The Bride of Willow Creek(104)

The house next to the unoccupied house burst into flame with a loud popping sound, and the brigade line veered. But Dorothy Church’s husband saw her and shouted, “Sam’s on the hose line.”

Another tanker had arrived and Angie lifted her skirts and ran toward it, frantically seeking a tall man in a burned shirt. When she spotted him, tears of relief scalded her eyes. Thank God, thank God. For an instant their eyes met and she saw Sam’s shoulders slump with the same relief that made her own heart pound. They stared at each other across the snaking hoses, the smoky orange light flickering on their faces, then Angie raced toward Abby Mueller’s house.

Both girls were sleeping. Abby had washed their faces and she’d immediately applied molasses and flour to their burns.

“That’s the best thing she could have done,” Dr. Poppell said from Abby’s sink. He dried his hands, but the tang of linseed oil still clung to his skin. “The molasses and flour protected the injuries and kept the air out until I could get here.”

Angie lowered her head and raised a shaking hand to her brow. “How badly are they hurt?”

“Both children have burns on their legs. The oldest girl’s burns are more serious than those of the girl with the clubfoot. The oldest may have some scarring, time will tell. But they were lucky. It could have been worse.” He talked to her about changing the dressings. “They’ll both have sore throats for a while, from the smoke. For the next few days have them gargle with the white of an egg beaten to a froth in a small glass of sugar water. I’ve given them doses of laudanum for the pain and so they’ll sleep. I’ll leave some with you.” He laid aside the towel. “Now let’s have a look at your hands, Mrs. Holland.”

“My hands?”

Blinking, she extended her hands. Angry red burns dotted the backs, blisters had risen on her swollen palms.

“That’s a nasty one on your arm; it’s likely to scar,” Dr. Poppell said, ripping open her sleeve. “We’ll bathe the areas with vinegar first.”

When he’d finished treating the burns and applying cotton and wrappings, he asked if she, too, would like some laudanum to help her rest.

Angie shook her head. With her hands bandaged, she couldn’t help the women take water to the men, but she could stand in Abby’s yard and watch her home burn.



The sun rose on blackened smoking ruins.

By the time the wind died and the men got the flames under control, four houses had burned to the ground. A brick chimney chase was all that remained of the Koblers’ house. One wall still stood on the Greenes’ place. The unoccupied house had burned to the foundation, and all that was left of Sam’s house was a sludge of wet debris.

He stood near the charred grass where his tent had been pitched, staring at the devastation, at wisps of smoke curling out of the ashes.

“I’ll kill the son of a bitch,” he said between his teeth. As soon as he had his family settled, he’d take the train to Colorado Springs, find Herb Govenor, and beat him to death with his own hands. He didn’t care that his hands were swollen and seeping. A bullet wasn’t personal enough. A bullet was too swift an end for any bastard who would let his granddaughters burn rather than see them in Sam’s care.

“Who are you going to kill?” The police chief, Darrel Connelly, handed Sam a cup of coffee, then rocked back on his heels and studied the smoking remains of Sam’s house.

“I know who started this fire,” Sam said thickly, his eyes narrowed into burning slits. “The same fricking son of a whore who started the fires at the union   Hall and up at Whittiers’ place.”

Connelly turned his head. “That would be Albert Wales, who’s sitting in my jail right now.” Sam stared at him. “Caught him red-handed, trying to burn down the new hotel three days ago.”

“You caught the arsonist, but you won’t get the man who hired him because I’m going to kill the bastard first.” And he would enjoy it. Killing Herb Govenor was all he could think about.

“I know who you think hired Wales, but Sam, you’re dead wrong. We’ve kept this quiet while we’ve been checking things out. Wales acted alone; he wasn’t hired by anybody. He’s ex-union  , and he worked for Whittier until Whittier fired his butt. He went after the hotel because he heard Whittier was part owner.” Connelly studied Sam’s expression. “He knows you by sight, but he didn’t know you were the builder on the union   and Whittier projects. He says he doesn’t have anything against you, and I believe him. When we first interrogated him about you, he didn’t know who or what we were talking about.”