the end of his tour that a cold front, bringing days of drenching precipitation, had moved over the area mere hours after the fire had done its damage. The guide had not understated the irony.

  Kevin looked out the window, which offered an unobstructed view of the south end of town. Even from six blocks away, he could see what the fire had done and what it had not done. He could see burned buildings and trees next to those that hadn't been touched.

  Kevin lowered his eyes. He understood now that life really was nothing more than a game of chance – a game with winners, losers, and survivors who continued to play on borrowed time.

  He stared at the lan
dscape one more time and then returned to Sarah as he pondered the hours and days ahead. Like the critically damaged city of Wallace, Idaho, he would get back on his feet and start anew, but he would do it older and sadder and without the love of his life. He would return to the future and return to it soon, but he would return to that future alone.

  CHAPTER 76: KEVIN

  Monday, August 22, 1910

  The largest conflagration in U.S. history had destroyed many things in and around Wallace, Idaho, but it hadn't destroyed the cemetery. Even fires that leveled forests could do only so much to low-cut lawns, marble markers, and concrete headstones. The graveyard a half-mile north of town had sustained only minor damage in the form of a singed perimeter.

  Kevin thought about the fire as he walked from the cemetery to the city and Asa Johnson's house. Only three people had perished in Wallace proper: a man who had died trying to save his bird, another who had succumbed in a hotel, and a young woman who'd had no business entering a burning house on Garnet Street – a woman who had not died the first time 1910 had played out.

  Kevin knew he'd have to deal with the guilt sooner or later. Guilt consumed and destroyed as surely as fire and lasted longer. Though it could often be applied in constructive ways, it was a generally worthless human condition. It deprived those who felt it of the means to move in more constructive directions. It deprived them of the will to live.

  He had little doubt he could have prevented Sarah's death. He could have stopped or delayed her trip to 1910 at many points and hastened her return to 2013 at several others. He could have done a dozen things to keep her from harm's way, but he hadn't done any of them. As a result, a vibrant woman had died and a lonely man was forced to trudge on.

  Kevin had not allowed grief or guilt to keep him from his obligations and responsibilities. Within hours of Sarah's death, he had consulted several people, including a minister, a funeral director, and a high school principal to make sure she would have the send-off she deserved.

  He had insisted only that the funeral service and graveside ceremony take place the next day. Kevin had done that for himself. He hadn't wanted to spend even one additional minute in a time and place he desperately wanted to leave.

  Nearly sixty friends, colleagues, and students had attended both observances. Some had discreetly inquired about Kevin's leading role in the events. Though many knew he had dated Sarah for months, few knew about the fictional elopement or the very real engagement.

  Kevin had fired a preemptive strike against future gossip and speculation by making a not-so-difficult decision at the funeral home. He had instructed the director to engrave SARAH THOMPSON JOHNSON and LOVING WIFE on the headstone. If anyone in Wallace wanted to question the validity of the marriage, they could take it up with God.

  The time traveler had also taken care of another matter. After getting an address from Principal Ed Morrison, he had written a long letter to Mr. and Mrs. Noah Thompson of Clinton, Indiana, and placed it in Monday's mail along with most, but not all, of Sarah's possessions. He had told the couple how he had met their daughter and come to love her and informed them of the impact that she'd had not only on her students and peers but also much of the community.

  Kevin had kept the copy of Little Women, not because of its value to book collectors in 2013 but rather because of its value to him. Sarah had told him that she had wanted to keep it in the Johnson family as an heirloom, one that could be passed down to the eldest daughter. He had decided at the hospital when he had collected her belongings that he could do at least that.

  He reached Garnet Street at five after five and saw pretty much what he had expected to see. Everything on the east end of the street, including the Marshall and Denton homes, was gone. Most everything else lay in ruins. Only Asa Johnson's house had escaped serious damage.

  Kevin imagined how different this moment might be had Sarah lived in a house even one street down. He imagined holding her hand and leading her to the Johnson estate, the shed, and a wonderful new life but quickly moved onto other things. He had nothing to gain by dwelling on what-ifs and missed opportunities. He had to deal with the world as it was and not as he wanted it to be.

  Kevin was reasonably certain that the gods who guarded the chamber would grant him passage. He knew enough about the portal to know that the shadow of the fullest moon extended at least forty-eight hours in each direction. If he acted before midnight, he would be fine.

  He stepped onto Asa's property five minutes later and took a long look at a house he would see again on the flip side. Somehow it seemed different. It was darker, for one thing, and decidedly emptier. The home for four Johnsons was now a home for three Johnsons and would one day be a home for no Johnsons at all. Such was the way with time. Things changed.

  Kevin walked around the side of the house and approached the chamber of stones wearing a dark suit he had purchased that morning for the funeral. He had left the Stan Laurel suit and the Stan Laurel hat in a closet at the church. Paying a replacement fee at the Coeur d'Alene costume shop was the least of his concerns.

  When Kevin finally got to the rock shed, he reached into the pockets of his jacket and pulled out two handfuls of double eagles. He wondered how many of the coins had been placed on the ground in his seven previous trips. Some? Most? All? In the end, he decided that it didn't matter. Coins were coins. Even if some had the power to send him through time, none had the power to bring back the dead. That's what mattered now. That's what would always matter.

  He spelled MMXIII with two dozen pieces and then stepped away from the shed. After a minute of obligatory reverence to the powers that be, he dropped to a knee to collect the gold but didn't pick up even one piece before he heard footsteps on the crunchy lawn.

  Kevin stood up, turned around, and saw his once-and-future great-great-grandmother. Wearing a simple black dress, she was the last person he had expected to see just weeks after her husband's death and hours after a fire had all but destroyed her street.

  "You came back," Kevin said.

  Celia nodded but didn't say a word. She instead stared blankly at a man who had no reason to be standing on her property, a man who had just placed nearly five hundred dollars in gold in front of an empty shed.

  "I'm sorry about Asa," Kevin said. "I'm sorry about a lot of things."

  He hoped for a reply but got silence instead. He did not need to ask why.

  Celia Johnson was in a different place, much like Kevin had been at the hospital following Sarah's death. She was a tragic figure, a person frozen in time, a victim of circumstance. She lowered her head and stared at the ground.

  Kevin did not know what he could do, but he knew what he could not do. He could not take the gold that had once belonged to Asa and now belonged to Celia. He collected the coins from the ground, brushed them clean, and carried them across the lawn.

  "Take these," Kevin said. "Take them and use them."

  He gave the coins to Celia and looked at her until she lifted her head and met his gaze. He saw shock, fear, and confusion in her soft eyes but strangely no tears. He suspected that she had already shed her tears and had long since moved on to the business of living.

  Kevin didn't even consider explaining what he was doing or why he was there. He could see in her eyes that she already knew. When he looked at Celia, he saw a woman who probably had learned a great many things in the past few weeks and had little interest in learning more.

  Convinced that she would not speak and probably could not speak, he gave her a gentle hug and then stepped back to give her some space. When he looked at her face a final time, he saw the outlines of a sad smile. He had finally gotten through.

  "I must go now," Kevin said. "I must go to the place I belong. Take care, Celia. Take care of your boys. I'm counting on it."

  Kevin walked to the shed, opened the door, and stepped inside. When he exited the shed five minutes later, he saw a greener lawn, a grayer house, and a world he knew well. He walked into the residence, placed Li
ttle Women on a table, and ascended the stairs.

  When he got to his room, Kevin changed out of his suit and crawled into a bed that was as rumpled as the one he had left. He would make the bed, of course, just as he would shower and vacuum and get ready for a family returning with gifts, stories, smiles, and questions. He would do whatever it took to move on to wherever he was going, but he wouldn't do a thing until he indulged his memories one last time.

  Kevin turned to his left, picked up a pillow, and brought it to his nose. He could still smell her. He could smell her hair, her perfume, her passion, and even her breath. He could smell and even feel every ounce of a woman who had never left the room.

  What he couldn't do was see her. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't picture her face, much less the sweet smile he had come to adore. When he stared at the pillow, he saw a pillow – not a girlfriend or a fiancée or a colleague or even a farm girl from Indiana, but a pillow.

  When Kevin realized that she was gone, really gone, he put the pillow back, stared into space, and did what he should have done at the church, the cemetery, and every place he had been for the past two days. He did the only thing left to a man who had nothing but dreams of a life that would never be. He cried.

  CHAPTER 77: KEVIN

  Unionville, Oregon – Friday, August 23, 2013

  Kevin stared at the screen on his digital camera as he flipped back and forth between two photographs. The woman in the first photo wore a tea dress and pompadour hair. The one in the second wore a tank top and free-flowing hair. Each had a dazzling smile. Kevin thought of both women as he sat in the nondescript waiting room of Dr. Nelson Abernathy, clinical psychologist, grief counselor, and licensed time waster.

  He didn't hate the good doctor. He just didn't like him. It was easy to dislike someone who thought most of the world's problems were caused by unsatisfactory relationships with the world's mothers. Kevin may have had more problems than a celebrity in rehab but an unsatisfactory relationship with his mother was not one of them.