The Bride's Prerogative (27 page)

Ethan hesitated, but his curiosity reared up. “What about the boardinghouse? I heard Miss Fennel is going to start serving meals.”

“That won’t hurt my Sunday traffic. I talked to her some Monday, and again this morning, when I went to help her redd up the place. She says she told Papa she wouldn’t do any cooking on Sunday except breakfast, and if they have boarders, they can go over to my place or eat some crackers or something in their rooms.”

Ethan arched his eyebrows. “She told him that?”

“You’re darn tootin’. That gal has sprouted some backbone lately. You knew she’d joined the shooting club last week? Against Papa’s will.”

“Yeah. But she’s taking private lessons with Tr—Gert, now that she’s got to work all day.”

“I told you Gert’s a gem. Who else would do that for a pucker-faced schoolmarm who looks as though she was weaned on vinegar?” Bitsy shook her head. “I’m glad she’s standing up to her father at last. He’s got a mean streak, always has. I meant it when I said I don’t like him.” Bitsy looked up at Ethan and winked. “I only did that tonight to make him squirm. I don’t like him, and he don’t like me. We both know it.” She nodded firmly.

They had passed the Wells Fargo office and an empty building and now approached the Walker Feed Company. Across the street, the singing had stopped, and all was quiet. The folks must be praying.

“So … if you don’t mind my asking,” Ethan said, “how come you don’t go to church now? Seems all the other ladies from the shooting club are going, even your … employees.”

Bitsy barked out a laugh. “They’re my girls, Sheriff. No one in this town has illusions about their occupation.” She shook her head. “But no, I don’t see myself warming a pew. The decent folks in this town never said boo to me until lately. Now all the ladies in the shooting club treat me nice. I like it. It’s kind of different, feeling as though I’ve got some friends. But I don’t think God’s ready for me yet.”

Ethan looked away, trying not to register shock. “Miss Shepard,” he managed, “I believe God is always ready.”

Bitsy jabbed him with a sharp elbow. “Look!” She pointed down the alley between the feed store and the old building that used to be the wainwright’s shop.

Ethan squinted against the dusk. Smoke poured from the big pole barn that stood a hundred feet or so behind the feed store. Charles Walker stockpiled all his grain for the store in that building. The stench of the black, roiling smoke hit Ethan’s nostrils.

“Fire! Run over to the church, Bitsy! Tell the men to come quick! Bring water and blankets.”

Bitsy hitched her skirt even higher and jumped off the boardwalk, wobbling on her high heels. Ethan ran for the barn.

CHAPTER 31

G
ert sat with her head bowed as Bertha Runnels prayed.

“Lord, we ask that You would heal Mr. Bryce from his sciatica.

Help the—”

The door crashed open, and Gert’s eyes popped open. Heads swiveled toward the back as Bitsy Shepard yelled, “Fire! The mayor’s barn’s on fire. The sheriff says all men get to the Walker warehouse. Bring water and blankets.”

Gert jumped up as the men streamed toward the door, calling to each other.

Libby struggled against the flow and came toward her. “If the buildings on Main Street catch, the whole town could go.”

“Should we go over?”

“We’d just get in the way, I expect.”

“We could haul buckets of water over and soak blankets for them,” Gert said.

“Good idea. And I could put on a pot of coffee.”

Gert looked around. “There’s a back door. Come on.”

She and Libby fought the tide of parishioners struggling toward the exit and gained the door near the pine pulpit Hiram had built for Pastor Benton.

Annie Harper cut them off. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Bucket brigade from my place,” Libby said. “And I’ll donate the fixings for coffee.”

Annie nodded. “I can get my big pot.”

“I’ve got two extras in the store.” Libby took her arm and steered her past the pulpit.

Behind them, Apphia Benton yelled, “Ladies, don’t panic. Let us remain here and pray while the men fight the fire.”

Libby hesitated, and Gert shoved her gently toward the back door. With Annie they made their escape. As soon as they got outside, she smelled it. They rounded the corner of the haberdashery, and she halted, staring at the massive column of black smoke. From their angle, it seemed to rise from the feed store itself and the vacant storefront beside it. Not until they’d crossed the street and come even with an alley could they see the barn behind that served as Charles Walker’s warehouse. Dozens of men surged toward it. Bitsy, in one of her bright silk dresses, stood on the corner yelling and pointing the way.

Gert ran to her, leaving Annie and Libby to worry about coffee and other nonessentials.

“What can I do, Bitsy?”

“Water! The men can’t bring it fast enough. If you can, pump water and bring it. They’ve got two tubs over there where they can soak their wool blankets, but we need to keep them full. And buckets of water to throw on the fire.”

“Libby’s pump and the Nashes’ are probably closest.”

Bitsy nodded. “The men are using them, and Zach Harper’s gone for his wagon. He plans to haul barrels of water, but it may be too late.”

Not many women had stayed at the church. Vashti and Goldie ran across the street, holding their skirts well above their knees.

“Miss Bitsy, what can we do to help?”

“Bless you, girls. Round up more buckets. Augie’s already over here, but you can get pails and big pans from the kitchen. Oh, and get the wash boiler.”

The two girls hiked up their dresses and charged for the Spur & Saddle.

Gert left Bitsy on the corner to direct the people who came to help. She ran to Libby’s back door and up the stairs that led directly to the apartment above the emporium. Annie answered her peremptory knock.

“Give me any buckets you won’t need,” Gert panted. Annie thrust a galvanized pail and a dishpan into her hands.

“Wait, Gert,” Libby called. She hurried over with her keys in her hand. “I’ll go downstairs and open the back door of the store. You can take anything that will help.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Gert pounded down the outer stairway and tossed the pail and dishpan toward the pump over Libby’s well. Peter Nash already worked the handle up and down, and Griffin and Oscar, along with Jamin Morrell and two men Gert didn’t know, waited to fill their own containers. Bitsy’s alarm must have emptied both saloons.

At the door, Libby shoved a stack of new buckets into her hands. “Pass these out to whoever’s there.”

Gert hurried to the pump. “Anyone need a pail?” Augie was working the pump now, while Bill Stout and Hiram filled their buckets. She handed empty ones to Ted Hire and Cyrus. When they’d gone, Gert filled her own and hurried to the tubs where the men repeatedly brought their blankets to dunk them. Ethan met her there as she dumped two full pails into the tubs, his face and clothing black with soot. Even his badge was caked with it.

“Trudy! Keep back. You need to stay safe.”

“I will.” She squinted toward the barn. Her eyes stung from the smoke, and tears bathed her cheeks. Thick smoke poured from the open barn door and the spaces beneath the eaves. Inside, flames leaped among the bulging stacked feed sacks. Men soaked the siding boards on the south side of the barn. Others hurried in the big doorway with water.

“Is the whole thing going to go?”

“Maybe. A big stack of oat sacks was burning when I got here, and it’s caught on the inside wall now. We’re hoping we can lick it, but it will be close.” As Ethan spoke, he plunged a filthy, ragged blanket into the tub. He lifted it and squeezed out enough water to keep from wasting much on his way back to the blaze. Hefting the heavy wool, he grinned at her, his teeth brilliant white in his blackened face. “Shoulda known you’d be out here helping.”

“We’re making coffee for all you men,” she called as he turned to go.

He yelled over his shoulder, “Save me some.”

“Get back!” Hiram’s shout rang louder than Gert had ever heard his voice before. Men tore away from the south wall as flames ignited the siding and ripped up the height of the barn on the outside of the wall. The heat intensified, and the fire fighters couldn’t approach the inferno. Suddenly the roof burst into flames.

“Mercy!” Gert turned to find Orissa beside her. Her huge eyes reflected the bright flames in her pinched face.

Gert sidled closer to her. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Walker.”

Orissa turned her face into Gert’s shoulder and sobbed.

“Soak the roofs of these houses,” Ethan shouted. “If the empty buildings catch, the whole town will go.”

A ring of men stayed as close around the barn as they could bear, smothering embers that reached the ground. The light wind favored them by sending its occasional gentle breath southward, not directly toward Main Street. The men carried bucket after bucket to the back of the feed store, the Wells Fargo office, and the vacant storefront between them. While others climbed onto the roofs to slosh the water over the vulnerable shingles, Hiram and Griffin began to carry buckets to the back of the emporium. They flooded the back porch of the store and the stairs that led to Libby’s apartment.

“Think we need to do the roof?” Griffin shouted.

Hiram turned and looked toward the barn. Much of the siding had fallen away. The beams stood, outlined in flame, surrounding the high stacks of bagged corn, oats, and wheat. Without question, the whole pile had caught now.

“That fire’s gonna smolder for days,” Hiram said. “We can’t bring enough water to drench the whole thing.”

Griffin nodded. “We need to contain it.”

Orissa sobbed.

Gert tightened her arm around her. “Come on, Mrs. Walker, let’s go inside the emporium. You need to sit down.”

At dawn all agreed the fire was mostly out. Now and then a new plume of smoke found its way out of the charred pile of grain. Ethan posted Deputies Oscar Runnels and Zach Harper to a two-hour shift to make sure the fire didn’t break out again. Griffin and Hiram would relieve them for the next watch.

Ethan knelt by one of the tubs and immersed his head. Raising it, he stood and shook off the extra water. Someone handed him a towel. After he’d wiped his face, he realized it was Trudy.

“Thanks. Shoulda put apples in there so we could bob for them.” He handed her the grimy towel. The skin on his face hurt as though he had a sunburn.

Mayor Walker plodded toward him and thrust out his hand. “Thanks for all you did, Sheriff.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it sooner.” Ethan looked toward the pile of charred boards and the heaps of ruined grain.

“You did all anyone could.”

Ethan nodded grudgingly. “Thank Miss Shepard, too. She spotted the smoke first. Our patrols paid off tonight. We were able to muster the men quick enough to keep the fire from ripping through town.”

Walker sighed. “I had no idea anything was wrong until Pete Nash’s boy ran over and hammered on my door. I stayed home last night—had a little headache.” He put his hand to his temple, as though that were evidence that he’d been ill enough to dodge prayer meeting.

Ethan glanced at Trudy, who stood silently beside him holding the towel. “I hoped we could save the building and maybe some of the grain.”

“I surely wish this had happened before Oscar brought in that big new shipment yesterday.” Walker sighed and looked back at the ruins of the barn. “You’re sure this was deliberate?”

“Pretty sure,” Ethan said. “When I first got there, I could tell it started right in the front corner, not far from the door. I think he dumped oil or something like that over the full sacks on that side of the barn. I had hopes….” He rubbed the back of his sore neck. “Well, no sense wishing now. But when it’s cooled off, I want to poke through the ashes on that corner and see if we find any oil cans or anything like that.”

Mrs. Walker came out the back door of the emporium and shrieked, “Charles! Charles, are you all right?”

The mayor gritted his teeth and staggered toward her. “I’ll live, Orissa. Don’t discompose yourself now.”

“Oh, Charles, you’ve lost all your inventory.”

“There, now. We’ve still got the store and our home. This is a great loss, but we’ll get by.”

Orissa’s sobs rose, and he patted her shoulder.

“I’d best walk them home,” Ethan said to Gert. “The mayor may have overdone it a little tonight.”

“Sure.” Gert turned troubled gray eyes on him. “Libby’s set up coffee and whatever the other ladies brought for breakfast inside the store: sandwiches, gingerbread, doughnuts, biscuits. All the men can go in the back door, get their eats, and head out the front. But I was hoping you’d come to our place later so we could talk about this.”

Ethan smiled down at her. “I’ll be there. Soon as I get the Walkers home safe.”

She hesitated then said, “Look around their house, won’t you, Ethan? If the killer set that fire, it’s possible he did it to draw people away while he busied himself at something else.”

“We think alike.” He had a sudden desire to touch her, to hold her in his arms, but that was preposterous. He was covered with soot. Besides, half the town milled about, and the sun had risen and illuminated the people in all their filthy exhaustion. The light breeze whistling down the hills brought anything but romance.

“Come on.” He nodded toward Libby’s back door.

Fifteen minutes later, after the mayor had consumed a sandwich and listened to the commiseration of a score of people, Ethan set out with him and Orissa. As they walked up the street, Orissa said, “It’s a wonder the store and the old grocery didn’t catch.”

“Sure is. A real nine days’ wonder.” Her husband’s voice was threadier than usual.

“Your throat sore?” Orissa asked. “Yes. All that smoke.”

“You’d both best wash up and go to bed for a few hours,”