Under the Desert Sky (29 page)

“Oh, no.” A knot formed in her stomach. “I don't need this.”

Frank climbed down from the buggy and withdrew a valise from behind the seat. “Get in the house,” he said as he advanced toward her. It wasn't a request but an order to which he fully expected compliance.

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it right here.” Phoebe still clutched the bucket. She felt safer out here. Christian was gone, but July and Trinidad had to be somewhere nearby. She knew all it would take was a scream and one of them would come running.

“Phoebe.” Frank's tone of voice changed. He held up the valise. “I have some papers here that are important. They concern Will, and it will be easier for you to examine them if I can spread them out on the table. Please, can we go inside?”

“What do you mean, they concern Will?”

“If you look at them, you'll understand.”

Phoebe paused for a moment, then she heard July speaking to Trinidad. If she could hear him that easily when he was just talking, she knew he'd be able to hear her if she screamed.

“All right.” She started toward the house.

Once in the kitchen, Frank sat at the table. She was glad to see that he'd chosen the side of the table with his back to the wall and the table between him and the door. If Phoebe needed to run, she'd have a slight advantage.

“My father and I had lunch with Charles Forbes yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“He told us you made a rather substantial deposit at the Loan and Trust.”

“I did, but I don't see how that's any business of yours.”

“Where'd you get the money?”

Phoebe let out a long sigh. “I know you find this hard to believe, but my ‘silly little ostrich farm' is making money, in spite of the Sloans.”

“May I remind you that you wouldn't have this place without the Sloans—or, more specifically, Aunt Gertrude?”

“I agree, it was Aunt Gertrude's money that allowed Edwin to buy this place, but she didn't leave him enough to pay for it outright. I'm the one who's made this place work, and I'd have a lot more money if you hadn't broken all the eggs in my brooder.”

“What makes you think I did that?”

“When you came out here, you knew what'd happened.”

“I told you Rojas told me, and Cornello told him.”

“That's not possible. Cornello didn't know anything about the eggs, and Trinidad was in jail. The only way you could have known about my eggs was if you hired someone to break them, or did it yourself.”

Frank had no answer. He opened the valise and took out an envelope. “You may say you got that money from all your hard work, but you're not fooling me. I know who you are, and what you are.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

“Charles Forbes told us about your paramour, how he tried to pay your debt. ‘Christian, you don't have to do that. Take your money back,' ” Frank said, mimicking a woman's voice.

“Get out! Get out of my house!” Phoebe rose from the table as she pointed toward the door.

“Not so fast. You haven't listened to my offer.”

“If it's coming from you, no matter what it is, I'm not interested.”

He withdrew a piece of paper from the envelope and slid it across the table. “Take a look at the third paragraph.”

Phoebe picked it up and began to read. She furrowed her brow and then turned her eyes toward Frank. “What're you trying to do?”

“Exactly what it says. My father has set up a trust fund for Will.”

“But this paper says it's worth twenty-five thousand dollars. That can't be.”

“Ha! If you knew how much money W. F. Sloan really has, you'd treat us all a lot better.”

Phoebe sat down as she continued reading. It stated that Will would have access to the trust when he was eighteen, and that the only stipulation was that he wouldn't leave Arizona.

Frank took out a bottle of ink and a pen. “Will you sign the paper?”

“If the only stipulation is that he stay in Arizona, I have no problem with that. Where do I sign?”

“The last line on the second page. Oh, and make sure you date it.” Frank turned the page.

Phoebe took the pen and wrote the date. Then she glanced up at the paragraph above where she would affix her signature.

“Go ahead. Sign it. I need to get back to town.”

“Wait. This says that I can't get married. What does that have to do with Will's trust?”

“It's just a precaution. My father wants to ensure that you don't get married and run off with Will or, worse yet, that you let some man come along and adopt his only heir.”

“I will not sign this.” Phoebe put the pen down and slid the paper across the table. “As I said before, get out of my house.” She worked hard to control her anger.

“You oversexed little chippie.” Frank's lip curled. “You would throw away Will's inheritance just so you can diddle the South African?”

Phoebe picked up the bucket sitting at her feet. She threw the water at Frank, and it went splattering everywhere.

Wiping his face, Frank turned to her. “Mark my words, you will regret not signing this paper.”

A
fter Frank left, Phoebe began to clean up the mess she'd made in the kitchen.

“What happened?” Will said. “I heard yelling, and then a loud noise.”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. Come here, I just want to hold you.”

“Mama! I'm too big for that.”

“I guess you are, but I can still muss up your hair.” Phoebe ran her hand through his hair, which showed he'd just climbed out of bed. “What would you like for breakfast?”

A big smile crossed his face. “Can I have anything I want?”

“If we have it, sure. What would you like?”

“I want bread . . . and
butter
.” He shouted that last word.

“I think that's a good idea. It's been a long time since we had butter, but you know what? We're going to have it anytime we want it from now on.” Phoebe took out a loaf of bread.

For the rest of the morning, Phoebe entertained Will. She read to him and helped him set up some of his animals. When she spotted a new animal, she wondered where he got it. “What is this and where did it come from?”

“July made it. He says it's a giraffe.”

Just then she looked up to see July running from the paddocks. For a big man he was moving quickly.

“Oh, dear, something's happened.” She left Will on the floor and went out to meet July.

“Utshani
on fire!
Sinazo ukusindisa izintshe!”

Phoebe didn't understand everything he was saying, but the word
fire
jolted her into action.

“Will, stay right here!” she yelled. “Don't move! Play with your animals, do you understand?”

“What happened?”

“I'm going with July to find out, but promise me you won't leave the porch unless someone comes for you.”

When Phoebe found July, he was running out of the shed with an armload of gunnysacks.

“Where is it? Where's the fire?” She tried to match July's stride.

“Out by the south paddocks.” He started running down the dirt road that separated the pens for the ostriches.

She looked south and saw a plume of black smoke that was widening at its base as it spread rapidly. She ran, following July until he reached the canal.

“Get these wet for me,” July said. “And when Trinidad gets here, send him out with some more.”

“Where is he now?”

“I sent him to cut the wires on the paddocks.”

“But the ostriches—won't they get out?”

“Yes, Phoebe, but isn't that what you want?”

Phoebe thought of the alternative. Taking the pile of sacks, she waded into the canal and began dipping them as fast as she could and then threw them onto the bank.

As she was working, she watched the smoke. The color was changing from black to brown and then to white as the area on fire was getting wider and wider.

Trinidad came running up.

“Take these”—she threw some sacks toward him—“but I'm coming, too.”

All three using the wet gunnysacks began frantically beating at the advancing conflagration. The blaze, feeding on the late-season alfalfa, sent flames leaping into the air.

Phoebe was exhausted, and she could hear the loud, anxious sounds coming from some ostriches—not the bass-octave, thrumming sounds that she was used to hearing, but sounds of panic.

“They're trapped.” She dropped her sack and ran toward the sound.

“No, senora!” Trinidad shouted, grabbing her.

“Don't be foolish,” July said. “Think of Will.”

“But my birds! They're going to die.”

“And so will you if you try to go after them.”

They continued to beat at the flames, but it was a losing battle because the wind whipped the fire into whirling vortexes that threw out sparks and set even more fires.

“We have to retreat,” July said. “Let's try to head it off from the buildings.”

“Phoebe!”

She turned around to see Christian and Ina Claire running toward them. “Christian!” Phoebe's voice broke as she ran to meet him. “I'm going to lose everything.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. Ina Claire!” he yelled. “Get back to the Prinsens'. Have Andy bring the spring cart and as many men as he can muster.”

“Ina Claire, wait!” Phoebe called. “Take Will with you! He doesn't need to be here if . . .”

“Understood!” Ina Claire called as she started toward the house in a run.

Phoebe gave her wet sacks to Christian and ran back to the canal to get more. As she moved away from the roar and crackle of the flames, she tried to listen for the din of the ostriches, but the sounds were becoming more and more faint.

She couldn't concentrate on that right now. July had said they should try to save the buildings, and she ran to a part of the fire that was racing in that direction. As she ran across the blackened grass, some embers sparked her dress and the cloth began to ignite, Christian ran toward her, knocking her down when he reached her.

“What?” Phoebe called out in alarm.

Christian rolled her over and extinguished most of the flames, but to be certain, he finished it off by applying a wet sack to her.

“Thanks.” She grinned sheepishly.

Phoebe didn't know how long they'd been fighting the fire when Andy arrived with a spring cart carrying a water tank, a dozen buckets, and several men. One man pulled a hose out in front of the cart while two others manned a pump as water began to spray toward the fire.

At least a dozen people were running behind the cart, each with sacks to beat the flames. Phoebe saw that Gwen, Katie, Mrs. Woodson, and Ina Claire were among those coming to help.

With more people, there were enough to spread across the path of the approaching fire, but even then, the flames were moving closer to the buildings.

“We need to start a backfire,” Buck said. “Phoebe, do you have any kerosene?”

“Yes, it's in the lean-to.”

“I'll get it.” Trinidad took off in a run.

While most of the men continued to fight the fire, Phoebe and the other women started a bucket brigade, wetting down a strip of ground from the canal all the way to the road.

When the strip was wet, Phoebe ran back to the men who were still battling the blaze. “We've got the water down,” she said, her breath coming in gasps.

“Come on, men, let's get the backfire started,” Buck called, and carrying their sacks with them, the men, their eyes red and their faces blackened with smoke, retreated about a hundred yards from the fire.

“Everyone spread out,” Buck said. “In this wind, it's going to be your jobs to keep this thing going in the right direction.”

Buck poured out a line of kerosene between the wet ground and the approaching fire. Then Christian lit one end, sending a fire racing down the line as the men started fanning the flames, forcing them to burn back toward the main fire.

All the firefighters lined up to beat any of the flames that started in the wrong direction until finally a blackened strip was about twenty feet wide. The backfire was moving toward the advancing flames, thereby robbing the fire of fuel. The two lines of fire joined and burned even more fiercely for a few minutes—until it died down and at last the flicker of flame was gone and only a few wisps of light gray smoke curled up from what was a great blackened field of at least fifty acres.

Phoebe looked out across the field and saw several blackened lumps. She put her hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “They didn't have a chance.”

“I'm sorry, senora,” Trinidad said. “I should've seen the fire sooner.”

“It's not your fault, Trinidad. We all did what we could.”

Gwen came over to put her arm around Phoebe, and Ina Claire came to stand beside her.