Beneath the Flames

by Gregory Lee Renz

  “That’s the same stuff we did with our friends,” Mitch said. “Chris had a pretty good arm. I still have marks.”

  Brother Williams nodded. “Pine cones better than bullets.”

  Miss Bernie pulled up in the Gator with Sid next to her.

  “Now that’s a sight,” Brother Williams said.

  “She’s all over the farm with it. And she’s been hauling Dad along. He bellyaches about her driving but goes along.”

  “Will miracles never cease?”

  Brother Williams banged a hammer on the steel rail. “Everyone, come on over.”

  Miss Bernie and Sid stayed in the Gator while the kids ran to the tree, shouting and laughing. Brother Williams pounded the hammer on the steel rail again. They went quiet.

  “Mitch, I don’t know how many times I’ve thanked you.” Brother Williams’ deep voice resonated through the woods. “I can assure you, not enough. What you did for these children will go on changing lives.” He stretched his open palm toward the children below. “As these children grow and raise their families and help others in our community overcome their own challenges, the good you did will live on.”

  Mitch’s face blazed with embarrassment.

  Brother Williams continued, “Since I don’t want to bore everyone here with a sermon, I’ll resist the urge, unless of course, these children demand one.”

  “Nooo,” echoed off the trees and thick brush.

  Brother Williams grinned and gave Mitch a small slab of cedar siding and the hammer. “This glorious edifice was created by the love of every one of these blessed children. Our hope is that you will find peace here and feel their loving embrace. Now complete it with this last piece of siding.”

  Mitch’s old treehouse had been pretty elaborate, but this was like a cottage in the sky with cedar shake siding and shingles, windows on all sides, a skylight, and finished interior walls, three painted light purple and one left white.

  He drove the last nail through the slab of siding and the children went wild, clapping and cheering. Once Mitch cleared the dry lump in his throat, he waved at the children, quieting the loud ovation. “You all know, I’m not much of a talker. Miss Bernie can tell you that.” Laughter rippled through the children. Miss Bernie waved her finger at him. “Anyway, you guys taught me more than I ever taught you. Working with you has changed my life. It took a while for this to sink in because, well, some say I’m pretty hard-headed. Just ask my brother.” Mitch grinned down at Chris.

  “Only one with a harder head is the one in the Gator over there,” Chris said, nodding toward Sid. “Right, Dad?”

  Sid’s face tightened. “Damn right.”

  “You guys did a super job,” Mitch said. “Now I have a surprise for all of you this afternoon.”

  * * *

  They all gathered in the barnyard after lunch. From the roadway came the rumble of what sounded like semi-trucks climbing the other side of the hill. Two gray diesel pickup trucks hauling twenty-foot aluminum horse trailers crested the hill and turned into the drive.

  Mitch and Chris greeted the three Kiekafer girls and helped unload eight sleepy quarter horses and a spirited thoroughbred. Mitch had arranged for the Kiekafers to bring their horses over for the afternoon so everyone would have a chance to ride. Mitch introduced them to the children and explained they would be giving riding lessons. Once the children got checked out they’d get to go on a trail ride, one group at a time.

  Mitch and Chris went to the barn to put up hay while the Kiekafers worked with the excited, but squeamish children. When Mitch and Chris finished in the barn and returned, the air was thick with swirling dust as the Kiekafers walked the horses and young riders around the barnyard. Every child’s face was plastered with a wide smile as they bounced across the yard. Mitch spotted a white van parked down the drive with UW Health printed in red letters on the side. The red Camry was parked behind it, sparking hope he’d have some time to talk with Jennie today. He had to tell her how he felt. If she loved this Jason, he’d have to accept that. But not until they stopped playing games and got everything out in the open.

  Dr. Mallory was at the fence dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt. Alongside him were two shorter, well-groomed men dressed in business suits.

  “Happy Fourth,” Dr. Mallory said when Mitch approached. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping in. These are two colleagues of mine.”

  “You came out on a holiday?”

  “I told them about Jasmine.” The two doctors shook Mitch’s hand while Dr. Mallory continued. “We’re not used to seeing this kind of drastic improvement in children suffering from PTSD.”

  “Hey, Mitch,” the oldest Kiekafer girl shouted from across the barnyard. “I’d like to see what Jasmine can do on Durango. That okay?”

  “Have at it.”

  She shot him a thumbs up and helped Jasmine into the English saddle of her glistening dark brown thoroughbred show horse. Jasmine worked the athletic horse in crisp figure eights, her long braids bouncing off her shoulders. Jasmine’s soft posture, focused expression, and command of the horse radiated confidence and pride. The doctors grinned at each other as if they had discovered the cure for cancer.

  Jennie trotted down the porch steps and headed toward them. Mitch swallowed hard. Now or never. He took a step toward her and stopped as Jason emerged from the porch.

  “What’s her fucking boyfriend doing here?” Mitch said through clenched teeth.

  All three doctors’ heads snapped around.

  “You mean her fiancé?” Doctor Mallory asked.

  Fiancé. The sliver of hope gone in a single word.

  The two doctors focused their attention back on the children and horses.

  Dr. Mallory studied Mitch. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

  Jennie and Jason came toward them.

  “I got work to do.” Mitch spun, grinding his boots into the gravel and headed to the barn.

  Inside the barn, he looked for anything to throw.

  “Lose something?” Jennie said from behind him.

  He whirled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Mallory.”

  “I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “You have to bring him?”

  She closed the gap between them. “Thought it was time for Jason to meet everyone.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “So, we can’t be friends?”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I don’t know why you’re so pissed.” Her voice rose. “You’re the one who pushed me away and left, remember?”

  “You don’t know what I was going through.”

  “How could I?” She jabbed him in the chest. “I waited for your calls, wanting so bad to hear you missed me and were coming home for the weekend. But no. When you did call, it was always an excuse about why you couldn’t. How was that supposed to make me feel?”

  “You know how shitty it feels to hear you’re getting…?”

  “Oh, really? What about when I came to the hospital and saw your gorgeous girlfriend at your bedside? I can’t compete with that.” Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “So, yeah, I know what shitty feels like.”

  “I’m not seeing her.”

  “Took me a while to realize there was no future for us. My life is here and yours is in Milwaukee.” Her voice softened as she reached for him. “Can’t we stay friends, please?”

  Mitch stepped back, pushing her away. “You never answered. Do you love him?”

  “You haven’t changed.” She bolted out of the barn.

  I have changed.

  Chapter 58

  The yellow bus inched down the long drive. Smiling faces and waving arms crowded the open windows. Mitch, Chris, Miss Bernie, and the girls waved back from the top of the drive with Sid watching from the porch. The shouts of the children faded as the bus turned onto the road and shifted through the gears.

  Once the bus disappeared from sight, Miss
Bernie and the girls went to the house, Chris went to the barn, and Sid settled into a wicker chair on the porch. Stillness blanketed the reborn Garner farmstead. The house had a fresh coat of white paint and was surrounded again by lilac bushes. Red maple saplings dotted the lawn along with clusters of white hydrangeas, yellow forsythia, and red azaleas neatly arranged by Miss Bernie. And there was the treehouse. All of this at the hands of a group of inner-city children. Mitch should be feeling good, but he couldn’t shake the brewing melancholy. Jason. Her man. Her fiancé.

  Mitch headed to the treehouse. Brother Williams promised it would bring him joy but didn’t want him going inside until after the children were gone.

  The smell of fresh-cut wood and drying latex paint flowed from the trap door entrance as it slammed open. Mitch saw why Brother Williams insisted part of an inside wall be left white. Inscriptions in phosphorescent reds, greens, and blues were scrawled across it in all directions.

  Thank you for letting us come to your farm. I really liked it. Especially the horses. Love Brandon.

  I hop we can com bak. I luv your farm. Luv Elan

  You the bomb. I Luv you. Peaches

  Can I come back and ride horses again? That was fun. Love May.

  I want to be a farmer. Can I work on your farm? I will work real hard. Love Gordon.

  Mitch’s misty eyes were drawn to the perfect blue script at the top corner. I’m sorry for being so evil when you first came around. I was foul. I can’t believe you didn’t give up on me. Thank you for making me feel like I’m not so bad. Love Jasmine.

  “I love you too, little girl.”

  Right below Jasmine’s note, written in red was: Wish you were my daddy. Love Lexi.

  At the very bottom in bright green was: Thank you, Mitch Garner. You are our savior. May the blessed peace of the Lord always be yours. Love, Clarence Williams.

  Brother Williams was right; he did feel the joy of their loving embrace up here.

  Mitch read the inscriptions over and over again, picturing the faces of the beaming children. He decided this treehouse should be a place to remember, not like when his mom died and he went to the treehouse to forget, to escape guilt and pain. Trying to forget never brought him one second of peace. He went back to the house, lifted by the words scrawled on the white wall.

  Music blared from the kitchen doorway. Mitch stepped inside to a chorus of (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction coming from Sid’s CD player on top of the refrigerator. Miss Bernie and the girls danced around the kitchen gyrating their hips, singing along. Miss Bernie was working it. Sid was at the table tapping his foot.

  “C’mon, Mitch. We need a man in here dancing with us,” Miss Bernie said.

  Jasmine snickered and said, “I’ve seen him dance. It isn’t pretty.”

  “Oh, yeah? Watch this.” Mitch sashayed over to them and broke into moves he had seen the kids doing at the campsite. His rhythm was off by half a beat. Miss Bernie and the girls hooted.

  When the song ended, Miss Bernie took a seat at the table, huffing and puffing. Mick Jagger launched into Wild Horses with Jasmine and Alexus swaying to the smooth lyrics. Mitch had heard the song before, but today the words jarred him. Wild horses should not have been able to pull him away from Jennie. Now it was too late. She was getting married.

  Mitch joined Miss Bernie and Sid at the table. They watched the girls move around the kitchen, Alexus copying her older sister’s rhythmic moves.

  “Mitch, you ain’t believing this.” Miss Bernie said. “Me and that old geezer finally got something in common.”

  Sid slapped at the air.

  “I found his pile of CDs. Turns out we both love this old music,” she said. “Ain’t that right, old man?”

  Sid scowled at her. “You ain’t much younger than me, you old biddy.”

  “Oh, smooth your feathers.” She laughed.

  This sounded like the banter around the firehouse table.

  Miss Bernie winked at Mitch. “He ain’t happy I told him all this rock and roll come from blacks. People like John Lee Hooker were playing rock and roll long before Elvis come along. And old John Lee Hooker got his music from slaves.”

  “That’s a bunch of crap,” Sid said.

  “Next time I come back, I’ll have some of that old black music with me. Then tell me if that ain’t rock and roll.”

  “Can’t I listen in peace without your jabbering?”

  Miss Bernie smirked. “He knows I’m right.”

  Mitch smiled to himself. Yes, Sid had met his match.

  * * *

  Sunday after church and another gut-busting feast, Mitch was drawn to the closet in his bedroom. He had avoided opening it since coming back. The first thing he saw was the sweat-stained John Deere hat, the one he planted on Lydia Hillenbrand’s head the day her sister died in the fire. Behind the hat was the blackened fire helmet he wore that day, still reeking of smoke, bringing back his desperate attempt to save Maggie. Every second of that horrific afternoon played out in slow motion with agonizing clarity.

  Mitch ran his hand over the coarse, charred helmet. A flash of white light exploded in his head as if lightning had struck inches from him. He gasped as pure bliss filled his entire being. There was no way he could have gotten to Maggie through that intense heat with no breathing apparatus. It wasn’t his fault Maggie died in that fire. The charred helmet removed any doubt. If he hadn’t backed out when he did, he would have died too. He wasn’t a coward. Never was.

  He thought back to the fun he and Maggie had together, the joy they brought each other. He could see her beaming face while riding old Bert. That’s what he’d remember, not her soot-darkened face he woke to every day since her death.

  Mitch’s mind, unshackled of guilt, spun with thoughts and images of the last year: helping to save and rebuild the school, the rescue of Nic and his crew, their farm saved from foreclosure. Alexus and Jasmine. If he had died in that fire with Maggie…

  He had been absolutely sure it was his fault Maggie died and he was absolutely wrong. Like Crusher said, “Assumptions will bite you in the ass.”

  He rummaged through the closet and found the trophy for winning the Wisconsin State High School Wrestling Championship, the blue ribbon for his prize Holstein at the Jefferson County Fair, and a folder of photos.

  He dug through family pictures he hadn’t seen since before his mom died. He was shocked by how much he had grown to look like her with her jet-black hair, dark eyes, olive complexion, and smooth jawline. In almost every photo he noticed her strained smile.

  He found pictures from prom. He stared at the photo of him and Jennie kissing and felt the warmth and softness of her lips. In one photo she was staring at him as if he were the most fascinating person in the world.

  Mitch loaded the Gator and drove out to the treehouse. He hung the pictures on the walls along with the John Deere hat and fire helmet. The trophies went on the bookcase the children had built. Yes, this is where he’d come to remember, not forget. And to face painful memories, deal with them, let them go, and focus on the good ones.

  Back at the house for another load, he took the charred copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn from the bed stand and opened it to the last page. Mitch, when you finish reading this let me know what you liked about it. Love, Mom.

  He closed the book and held it to his forehead. I love you too.

  The Temptations were singing My Girl as he trudged down the steps. Miss Bernie and Jasmine bumped hips to the music while rolling out pie crusts.

  “Jasmine, you need to see this,” Mitch said.

  He set the book in front of her. She opened it, the edges of each page darkened with soot. “I love that book.”

  “Why’s it all burned?” Miss Bernie asked.

  “It was in my old treehouse when it burned in the fire. That’s where me and my mom would go to read and talk about books.” Mitch paused as the memory played in his mind. “We spent a lot of time up there together.”

  Jasmine’s eyes widened. “
Your tree, Mitch. It’s like the Heaven Tree in the book.”

  Miss Bernie folded her hands. “Don’t know nothing about Heaven Trees, but my daddy told me about a tree momma loved. A big old oak like yours, Mitch. Daddy said they’d set under that tree after chores was done and talk till bedtime. Told me, after she died, he’d set under that old tree and talk to her.” She smiled to herself. “He said her spirit lived on in that tree. Said when people die, their spirit don’t go in the ground. It’s in the alive things they loved and left behind.”

  Miss Bernie went quiet. Mitch figured she was thinking about her father and the mother she never knew. Miss Bernie’s eyebrows shot up. “Mitch, your momma’s spirit in that tree. That’s why it refuse to die in that awful fire.”

  “I believe you’re right. Your dad sounds like he was a wise man.”

  She nodded. “Your daddy wise too in his own stubborn way. He’s out on the porch taking a snooze. Worked him hard this morning. He fights ever inch of the way, but he won’t be needing that walker by the time we go back.”

  “How’s your back holding up?”

  “Don’t worry about me none. Brother Williams got one of them bone crackers for me when I get back. He swears by ’em.”

  “Would you see where Billy is?” Mitch asked Jasmine. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  When he heard the screen door slam behind her, he said, “Miss Bernie, DeAndre’s back.”

  “Don’t make no matter to me. Got no time for hate. Only feeds the Devil.”

  “Why didn’t they lock him up?”

  “Brother Williams heard they couldn’t find any witnesses. Had to drop the case.”

  “What about what I told them?”

  “You got to let it be.”

  Jasmine burst into the kitchen. “Mitch, it’s Billy. He’s laying by the barn. Hurry.” She ran out. When he found them, Jasmine was on her knees next to the prone dog. Billy’s breathing was labored and eyes clouded. Jasmine buried her face in the dog’s thick neck.