by Diane Guest
The wind came stronger now, blowing in gusts, carrying with it burning coals and waves of choking smoke. Some of the women whose homes were on the southern edge of the clearing, most vulnerable to the approaching fires, left the mill and ran home to try to save what little they could, packing their wagons, driving them down to the bay.
By this time two or three houses were burning out of control, fiery streaks of flame belching up through the rooftops, hurtling burning shingles and pieces of clapboard upward into the night air. Those who were not battling to save the mill frantically fought the small fires that kept erupting everywhere, stumbling through smoke so thick that sometimes they were unable to see the very fires they were trying to extinguish.
Then as suddenly as it had come up, the breeze shifted and began to blow back toward the south, taking with it the suffocating clouds of smoke and the terrifying hailstorm of burning cinders.
The sawdust pile was still a blistering inferno, throwing up its own line of defense—a great blast of heat— that kept the men at bay, kept them from coming close enough to put the fire out.
But now that the wind was no longer carrying the seeds of a thousand fires toward the town, all attention was turned toward saving the mill.
When the fire was finally brought under control, John joined Kate and Susannah, who were slumped against the side of the building, red-eyed and exhausted. "You look like the end men in a minstrel show," he said.
"And you, sir," said his wife, "are a cad to mention it."
Susannah shivered. "A fire like that makes you realize how puny we are, doesn't it? If the wind hadn't shifted, I shudder to think what would be left of us. Oh, well," she shrugged, "we do our best. No one can ask more than that." She was tired and, spotting her children in the crowd, decided to head for home. She turned to say good-night to John and Kate, only to find herself face to face with Sylvanus Morgan.
He looked pale and drawn, fine lines of fatigue showing around the corners of his eyes. And in the flickering light she saw his face as it looked when he thought he was alone, a face that reflected suffering that no amount of physical pain could ever have caused. There was no hostility, no dislike, just a depth of isolation that was beyond her understanding.
She felt suddenly that she shouldn't be looking at him like this, that it was indecent to see someone look so raw, but she was unable to turn away. It was Kate's hand on her shoulder that jerked her back to reality.
"I think we could all use some sleep," Kate was saying.
Susannah straightened her shoulders, feeling numb, painfully aware that Sylvanus was watching her with that same strange expression on his face. "I see my family over there," she said. "I think I'd better get them back to bed. Good night, Kate. John. And thank you." She turned to Sylvanus. "Good night, Mr. Morgan."
"Thanks for your help," he said.
"It was my pleasure." What a stupid thing to say, she thought. She turned away and joined her family, all clad in nightclothes, and herded them down the road toward home without once looking back. It wasn't until then that she realized she had not even thanked him for allowing her children to stay at Morgan House.
Sylvanus watched her go, thinking he must really be going soft in the head, for each time he saw her, he couldn't rid himself of the altogether undesirable impulse to strike her with one hand and to hold her to him forever with the other.
Sylvanus had had a bad day. From the first, waking with another fierce hangover, he had had a premonition that the day was going to be a devil and he wasn't a shade off the mark.
To begin with, Caroline had not taken kindly to the idea of having three young house guests for an indefinite stay. Not that it mattered to Sylvanus in the least whether she liked it or not. John Meade rarely asked a favor, and he had decided that in the best interests of his friendship with John, he would offer the sanctuary of his home to the Snell children—this in spite of the uncomfortable feelings he experienced whenever he was around their mother.
Nevertheless, he was ill-prepared for Caroline's reaction when he told her that he was bringing the children to Morgan House. Why is it, Sylvanus, he asked himself, that no matter how well-prepared you think you are you never manage to imagine just how stunning she can be. She always outdoes your wildest predictions.
It had been noontime before he had seen her. He had ridden into Penobscot Landing early that morning to talk to John and hadn't returned to Morgan House until almost noon. Just as he had entered the front hall, Caroline had come down the stairway. It always startled him to realize how very beautiful she was and how much he hated her.
"I'm going to Green Bay," she said.
"Green Bay? Don't be foolish, Caroline. The road to Green Bay is burned out."
"It's kind of you to be concerned, Sylvanus," she replied, "but I need a change of scenery. I told you yesterday. I've ordered the carriage brought around and I'm going to Green Bay." She said it with some force and he was surprised at her show of emotion. It was unlike her.
"Caroline, where have you been these last few days?" Sylvanus spoke quietly. "It's common knowledge in town that the road is not passable."
"No matter, "she said, pulling on her gloves. "If, as you say, it's not passable, then we'll turn around and comeback."
Even when he tried, Sylvanus had never been long on patience, and now the slight throb in the back of his head began to get worse. "You're not going, Caroline. Not that I give a damn about your neck, but you're not going to risk a pair of horses on a whim. You've had far too many accidents with my horses in the past. The last time I had to put one down because of your carelessness I swore it would not happen again."
For one moment a flush of color passed beneath the skin on her pale cheeks. Then she said, "Are you forbidding me to go?"
"You may-go or not, as you wish. I'm only denying you the use of my grays to take you there," he answered. "Besides, I've invited the Snell children to spend a few days here at Morgan House while their father is recuperating, so I expect you'll be busy making preparations."
"You what?" Her voice was wooden.
He repeated what he had already said. "Of course, Mrs. Deidrick has already been advised, so all you need be concerned with are the delicate little details that need looking after. You know, Caroline, those things that only you know how to do, that make you a hostess without equal."
Her face turned a flat, albino white, even paler than before. "Let me understand you, Sylvanus. You have invited three children from Penobscot Landing to come up here and live in my house. With me."
Sylvanus marveled at her steely control. He knew something wild was going on inside. "That, my dear, is precisely what I'm telling you." His voice became equally cold. He wondered how much longer he was going to be able to pay for something he didn't do. But then he was responsible. He knew it and it made him sick. He pushed the thought into the cellar of his mind and said, "I 'm also telling you that while those children are in this house you will be kind to them as befits the mistress of this house. You're the one who wanted to fill that role, in case your memory fails you."
"In case your memory fails you, Sylvanus," she hissed, "I had little choice." She stood rooted to the spot, not moving an inch, barely breathing, yet somehow conveying an impression of violent, wrenching motion. Sylvanus never took his eyes from her. He had never seen her like this before, but then, perhaps, he had underestimated her dislike for children.
She walked past him into the drawing room and picked up a letter opener from the desk. She turned back toward him and for a moment he thought she would stab him. Instead, she raised the opener above her head and brought me point of the blade down in a sudden, whistling arc to carve a long, gouging scar across the polished surface of the writing table.
Sylvanus could feel her rage as surely as if she had plunged the letter opener into his heart. But within a flash she turned toward him, and when she did, she was as controlled, as impassive as he had ever seen her.
"Why you are so cruel, Sylvanu
s, I'll never understand. By all means bring the children here. I'm only thankful that Anne is not here to see the pain you cause me." Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and left the room.
As Sylvanus, John, and Kate watched Susannah disappear into the darkness, the wind continued its southwest movement, blowing away from the Landing back toward the deepest part of the forest, stopping the forward advance of a hundred whirling fire-storms, turning them away from the town, whispering to the flames that fell back upon themselves not to despair. Another day would come.
As the breeze passed, it kissed the charred, smoldering tree trunks, promising the embers that still glowed within that all was not lost. The people in Penobscot Landing were feeling safer now. The circle of already burned timberland would stand as a guard around the town, protecting it from any new advance of flame. At least it had always worked that way before.
But this year was not the same as those that had come before. The fire line had retreated but it had not been extinguished, nor had it begun to use up its supply of fuel. The blackened stumps would burn again, given enough heat. And there would be enough heat, if only the rain would stay away. If only the wind would begin to blow with some sense of purpose.
OCTOBER 2, 1871
Long after the children had been dismissed, Susannah sat in the cold schoolroom alone, thinking about the trip to Morgan House that she was going to have to make today with the children. Oh, my babies, she thought, biting at the edge of her thumbnail, I wish I didn't have to send you away from me when you're all I have.
She had ended the school day at ten that morning because the mill was closed. She supposed Sylvanus had done it to repay the townspeople for their perseverance in fighting last night's fire. Not that he needed to, she thought. After all, no mill, no work.
All the same, the mill was closed for the day and she knew it was a good thing. People needed an unscheduled holiday. They were tense, not quite certain that the burned-out area to the south would protect the town in the event of a new burn.
The children that morning had been like animals in the face of a storm; from past experience she knew that it would be useless to expect their attention, so she had dismissed them. They had left the schoolhouse in unnatural silence, a silence so pervasive that she wondered if their children's instincts were warning them of something adults were too mature to sense.
She stood up, crossed to the door, and looked out down the road toward the landing. A wispy column of smoke drifted lazily up the sky. She frowned when she realized that the fire was still smoldering beside the mill even though gallons of water had been dumped on it the night before. It's an ill wind, she thought, and smiled in spite of her agitation. I wonder why I remember all the little sayings, but I never can remember who said them.
She left the schoolroom and crossed the yard to the fence that ran behind her house. The sun had just burned its way to the tops of the trees and hung, glowering over, like a sullen, bloodshot eye.
Susannah stooped and pulled up two carrots that stood side by side in a thin ridge of earth that ran along the edge of her garden. I ought to get the potatoes dug, she thought. Before the ground freezes. She knew that the cold snap the night before had been only a promise of things to come. The mid-morning heat couldn't last. Winter was coming.
One of her goats lifted is head at the sound of her footsteps and began a soft, humming sound of recognition low in its throat. "Come here, old darlings," Susannah said, and held out the carrots. "At least I'll still have you." She gave them their treat and while they crunched away, their lower jaws sliding effortlessly from side to side, she ran her hands along the edges of their soft ears and thought again about how much she hated to have her children go.
Sylvanus Morgan had offered to come to pick them up, but she had refused. She didn't want to cause him any more inconvenience than was necessary. Besides, she wanted to see her children safely settled there. She had no intention of letting them go alone on their first trip away from her. "I'll take Matthew and Jenny with me," she said, "and then we'll be company for one another coming home."
She looked across to the distant line of trees that stood dark and shrouded along the edge of the clearing, untouched as yet by the glare of the sun, and another thought crept in, one that she found even more unpleasant than the prospect of taking her children to Morgan House. "I wonder where Jake Shepherd is?" she said, pulling one goat close to her. "Maybe I'd better not take Matthew with me. I wish I could ask John to go, but I can't. He's done too much for me already."
So she spent the morning with only her goats to give her some small comfort, and had almost decided not to take the children at all when Abby came to announce that John Meade and Sylvanus Morgan were waiting for her at the house.
They were in the parlor. It was a cold, uncomfortable room that Susannah avoided scrupulously except when she had to go in to clean. There was a dreariness about it that drained all the style out of everything in it, not that there was much there to be concerned about.
She had once picked a bunch of white lilacs and put them in water in one corner, hoping to dispel the gloom, but they had lost their fragrance almost at once. It didn't matter anyway because Edwin had thrown them out as soon as he had seen them. Popish, he had said. Susannah was confounded by that remark, but had decided it was best not to ask why he thought lilacs were popish.
Edwin needed no encouragement to launch into a sermon that sometimes lasted for hours, sometimes even for days.
The room, like all the others in the house, was a masterpiece of disproportion, with ceilings just low enough and walls just long enough and windows just narrow enough to make it obvious that Edwin Snell hadn't the faintest idea about the principles of architecture when he built it. Nor had he the humility to ask. As usual, he did what he thought best. If a room could frown, Susannah thought, this one does. In point of fact, the whole house frowned. A true reflection of the man who slept within its walls, the man who called it home.
"We came to take the children out to Morgan House," John said as she came in. "Sylvanus has invited us all to the house for lunch."
"Us all?"
"You, the children, Kate and me, Matthew and Jenny, if you want to bring them along. Then you can drive back to town with us later this afternoon."
Susannah felt the tears coming. She looked from John to Sylvanus. "Thank you," she said quietly. There was no way she could explain how much she hated her children to go, or her dependence upon them, or her loneliness without them. She clamped her teeth together. She could feel Sylvanus watching her and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
He remained remote but, ignoring his reserve, Susannah offered him her hand in a spontaneous gesture. "Thank you," she said again. He took it and Susannah was shocked to find that his touch almost took her breath away.
"I only hope their stay will be a pleasant one," he said.
She thought that today he wasn't looking so much hostile as reflective. She was just allowing a timid smile to touch the corners of her mouth when he looked down at the hand he still held and said, "You really ought to stop biting your nails. It's a nasty habit."
Red-faced, she pulled her hand away and hid it in the folds of her skirt.
"Are the children ready?" John asked.
"Yes," she said.
John started for the door. "While I check in on Edwin, why don't you show Sylvanus that wonderful little horse you have out back?"
Susannah felt the blood drain from her face. "Well, I…"
"Do the children have a new horse?" Sylvanus asked innocently. "I'm quite a judge of horseflesh. I'd be delighted to see him." He leaned back against the wing of the chair. What's she going to do now? he wondered, and found to his surprise that he was enjoying himself.
John turned at the door. "This is no run-of-the-mill pony, Sylvanus. This is a real treasure. Wait until you see. You never did tell me where you got him, Susannah. I hope it's not more trouble." He left the room without waiting for her to answ
er.
It is trouble, Susannah thought, and saw the first hint of a genuine smile cross Sylvanus's face. She was at a loss to know what to do, but Sylvanus took her firmly by the arm and led her to the door. "Come now, Mrs. Snell," he said. "There's no need to be embarrassed. I'm sure that if John says he's a fine animal, he must be."
They walked through the kitchen into the mud room. Susannah felt like a child who was about to be escorted to the wood shed and made a last attempt to keep Sylvanus from seeing Boy. "You really don't need to feel obligated to see the children's pet, Mr. Morgan. John is exaggerating, I'm afraid, when he says it's a special horse. Besides, wouldn't you rather have a nice hot piece of apple pie?" She felt so foolish. "I would." She tried to turn back into the kitchen, but he blocked her way.
"I insist. Who knows?" he said. "It may be that he really is a treasure. You might be able to use him for breeding. Where did you get him, by the way?"
"Well, uh…" Susannah was speechless. What is he going to think when he sees that colt, she thought frantically. If he didn't dislike me before, he surely will now. Maybe he'll be so furious that he'll refuse to take my children with him. At the very least he's going to want the colt back. Poor Matthew. I wanted so much to have him keep the horse. If only I had time to think, to make up some story. She was unaware that she was wringing her skirt into untidy knots until Sylvanus said in a soft voice, "Mrs. Snell, I know all about the children's horse. At least I know who he belongs to."
Susannah's jaw dropped. "You do?" She stared up into the black eyes. The smile had actually touched them. He was amused.
"Indeed I do. The only puzzle to me is how he came to be in your stable."
"Well, if you give me a chance to catch my breath, I'll tell you," she said. He waited. "You aren't going to withdraw your invitation to let my children come to Morgan House?"
"No," he said and turned away.
