Vows (58 page)

 
"Leave her! You won't make it!"

 
"One more trip!"

 
"No!" She grabbed his arm but he lurched free, heading back inside.

 
"Water!" she shrieked maniacally, watching him go. "Give him water!"

 
Sucking in his last clear air Tom flung the blanket over his head and bent low, heading inside. Five feet from the door someone tackled him from behind. He rolled through the dirt and came up kneeling, incensed, facing Charles, who was picking himself up from the ground.

 
"Sonofabitch, Bliss, what're you doing!"

 
"You're not going back in!"

 
"The hell I'm not."

 
"You do and she'll be a widow before she's a bride!"

 
"Then take good care of her for me!" Tom shouted, bolting into the conflagration before Charles could stop him. Emily witnessed the exchange biting back tears. She watched helplessly as Tom disappeared into the flames; then to her horror, Charles turned and yelled back at the hose men, "Train 'er right on my back!"

 
His call jolted Emily out of her stupor. "Charles! No!" she called, straining forward only to be dragged back by Andrew Dehart, who'd appeared with his waterwagon to help fight the fire.

 
"Don't be foolish, girl!"

 
"Oh God, not Charles, too," Emily despaired, flattening her mouth with the palms of both dirty hands. But Charles ran into the inferno trailed by a puny jet of water.

 
"You got a horse who could use a little attention," Dehart reminded her, and she grimly forced herself to turn back to Rex, who had a gash on his withers and a raw burned patch on his rump. Someone called from nearby, "Got one over here that needs your help, too, Emily!" Suddenly it seemed that everyone needed her at once. With fear gripping her throat, she immersed herself in duty, substituting efficiency for tears, dusting burns with boric acid, applying pineoleum to others, even slapping a quick bandage on a burned arm in between animals. The pregnant mare showed up, led by Patrick Haberkorn, but she was burned badly, demented with pain, wild-eyed and sidestepping in terror.

 
"Get Tom!" Emily ordered, grabbing Patty's bridle, already realizing she'd have to be put down.

 
"I don't know where he is."

 
"But he went in after her!"

 
"She ran out on her own."

 
Patty shrieked in pain, rearing back and yanking Emily off-balance. She stared at Patrick's soot-streaked face, feeling hysteria threaten. The fire leapt and licked the sky fifty feet above the barn. It lit the night to a blinding brilliance. It burned the skin and dried the eyes and turned faces into orange caricatures of gaping awe. The mare whinnied again, reminding Emily of her responsibility.

 
"Get me a gun," she ordered dully.

 
Fannie cane running up just then, frantic. "Your father—have you seen him?"

 
Emily turned to Fannie, feeling as if a winch had tightened about her throat. "Papa?"

 
"Didn't he come back out?"

 
"I don't know."

 
Patrick was handing her a pistol and she could only handle one emergency at a time. Emily took the gun, put it to the mare's head, and pulled the trigger. She closed her eyes even before the dull thud sounded, and turned away from the sickening sound of the mare's last reedy breath. Opening her eyes, she saw Fannie facing the inferno and moved to take her hand and watch it, too. Flames erupted through the roof, sending a section of it dropping into the hayloft. An explosion of sound lifted into the night as another section of hay ignited. In a shocked, disbelieving voice, she said, "Oh God, Fannie, Tom's in there, too."

 
Watching tragedy occur before their very eyes, the two women stood helplessly, gripping one another's hands. The heat scorched their faces. Tears and heat waves distorted their view of the awesome, shimmering spectacle, which danced and wavered against the night sky.

 
Men formed a cordon, pressing the crowd a safe distance away. "Get back … get back!" Emily and Fannie stumbled backward dumbly. At some time during their vigil Frankie appeared, his eyes immense with fright. "Where's Pa?" he asked dubiously, slipping his small hand into his sister's, staring at the inferno.

 
"Oh, Frankie," she despaired, dropping to her knees and wrapping both arms around him. She pressed her cheek to his and held him hard, their faces lit by the blaze. She felt him swallow, felt his jaw slacken as he stared at the awesome spectacle before them.

"Pa?" the boy appealed quietly, his body absolutely still.

 
Emily's throat filled, her eyes smarted, and she hugged Frank harder. Hot tears rolled from her eyes, evaporated by the intense heat before they reached her chin. Beside her, Fannie stared dully at the flames, crying without moving a muscle.

 
In the chaos around them none of the three heard Edwin until he called breathlessly behind them.

 
"Fannie? Emily?"

 
As one, they spun.

 
"Pa!"

 
"Papa!"

 
"Edwin!"

 
Frankie catapulted into his father's arms, bawling. Emily flung a stranglehold about his neck while Fannie took two halting steps toward him, covered her mouth, and began sobbing as she had not when she'd thought Edwin lost.

 
"Pa! Pa! We thought you was in there," Frankie cried while he and his sister clutched Edwin's filthy neck.

 
He gave a choked, emotional laugh. "I led two horses out the rear door and took them down to our own paddock."

 
"Oh, Papa!" Emily couldn't quit saying the word.

 
Still holding Frankie on one arm, he circled her with the other.

 
"I'm all right," he whispered thickly. "I'm all right." He looked beyond his clinging children to find Fannie still standing with eyes streaming, mouth covered tightly.

 
"You thought so, too?" he asked, fading out of his children's embraces. He opened his arms and Fannie came into them.

 
"Thank God," she whispered, closing her eyes against his soot-covered cheek. "Oh, Edwin, I thought I had lost you."

 
His hand covered her hair and he held her fast against him, little caring that a circle of curious gazes were directed their way as dozens of townspeople witnessed their unguarded embrace. Fannie was the first to pull back, with concern furrowing her brow. "Edwin, did you see Tom or Charles come out the other side?"

 
Edwin's attention swerved to the structure, which by now had begun to crumble in upon itself. Even the pump men had stopped their helpless firefighting. Those manning the hose held it lifelessly while mere drips of water fell from its nozzle.

 
At the cistern the women's hands rested inertly upon the steel pumphandle, which had turned lukewarm from the intense heat. At their feet pails sat, filled but unused.

 
Edwin gulped and murmured, "Dear God."

 
Emily and Frank stood motionless at his side, holding hands tenaciously, staring at the fire.

 
At that instant someone called, "Emily, come quick!" It was the hotel owner, Helstrom, gesturing frantically, then taking Emily's arm and dragging her with him. "Around back. Those two men o' yours are out there in a pile!"

 
Everybody ran—Emily, Edwin, Fannie, and Frank, trailed by a string of others, following Helstrom through the pole gate, around the paddock, to the rear of the building where a knot of men knelt over a sodden heap containing the inert bodies of Tom and Charles. Tangled in wet blankets, the pair lay sprawled on the ground, their eyes closed, their faces streaked and filthy. Doc Steele was already there kneeling beside Tom, opening his bag. Emily skidded to her knees beside him.

 
"Are they alive?"

 
Steele pulled up one of Tom's eyelids, popped a stethoscope in his ears, and listened intently. "Jeffcoat is. His breathing is bad though. Must've taken in a lot of smoke. Bring snow!" he called, already beginning a cursory inspection—from Tom's tangled wet hair, which had been protected by a wide leather Stetson; to his midsection, wrapped in wet plaster as effective as asbestos; down his trunk and thighs, which had been covered by heavy sheepskin whose natural fur lining had absorbed a protective barrier of water. Even the narrow space between it and his calf-high leather boots had come through unscathed. Steele assessed it all, then pulled off Tom's gloves, inspected his hands, and pronounced, "I'll be damned. Not a burn on him, nothing but singed eyebrows."

 
While Steele shifted his attention to Charles, Emily knelt over Tom, still overtly concerned about his breathing. Even without the benefit of a stethoscope she heard the strident hiss accompanying each breath, and saw with what effort his lungs labored.

 
Don't die … don't die … keep breathing … I'm sorry … I love you…

 
Behind her, Doc Steel's voice announced, "Bliss is in no grave danger. His hands got burned, though. Where's that snow?"

 
Charles! How could Emily have forgotten Charles? She turned to find him lying on his back, staring at the stars with his hands being submerged in two overturned pails of snow. When she leaned over his face he smiled weakly.

 
"Hiya, Em," he whispered.

 
"Hiya, Charles," she returned chokily, gulping back a knot of emotion. "How're you doing?"

 
"I'm not too sure." He lifted one limp hand to test his face, dropping clumps of snow onto it. "Think I'm still alive."

 
She gently pushed his arm down. "Your hands are burned. You'd best keep them in the snow until Dr. Steele can dress them." She tenderly brushed the snow from his cheek and, in a voice that trembled on the brink of tears, scolded affectionately, "You dear, foolish man—where were your gloves?"

 
"I didn't stop to think."

 
"You two are getting to be a lot of trouble, you know, always needing patching up in the middle of the night."

 
He smiled wanly and let his eyes drift closed. "Yeah, I know. How is he?"

 
"He's still breathing, no burns, but he's unconscious. Who brought who out?"

 
He opened his eyes again, wearily. "Does it matter?"

 
So she knew it was Charles who had carried Tom out. She struggled with a heartful of gratitude and lost the battle to contain her tears. "Thank you, Charles," she whispered, bending low, kissing his forehead.

 
As she straightened he said in a cracky voice, "Em?"

 
She couldn't speak through the lump in her throat, could only gaze at him through the tears that distorted his beloved, sooty face with its singed beard and red-rimmed eyes.

 
"He thinks I set the fire. Tell him I didn't. Will you tell him—"

 
"Shh." She touched his lips.

 
"But you've got to tell him."

 
"I will as soon as he wakes up."

 
"He's going to, isn't he, Em? He isn't going to die." Tears leaked from the corners of Charles's eyes, washing a pair of white paths as they fell down his temples. Suddenly Charles rolled to one side and grabbed Tom's thick jacket sleeve, dragging himself closer to the unconscious man. "Tom, I didn't do it, you hear me? Don't you die without listening to me! Jeffcoat, damn you, d–don't you dare d–die!"

 
As Charles's strength gave out he fell back, sobbing, with an arm thrown over his eyes. His chest heaved pitifully. Snow dripped from his fingertips.

 
Fresh tears stung Emily's eyes as she leaned over, shielding him from the curious stares of others.

 
Oh, Charles, my dear, dear Charles. I don't think I've ever loved you more than I do at this moment.

 
Doc's voice intruded. "Let me at that man's hands and somebody get Jeffcoat inside under some warm blankets."

 
Within minutes Charles's hands were dressed—the worst burns on their backs—and the two men were loaded on wagons. Watching the rig take Charles away, Emily felt heartsick, but Tom lay stretched on the second wagon bed, unconscious, and his fate still hung in the balance.

 
As the wagon rolled through the night, its riders remained respectfully silent. The stench of smoke hung over the town and children were being slowly herded home by their mothers.

 
At Tom's house a group of somber volunteers carried him inside, laid him on his bed, and nodded to Emily as they filed out. Her father came last.