CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The survivors gathered in a small valley not far from the river. Miraculously, a series of sandy hillocks had spared the place from flame. Amid a world of ash that crunched beneath their feet, it sheltered not only humans but the last green shrubs and grasses.
A friend of Daniel’s told them some had survived there last night. Most of those escaped the serious injuries so common in those who had stayed in the river. He promised Daniel he would collect Aunt Lucinda’s body and see to whatever arrangements could be made. Hannah left the Aldmans and showed the young man where Mrs. Pangburn lay.
Bending beside the old woman, she laid her hand upon the quilt. “I’ll take care of them now,” she whispered.
When she returned to the valley, men from the Peshtigo Company had raised a large tent for the injured, particularly the women. Though smoke had thickened her voice and made her breath shallow, Hannah did not avail herself of the shelter. Too many were in far greater need. Survivors straggled in, some with faces blackened, others with hands and feet charred to the bone. Wagons brought from Marinette delivered a few supplies, then went out to pick up what wounded they could find.
Daniel and his daughter rested on a patch of trampled grass. Hannah wandered restlessly, peering at the small knots of survivors, hoping for a glimpse of Faye or perhaps even Hank. He might have changed his mind and left the house.
Others also walked around, asking, “Have you seen my husband?” or “Do you know what happened to my little girl?” Each face was lit by hope, oftimes beyond all reason. Children, too, searched forlornly for a missing parent, sometimes both.
Hannah asked for word of John Aldman, too, but no one yet knew how the outlying farms had fared. Finally, she caught the attention of a company man who had been out examining the streets. Cinders grayed his thick sideburns, and his suit was torn and filthy.
“Please,” she asked. “I’m looking for the Barlows, Faye or Hank. I know where they might be.”
Tiredly, he turned toward her. “Don’t go up there, Miss. There’s sights no man alive should see, much less a lady.”
“But there’s no one else to ask for them, or to see they’re buried right.”
He shook his head. “You might not know them if you saw them.”
“I’d know Faye,” said Hannah. “She always wore a silver cross around her neck.”
The man regarded her with sad, green eyes. After a pause, he drew something from his pocket. “I took this from a looter. The ruffian had been stealing from the dead. The men would’ve hung him if there’d been a rope or half a tree left to string him up. You Mrs. Barlow’s kin?”
Hannah lifted the cross and turned it all around. “It’s hers.” The words squeezed out through a throat closed tight with grief. “I lost her when I fell, and I took a young boy’s hand instead. The smoke —too thick.”
He patted her hand and closed it around the cross. “She’d be glad you survived.”
Hannah nodded. “She wasn’t kin. Her family burned up, too, at least the daughter.”
“You keep the cross, then. All we can do for the dead now is bury them and promise to remember. The rest of our attentions have to focus on the living. I have to go back now. They’ll need help gathering the victims.”
“Thank you,” Hannah told him. “I’ll remember.”
She watched him turn back toward his sad task. After a while, someone brought back the remnants of a cabbage crop. The outer leaves were burned, but the insides, still raw and crisp, made up a poor breakfast. She woke Daniel and Amelia, and shared her find with them.
The girl ate woodenly, staring at the grass.
“Can you see at all?” Hannah asked Daniel.
He shook his head, then covered his eyelids with a hand. “They burn just like hot coals. God, I feel so useless. I need to go find John.”
“You can’t,” said Hannah. “I heard they’re taking the injured to Marinette in wagons. You’re going to have to go and let a doctor check those eyes. And I can see your shoulder’s burned as well.”
“No, I’ll be all right soon. I have to go find John.”
“Don’t be a fool, Daniel. If you don’t tend to your sight, you might never get it back. Besides, you can’t get to the farm. And what about Amelia? Do you really want her to see what’s outside this valley?”
“Of course not, but we could find someone to watch her.”
“No!” Amelia shrilled. Her voice edged near hysteria. “Don’t leave me here, Papa. I want to stay with you.”
“But John —I can’t leave him all alone.”
Hannah took his hand. “Amelia needs you now, Daniel. I’ll find John. I’m not badly hurt. I’ll go.”
“You can’t. It’s too far, and they won’t let a woman wander by herself.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll get someone to help. Then I’ll find your brother. I promise you, I will.”
o0o
Hannah’s voice. Though half-conscious, Malcolm recognized it as he was loaded on the wagon. Dear God, don’t let her see him! Don’t let her guess that he was here.
If she recognized him, would she scream? Did he look so wretched? Or maybe she would cry out accusations. In his present condition, how could he defend himself against her lies? People might believe him an abductor if they didn’t know he only was defending his good name. The men who rescued him might well dump him back in the river, or at least remove him from this wagon, bound for help.
Malcolm knew enough of the wounded he’d seen during the War to realize he was badly hurt. He’d be all too easy to kill, or simply to allow to die.
But death wouldn’t be the worst fate that could befall him. His mind cringed as he imagined Hannah weeping, consumed with pity when she saw his ruined face. Yes, there were things worse than dying.
He turned toward the wagon’s side, exposing only the burnt left half of his face.
o0o
Daniel must have been in more pain than he admitted, for he let Hannah help him onto a waiting wagon. Some of those on board moaned, near death. She forced herself to look away from the charred flesh of a man’s burnt face. Another, a woman, clutched a scorched shawl to hide her nakedness. Her hair and ears had been burnt off. Hannah had to avert her gaze. Amelia crawled into her father’s arms and buried her face into his shirt.
“Come with us,” said Daniel. “You’ll be safer in Marinette.”
“I can’t,” Hannah explained. “There are other injured who need the space far more than I. But I’ll come meet you later, after I find John.”
He shook his head. “Don’t go. I’ve been thinking. With the trees and buildings burnt, there won’t be any landmarks. You’ll just get yourself lost. Maybe the men who aren’t hurt too much will organize some parties and you can ask them to check John.”
“I will,” she promised. Before climbing down, she kissed him on the cheek.
“Don’t forget you said you’d come and meet me, Hannah Shelton,” Daniel called. “Don’t you dare leave us alone.”
“In Marinette,” she promised. “In Marinette.”
o0o
When more wagons came that afternoon, she asked. But each man had his own kin to find, or his own wounds to tend. The wagons available were being used to clear Peshtigo’s own streets of corpses. Search parties were already looking, someone told her, though he couldn’t say exactly where they’d gone.
“Just let the men tend to the troubles,” a rotund woman said. “If you want to be of use, help me with these hurt folks.”
For a while, Hannah did, though her promise to find John still nagged her. After one o’clock, someone brought her food and coffee. These helped to revive her, but as the day pressed on, she grew no closer to learning Daniel’s brother’s fate. Feeling stronger, she decided to take matters into her own hands.
Slipping away from the small valley was simple. She was no one’s kin or sweetheart, so no one had a reason to keep an eye on her. For the first time since last evening, she walked through Peshtigo.
Heaps of rubble smoked, and here and there she saw a roasted horse or dog. A few mounds looked as if they might be human, but she didn’t look too closely. Right now, she didn’t want to know.
Her mind replayed the rows of neat, white houses, all the thriving businesses. She couldn’t even make sense of what she saw now. Daniel had been right. Without landmarks, it would be easy to get lost. She glanced toward the river and the half-collapsed bridge to reorient herself.
Wait —upstream, she saw a familiar shape. Could it be a horse? Hopeful, she changed her course. The animal she approached stood trembling, its tail singed to the roots. Its head hung low, the beast still wore a harness and its bridle.
“Easy, girl,” Hannah whispered, for she could see it was a mare. Slowly, it responded to the kindness in her voice. The ears pricked forward, and the bay let her come near.
Hannah stroked the coarse brown hair, and crooned some soothing nonsense. She felt the mare’s thick legs and found no injuries. The horse was merely frightened and in shock, like all of them.
Using the harness, Hannah climbed onto the mare’s broad back. Perhaps she should have taken the horse back to the valley, to see if she could find the owner. Later, she decided. For now, she’d take the animal’s appearance as a sign.
It was time to stop waiting for the men to do her bidding. It was time for her to keep her promise to find John.
o0o
Harnesses had never been designed to sit on, and neither had Hannah’s dress been made to ride astride. Nevertheless, she made do, with the skirt pulled up alarmingly and the leather chafing at her inner calves. She would have liked to remove the harness, for riding bareback would be more comfortable for both horse and rider. But the harness, at least, gave Hannah something to grip when necessary, and more sense of control. She needed it, she found, for the horse started at puffs of smoke that still rose from piles of charred rubble, or from the ghastly stench of cooking flesh.
Though her sore ribs hurt with every step, Hannah forced herself to ignore their outcry. Soon, however, the unbelievable destruction numbed her senses. Blackened tree hearts poked up amid the former forest like sharp fangs. Mighty hardwoods lay crumpled and hurled across each other, mostly burned.
She followed along the twisted metal remnants of the new railroad for a time to keep her path. At one point, she came across what must have been a wagon, burned down to the irons. A heap of ash at one end marked what used to be a horse, perhaps a team. Hannah guessed three other piles had once been human. A breeze rose to disperse them, and she caught a glimpse of something ivory, possibly a bone or tooth.
She rode on, forcing herself to focus only on her task. She had to keep her mind off the horrors she was seeing, so she could search for John. She wondered if she did this to make up her own deception to him.
Or did she do this just for Daniel? He had lost so much.
Those were not the only reasons, she decided. She did this for herself, as well, so she could be again the kind of person she respected. Not a liar, not a cheat, just a woman helping a family she cared for.
She would find John for them all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When the first fat drops of rain spattered Hannah, she looked up angrily. “Why not yesterday?” she asked aloud. How many lives would have been saved? How much suffering could have been prevented?
But her anger, all unfocused, dissipated quickly. At least the fires would stop now; perhaps other communities might be spared this region’s fate.
Soon the rain hissed down, at first raising puffs of ash, then washing the air free of it. Rivulets of water streamed over Hannah’s scalp and ran down her face into her bodice. Last night after Lucinda’s death, she had removed both coat and dress to dry them in the embers of some pails and barrels. Several men and women nearby did the same, as if they’d been in total privacy. Soon that effort was undone by the rain.
Still, the horse plodded forward, and Hannah continued in what she hoped was the correct direction. Often, she had to dismount to lead the mare around the tangled corpses of half-burnt trees, or to try to discern what had once been a landmark. A journey that should have lasted an hour stretched to four, and she worried it would soon grow dark.
Once she found the pile of stones John and Daniel had removed from their plowed fields, Hannah managed to orient herself. Even so, the scene was dismal. Puddles of rainwater lay atop a thick layer of ash. The house, the Aldman’s simple, but beautiful white house, had been reduced to a low pile of burned beams and blackened rubble. Nothing in it could have possibly survived. Every inch of field, garden, and pasture was scorched and ruined. Not even one small outbuilding survived.
Bowing her head, she prayed that John had left this nightmare before it had played out. Then she remembered Lucinda’s words, His farm is everything to John, and shook her dripping head. He had not abandoned it. She knew it in her bones.
After she slid off the mare’s back, Hannah tied the reins to the half-melted remnants of a pump. Though she suspected her efforts would be futile, she would keep her promise to Daniel. She would search as best she could for his brother’s remains.
She couldn’t even find an unburned stick to use to probe the ash. Instead, she used her feet to kick at some of the wreckage of the house. But her lady’s ankle boots had not been meant for last night’s soaking or today’s work. Soon, they fell to pieces, and she had to take them off.
With the heavy clouds, the light was failing, and Hannah shivered with the cold. Still, she continued walking through the house’s ruin until she drove a nail into her right foot. With a shriek of pain and frustration, she jerked her foot loose and hobbled to a clearer spot. Her cry provoked more coughing, which hurt her side again.
This was lunacy. She might search here for days without finding anything, even if she had not been injured. But now her punctured foot hurt even worse than her throbbing ribs, and the rain had chilled her to the bone. She needed to get back to Peshtigo, where she might find at least a tent. Already, she had delayed so long that day was beginning to fade. If she didn’t leave now, she might die here tonight.
Tears of defeat trailed down her face. She’d wanted so badly to do this for Daniel, to spare him the anguish of returning here. Her puny efforts had been so impotent.
“Get back while you can,” she whispered to herself. The horse lifted its ears as she limped toward the place it had been tied. Exhausted, Hannah paid little heed to the sodden ruins she tramped through.
Until, with a splintered sound, burnt wood gave way, and she plunged into a hole. She screamed in terror, arms flailing until one hand found something to grasp. With a jolt that sent a bolt of pain through her injured side, Hannah’s body stretched and stopped its fall. Her left foot found purchase on another ladder rung, and she realized where she’d toppled. This had been the well.
Beneath her, something groaned.
“John?” Her voice, high and thin, echoed in the darkness. She scarcely dared to breathe.
“Who?” The voice below sounded even weaker than her own.
“It’s Hannah. John, is that you?”
“Hannah. . . Daniel here with you?” John’s voice was slurred, but finally recognizable.
Lowering herself carefully, Hannah descended the ladder into the shallow well. With this autumn’s drought, the water only reached her lower thigh. In the dim light, she could make out John’s slumped form, sitting on an overturned bucket.
“I came alone,” she told him. “Daniel’s in Marinette. How badly are you hurt?”
“Wind picked up a board and sent it sailing last night. Whacked me in the head. Managed to get down here, but I didn’t have the strength to get back up. Why’s Daniel in Marinette?”
She hesitated, wondering how she could get him up that ladder. “He’s wounded. He needs you.”
“How?”
Raindrops, inescapable, dripped onto her head. “A fire. Peshtigo is gone, burned to the ground. Come on. I’ll help you up.”
“Too tired, Hannah. I don’t think I can. You go on. Get help.”
She shook her head. “I won’t leave you here. It would be too long before someone could come back. Listen, John, I’m hurt too, but I have a horse. We have to help each other get to her.”
“Why’d you come here, Hannah? Why’d you really come?” The slur was building in his speech, as if he might soon fall asleep.
She had to rouse him somehow. If he went to sleep, he might never wake. Steeling herself, she lied. “Daniel’s dying, John. He wants to see you while he can. You wouldn’t want to be too late.”
“No, not Daniel!” John jerked toward her, and she grasped his arm. His weight nearly drove her to her knees, but she managed to keep them both upright.
They both groaned as they struggled up the ladder, John ahead of her. She prayed he wouldn’t fall, for if he did, he’d take her down, and neither of them would have the strength to try again. This time, her prayers were answered. Once outside, John turned and helped her from the pit.
John looked around the ruin of his farm. “God help us. Not an animal alive. I tried so hard, but —”
“—Everyone tried hard,” Hannah interrupted. She pushed back a sodden mass of hair, which had flopped into her eyes. “There was no fighting this. All the crews from the factory, all the men of Peshtigo made no difference at all.”
Together, they staggered to the mare, who spooked at their lumbering approach. Thankfully, her reins held. Hannah untied them as John climbed aboard. He reached down and pulled her up behind him.
The mare began the long walk toward Peshtigo. Though the rain tapered off, both John and Hannah were already soaked through. Tiredly, she leaned against his back for warmth. John did not complain.
“You didn’t tell me what happened to Amelia and my aunt.”
Hannah hesitated, but decided it would be best to tell him the truth. “Amelia is alive. I don’t think she’s hurt, just shocked. She went with Daniel to Marinette. John, I hope that you aren’t angry, but I didn’t want you to give up and go to sleep down in that well. You might not survive if you did that. Daniel isn’t dying, but his eyes are swollen shut. There were so many cinders when the mill and factory burned.”
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