A Touch of Flame

by Jo Goodman

  To his surprise, the back door was locked. He shouldered and kicked his way inside and ran through the empty kitchen to the stairs. He didn’t open the front door for fear of drawing the smoke and flames toward it and making any chance of reaching the upper floor impossible. He might not have been a witness to the barn burning at Twin Star but he’d heard plenty of stories about it to know what to do. He kept his head down and stayed under the smoke as he climbed. The last bits of snow clinging to his shirt and trousers melted. He tried not to think about his own terror as he climbed; he tried to think about theirs. Sometimes the two were confused.

  He found Clay lying on the floor outside his sisters’ room. As quick as that, the boy had been overcome by smoke. Ben heaved him onto his shoulder and carried him to his bedroom, where he unceremoniously dumped him out the window. He heard shouting from below but couldn’t make out what was being said. It was more important knowing that help had arrived. He hoped it came with a ladder and buckets.

  Ben tore a sleeve off his shirt and wrapped it around the lower half of his face as he hurried to the girls’ room. Smoke leaked out from under the door but the door itself wasn’t hot. He opened it, crouched low, and worked his way blindly to the bed. He reached it just as flames ate their way through the ceiling and crawled across it to the open door.

  Ben felt for the girls and found them huddled together as he imagined they had been in sleep. He used the sheet under them to drag them toward the edge of the bed, covered them in blankets, and carried them through the sheer curtain of fire that shimmered and twisted in the doorway. The stairs were invisible to him now. He took the girls to Clay’s room and laid Hannah down while he eased Lizzie through the opening. He was too blinded by smoke and tears to see who was waiting to take her. He let her go and then did the same for Hannah.

  Ben wanted to make the jump himself, God knew he did, but Lily was still in the house, and perhaps Jeremiah as well. Hunching his shoulders, using his shirtsleeve—the one he was still wearing—to wipe and shield his eyes, he got as far as the open door before he admitted the impossibility of his task. The girls’ room was fully engulfed in flames and they were leaping and dancing toward him. Fire was shimmying down the stairs. He could never reach Lily’s room. He backed away until he felt the windowsill behind him.

  He knew there was a snowbank below, a flawless white pillow made silver by moonlight, so why when he jumped did he feel as if he were falling into darkness?

  Chapter Forty-three

  Ben woke because he was coughing as hard as a consumptive, that, and because whatever was in the dark pit with him was pushing him out. Apparently the devil didn’t want him.

  “Mm,” he said, looking up at Ridley. He swiped at his eyes but then realized the tears he was looking through were hers, not his. He raised his hand, touched her cheek. “Ah, sweet Eudora, are you the one that pushed me out?”

  Ellie was on her knees in the snow beside Ridley, huddled in Mr. Butterworth’s coat. “Why is he calling you that?”

  “He thinks it’s my name.” She smiled. “It’s not.”

  “It’s not?” asked Ben. “I was so sure . . .” His hand fell away from her cheek. He frowned when he saw the sooty fingerprints he’d left behind. A memory returned with the force of a blow to his head, but instead of staying put, he started to rise. The pressure of Ridley’s hand on his shoulder pushed him back. “No. I need to—”

  “There’s nothing you need to do,” she said gently. “You’ve done enough. You’ve done it all.”

  “I want to see the children.” He was aware of other faces looming around and above him. He recognized Hitch and Abe and Louella Fuller and Big Mike. He looked past Ridley and between the legs of those gathered close by and could see that the fire was still burning in places but wouldn’t for much longer. Buckets were still being passed up and down the brigade. The pumper truck was there, but no one was manning it any longer, and the hose lay on the ground as useless as a bullsnake for getting water to the fire when the pumper was empty.

  By morning the house would be charred wood, embers, and a chimney.

  “Let me up,” he said. Ridley did. For the first time, Ben realized that his evening jacket was spread over him like a blanket. He held up one of the tails and looked to Ridley for an explanation.

  “Ham gave it back to you.” Tears lay at the rim of her lashes. She pushed her spectacles to her head and knuckled the tears away. “He insisted.”

  Ben smiled weakly. “You know I had to go in there.”

  Ridley nodded. It took her a moment to find her voice again, and when she did, it was little more than a smoky whisper. “Of course. How could you not?”

  There were chirps of agreement; at least Ben heard them that way. Like house cricket invaders in the summertime, the sound swarmed in his head. He was tired, unbelievably tired, and breathing deeply made his chest ache. “The children,” he said again because they came and went in his mind.

  “Sam Love and his wife took Ham and Clay away because they have boys and room for two more. Mary Cherry and Mrs. Rushton are caring for the girls in my surgery, and Mr. and Mrs. Springer are there to take them as soon as I say it’s all right. I promised I would be along directly.”

  “You were waiting for me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course I was. You have to come with me. Hitch is here to help. And Big Mike.”

  Ben nodded. He was dizzy, and the acrid smell of smoke still filled his nostrils. He coughed into the shirtsleeve that he had used as a mask and was now wound around his neck. “Lily?”

  Ridley shook her head. She started to speak and then fell silent as the things she needed to tell him were trapped in her throat.

  Hitch observed her distress. “Big Mike? Louella? Would you mind stepping away? Give me a couple of moments to speak to the sheriff and the doc? I’ll holler for you, Mike, when it’s time to get Ben on his feet.” When the Fullers obliged, Hitch hunkered beside Ben opposite Ridley. Taking no chances that he might be overheard, he spoke quietly.

  “We don’t know where Lily is.” He put out an arm to block Ben’s attempt to get to his feet.

  “Don’t,” said Ridley. “Just sit and listen.”

  Ben exhaled sharply, coughed, and stayed where he was.

  Hitch withdrew his arm and continued. “Some of us started searching for bodies as soon as it was safe. I found Jeremiah under a smoldering rafter. He had been in bed when the floor collapsed and fire ate away the roof. He was still in bed, more or less. The iron bedrails were there but not much else. Now, I have to tell you that it’s possible that the falling beam is what crushed his skull, probably is for all I know. That’s what I had in my mind as I poked around a little more. Mostly I was trying to make sure the burning embers didn’t pose another danger so I was just toeing through the rubble.

  “Doc was trying to be everywhere at once, looking after the children, keeping an eye on you, but when she saw me hopping around on one foot in the middle of the burnt shell of the house, she was suddenly right there beside me. I stubbed my damn toe. Hard. I tried to shoo her away because it was embarrassing, but she wouldn’t go, and then we both poked around some, and that’s how we came across the working end of Jeremiah’s hammer. The wooden handle was gone, of course, but the head was still there. I understood what it meant, or at least what it could mean, so I told the doc about seeing Jeremiah carrying it earlier, then I asked her to look at Jeremiah’s body, and she says the way his skull was caved in, it could have been a beam.”

  Ben looked from Hitch to Ridley. “And not the hammer? You’re satisfied with that?” When she nodded, he turned back to his deputy. “You?” Hitch also nodded. “All right, then.” No one spoke for a long time. This silence, deeply secretive and significant, felt as though it had weight and substance, and there was mutual understanding that they would never speak of Jeremiah’s death occurring in any other manner.
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br />   Ben asked, “What do you know about Lily?”

  “Nothing,” said Hitch. “Nothing except that we can’t account for her. There’s no body in the house.”

  “Then she wasn’t there when the fire started. She would have never left her children. She’d have died trying to save them.”

  Ridley nodded. “Hitch and I think so, too. The fire must have started after she left. It might be that Jeremiah wasn’t in as bad a way as Lily thought and that he knocked over the lamp trying to get up.”

  “The way we’re piecing it together,” said Hitch, “is that Jeremiah took to his bed soon as he got home because all the drinking he did earlier finally got to him. He passes out so deeply that Lily gets worried because she can’t rouse him. Or maybe he gets sick and she can’t turn him on his side and she’s afraid he’ll drown in his vomit.”

  Ben regarded the two of them again, each in turn. “So you’re thinking she went for help. Is that it?” When they nodded simultaneously, he played devil’s advocate. “Why didn’t she send Clay?”

  Ridley answered. “She didn’t want her boy to know that Jeremiah had been drinking, or maybe Jeremiah hurt her again and she didn’t want Clay to know that either. She left on her own because in her mind it was what was proper.”

  Hitch said, “I figure I’d get a few men to help me search. She would have known about the party at the Butterworth so she could have been heading there. Or maybe she was on her way to Doc’s surgery or Mr. Mangold’s shop.”

  “My fear is that she’s injured,” said Ridley. “I don’t think she can know about the fire or she would have returned by now. It makes me wonder if she’s collapsed somewhere. It’s too cold for her to survive long if that happened.”

  Ben listened. He understood very well that their thinking was predicated on the story they all wanted and agreed to believe, but it was unlikely to help them find Lily. Better to put themselves in Lily’s shoes, if only briefly, to follow in her footsteps.

  “I have an idea,” said Ben. When he started to rise, Hitch called Big Mike over for assistance. “I can get up on my own.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Before Ben could make another protest, Hitch got him by one elbow, Big Mike by the other, and they had him on his feet so quickly that he wobbled unsteadily. In spite of that, he told them he could manage. He did not miss the uncertain looks that were exchanged all around and had to hold firm. Hitch released him but stayed close. Big Mike, at Ridley’s suggestion, returned to his wife’s side.

  “If you fall over,” said Ridley, “we are going to leave you there.”

  Ben ignored her. “Hitch, how about you staying here and overseeing the last of the work? Make arrangements with the undertaker for Jeremiah’s body. If it’s a question of payment, tell him I said we’d work something out. Thank everyone for their help.”

  “What about organizing that search for Lily?”

  “Leave it for now. I have a pretty good idea where she is. If I’m wrong, I’ll let you know.”

  “But—”

  “Let me handle it, Hitch. Doc’s coming with me.” He clapped his deputy on the shoulder. “Good job tonight. Oh, and don’t let my mother follow me.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Ridley easily kept pace with Ben. Occasionally he took a step sideways and bumped into her, but mostly he held to the straight and narrow. He’d put on the evening jacket that Ham had returned to him. It was hardly proof against the cold. Hitch had offered his overcoat, which Ben had stubbornly refused. “We’re not going far,” was all he would say, and then they were off.

  His steps slowed as they neared his office. “Did you forget something in there?” Ridley asked. Ben shook his head, stopped altogether, and opened the door for her. Seeing no point in asking another question, she preceded him inside. “Go warm yourself at the stove.” It was no longer a surprise that he acted as if he hadn’t heard her, but that did not mean that it set well. She was on the point of telling him he had no business being on his feet at all when he put a finger to his lips, silencing her.

  Ridley stood still, listened. She heard a faint rustling in the back where the cells were. She cocked an ear in that direction. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ben nod. When he headed for the cells, she followed.

  Her lips parted on a sharp intake of air when she saw Lily sleeping on a cot in the first cell. Ben had no such reaction. He had come here in anticipation of finding her.

  The cell door was wide open. And why wouldn’t it be when Lily’s incarceration was voluntary? Ridley thought she might weep at the gentleness in Ben’s voice when he said Lily’s name. Instead, she brushed his hand with hers as they stepped inside.

  Lily Salt stirred, moaned softly. Watching her, Ridley expected her to come out of her deep sleep slowly, which surely had been Ben’s intention, but then Lily’s eyes suddenly opened wide and she bolted upright. If there had ever been horror, it had come and gone. Lily stared at them through haunted eyes.

  Ridley took off her coat and put it snugly around Lily’s shoulders. The woman was wearing a thin robe over her nightgown and slippers with no socks. Ridley counted it as something of a miracle that Lily had made it this far, and then had to come to terms, as Ben already had, that the jail was Lily’s destination all along. Ridley stepped out of the way as Ben came forward and dropped to his haunches in front of Lily.

  Lily turned her cheek into the collar of Ridley’s coat. “Smells like smoke,” she said, her voice husky with the remnants of sleep. “And you. Look at you. Did someone dump an ash pan on your head?”

  “Something like that.”

  She nodded, satisfied with an answer that was no answer at all. “I was waiting for you. Or Deputy Springer.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Have you been to the house? Are my children all right?”

  “Yes, Lily.”

  She went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “When you weren’t here, I figured you were at the Butterworth, and maybe Deputy Springer was, too, so I thought it’d be better if I waited. The cot’s more comfortable than it should be. I fell asleep.”

  “I know.”

  “Is this where Jeremiah stayed when you arrested him?”

  “Mostly.”

  “I wondered about that.” She took a deep breath, glanced at Ridley, and then locked eyes with Ben. “He came home drunk. I don’t think he was at the hotel. He was probably at the Songbird.” When Ben confirmed her suspicions, she continued. “I know what to do when he’s been drinking. I help him upstairs if he needs it and point him to the bed. Sometimes I help him undress. I didn’t know what to do tonight. I was already in bed. I heard him stumbling on the stairs so I got up. I didn’t get very far before he came in the room. Oddest thing about it, though, he was carrying a hammer and tongs from the forge. Couldn’t imagine what he was going to do with them, or rather I could. Do you understand? I could imagine, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared. He set them down beside the bed. I remember staring at them for a long time after he collapsed. Just staring at them and then at him and then . . .”

  When her voice trailed away, so did her gaze.

  Ben said, “Look at me, Lily. I’m going to tell you a story and you’re going to make it your own. Don’t worry if you don’t understand me now. You will.” And then he began by starting at the end, telling her once again that her children were safe. That news, rather than reassuring Lily, made her increasingly anxious. She peppered Ben with questions that left no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t known about the fire.

  “Whatever you think you might have done, Lily,” said Ben, “you didn’t. Here’s what happened.” He described the events as Hitch and Ridley had described them to him, how Lily left to get help for her husband because she was worried about him, and how he must have come around briefly after she was gone
and, in his inebriated state, knocked over a lamp. The fire erupted and spread too quickly for him to be able to manage it. He passed out again, and this time the fire consumed him and the room and threatened the children. Ben told her about Clay’s heroics and almost nothing of his own. She wept for her children, but not her house or her husband. She had no tears for herself.

  Ridley sat beside Lily and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. When Lily merely squeezed it in her fist, Ridley took it back and used it to wipe Lily’s face. “Tell us you understand,” she said. “We need to know that it’s your story now.”

  “I know what you want, but—”

  “No,” said Ridley. “No buts. There can’t be. A beam fell on Jeremiah. That’s what crushed his skull.”

  Lily nodded slowly, taking it in. “Are you sure you want to—”

  Ben interrupted her, holding up his hand. “We only need to hear that you understand that it’s your story now.”

  “I understand.” She hardly did more than mouth the words. “It’s my story.”

  “That’s right.” He took her hands in his, squeezed them gently. “How about we take you to see your children and figure out your sleeping arrangements for the night. We can do better than a cot.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Ridley knelt beside the tub in her kitchen and squeezed a soapy sponge over Ben’s shoulders and back. “Can you lean forward just a little?”

  “My knees are already propping up my chin.”

  She laughed because it was true. “We’ll get a bigger tub after we’re married.”

  “We’ll get a trough.”

  “If you like.” She sluiced more water over his shoulders. He had washed off most of the soot and ash before he stepped into the tub, but there were still places that required the attention of another pair of eyes. Besides, Ridley thought, he deserved the attention and she wanted to give it to him.