Where There's Smoke

by Doreen Roberts

  “I’m sure he doesn’t leave her alone at night,” Claire said, refusing to believe Turner was that stupid.

  “How do we know he doesn’t? You’re not going to tell me a man like Turner stays home night after night, taking care of that child? And Roger swears he saw him coming out of a nightclub late one night. Of course, it was dark and raining, but Roger is almost certain it was Turner.”

  “‘Almost’?” Claire repeated dryly.

  “Yes. But I’m convinced he waits until Harrie is asleep, then takes off to do his own thing. After all, he neglected his wife. It’s fairly safe to assume he would neglect his child, as well.”

  Claire’s pulse skipped a beat. This was the first she’d heard that there had been a problem in the marriage. Stacey had never mentioned it in her letters, she had always seemed blissfully happy.

  “If it hadn’t been for that man,” Mrs. Bridgemont went on, her voice sounding harsh and bitter, “my daughter would be alive today. He drove her to it, and that’s the truth of it.”

  Claire stared at Mrs. Bridgemont, her mind reeling in shock. Drove her to it? “But Stacey died in a car accident, didn’t she? That’s what everyone told me.” She waited through the long pause at the end of the line.

  “Yes, of course she did,” Mrs. Bridgemont said finally. “That’s...not what I meant. Anyway, that has nothing to do with what is happening now. Turner is willfully neglecting my grandchild, and I’m going to prove it, one way or another. You see if I don’t.”

  After saying goodbye to the determined woman, Claire put the phone down, her mind playing uneasily over the comments she had just heard. For some reason, Mrs. Bridgemont blamed Turner for Stacey’s death. But that didn’t make sense. Stacey died in an accident.

  Unable to settle her mind, Claire finally decided it was time she paid another visit to the Mitchells’ cabin. She’d been unconsciously putting it off, reluctant to face Turner’s resentment again, but he needed to know what he was up against.

  She didn’t know if he was aware that Mrs. Bridgemont blamed him for his wife’s death or if he knew why the woman felt he was responsible. Whatever the reason, it could be a powerful incentive to take Harrie away from her father. And for the wrong reasons.

  As she headed the car out of town later, Claire couldn’t help wondering if there could be any truth to Mrs. Bridgemont’s accusations. But Turner had seemed so devastated by Stacey’s death. Could that have been guilt? Stacey had seemed so happy. Had Roger Bridgemont really seen Turner out late at night? And what had Mrs. Bridgemont meant by her cryptic remark, He drove her to it. To what?

  So many unanswered questions. Claire frowned, staring ahead at the heat shimmering off the roadway. If she was going to keep her promise to Stacey and protect Harrie, she would have to get some answers. Though God knows how she would go about it. Something told her that this time she had taken on far more than she had ever imagined when she had agreed to be Harrie’s godmother. She only hoped she could handle the volatile situation without making too many bitter enemies.

  Once she reached the highway, Claire wound the window down to let in the cool air from the river. The soft music from her favorite radio station helped to ease her tension, until the local newscast interrupted the tranquil sound.

  After the weather forecast, which promised more hot, dry conditions, the announcer gave a report on the local fire hazard in the forests, which now stood at the most dangerous level in thirty years.

  Thanks to the dry lightning that had plagued the area, already forest fires had claimed thousands of acres in eastern Oregon, the reporter informed his listeners.

  The Forest Service contemplated banning all campfires in the woods, even the possibility of closing down some of the campgrounds if the problem worsened. The announcer finished with a solemn warning to everyone who used the recreation areas to be extra careful.

  Speeding up on the road alongside the majestic Columbia River, Claire scanned the forested crags that rose high above the highway for miles. They were dark green and lush, and it was hard to imagine they could be as dry as the announcer had insisted they were.

  How dreadful it would be to see this beautiful area devastated by fire. It would take years, decades, before the devastation caused by something as drastic as a forest fire could be restored.

  She watched a pair of hawks circling high above the mighty fir trees that covered the high walls of the Gorge. It wasn’t just the trees that were destroyed by a fire, but a large percentage of the living creatures that called the forest their home. That was one of the saddest aspects of such an inferno.

  Sobered by the thought, she pulled up at the end of the path that led to the Mitchells’ cabin. The cool, damp air of the forest greeted her as she walked beneath the shade of the leafy trees. In front of her a squirrel scuttled across the path, and another one chattered angrily at her from the high branches above her head.

  A chorus of chirps and twitters echoed through the trees as a dozen or more species of birds sought shelter from the summer heat in the shady branches.

  The announcer’s dire warning came to Claire’s mind again as she walked along the path. How terrifying it must be to be a wild animal trapped by a raging wildfire, she thought. The image was so disturbing, she could almost smell the smoke.

  She turned the bend in the path and saw the roof of the cabin through the trees. Her uneasiness increased as she tilted up her face to sniff the air. It wasn’t her imagination, after all. She could smell something burning.

  Quickening her footsteps, she hurried toward the cabin. When she reached the end of the path, shock jolted her to a standstill. Black smoke streamed out the open front door, curling its ugly fingers up into the pine branches above the roof. Her heart in her mouth, Claire broke into a run.

  At first she could see nothing but smoke when she reached the open doorway. Her immediate thought was of Harrie, and she called out the child’s name, praying she was out playing somewhere. A fit of coughing answered her from somewhere inside.

  She sounded fairly close...in the living room, perhaps. Drawing a deep breath, Claire lunged into the smoke. Her eyes stung and started to water. Blinking, she peered through the haze that filled the room.

  Yellow flames licked at the broom Harrie wielded as she beat at the rug in front of the wood stove. Coughing and spluttering, the little girl looked up as Claire shouted her name.

  “I can’t get it out,” she said, her voice shrill with fear.

  “Stay away from it,” Claire yelled, sprinting for the kitchen. “Help me get some water.”

  Thank God they had running water, she thought as she turned the faucets on full. Harrie scrabbled for pans in the cupboard and between them they filled them with water and carried them back to the living room.

  Luckily Harrie’s beating had subdued the blaze, and it took only a matter of minutes to soak the rug enough to put out the fire. Claire felt as if her lungs were ablaze when she paused to catch her breath. Her throat hurt with all the coughing and her eyes felt as if someone had thrown sand in them.

  She sent Harrie outside with the burned rug, while she made sure the floor underneath was thoroughly soaked. Although badly scorched, the floorboards showed no signs of smoldering, and finally satisfied, Claire staggered outside and drew clean, fresh air into her tortured lungs.

  Harrie sat on a log, her head down, her hair hiding her face. As Claire approached, she lifted her chin, revealing her features smudged with smoke and stained with tears.

  Something twisted in Claire’s heart as she looked down at the little girl. “What happened?” Her voice sounded as if she had a bad cold, and she cleared her throat, wincing when it stung.

  “I was burning some garbage in the wood stove, and some of it fell out and set fire to the rug.” A shudder shook Harrie’s thin body. “I thought it was going to burn the whole house down.”

  “You were lucky it didn’t.” Claire paused a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. “What were you doing burning
garbage in the wood stove, anyway? Don’t you have a garbage can?”

  “Daddy burns it so they don’t have to come and collect it,” Harrie said. Her voice sounded as bad as Claire’s and she swallowed several times. She glanced up at Claire with a worried frown. “You won’t tell him, will you? I’m not supposed to light the fire when I’m alone.”

  “I think it’s going to be a little difficult to explain the mess in there,” Claire said, sending a rueful glance back at the cabin. “I guess this is one time you’ll have to accept the responsibility of your actions.” And so will Turner, she added inwardly.

  “Daddy forgot to do it last night and it was smelly. It was making me feel bad. I wanted to get rid of it.”

  Struggling with her anger, Claire heard the echo of Mrs. Bridgemont’s harsh voice: He neglected his wife, it’s fairly safe to assume he would neglect his child.

  Making up her mind, she held out a grimy hand to Harrie. “Come on,” she said, trying not to let the little girl detect her disapproval, “I want him to see this.” Grabbing hold of the small hand, she hauled her down the path to her car.

  “Where are we going?” Harrie said nervously as Claire started the engine.

  “To your dad’s store. I want to talk to him.”

  “We could have cut through the woods. It’s only a little way.”

  “I know. Right now I don’t feel much like walking.” Claire pulled out onto the highway and sped around the curve that led to the Landing. A couple of minutes later she pulled up outside the row of shops.

  Three power boats floated at the dock, securely tied to the posts. A man in shorts and T-shirt handed grocery sacks to the pretty blond woman aboard one of the boats. The occupants of the other two were apparently inside the stores.

  It was too bad if Turner had customers, Claire thought as she cut the engine. This couldn’t wait.

  “Shall I stay here?” Harrie asked when Claire opened the door.

  “No, I want him to see you.” Claire softened her voice when she saw the distressed look on Harrie’s face. “It’s all right. He won’t yell at you too much while I’m there.” If he did, she thought grimly, she’d have a thing or two to say to him.

  “You’re mad at us,” Harrie said in a small voice.

  “I’m more frightened than mad.” Claire held out her hand. “You could have died in that fire. I hope you never do that again, no matter how bad the garbage smells.”

  “I won’t,” Harrie promised fervently. “I was pretty scared, too.” She climbed out of the car and took hold of Claire’s hand.

  Marching into the shop, Claire saw Turner immediately. He stood by the tall shelves at the end of the room, talking to two young men. His gaze flickered over her, registering surprise, then shock, as he took in her appearance. Belatedly Claire reflected that she probably looked as bad as Harrie did. Turner’s eyes widened even farther as his gaze traveled to his daughter.

  “What in the hell happened to you?” he demanded, apparently forgetting his interested customers. Both men turned to look at the two of them.

  Harrie’s face turned scarlet, and she poked the toe of her sneaker into a knothole in the floor, mumbling, “Nothing much.”

  “I’ll tell you what happened to us,” Claire said, ignoring the curious glances from the teenagers. “We had to put out a fire in your cabin. That’s what happened to us.”

  To her dismay, her voice quavered as if she were on the verge of tears. Reaction, she told herself, and made an effort to regain control of her emotions.

  Turner’s expression had become grim. “Are you all right?” He strode over to Harrie and grasped her by the arms. Bending down, he peered at her face. “Are you okay, kitten? You’re not hurt?”

  “No, she’s all right, no thanks to you,” Claire said fiercely. “Now perhaps you’ll understand how badly you need someone to take care of her. If I hadn’t been around...” Her voice cracked and she swallowed, determined not to break down in front of him.

  He gave her a swift look, then straightened. “Just a minute. Let me finish serving these customers and we’ll discuss this.”

  His expression warned her not to say any more. Not that he need worry, she thought as he turned back to the young men. She wasn’t sure her voice would work, anyway.

  She waited, her stomach rebelling at the smell of turpentine and damp rope that pervaded the musty shop. Harrie seemed subdued, but otherwise unscathed by the experience. She wandered over to the corner of the shop where a collection of fishing poles leaned against the wall.

  Claire hoped the child had learned her lesson. She glanced across at Turner, who had his back to her. She hoped he’d learned one, too. If so, then the experience was worth something.

  The two men left, one of them giving Claire a smile of reassurance, as if he felt sorry for her. She was feeling pretty sorry for herself when she faced Turner again.

  “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss my personal problems in front of my customers,” he said, tight-lipped.

  Once more Claire’s temper flared and she found her voice. “Damn it, Turner, forget your customers. Your daughter could have died in that fire. Can you imagine what the Bridgemonts would have done with that? How would you have felt being charged in the death of your daughter through negligence?”

  She almost felt sorry for him when she saw his face pale.

  “How did it happen?” he said tightly.

  She told him briefly, while Harrie pretended to be examining packages of fish lures. By the time Claire had finished, she had cooled down a little. Enough to hold her tongue when Turner looked across at Harrie and said sternly, “How many times have I told you not to light a fire when I’m not around?”

  “The garbage pail smelled bad,” Harrie said, pouting. “It was making me sick.”

  “So next time put it outside until I get home, okay?” He looked back at Claire. “I’m doing the best I can,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck as if it ached. “I’ve put an ad in the local paper for a housekeeper and I’ve had three calls this morning. By tonight I should have hired one of them, all being well.”

  “No!” Harrie’s voice rang across the room. “No, I don’t want a housekeeper. They won’t let me do anything fun, and they poke around the house and in my stuff.”

  She rushed across to Turner, put her arms around his hips and looked up at him. “Please, Daddy, please? We don’t need anyone. Really we don’t. I can take care of everything. I promise I won’t light any more fires. Please, Daddy?”

  He looked down at her, his brows drawn together as he ruffled her hair. “I’m sorry, kitten, but it looks as if we’ll have to go along with this one.”

  Harrie’s eyes filled with tears as she pulled away from her father. “You don’t love me anymore. You don’t want me to look after you. You want some stupid old woman to take care of the house, instead of me.”

  Turner shook his head and said wearily, “Harrie...you know that’s not true.”

  Claire took a step forward, hands outstretched. “Harrie, please...we’re only doing what is best for you.”

  Harrie glared at her. “Everyone’s always saying that. But they don’t mean it, or else they’d leave me alone. I don’t want someone else in the house. I just want me and Daddy.” She started backing away toward the door, her tearful gaze on her father.

  “You don’t love me anymore,” she said again, her voice breaking. “Well, see if I care. I hate you. I hate both of you.” She spun around and tore out of the shop.

  With a cry of distress, Claire chased after her, but as she reached the door, Harrie disappeared around the corner. By the time Claire had reached the corner of the buildings, she was just in time to see Harrie disappear into the woods.

  Feeling thoroughly drained, Claire walked back into the shop. Turner had his back to her and was stacking boxes on a shelf. “I expect she’s gone back to the cabin,” she said, wishing he’d at least look at her. “I’d better get back there. It’s in quite a me
ss.”

  “More likely she’s gone into hiding,” Turner said, still with his back to her. “She does that when she’s upset with me.”

  Shocked, Claire stared at the back of his head. “Into hiding? Where?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I gave up looking for her after the first few times. She’ll come back when she’s good and ready.”

  Claire let out her breath in a rush. “How can you stand there and be so damn complacent about it? What if she got lost? What if someone picked her up? What if—”

  He spun around suddenly, startling her, his face a mask of resentment. “What if you just butt out for a change? What do you know about living in this environment? All you know is city streets and high-rise buildings. Well, let me tell you something. The forest is a hell of a lot safer. And until everyone started making noises about me leaving Harrie alone, we were doing just fine.”

  “So fine she almost burned your house down and herself with it.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure she could have handled it without your help. Harrie is a lot more resourceful than people give her credit for.”

  He took a step forward, unnerving Claire into backing away from him. “Let me give you a word of advice, Ms. Spencer, and you can take it back with you to the Bridgemonts. Stay out of our lives, before you walk into more trouble than you can handle.”

  Trembling, Claire stood her ground. “I can’t do that, Turner. I made a promise and I’m going to keep it. When I’m satisfied that Harrie is being taken care of properly, then I’ll leave you alone. But not before.”

  She left quickly, his words still ringing in her ears. As she climbed back into the car, she told herself she should drive home, but she couldn’t leave knowing that Harrie was out in the woods alone somewhere. Even if Turner didn’t seem too concerned.

  She wanted to be at the cabin when Harrie returned. She wanted to talk to her and try to explain why it was so necessary to do what her father wanted and have a housekeeper look after her.