Redwood and Wildfire

by Andrea Hairston

  “I got you. I’m not letting go,” she said as Aidan got his footing.

  “Yeah.” He spit blood in the hole and, before pain or fear registered, hurried for the back door.

  Redwood and Iris followed as beams crashed behind them. Splintered wood exploded and shattered glass finally hit ground. The fire was no longer enchanted.

  A young fellow with corn silk hair and gray eyes stood in the doorway brandishing a gun. “Get back.” When Aidan charged on, the fool stepped into the burning store. Was he one of them that torched Reginald Jones’s grocery? “Go on back! I mean it, or —”

  “Or what? You’ll look me in the eye and shoot me?” Aidan grimaced. The fire gathered speed; smoke ran over collapsing walls. “How many bullets you got left?” He headed for the gunman.

  “Wait!” Redwood said. She and Iris tried to match his pace.

  “You’re not getting out this way!” A lick of flame caught the gunman’s jacket. He stared at it, stunned. The ceiling above him groaned. “Stop.” As he waved his gun, burning wood rained down. Aidan staggered back. A bullet ricocheted out the back door. The fellow flailed and screamed, tried to scramble away, but the fire swallowed him up. It was a horrible sight — no way for a body to leave this life. Aidan couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  “Come on.” Redwood tugged at him. “We can’t get out that way.”

  The front door might as well have been Mars. Pain came back to them all with the heat. Flames singed hair and burned raw skin. Blistering air scorched their lungs. Leg muscles protested; torn shoulders screamed. Smoke made it hard to see a foot ahead. Eddie’s glassy eyes stared into another world, and George groaned with each step. Limping, Redwood set shaky feet in fading turtle footprints. Garnett’s glittering path was patchy, almost dried up.

  The way into hell was always easier than the way out.

  Boards cracked and crashed as the floor in front of them gave way. Terrifying screams plummeted to the basement. Redwood halted. A three-foot chasm separated them from the door. She looked at Aidan. He shook his head.

  “We’re not getting out, are we?” Iris said. “I can’t see it. Just smoke in the dark.”

  “Conjure woman make a way out of no way,” Redwood said. “We got to jump.”

  “How we goin’ jump with…” Iris stopped herself.

  “Just see the other side and —” gripping George tightly, Redwood backed up, “Run!” Without a moment for thought or protest, she and Iris leapt over the hole. Their impact sent more of the floor to the basement. Redwood almost lost her grip on George as they hustled to solid ground, but Iris steadied her.

  “What you waiting for?” Redwood yelled to Aidan. “Soar!”

  “You the one soaring, I’m —”

  “I won’t listen to you talk yourself down.”

  He closed his eyes and ran. If this was the end, he didn’t want to see it.

  The hot floor seared Aidan’s feet, and rather than stumble onto his face, he just kept running. Dead bones, hissing smoke and spitting sparks, tripped him up, and he fell to one knee. A hot gun barrel broke through flesh and bruised him to the bone. He yelped as blood soaked his pants. Eddie’s hair brushed against shattered glass as Aidan lost his grip. “Damn.” Aidan tried for a breath and got smoke. Beside him Iris leaned her face on Redwood’s sweaty back. Redwood’s legs shook so bad, she almost dropped George.

  “I see the door,” Iris said. “We’re almost out.”

  The heat was unbearable. Aidan tried to stand up, but Eddie had gotten heavier. Aidan’s trembling muscles gave out. “You all go on —”

  “No. Get up,” Redwood said.

  “Two steps, that’s nothing,” Iris pleaded.

  “Nothing?” Aidan grimaced at the dead bodies below him. “This fool’s got a gun, and that one’s holding a torch. They called down catastrophe.” He coughed more smoke. “These fellows been haunting me half my life. I seen ’em ride in here.”

  “They ain’t riding out to chase you no more,” Redwood said.

  A shudder wracked through Aidan’s body then knocked into Redwood too.

  “You can’t just get up from everything and go on.” He felt he might black out.

  “I know. I know,” Redwood said. “But —”

  “What’s wrong with you two?” Iris screamed. “The hard part’s done. The baron’s trying to trick you.” Pillars gave way. The building was collapsing on itself. “We can’t stop at the damn door with, with…freedom in sight.”

  “You hear what Iris say. We believed in each other this far.”

  Sweet Iris cussing cleared his head. “Okay, okay.” Aidan gritted his teeth and forced his weary self back up. His knee almost buckled, but Eddie’s head smacked his groin. One pain blotted out the other.

  So much smoke, they couldn’t see where they were going. Two steps could have been a hundred. They walked on fire with no air to breathe, believing more in the open door than the world burning down.

  A thunder crack, and the dream broke.

  Redwood, Aidan, and Iris stumbled out of the Dry Cleaning with George and Eddie. The fire was burning furiously again. Eddie’s shoes went up in flames. The Irish fireman doused them all in cold water as they laid George and Eddie as far from the Dry Cleaning as they could walk.

  “Let me pass. That’s my family,” Clarissa said. “Thank the Lord.” The colored volunteer cleared the way for her and Dr. Harris with his medicine bag. Clarissa fell on George. “You foolish man.” Rocking him, she looked up to Aidan and Redwood through teary eyes. “And Iris too! Thank you. Bless you.”

  A shot rang out, and everyone ducked. A rifle fell from a rooftop and a yelping sniper retreated to darkness. Policemen scurried after him. Mr. McGregor held a smoking pistol in his hand, ready to take another shot.

  “When I was a bad man, I had a good aim.”

  Redwood trembled all over. Trouble had come, fire too, but this time, her family wasn’t on the run, mourning a loved one snatched away to Glory. This time, no wild man ripped her apart and scattered her spirit. Baby Sister hovered over George, squeezing his hand and chattering away. Aidan heaved breath like he wanted to sob, but a mouthful of smoke and soot wouldn’t let nobody cry, not even for joy. This time, they all come through. So why did her heart feel so heavy?

  “Folks still in them tenements back there.” The colored volunteer scanned the alley. “Immigrants, just off the boat, can’t speak English, ’fraid to lose what little they got.”

  “So go back there and evacuate that street.” The Irish fireman sent two tattered men with the volunteer to cover a block of buildings. “I can’t spare no more,” he said to Aidan and Redwood’s bleary eyes. “Why you looking at me that way? Be thankful.”

  Dr. Harris stood up from George and Eddie, almost smiling. Clarissa scolded George softly as Dr. Harris wrapped Iris’s leg in a gauzy bandage.

  “You-all should be dead. I would’ve never believed it, if I hadn’t seen it myself.” The fireman rubbed his chin. “We got us a low-down crime and a miracle, all in one night.”

  “Fire ain’t over yet.” Aidan croaked worse than a broken banjo string.

  Redwood screwed up her face. “Ain’t no telling how far it’ll go.”

  The blaze licked at the next-door barbershop and reached for buildings out back. In the red glow, the boneyard baron tap-danced on wet cobblestones and grinned at the souls ’bout to join his number.

  “Don’t feel bad, lad.” The fireman patted Aidan’s back. “You’re brave and foolish and lucky too.”

  “I’m not brave, sir. That’s her.” Aidan nodded his head at Redwood.

  “I ain’t as brave as everybody make out,” Redwood said.

  The wind picked up, encouraging the bold flames. “A proper rain is what we need, not this bluster and blow.” The fireman escaped to a sputtering pump.

  “Blow hard enough, couldn’t you blow it out?” Iris shouted at his back.

  “This ain’t no candle.” Aidan hunched a shoulder, then growl
ed at the pain. “We can’t give the fire this whole block.”

  “We can’t run in those buildings and carry everybody out.” Redwood mopped blood from his knee.

  “Not this time. I can’t —” Coughing stole Aidan’s words, ’cept for — “I won’t.”

  He limped away from her into the street. If Redwood thought their ordeal was over, she better have another thought coming. “We pulled through,” she clutched him. “Don’t we get to be happy, feel good? Just for one second?”

  “My Sikwayi.” Aidan slumped against Redwood and kissed her forehead. “That posse has been riding me and riding me.”

  She pressed her lips against his and through the smoke and sweat and blood tasted the good in him, the Aidan she loved.

  “I won’t be haunted by what we didn’t do.” He stood tall. “Baron already got his due tonight. He don’t need no more.”

  “What you say?” The baron waved his cane at Aidan’s throat. Aidan didn’t flinch.

  Redwood stepped between them. “We ain’t ’fraid of you,” she said.

  “He’s a fool can’t do nothing but get burnt in guilt, but you — try me, gal.” The baron smashed his diamond-tipped cane into the cobblestones, splitting the road open. “Do a death-defying spell if you dare, for strangers who wouldn’t know you to thank you. Pass you on the street, spit in your face.” He tap-danced on shattered stone. “These crackers would spill your blood for nothing, on a dare, to feel good.” The baron caught her in secret thoughts. “You hoodooed, gal. Any weapon you carry, any hate you hold will use you.” He cackled Miz Subie’s words, raised his long arms and spun ’round in a furious jig. His long black coat was an empty void where light died and left not even a shadow.

  “Is he gone?” Aidan said.

  Redwood saw only the glare of fire and a bright starway in the black of night. “Baron’s a challenge, a crossroads spell, but this fire is how people do each other. A cracker come running toward me with a torch, I could break his neck, snuff his spirit, and go after his whole family too, ’til ain’t nobody left to come after us.”

  Aidan wagged his head. “That don’t even sound like you.”

  “Don’t tell me who I am.”

  He flung battered arms ’round her and winced.

  She wanted to fight him and his comfort too. “After everything, it’s hard to still be me.”

  Aidan fixed her in his eyes. “I used to think if I wasn’t such a coward, I’d’ve gone after those men what strung up your mama. George would’ve killed ’em; he just didn’t know who they were, but I did. I could’ve gotten them bastards in their sleep, in the shit box, on the road to church, and who would’ve known? I don’t mean to cuss at you, it’s just…When they come riding me and Miz Garnett’s voice was on the wind pleading for mercy, I drank, ’stead of doing murder.” He opened his palms to her. “Is that what she wanted? Their blood on George’s hands, on my hands?”

  “Why you never tell me this?” Redwood backed away from him.

  “Is that what you want?” Aidan stepped close again, his hands stretched out to her.

  Redwood blinked away tears and shook her head.

  “I didn’t tell you ’cause I was a coward who didn’t do nothing, just sat in a tree and watched Miz Garnett suffer and die. I didn’t tell you ’cause I couldn’t bear to see me so low in your eyes. I didn’t tell you ’cause I wanted you to love me.”

  “I always loved you. You were just one boy, up in that tree. What happened to Mama ain’t never been your fault.” Redwood let Aidan press his palms to her cheeks. “What happened to me neither.” They stood silently, skin close, breathing each other’s breath, tasting each other’s spirits. “I just hauled off and broke Jerome’s neck,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to kill him, but I was glad to see he couldn’t come at me no more.”

  “What else to do ’cept protect yourself with everything you got?”

  “I was glad I snatched the life out of him. What kind of person be feeling that?”

  Aidan laid his cheek against hers. He was feverish hot on her chilly skin. “You a good person, Miz Redwood, the best I know. No evil in your hands. No evil in your heart.”

  “Secret feelings — I don’t even tell myself. Nightriders been haunting me too.”

  “What you goin’ do now? That’s what I want to know. That’s who you are.”

  Redwood balled up her storm hand and pressed it against his chest. “Conjure woman can run through fire and not get burnt, but —”

  “That won’t put it out.” Aidan finished Miz Subie’s saying.

  “Mama’s hoodoo saved us all, but I ain’t her. I don’t want to die so everybody else can go on living.”

  “Fine by me.”

  Standing at the crossroads, her heart still heavy, but not aching so bad, Redwood gripped Aidan’s back and was shimmy-shaking with him to the middle of the street. She pulled the river of silk from her waist and threw it up in the air. As firemen called out warnings, the sash opened up into a bright blue shimmer above them. Redwood’s breath turned cold as snow. Her sweat was flecks of ice. Redwood and Aidan were as surprised as everyone else when —

  A monster storm ripped ’cross Lake Michigan, bellowing in their ears. The fire fed on powerful gusts of air and ballooned high and wide. A flock of ghostly clouds, bloated silver specters, hoodoo warriors rode in on the whirlwind — like when Redwood was a child in Peach Grove, dancing on the hillside with Aidan, reaching for fury. This haint battalion laughed flashes of crooked lightning and battered the skyscraping fire with cold water. Fat torrents hugged each flame and flicker. The fire bucked and heaved; it whined and groaned; but the downpour turned roaring heat to great tents of white smoke and thin columns of steam. Not a flame escaped. Water raced down streets and alleys chasing every last spark.

  Just as the monster storm might have drowned them all in a mighty flood, Redwood reached out her hand. Aidan clutched her wrist. A dark spiral mass rose above the ruined Dry Cleaning store, a whirlwind, twisting and turning the clouds, smoke, ashes, and steam into tighter and tighter spirals above Redwood’s trembling palm. The monster gale blew itself to nothing, to a dark swirl ’round a floating feather, and Redwood squeezed her fist shut.

  Twenty-six

  Healing, Chicago, 1913

  Most newspapers didn’t report the Phipps Dry Cleaning fire. If they did, there was a line or two ’bout brave Chicago firefighters and risky chemical storage. Even the colored press was silent, not wanting to spread hoodoo tales or help the white folk think Negroes were careless or had truck with haints and devils. People gossiped though, claiming the fire was a curse and the storm a miracle. Didn’t the fire engine company get a call before the catastrophe even sparked? Surely the spirits of Lake Michigan were watching over, taking care, since only the Dry Cleaning burnt to the ground, and George Phipps had insurance and a second shop just about to open. Neighboring brick buildings come through almost unscathed. No patrons had been on the Dry Cleaning premises when the calamity began. Not one of George’s employees was stranded inside or got shot running to safety. Brave firefighters and volunteers who were wounded mended good as new. The fire chief concluded that the burnt bodies retrieved from the rubble were the very men who set the fire. The cowardly fellow shooting from the rooftop drowned in a puddle in the back of a truck.

  Iris saw more trouble on the horizon: fire and race riots in the coming years. Chicago was a violent town. People went missing every night. So many dead poor folk — police claimed there was no time to track down the next of kin. Still, somewhere tears were shed, funeral laments sung, and a bitter ache gripped the hearts of those left behind.

  Even bad men shouldn’t have to pay with their flesh.

  After the fire, after stopping time, calling a rainstorm, and holding the whirlwind, Redwood fell into a stupor on the wet cobblestones and could not be roused. Aidan’s shoulder muscles were all torn apart, and the pain finally hit so hard, he couldn’t gather her up. He fell on his knees beside Redw
ood, rocking back and forth and muttering crazy talk.

  “She’s exhausted,” Dr. Harris declared, “You’re a wreck too, Mr. Wildfire, and it’s no wonder.”

  Aidan didn’t know what came out his mouth. By the look on Dr. Harris’s face, it was bad.

  “I know what to do,” Iris said, calming Aidan a bit. “Don’t you worry.”

  Dr. Harris sent a protesting Aidan home with Walter. Wrapped and splinted and woozy as a drunk man, Aidan couldn’t put up much of a fight. Walter brought him to George’s house first thing the next morning to look in on Redwood, but she was still dead to the world. Aidan was beside hisself ’til Iris made another dose of Miz Subie’s special brew — the one that brought Redwood back after the Chicago Fair spell. Iris poured it down Redwood’s throat before being dragged off to school.

  Dr. Harris threatened to send Aidan to the hospital in an ambulance if he didn’t promise to go back to his bed and stay there. Watching the gentle rise and fall of Redwood’s chest, Aidan barely listened to him.

  Clarissa said, “George is doing splendidly, but he asked to see you, Dr. Harris.” She opened the door to the hallway. When the good physician left, she patted Aidan’s hands. “Iris tells me that conjuring can tucker a person out, what with stealing heartbeats and all.”

  Aidan raised an eyebrow at hoodoo talk coming out Clarissa’s good Christian mouth.

  Clarissa smiled. “I don’t understand of course, but if the good Lord sees fit to let us help one another this way, who am I to argue?”

  Aidan nodded at her sensible logic.

  Clarissa’s lips were close to his ear. “Doesn’t Redwood need all her power for herself right now?”

  “Yes Ma’am, but —”

  She had a cool hand on his hot head. “You need mending too.”

  “He won’t listen to anybody,” Walter said. “I told him already.”

  Clarissa touched his sweaty neck. “When Redwood wakes up, she’ll be angry if you haven’t taken care of yourself.”