“Merry, Sadie,” I said. “This is Whitaker Price.”
The flowers woke me first, quietly tiptoeing into my sleep and casting a sweet floral filter over everything. I felt myself smile, breathing in the soft bouquet.
Then came the smoke.
Black, burning, and unforgivably present, it wafted in with an acrid bite, curdling my dreams into nightmares. My eyes flashed open and instantly watered as I stared into the rafters.
Was that shouting?
I kicked my legs over the side of the bed, slowly coming back to consciousness. It was surprisingly bright outside, and I briefly worried I’d overslept. But my sisters still dozed next to me, and I could hear soft snorts from Samuel’s corner.
Why was it so bright?
I stumbled out of bed to peer outside, and gasped. An apocalyptic landscape greeted me, burning so many shades of orange and red and hot white. Flames licked the sky, reaching higher and higher as if to devour the world whole.
The flower fields were on fire.
“Sam! Sam!” I cried out, desperate to wake my brother.
“What is it?” he grumbled, wincing as I threw back the curtain. A shaft of that awful orange light fell across him, and he held up his hands, shielding his eyes. “Why is it so bright?”
“Fire! The fields are on fire!”
“What’s going on?” Merry asked with a groan.
“We have to get water. The flowers are burning! Sadie, wake up!”
Sam sprung out of bed, grabbing at his pants and socks.
“There’s no time for all that! We’ve got to tell Mama and Papa!” I was already halfway down the stairs.
Their room was empty, the sheets shoved to the foot of the bed in a hurried tangled mess. Through their window, I spotted Papa’s form, silhouetted black against the firelight, kicking dirt at the edge of the flames.
My boots were at the back door, and I shoved my feet in, not bothering with the laces, before flying into the night. My nightdress glowed bright gold, bathed in the light of the climbing flames. I should have been riddled in gooseflesh, but the fires threw off so much heat that it felt like a warm afternoon.
“We need to keep the fire from leaving the fields,” Papa said as I joined him. His voice rasped, harsh and metallic. He’d breathed in too much smoke. “We haven’t had rain in weeks. If even one spark gets into the grass…”
He stomped out a patch of fire, but I knew what he would have said. If the fire broke free, it was a quick path to the house, to the supply shed, and to our hives. The buildings could be rebuilt, but we needed to protect the bees at all costs.
“Your mother is at the pump. She’s been filling buckets but I can’t leave to get them.” He flung a blanket at a new bank of flames. For every one he smothered, it seemed two more popped up in its place.
“I’ll take over there,” I assured him. “Sam and Merry and Sadie are on their way.”
I raced across the side yard, the tops of my boots flapping wildly and catching at the hem of my nightgown. It had seemed like a waste of precious seconds to tie them, but now I worried I’d trip and snap an ankle, and then what help would I be?
“Ellerie, thank God,” Mama cried out. Three buckets already full of water circled the pump. “They’re too heavy for me to lift, and I just—” She bent over, gasping for air.
“I’m here to help. Stop and rest. Sam!” I hollered, seeing him on the porch, struggling with his boots. “Water is here! We need you!” I turned back to Mama and grabbed at the next empty bucket to fill. “What happened?”
She leaned over, her hands on her knees. “I can keep going….You should help Gideon….I just need a moment.”
“Mama, I’ve got it.”
“At first I thought lightning must have struck, but there’s no rain.” She panted, drawing air sharply between each word. “Please, God, send us rain!” She clutched at her side with a grimace.
“Rest, Mama. Sam will get these to Papa.”
I cranked the handle up and down, drawing water from deep in the well.
“What’s going on?” Sam asked as he joined us.
“Heat lightning, maybe,” I said around each pump. “We need to soak the yard, contain the flames. Bring these to Papa.”
With a nod, he hoisted two buckets up, then carried them to the burning fields. His ankle still bothered him, and as he limped across the wide yard, I fought the urge to leave. Mama would only take up the pump again, and I feared she’d already placed too much stress on the baby.
Merry and Sadie slipped out into the yard and immediately went looking to see where they were needed most.
Wind whipped across the valley, warm and worrisome as it fed the flames, twisting them into little spinning cyclones of ash and embers.
“Mama, they need more buckets. I’ll take this set over,” I decided, already worrying over my decision. “I’ll send Merry to help fill more. Please, please rest.”
“I need to do something,” she insisted.
“There are warming blankets in the supply shed,” I said, grabbing on to the idea. “We can use them to beat back the flames. Do you think you can make it there and back?”
Mama swallowed back exhaustion and rushed off, holding her belly with a firm hand.
I picked up two buckets and made my way across the yard, trying to not slosh all the water out. Papa met me halfway and took the load, then handed me Sam’s buckets, already empty. “More! We need more!”
I tumbled over on my way back to the pump, tripping on one of my loose laces. With a curse, I tied them into quick knots and went to work, filling the buckets once more. Sam flew out of the darkness, snatched them away, and left more to fill.
Again and again the buckets were taken and filled, taken and filled. It seemed like hours had passed, though I knew they’d not. The sky above was as dark as ever, and Mama hadn’t even returned from the supply shed.
My shoulders ached, and a dull pain spread across my back, throbbing with every gasp for air. I glanced toward town. Surely someone had seen the flames by now. We couldn’t keep fighting this on our own.
When a sharp gust of wind raced across the field, it ripped through the fire, shattering it into sparks and carrying the embers away. Some of the falling cinders took root on the far side of the house, and Papa raced after them. Mustering the last bit of strength left in my trembling limbs, I bolted off to help.
“Why isn’t anyone coming?” I shouted over the crackling roar. After I emptied the bucket, I used it to scoop dirt onto the blaze that remained. “Cyrus and Rebecca must smell it, even if they’re asleep.”
The firelight’s shadows cast the swelling and crags of Papa’s face into sharp relief as he frowned, like a gargoyle come to life. “That bridge has burned, Ellerie.” He snorted over his poor choice of words but kept beating at the flames. “We need more water! Take these and go,” he said, tossing me his pails.
Merry was at the pump, filling up the wheelbarrow, and I took the moment to push sweaty, sooty hair from my forehead. I was light-headed, dizzy, and breathing in more smoke than air.
This wasn’t working.
The world seemed to tip on its axis as a series of ragged coughs ripped my chest open. With watery eyes, I watched Sam’s and Sadie’s silhouettes in front of the flames. They almost seemed to be dancing. Stars swirled across my vision, angry dots of white and lightning blue. Merry was suddenly around me, her arms clinging to me as the coughs racked my frame.
Through my nauseous stupor, I spotted two shapes, far across the fields, set away from the burning chaos.
Whitaker.
Whitaker and a man even taller than he was, wearing a strange, black top hat.
The other trapper Sam had met.
“We saw the flames all the way from our campsite,” Whitaker said as they raced toward us. “Go help the lit
tle one along the edge of the field.”
The man in the top hat nodded once and disappeared into the sizzling dark.
Whitaker’s attention fell to me. “What can I do?”
Another series of coughs sputtered up, and I curled around my knees, unable to answer.
“She’s breathed in too much smoke,” Merry said, her hand rubbing circles at my back. “Can you stay with her? Sam needs the wheelbarrow.”
Whitaker was already hoisting the handles. “I’ve got it; you look after Ellerie. I’ll be back for those buckets.”
Merry nodded gratefully. I struggled to sit up, watching him go.
“Water,” I said, raspy and raw. “Please.”
She brought a half-filled pail to my lips. The cold water soothed my throat, calming back the coughs. After a few deep breaths, I struggled to my feet, ignoring the small voice inside pleading to rest. “I need to get back to Papa. Keep pumping the water, Merry. Keep…” I trailed off, another cough bubbling up. With a groan, I took up the buckets once more.
“The trappers spotted the fire,” I told Papa as I returned to the side yard. “Others in the town must have too. More could be on their way.”
As if in response, shouts rose, caught on the wind. It was our neighbors and friends, hurrying to the farm and ready to help. They carried old tarps and buckets, spades and metal cans. Dr. Ambrose, still wearing his nightcap, held his medicine bag in one hand and a pail in the other.
“Stay with this fire?” Papa ordered before rushing to meet them.
He broke the volunteers into groups as they reached our property, sending most to fight the flames at the edge of the fields. Others formed a bucket brigade to help pass water more quickly. Over the crackles and pops of the inferno, Papa shouted that he was going to check on the hives.
Out of water and without a blanket, I stomped at the patch of fire nearest me, kicking sprays of dirt over it. Every part of me ached. I had a strange sense of dissociation, my hands and feet repeating the same motions over and over while my mind slipped into some sort of hazy, waking sleep. The yard was a sodden mess of scorched grass and mud. The flower fields were a lost cause, too far gone to salvage, but at least the bees were safe. And our house. And the shed.
The shed.
Mama.
I scanned the yard, trying to spot her nightgowned form.
Suddenly, above the swirling chaos, I heard Papa scream.
“The bandages, Ellerie, please,” Dr. Ambrose requested, already holding out his hand.
Eagerness to comply flustered me, and in my haste, I knocked one of the metal instruments off the tray. It clattered onto the bed, nearly striking the figure on top of it.
No.
Not the figure.
My mother.
Mama.
What was left of her.
Sparks from the fire had landed on the supply shed while Mama was inside searching for the hives’ warming blankets. By the time Papa had spotted the flames, it had been too late to stop the inferno.
Dr. Ambrose said she must have fainted, her lungs filled with the heat and smoke. The ceiling had fallen in and a beam had crashed down, pinning her legs in place as the fire had begun to devour her. We’d had to cut the remains of her nightdress away, carefully peeling back sections where the cotton had fused with her skin.
The cotton wasn’t always the only thing that ripped free.
I tried not to acknowledge the blackened skin, the way it split and flayed back, revealing bloody muscle and white tendons. My eyes avoided the clusters of blisters swelling on her like heads of mottled cauliflower. And I completely refused to focus on the burn wrapping around her neck, like a fiery hand had taken hold of her and squeezed. Dr. Ambrose said it was only an illusion, simply the way the fire had traveled across her skin, but once I’d spotted the five fingers seared into her flesh, I couldn’t envision anything else.
I looked at her face instead.
Her eyes were closed and her forehead tightened in pain, but it was still my mother’s face, whole and untouched. Whatever else the fire had taken from her, her face was still hers, and hers alone.
Papa had been certain she was dead. He, together with Matthias and Leland, had lifted the heavy rafter, burning their hands in the process. Papa hadn’t even noticed. He’d scooped Mama’s limp body from the burning cinders and carried her out into the night, releasing his grief in howls so loud that they’d echoed across the valley.
It wasn’t until he’d gently laid her on the porch that we’d realized she was still breathing.
Just barely.
“The bandages, please,” Dr. Ambrose repeated, shaking his hand at me.
“Of course. I’m sorry,” I said, my voice as raspy as an old iron gate. Between the smoke and tears, my throat felt impossibly swollen.
“Here’s the honey!” Papa burst into the bedroom with a jar held aloft.
Dr. Ambrose said that keeping the burns loosely covered and clean was the best way to prevent infection. Honey would keep the wounds moist and also help to lessen the sting of the minor burns.
Looking over the ruined landscape of my mother’s body, I didn’t think there was a thing on earth that could help that.
“Sarah?” Papa leaned over her, scanning her face for any sign she’d heard him.
“Let her rest, let her rest.” Dr. Ambrose nudged him out of the way so he could begin applying the honey.
Papa, usually so strong, blanched white as part of her arm flapped open, revealing a pocket of yellow fat the fire had not burned away. He held his arm over his mouth to stop from retching and began to pace the room like a penned stallion.
“If you can’t handle the sight of this, I’d rather you leave now,” Dr. Ambrose said. “I must be allowed to concentrate.”
“Why hasn’t she woken yet?” Papa asked.
“She’s been through a traumatic experience. Her body will need time to start the healing process.”
Papa turned, pouncing on his words. “Then you think…you think she will heal from this?”
Dr. Ambrose hesitated. “If she is to heal,” he amended. He glanced at me with an uneasy expression.
“She’s pregnant,” Papa blurted out. “We haven’t said anything yet, but—do you think that…Will the baby be all right?”
The doctor’s face grew grave. “Pregnant!”
With a gentle touch, he ran his hand over the soft swell of her stomach. She’d not yet begun to show.
“It’s…it’s hard to say for certain….Do you know how far along she is?”
“Two months, maybe more,” I said.
He pressed tenderly about the flushed skin. “It’s certainly possible…and the absence of bleeding could be a good sign. But I’m afraid this is far beyond my capabilities, Gideon. I’ve never treated burns so severe.”
“What can be done?” Papa asked, his eyes startlingly clear and lucid. “I can’t lose her. I can’t…” A sob welled in his throat, choking any words. Tears fell down his soot-covered cheeks, and when he pushed them aside, he smeared the dark ash. “I’ll do anything I can, Doc. Just tell me what needs to be done.”
The doctor turned back to his work, spreading a mixture of egg whites and honey over Mama’s wounds. Next came the bandages, laid loosely across the burns. Once everything was covered, he pulled a sheet to her chin. A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders once the damage was hidden.
“Doc?”
He turned to Papa. “I hate admitting this to you, Gideon, truly I do, but I don’t know what else we can do. Her bandages will need to be changed and cleaned daily, and she’ll need something to help control the pain if she wakes—”
“When she wakes,” Papa interrupted with fervent hope.
“When,” Dr. Ambrose agreed reluctantly. “My supplies are low. I don’t have what’s ne
eded to properly treat her here.”
“I’ll go out of the pass, then,” Papa said. “Write down a list of what you need—what we’ll all need this winter—and I will go and get it.”
“Papa, no!” I jumped in. “Those creatures—”
“I will not watch your mother die!” he said, cutting me off.
The doctor gritted his teeth, worrying over his next words. “I doubt it would make much difference, Gideon. She needs better treatment than I can give. Even with her daughters tending to her…she needs proper medical attention, especially if…she is still with child.”
Papa’s face darkened. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying her best chance of survival is to leave Amity Falls. Take her out of God’s Grasp, to somewhere with a hospital…more medicine…a midwife who isn’t always half in her cups.”
“Will she even be able to make such a journey?” Papa’s voice was softer than a whisper. One wrong word could shatter him completely.
Dr. Ambrose rubbed his beard, wincing. “I don’t believe she’ll make it without the journey.”
Papa sank to the floor, head buried in his hands.
I swayed back and forth, wanting to comfort my father but unable to leave Mama’s side. “But she’s fine now….I mean, she’s out of the fire and you cleaned out the wounds….And all the honey…The honey will heal her. I know it will! Everyone says it’s like magic. It can…it can…”
My chin trembled as I fought back tears. He was wrong. I would stay with Mama, day and night, nursing her back to health. There would be scars, of course, but she would recover. She would be fine. It would all be—
“I…I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” a voice interrupted from the doorway. Whitaker stood at the threshold, his fingers on the frame. “But I couldn’t stand by and not offer my help. May I come in?”
I think I nodded. He carefully shut the door behind himself and crossed the room to where Papa huddled.
“If you decide to take her out of the Falls, sir, I’ll accompany you. I’ve been up and down the mountainsides and I’ve found a path, a shortcut….It could handle a wagon and a team of horses, I’m certain of it. You can stay in the back with her, and I’ll man the front.”
Small Favors Page 12