Rocky dropped the bucket and ran toward the flaming barn, but when he reached the door, two hands yanked him back. "Don't do it, Rocky," said Ben. "You'd be a fool to go in there."
Ben and Jon Atkins stood on either side of him, each clasping an arm, faces sober. "He's right, my friend," Jon admonished.
"Let me go!" Rocky growled, wrenching free of their tight hold. "My niece is in there."
"If you're going in, at least put this on," said Eldredjohans- son, hastily handing Rocky a wet blanket. "It'll help block out the flames."
"I'm going with you," said Benjamin.
"Count me in as well," said Jon.
Rocky cast them both a wary glance. "I wish you wouldn't, but there's no time to argue." Draping the sopping blanket over his shoulders, he took an instant to look at several pairs of worried eyes before sprinting off.
"Rocky!" screamed Sarah from somewhere behind him. "You can't..."
Blotting out her next words, he bolted through the door and felt a hellish surge of heat. "God, help me find her," he begged. "Please, Lord."
Hunching over to avoid the worst of the blinding smoke, Rocky carefully measured each step, making sure not to step on burning embers that would quickly burn through his soles. "Rachel!" he yelled at the top of his voice, his lungs filling up with smoke, scorching his insides. "Rachel, where are you? Answer me, Rachel!"
He halted, hoping for some sort of response, but getting nothing in return save for the sizzling sounds of unrestrained fire. "God, where do I look?"
Overwhelming heat sought to knock him over, endeavoring to drain him of his last ounce of strength like the devil himself. Overhead, the now ruptured roof threatened to collapse as fireballs mounted toward the open sky, launching coils of black smoke ever upward.
"Any sign of her?" called Ben.
Rocky whirled around just as Ben emerged from a cloud of blackness, sheathed in a blanket. "Nothing yet. Why don't you go back?" he urged. "No point in all of us dying. Where's Jon?"
"The crowd convinced him to stay put. He's prayin'."
Rocky nodded before advancing a few more steps, frantic in his search. "Rachel!" he yelled again, covering his mouth with his gloved hand to keep from ingesting more smoke, pulling the sweltering wet blanket tighter around him, feeling the burn of nearby flames eating at his flesh. The urge to wretch was strong, but he continued into the firestorm, unwavering in his quest, his eyes burning to the point of blindness. "Rachel!" he repeated.
Barn beams groaned and creaked, a window exploded, its glass shattering into a million pieces, one wall at the back of the barn bowed and sagged. "Get out, Ben!" Rocky yelled. "Get out now!"
"Not till we find her," Ben answered, the toe of his boot hitting Rocky in the heel. "Rachel!" Ben hollered, his voice rough and gravelly.
"Un-cle-Roc-ky," came a weak, frail voice.
"Did you hear that?" Rocky spun around, his heart squeezing in desperation.
"What?" Ben asked.
"I heard her. Rachel, where are you?" he called out, his eyelids swollen and singed. "Say something, honey." Gripping heat threatened to steal away the last of their oxygen if they didn't move fast.
"I can't move-" came the faint response, followed by whimpering.
Ben heard her that time. "Over here," he called, running not ten feet before he spotted the little girl. "She's here."
Rocky dashed the few yards to reach them and dropped to his knees. Trapped beneath a worktable that had toppled over, Rachel lay on her back in a helpless heap, the flames inching closer and closer, her cries growing weaker with each second's passing.
"Time's running out," Ben muttered between coughing spells. "Pull her out as soon as I lift this end."
Rocky stood at the ready. "I got her!" he yelled seconds later, as Ben lifted the table high enough for Rocky to scoop her out. Hauling her into his arms, he ignored her screams of pain and took off at a run, fighting thick smoke and fallen embers along the way.
The last thing Rocky remembered, as soon as he breathed his first breath of clean air, was falling to the ground with Rachel in his arms.
Sarah spent the night moving from one room to the other, tending to her patients. Exhausted to the point of dropping, she refused sleep for fear either Rocky or Rachel might need her.
Although Seth slept soundly on his narrow cot, dog-tired from the day's events, across the room in her bed his sister wrestled with nightmares and pain. Besides several minor burns, she suffered from bruising and a number of cuts and scrapes. Remarkably, the fallen worktable hadn't broken any bones, but Doc Randolph said she'd be sore for the next several days. The good news was that because she'd lain on the barn floor the entire time, she'd escaped the worst of the smoke. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case with Rocky.
Rocky lay sleeping but restless, his breathing jagged after all the coughing spasms and bouts of gagging and spewing he'd endured. Sarah had stayed dutifully at his side, helping him sit up, cleaning up after him, administering small sips of water, and fretting that he might not wake up, even though Doc had said his sleeping was a natural response to the medicine he'd administered. She took comfort in Doc's remark that considering how much smoke Rocky had inhaled, his lungs remained strong. The same had been true of Ben Broughton who, from what she'd heard, had suffered fewer burns than Rocky.
It amazed her yet how the men-Rocky, Ben, and Jonathan Atkins-had linked together like brothers to save Rachel's life, with no thought whatsoever for their own safety. Of course, it'd taken several men to restrain Jon Atkins once Rocky had disappeared inside the blazing barn, their argument that the town might need a minister after the day's events driving home a good point. Sarah shivered at the heavy connotation.
"Hester..." Rocky groaned from the bed she'd given up.
Sarah jumped up from the chair she'd taken a moment to recline in and rushed to her husband's side. "Rocky?" she whispered, taking a cool, wet cloth from a nearby pail to dab at his blistered forehead.
"Hester?" he repeated, his voice croaky as a bullfrog.
Her heart constricted. The notion that he might never recover from his first wife's death weighed heavy on her heart. Would he always consider her, Sarah, a mere stand-in, someone who'd conveniently come along to relieve him of his parental duties? Worse, when he'd embraced her out behind the house earlier tonight and kissed her with fervor, had it been Hester he'd imagined holding in his arms?
"Rocky, I'm here," she whispered, bending over him, smelling the stench of smoke that lingered in his hair and on his skin. Between Jonathan Atkins, Mary Callahan, and Sarah, they'd managed to remove most of Rocky's charred clothing, draping nothing more than a clean sheet over his body once they got him situated on the straw mattress. She worried that the lumpy bed might lend to his discomfort, but Doc had said the mattress should be the least of her worries. Now she wondered what he'd meant by that.
Rocky's swollen eyelids fluttered but remained shut as he tossed about.
"Try not to move, Rocky," Sarah said, leaning in close, hoping her words made sense to him.
"Stay here-Hester," he managed on a husky whisper.
"I-I will," she replied, uncertain if she'd been right to encourage his fantasy.
She took his oversized hand in hers, discovered a fair-sized blister she'd missed, and dabbed a bit of the strong-smelling ointment on it that Doc had left behind. "Put this on his burns every couple of hours," Doc had instructed before leaving for the night. "It will cool the skin, make him more comfortable." Then he'd headed for the door, leaving Sarah in a bit of a dither. Even Mary couldn't stay; the fire upset Frank so much that she'd worried about his heart. "I'll stop by in the morning," Mary had promised. "As will I," Doc tacked on.
Now Sarah worried that she wasn't doing enough for her husband, this man who'd risked his life for his niece. Surely, he loved the child more than he cared to admit.
"You were a hero tonight, Rocky," she said, smoothing down his rumpled hair, enjoying its coarse texture, amazed that more
of it hadn't singed off. "I'm so proud of you. Rachel is fine. She's resting." She kept up her quiet manner of conversing, hoping to bring him awake, and drawing pleasure from the chance to dwell on his face. Burned as it was over one of his cheeks and across his forehead, he was still the handsomest man she'd ever known.
She slid a chair close to the bed and plopped into it. If only he would open his eyes, she thought.
"Thirsty," he muttered.
Quickly, she hastened to take the glass from the bedside stand and put it to his dry, cracked lips, aiding him by tilting his head up slightly. He took a couple of swallows then surprised her by grabbing hold of her hand at the wrist and drawing it close to his mouth. When he kissed her fingertips, she stifled a sigh. Did he still think of her as Hester? She let the question fall by the wayside, deciding it didn't matter.
"Thank you," he managed in a weak voice, dropping his head back to the pillow in exhaustion and letting go of her hand.
"You're welcome," she returned, setting the glass back on the little table. "How do you feel?" she ventured to ask.
She shouldn't have been surprised when all he did was give a slight nod before drifting back to sleep.
She exhaled and took the opportunity to settle back in the chair and close her own eyes.
Dear Lord, she prayed, please touch this man that I've come to love; heal him of his wounds from the inside out. And, Lord, as he sleeps, would You also reassure him of Your great love for him?
IIXY2_4 A YY_4 4e-n
omething like a dark veil shrouded Rocky's thinking, making everything a misty cloud of confusion. Like a caged, desperate cat, he clawed at his subconscious, frantic to tunnel out of the ambiguity.
"I'm here," said a honey-sweet voice. Hester? "Try not to move," she said.
She had a deeply calming effect on him. Her simple touch and gentle manner of speaking eased the pain of his fevered skin. "Hester," he managed, but even as he spoke the name, his mind couldn't quite settle on her identity.
His parched throat burned from lack of water, and no sooner had he voiced his need than a firm hand, the woman's, went behind his head to lift him for a sip of cool refreshment.
What had happened to cause such burning over his face, his arms, his chest? Had he been to hell and back? Dear God, bring clarity to my jumbled head. But the minute he uttered the prayer he slipped back into a deep, dark hole of forgetfulness.
A fallen pan roused him again, hours later perhaps, stirring him partially awake. His heavy eyelids lifted in search of something familiar. Quickly he determined he was lying in his old bed, the one he'd given up.
In the other room, a feminine form in a long, flowered dress darted about, wiping her hands on her apron front, and hurrying from table to sink to kitchen cupboard. Her auburn hair, wild and unkempt, fell across her forehead and rosy cheeks, obscuring her face.
The sweet scent of baking bread flooded his nostrils, and her quiet humming his tired senses.
"Aunt Sarah," came the voice of a child.
Rachel?
Ever so slowly, reality returned, bringing with it snapshots of last night's events. His mind reeled with images of races, games, squealing children, food, and dancing.
"Yes, darling," came the woman's sweet voice. Sarah.
"My leg hurts."
Sarah left her place at the sink and rushed to the sofa where Rachel lay. She knelt beside the child and soothed her with her voice, just as she had him a while back. What had happened to Rachel, and why was her leg paining her so?
"You'll soon be good as new. Doc Randolph said you're a very lucky little girl, but I prefer to think that God Himself spared you."
"How is Uncle Rocky?" she asked in quiet tones.
"He's still sleeping."
"I hope he wakes up soon. I want to thank him for saving me.
Saving her? Rocky's head began to throb from a barrage of puzzling thoughts, thoughts he couldn't quite piece together.
"I'm sure he will. He's been quite restless all day."
"Where's Seth?" Rachel asked.
"He's out checking on all the animals-but especially the barn cats. He counted six that escaped the fire. Seth's been feeding them, and they'll find plenty of shelter. Thank God the flames didn't reach the chicken coop and other outbuildings."
"Can we bring them inside?" Rachel was saying.
"The cats? No, sweetie, they're much happier on their own.
Fire? Flames? What was all this talk?
Rocky blinked back a sordid memory, grim and unwelcome. It was all coming back now, trickling into his brain like a slow leak. There'd been a fire. And he and Ben had gone into the heart of it to rescue Rachel. But his barn was gone, burned to the ground, along with everything he owned, save for his livestock.
To make matters worse, he'd earlier mistaken Sarah for Hester, even taking comfort in the thought that she'd never departed, that life continued as it had long ago. He'd envisioned her flitting about the house, tending to his needs, cooling his brow, and had even whispered her name a time or two. What had he been thinking? Hester was gone from him, had been for three long years. Now the wound he'd worked so hard to heal bled and festered anew.
God, what are You doing to me? Isn't it enough that You took my wife and son and then my only sister?
Old bitterness he'd labored to overcome rolled back in waves. Not more than a few months ago, the schoolhouse, which doubled as the church, had burned, too. Wasn't one fire enough for the town of Little Hickman, or did God delight in watching His children suffer through one calamity after another?
He rolled over on his side, yanking the thin sheet with him, moaning at the various pains that emerged all over his body.
"Rocky, you're awake," said Sarah, suddenly rising from her stooped position next to Rachel to approach his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
Oddly, her sweetness irked him. Ignoring her question, he started to cast the sheet off him but stopped abruptly when he realized he wore nothing but his underdrawers. Impatient to see what, if anything, was left of the barn, he frowned. "Where are my clothes?"
She pulled her shoulders back and returned the frown. "You're not to move about unless you have need of the outhouse. Doc says we need to watch for infection, and that means taking care not to break open those blisters."
He pursed his lips and stared at her, trying his best to disregard the dark circles under her hazel eyes, her look of genuine concern. Had she slept at all? "What's left of my barn?"
She bit her lower lip. "Not much, I'm afraid. Several men came over today to haul away a good deal of debris and to milk the cows and feed the horses. They took care of everything. Elmer Barrington and Sam Thompson offered to come back in the morning, but I told them I'd see to things. Herb Jacobs brought out plenty of feed and stored it in the back of one of your outbuildings. He put it on your account at Sam's Livery." She took a deep breath. "Oh, and Elmer showed me how to milk the cows. I milked one of them all by myself. Isn't that something?"
Her nervous chatter unnerved him. She'd milked the cows? That had to be a first. He craned his neck to see the clock but failed. "What time is it?"
She wrung her hands. "It's approaching mealtime."
"Which meal?" he insisted on knowing.
She raised both brows. "The evening one."
"What?" He could hardly believe he'd wasted an entire day lying in bed. There were chores to tend to, animals to feed, cows to milk. "I need my clothes." Now he did throw off the sheet, unaffected by Sarah's gasp.
For some reason he relished the blush of her cheeks. "What's the matter, Mrs. Callahan? Aren't you the one who disrobed me?"
Her face went suddenly pink. "With the assistance of Jon Atkins and your mother," she stated snappily.
"Ah," he said. "Well, since neither of them is around, you just may have to assist me with putting them back on."
She pressed her lips together in a tight line. "I'll get your clothes, but I don't know what your hurry is. The men saw to your chores
."
"I want to have a look around."
After an especially long sigh, she relented. "Fine."
Then, turning on her heel, as if to imply she suddenly had a bone to pick with him, she scooted out the door.
"Thanks," Rocky mumbled after Sarah finished tying his shoe. Bending put too much stress on the blisters on his shoulders and back, so she'd had to complete this one final act for him.
Standing, she gave him the beginnings of a smile. "You're welcome."
"How's Rachel?" he asked, still sitting on the side of the bed, as if mustering the strength to stand.
She'd wondered when he might ask. "She's fallen asleep on the couch again. But she's doing well, considering. Thanks to you and Benjamin, she'll be perfectly fine in a matter of days."
Rocky cast a glance out the bedroom window. His dark eyes, still swollen and red around the rims, penetrated the distance. "Good. Is Ben all right?"
"Your mother stopped by this morning. She said he was making good progress."
"I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate for anything to happen to him. This town has suffered enough." His jaw twitched ever so slightly, his dark brows knit together in a show of discouragement.
Sarah's stomach tightened into an uncomfortable knot. "What about you? How are you feeling?"
His expression went suddenly bland, emotionless. "Oh, aside from the fact that my barn is gone, and my skin is on fire, everything is just wonderful."
"At least no one died," she hastened, intending the statement to cheer him. Besides, it appeared he needed reminding.
He sat forward, his face awash with brooding irritation. "And you want me to thank God for that?"
She took a deep breath for courage. "It wouldn't hurt."
Now he moved from anger to cynicism. "Oh, and while I'm at it I should thank Him for burning down my barn, right?"
"The Bible tells us to rejoice in all manner of things, not just the good. There is a purpose for everything."
A sort of growling, sneering sound rumbled up from his chest. "Your philosophy lacks reason, Sarah. If God was so bent on providing us with a happy life, He wouldn't be going around causing all this grief"
Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) Page 20
