“And the money in the jars.” Angie rubbed her fingertips across her forehead. “I’ll poke around in the ashes and see if I can find any unmelted coins.”
“We’ll be out of here as soon as I wash up the dishes and Can brings the wagon around to take our boxes to the depot,” Molly said from behind him. He felt her fingers in his hair, then the slight tug of the scissors. “You can have the house as long as you need it. In fact, I’ll bet Can would sell it to you for a dollar and a promise to come visit us in Denver.”
When Sam said nothing, Angie stepped in. “I’m not too proud to buy your house for a dollar. As soon as I find the coins that were in the jars.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Thank you,” Sam said after a minute.
Habit made him feel rushed, as if he needed to get going. But his claim now belonged to Marcus Applebee’s group, someone else was building the school, and he couldn’t solicit work until his hands healed.
As if she’d read his mind, Angie’s gaze softened. “Get some rest, Sam. Things will look brighter after a few hours’ sleep.”
He doubted it. Next week he’d give her the money for her divorce, and she would leave him.
Chapter 20
By noon on Tuesday, the Willow Creek and Victor churches had organized donation drives to help the victims of the Carr Street fire. Housing was found for the Kobler and Greene families, and a steady stream of people appeared at the doors of the victims, bringing food, clothing, toiletries, and items such as body soap, laundry soap, tooth powder, and all the sundries folks required for civilized living.
Overwhelmed with gratitude but needing a brief escape from the constant stream of visitors, Angie left Abby and Tilly to answer the door and accept the welcome donations, and she took a cup of coffee outside to Sam.
She spotted him standing beside the debris and paused a moment to enjoy the look of him. Molly had left his hair long enough to brush the top of his collar, but he looked different without the curl at his neck. Sam Holland could never appear ordinary or less than heart-wrenchingly handsome, but her roguish pirate was gone. From a distance, he reminded her of the boy she had fallen in love with so long ago.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully, accepting the coffee and holding the cup with his fingertips. “Are the girls still sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Angie walked to the edge of the foundation and peered down at the charred and ashy remains. Everything she owned had been lost. Her clothing, the silver-backed hairbrush she’d received for her twentieth birthday, her hats and embroidered handkerchiefs. Her mother’s cup and saucer. Peter’s letters.
The fire chief had told them that tomorrow they could sift through the debris to see if any of their belongings had survived the fire. Looking at what little remained, she couldn’t imagine that anything had.
“I’m keeping the girls dosed with laudanum. The doctor said sleep was the best thing. He stopped by this morning to help me change their dressings, and said he was pleased. He said we can lessen the laudanum dose tomorrow.” She glanced at the wrappings on Sam’s hands. “I need to change your dressings.”
“Let’s do it later. I’m meeting with Marsh Collins in about an hour to sign the papers on the L&D. Marcus is rushing the paperwork because he knows we need the money.”
She didn’t ask how Sam felt because she could guess. Despite Dr. Poppell’s treatment, the burn on her arm was painful every minute; there was no respite. Her hands didn’t hurt if she was careful, but she’d bumped them this morning and cried out in tearful pain. Most of Sam’s burns were worse than hers.
She studied the bruised color under his eyes and the lines framing his mouth. “Sam, you need to get more than an hour’s sleep.”
Angie had borrowed a cot and set it up in Molly’s small parlor area. They had put the girls in the single bedroom. Sam insisted he didn’t need a place to sleep as the burns on his back and chest made it painful to lie down. When Angie had risen during the night to check on him and the girls, she’d found Sam dozing at the kitchen table, bent forward with his head cradled on his arms.
“If you’d take some laudanum, I think you could sleep on a cot.”
“Maybe tonight,” he said.
Definitely tonight, she thought, concerned about the exhaustion drawing his face. She would have said so, but a carriage rolling down Carr Street caught her attention. Her heart sank when she recognized Herb Govenor handing Winnie to the street.
“Sam,” she said quickly, placing her bandaged hand on his arm, “please don’t make a scene. They must have come because they’re worried about Lucy and Daisy.” Sam’s face had darkened and his eyes turned as hard as blue marbles. “Whatever we think of these people, they are your daughters’ grandparents. And Sam? This wasn’t Herb Govenor’s doing.”