The Bride of Willow Creek(103)

Now she saw that the wind snatched bits of ash and flame and flung them toward the unoccupied house on their right. Changing direction, Angie cradled Lucy next to her body and ran between the house and Sam’s flaming tent.

When the darkness and cold wind told her that she was out of immediate danger, she sat Lucy on the ground and shouted the child’s name and pounded her back.

Molly’s nightgown billowed around her and Angie’s nostrils pinched at the sudden stinging smell of ammonia. Molly waved the vial beneath Lucy’s nose. “Come on, come on, come on.”

Lucy’s mouth opened in a gasp and she sucked air into her lungs. She coughed, struggled to breathe, then coughed again.

Sobbing, Angie pulled the child into her arms and didn’t let go even when she felt Lucy’s arms wrap around her neck and cling so tightly it hurt. Harsh ragged breathing rasped in her ear.

“Daisy,” she gasped at Molly.

“Can took her to Abby Mueller’s house. Come on, I’ll help you get Lucy there.”

For a moment Angie didn’t understand. Molly’s house was closer. But too close. If the wind shifted . . .

They hurried around the far side of Molly’s house, well away from the flames, then crossed the street. Abby waited in her doorway, reaching for Lucy. “Daisy will be all right,” she assured Angie. “Tilly’s fixing warm water and honey for their throats.” She ran a quick eye down the bare legs beneath Lucy’s burned nightgown. “The burns don’t look too severe. Doc Poppell will be here soon.”

“Don’t leave me,” Lucy croaked as Abby took her out of Angie’s arms.

“I’ll be right back, darling.” Lucy’s face was streaked with soot and smoke. Red burned spots dotted her legs. “Stay with Abby for now and look after your sister. The doctor will be here soon to help. Try to be brave, darling girl.” She kissed Lucy a dozen times before Abby carried her inside. “Where’s Sam?” she asked Molly, fear in her eyes.

“Probably on the bucket brigade.”

They stared across the street at a hellish nightmare. Sam and Angie’s house was a solid block of fire, crimson flames leaped from the roof, lighting the night. And now the unoccupied house was also burning. Glowing ash floated on the wind, spiraling down on rooftops and into the street and yards.

As Angie and Molly watched, stunned with shock, horses drawing the fire wagon galloped down Carr, the bell atop the tanker clanging wildly. Faster than Angie would have believed possible, men had the hoses out and attached to the tanker. A volunteer brigade had also formed; a line of men stretched from the pump in Dorothy Church’s yard and across the street, passing buckets of water toward the flames.

At first Angie didn’t understand why the attention focused on the property beyond the unoccupied house. Then she realized their house and the unoccupied house had been given up as lost. The urgency now was to contain the fire and stop it from spreading and consuming the town.

Wind swirled her hem and when she looked down, she saw that falling ash had burned small circles in her skirt and shirtwaist. For the first time Angie noticed a large charred hole on her right sleeve. But right now she didn’t feel any pain. She felt nothing but shock at what she was seeing and a numb pervasive horror when she thought about what had almost happened. Lucy and Daisy could so easily have died. A shudder wracked her frame.

“I need to get dressed,” Molly muttered as if she’d just realized she was standing in the street in her nightgown and bare feet. She ran toward her house with Angie behind her.

“We should move your things outdoors,” Angie called. “In case the wind turns.”

Hugo Mueller stopped them at Molly’s front door. “You can’t go in there,” he said sternly. “It’s too dangerous. If the wind shifts, this place will go up like a pile of straw.”

Can and another man were on the Johnsons’ roof, stamping out bits of flaming ash.

Molly shoved Hugo aside. “If the house bursts into flame, I’ll notice. Meanwhile, I’m going to get dressed.”

“Molly Johnson, you stubborn old—”

Angie ran inside after Molly. “Stay there,” she shouted to Hugo. “I’ll pass things outside, you move them into the street.”

“Just the boxes,” Molly yelled, rushing toward her bedroom. “And my medical bag. The rest can burn for all I care.”

Angie worked quickly, dragging the packing boxes to the door where Hugo hauled them to the street. Where was Sam? Was he all right? And the girls. How badly were they injured?

After Molly had hastily dressed, Angie left Molly and Hugo to finish saving whatever Molly wanted saved, and she ran to the bucket brigade, moving down the line peering into smoky sweating faces, but she didn’t see Sam.