Out of the Ashes

by Tracie Peterson

  “Of course!”

  “From your bed?” Collette couldn’t help asking.

  “Well, I could get you started from here. You’d have to arrange with Mrs. Johnson about actually practicing down in the section gang kitchen. But we can talk about the various techniques, and you can familiarize yourself with phrases and what they mean.”

  “That sounds wonderful. And I would be glad to help embroider as well. I used to be quite efficient; it was something my mother insisted on. As to the bookmarks, as long as you teach me, I think I can handle the job.”

  Collette watched their tennis match of words go back and forth. Her plan was working. The two were getting along and Katherine would be inspired to marry again.

  Jean-Michel could heal.

  Then Collette would be free to go on any adventure she pleased.

  A conversation with little Davey floated back into her mind. “But Miss Collette, it’s not about how much fun we wanna have. It’s about putting other people first. That’s what God wants us to do.” How she missed her little friend. And such wisdom from a six-year-old.

  Her conscience pricked. But she was putting others first, wasn’t she? She was thinking of Jean-Michel’s happiness before her own . . . wasn’t she?

  The stairs were not his friend today. After exerting too much at the fire and then trying to keep up with all the exercises while his lungs choked out the smoke, Jean-Michel felt every muscle in his body protest. But he had to see Katherine again.

  Had to convince her he wasn’t crazy. He was all right. She needed him.

  So he headed to the dining room with Collette in search of Katherine and her grandmother.

  “There they are.” Collette pointed to the table across the room. “Come on.” She all but pulled him across the dining room, weaving in and around other tables.

  “Good evening, Collette . . . Jean-Michel.” Katherine nodded.

  “Good evening.” Collette smiled and curtseyed. “Mrs. Harrison, you look so lovely in blue.”

  The older woman smiled back. “Why, thank you, my dear. What a sweet thing to say.”

  Jean-Michel reached for his sister’s chair and pulled it out for her.

  “Thank you, frère.” She lifted the napkin at her place and unfolded it. “Well, it’s true, and that peacock blue is one of my favorite colors too.”

  Mrs. Harrison smiled and motioned him to sit. “Please sit, Mr. Langelier.”

  Two empty chairs rounded out their table. He chose the one beside Katherine.

  The waiter came and chattered about the menu, but Jean-Michel wanted nothing more than to watch Katherine’s every move and listen to her every word.

  “And for you, sir?” The man waited, his brow tilted up, pen at the ready.

  Jean-Michel realized he hadn’t listened and now must order. “I . . . uh. . . .”

  Collette came to the rescue. “He’ll have what I’m having.”

  The waiter nodded and quickly stepped away from the table.

  Jean-Michel looked at his sister. “And what is it that you’re having?”

  “Prime rib and poached salmon.” She turned to Katherine. “I thought Miss Cassidy to be quite hard on us today with all her utensils and knives.”

  Had the world shifted its course in the last few days? “Whatever are you talking about?” He gave a pointed look to his sister. What was she up to now?

  “We are learning how to handle ourselves in the kitchen so that we can prepare our own meals.” Collette tilted her blond head to the side—all innocence and smiles.

  Katherine nodded. “I never knew there were so many different utensils that could be used.”

  Her smile was bright tonight as she shared about the adventures she’d had with Collette as Cassidy made them take notes about cooking. “Collette was completely perplexed when Cassidy held up a whisk and asked what it did.”

  Since this seemed to make Katherine happy, he decided to ignore the fact that his sister hadn’t told him about her new adventure. He turned to Collette. “And what was your answer?”

  She blushed and reached for her water goblet. “I thought it was for beating rugs.”

  Laughter rumbled around their table as the stories continued and Katherine’s face lit with happiness. Mrs. Brennan had been good for Collette and it sounded like all the women got along quite well.

  “I could never abide cooking.” Mrs. Harrison tapped the table with her finger. “I abhor the smell of the gas stove.”

  “Well, we’ve been blessed to have others who could cook for us, Grandmother.” Katherine reached over and patted her hand.

  A French onion soup was served, but Jean-Michel barely tasted it as he listened to Katherine and the others. Mrs. Harrison seemed quite tired. Perhaps she might slip away early and leave him to stroll with Katherine after supper. The thought made his smile widen.

  “Fairbanks was quite interesting.” Mrs. Harrison spoke as the waiter removed the soup bowls and returned with their entrée.

  Conversation flowed around the table, but with each course, Mrs. Harrison seemed to lose strength. In the middle of dessert, she set her fork down. She lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip. “It has been a pleasure to be with you all, but if you don’t mind, I think I will excuse myself and retire for the night.” She placed a hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, dear. You stay and enjoy the evening.”

  “Are you sure, Grandmother?”

  “Yes. Quite.” She looked up. “Now if you all will please excuse me.”

  Jean-Michel stood and helped her from her chair. But when he offered the older woman his arm, she shook her head.

  “No thank you, young man. I’ll make it.”

  He returned to his chair and chocolate torte.

  Katherine and Collette began to discuss the recipe that Cassidy had given them to copy out for themselves, as well as the different techniques used in it. Katherine shook her head. “I have no idea what ‘fold’ means. I can fold a pretty napkin, but I do not understand how to ‘fold in egg whites.’”

  “I think she told us, but I can’t remember now. Maybe I’ll run and ask her after we finish.”

  The night had been such a joy that Jean-Michel’s heart felt like it would explode. There was hope for them after all. Now if he could just convince everyone else at the hotel that he wasn’t crazy, he’d be doing even better. Maybe he should just make an announcement. He chuckled to himself.

  Collette and Katherine both looked at him.

  “I’m sorry—I was thinking to myself. Please continue your story.” He placed a hand over Katherine’s and squeezed.

  She gasped and yanked her hand to her lap. Her eyes went wide. “I’m sorry.” She reached out and laid her hand atop his as red crept up her face.

  The touch soothed his heart, but the struggle on her face made him want to hurt the man who did this to her.

  “I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” She stood abruptly. “My apologies. I can’t explain right now.”

  “Katherine?” Jean-Michel jumped to his feet as well.

  She waved him off. “I need to check on Grandmother. Excuse me.” She put her napkin on the table and rushed out of the dining room.

  “Qu’est-il arrivé?” Collette looked across the room, then spoke the question again in English. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know for sure, my sweet. But I have a pretty good idea.” Anger burned in his chest.

  It was a good thing Randall Demarchis was already dead.

  21

  Staying hidden in the Curry Hotel was harder than he’d expected. Thankfully the others were enjoying taking the train to Fairbanks and would spend some time in the park everyone raved about. And his niece . . . well, she was quiet as a mouse to begin with and took her meals in her room to stay close to him.

  But getting out and searching for the general or one of his men was proving to be troublesome. There seemed to always be people about. Even in the middle of the night.

 
The kitchen never slept, and neither did the laundry.

  After the fire, they’d had men on watch over the buildings.

  So how could this help him?

  Maybe the general wasn’t actually at the hotel. Maybe he was somewhere in hiding around the hotel. Except for the tiny little town area—if you could even call it that—they were in the middle of nowhere. The surrounding area was dense with trees, streams, and lots of mountains.

  The perfect spot for the general to hide.

  Now to find him and get him the message . . .

  JULY 31

  Thomas carried the pitcher of warm milk up to Mrs. Harrison’s room. With the long hours of sunlight, the older woman was having trouble sleeping.

  He’d worked long and hard this summer so far, and it felt good. But he had to admit he was excited for the fall to get here. He looked forward to returning to school. Everything he learned would help him to do his job better here. Perhaps one day he would even climb Denali. It was a secret desire of his, but one he would never consider without detailed training from someone like John Ivanoff.

  He knocked on Mrs. Harrison’s door.

  Her granddaughter, Mrs. Demarchis, answered and gave him a small smile. “Thank you so much, Thomas. I know this is a lot of extra work for you each night.” She left the door standing open as he entered.

  “Not at all, ma’am. I’m just glad I can be of help.”

  A man’s yell echoed down the hallway.

  Thomas jerked in that direction.

  Another yell.

  Mrs. Harrison came out of the bathroom and tied her robe around her. “Ah, Thomas. Thank you.”

  Again, the sound of someone crying out.

  Mrs. Demarchis started for the door. “Jean-Michel.”

  “Mr. Langelier? Poor boy.” Mrs. Harrison took a seat. “I had heard cries before, but always presumed it was a child. Are you certain it is he?”

  Her granddaughter nodded. “Yes.” Her word was soft. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Grandmother. I must go.”

  Thomas felt quite awkward. “Let me go with you.” He set the milk down on the dresser inside the room and followed Mrs. Demarchis out.

  Shutting the door, Katherine nodded at him.

  Thomas led her down the long hall to the Langeliers’ rooms at the far end. Most of the guests who’d been in the rooms closer to the Langeliers had asked to be moved since the fire. Thomas knocked on the door.

  Collette opened it in a flurry, her eyes wide.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you, miss, but we heard yelling.” Thomas kept his voice calm.

  The French girl’s shoulders drooped and she sobbed into her hands. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do . . . Je n’arrive pas à le réveiller cette fois.”

  Thomas didn’t understand the last bit, but he understood that she was beside herself. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  She tapped her hand to her head. “I cannot seem to wake him up, nor calm him.”

  “May we come in?”

  “Oui.”

  He ushered Mrs. Demarchis in before him, and she took Collette in her arms while he went to Mr. Langelier’s side. Thankfully the lights were on, and Thomas had no trouble navigating the room.

  “He’d been doing so much better before the fire, and usually I can soothe him by speaking softly and holding his hand, but not this time.”

  Thomas came to Jean-Michel’s bedside and tried not to look shocked. The man’s face was red, and sweat poured down his forehead as he thrashed back and forth. The covers were twisted around him and seemed to be tightening their hold on the man as he fought.

  Perhaps if Thomas tried to still Jean-Michel. He attempted to hold the man down, but it only served to make things worse. Despite the covers’ hold, Mr. Langelier jumped up, pushing against Thomas, sending him flying across the room.

  Mrs. Demarchis pushed Collette behind her, then walked toward the man. “Jean-Michel . . . my love . . . we need you to wake up and calm down. Everyone is fine.”

  He stilled. “Katherine?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I’m here.” She took his hands. “Are you all right?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at her. Then ran his hands through his hair. “Did I hurt anyone?”

  Mrs. Demarchis gave Thomas a questioning glance.

  He shook his head—Jean-Michel hadn’t hurt him, just surprised him.

  “No. You didn’t.” She walked over to Collette and whispered something in her ear. “But it’s time we all head back to bed. I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to stay.” Mrs. Demarchis smiled at Jean-Michel.

  Thomas had heard the two had known each other a long time, but the lady’s words had shocked him a bit. She’d called Mr. Langelier “my love.”

  Miss Collette nodded and wiped the tears from her face. “We’ll be fine. Thank you for coming. You’re the only one who’s been able to wake him.”

  Thomas stayed after the senator’s widow left and looked at the man in front of him. “Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?”

  “Non.” Mr. Langelier sighed. “I’m sorry for troubling you.”

  “’Twasn’t any trouble, sir. We heard your struggle and came to help.”

  “I fear it’s too late. Look at what the fire has done to my mind. There is little hope for me now.”

  Miss Collette whimpered. “Oh, frère. Katherine was able to bring you out of the nightmare.”

  “Non. I can’t put her through this. I can’t.”

  The young lady began to sob in earnest and ran to the bathroom.

  Thomas couldn’t bear to watch the man’s torment. “Mr. Langelier, if I may be so bold . . .”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Sir. Please. I don’t wish to jeopardize the working relationship we have, and I have no desire to hurt you in any way—but there’s something that I must say to you. Even if you fire me.”

  Jean-Michel held his head in his hands.

  “I can help you. Well, I can’t personally, but I know Who can.”

  The bed creaked under her as she flipped to her other side.

  Again.

  Katherine couldn’t sleep with the picture of Jean-Michel suffering from the nightmare. She simply couldn’t get it out of her mind.

  There’d been no rage in Jean-Michel’s eyes—just desperation. She wasn’t afraid of his hurting her. But her heart ached for him and she knew why—she loved the man. Loved him more than anything in the world. She always had.

  The peace that had flowed through her as soon as she saw him gave her the strength to speak to him. She’d known exactly what to do.

  Had that been God’s divine intervention?

  After Randall died, she promised herself she would never let a man hurt her like that again. That she would fight back. And surprisingly, she hadn’t felt in danger with Jean-Michel. Yet that had been her fear this whole time—why she’d held back.

  “Are you going to keep flopping or would you like to talk about it?”

  Katherine rolled to face the door and saw Grandmother there holding her cup of milk. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “No, my dear. I never went to sleep. But you have been sounding a lot like a fish out of water over here.”

  The imagery made Katherine laugh. Hopefully she wasn’t that bad. All right, maybe she was.

  Fluffing up her pillow behind her, she sat up and pulled back the covers for her grandmother to join her. She pulled her knees to her chest. “Jean-Michel was violent in his nightmare tonight.”

  Grandmother swirled her cup for a moment. “Violent in what way, dear?”

  “He thrashed about, yelled. And then when I talked to him, he suddenly stilled. Collette said that she hadn’t been able to wake him. But I could. He responded to my voice.”

  “Did he say anything important during the nightmare?”

  “Collette said that he always talks about saving them. It must be the building that was on fire that he couldn�
��t get to and rescue the women and children.” Katherine tucked her chin. The image would stay with her for a long time.

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No.”

  “Did he push you?”

  “No. Although when Thomas tried to hold him down, he got up and knocked Thomas over.”

  “But he didn’t push you? Knock you over?”

  “No.”

  Katherine began to understand. Jean-Michel wasn’t Randall.

  Grandmother nodded to her. “Sounds to me like the only one dealing with ‘violence’ is Jean-Michel. And he’s got to give that over to the Lord before he can heal.”

  Katherine nodded. “You know, I’m afraid Jean-Michel doesn’t know God. But I’m not afraid of him or his terrors.”

  “Good. I’m glad you finally understand that. He’s afraid—the events of the past have terrified him.”

  She closed her eyes and cringed. The other night she’d jerked her hand back from him. His sudden touch—although innocent—had unnerved her. She’d allowed her thoughts to go to an unpleasant place—that old place of fear.

  She took a deep breath. “I think I truly do understand now. I’ve allowed fear a constant place in my life. And yet you’ve been telling me again and again that true love casts out fear. I was thinking that meant I had to rely on Jean-Michel to cast out my fear. But you meant God’s true love, didn’t you?”

  She trusted Jean-Michel. As much as she trusted the beloved woman beside her. He wasn’t a new friend in her life. They had a long history. But every time anything threatened her—reminded her of Randall—she allowed that fear to come in. And fear wasn’t trusting God. Fear wasn’t of the Lord. Fear was unbelief. And she knew better than that—she’d learned and grown a lot. She was a new creation.

  Lord, help my unbelief, and please help Jean-Michel to not be trapped by the past. He needs You, Father. Show me how to reach him with Your love.

  22

  AUGUST 1

  The beautiful morning light erased the shadows in Jean-Michel’s room.

  For the first time in years, he didn’t feel weighed down by the past as he awoke to a new day.

  Thomas—that amazing young man—had stayed with him for hours. Even pulled a small Bible out of his pocket and spoke Scripture after Scripture to Jean-Michel until the truth had finally sunk into his heart.