by J. J. Cook
Stella waited in the freezing rain, her bunker coat protecting her from most of the chill. Her boots were solid and dry. She was still cold, ready to go home and sit by the fire. Once they got the last young man off the ledge, all she had to do was climb out.
“Ready?” John asked as the spotlight they’d set up on the ledge showed the jack coming toward them with another basket.
She pushed her helmet down on her head and ignored the narrow ledge they stood on. “Oh yeah.”
The helicopter came before they could free the young man’s leg from the rock. It hovered far enough away that the strong wind from the rapidly moving blades didn’t affect them.
The pilot added an extra spotlight on the situation. The rockslide was even more devastating than they’d been able to tell earlier, reaching down hundreds of feet below where they were working.
Stella was using the jack to lift the rock. John had his arms around the young man to pull him onto the ledge when he was free. They had the basket waiting to attach to the helicopter, which would transport him to the hospital.
The problem was the edge and the loose rocks. As Stella jacked up the rock, smaller rocks rolled out from under it. One of the rocks, where John was crouching holding the victim, slid down about six inches and stopped.
“Faster,” he yelled at Stella. “I don’t know how much more this slide will take.”
“Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you do.” She kept pumping the jack as she spoke. She could almost see the injured man’s entire mangled leg and foot.
“Chief?” Kent called down from above them. “The victims have been transported. Mackie Fossett came by with his truck in case we need to take anyone else out.”
Mackie was a pepper farmer who lived nearby. Stella had visited his farm for a day to learn about peppers for the Sweet Pepper Festival.
“Thanks,” she answered back.
“Do you and John need some help down there?” Kent asked. “One of us can come down too.”
“I think we’ve almost got it,” she said.
The injured man regained consciousness at that moment. “What’s going on? I can’t feel my leg. Who are you people?”
“We’re the local fire department,” John answered. “You’re gonna be all right. We’re gonna put you into a safety basket for transport. Just hang on.”
John called the helicopter and told the pilot to come in closer. He and Stella lifted the injured man and secured him in the basket.
As the helicopter came close enough to attach the safety harness, the wind from the blades made John and Stella’s footing on the ice-covered ledge harder to maintain. Stella lost her balance and dropped to her knees as she was helping John attach the harness to the basket.
“Are you okay?” he shouted above the noise of the whirling blades.
“I’m okay. We’re ready.”
John radioed again to let the pilot know the basket was secure. The helicopter began pulling away, and the injured man started screaming.
It could have been the shift in moving the injured man’s weight from the ledge. Or it could have been the wind generated by the helicopter. They would never know for sure, but at that moment, the rock slide began moving downward again.
John was on the edge at that point as the basket was moving up past him. The rocks dropped away from under his feet leaving him with nothing but open space to cling to.
Stella thought fast and clipped the end of her rope to John’s harness. “Grab on tight,” she said to her team. “Double weight on this end.”
“Don’t worry, Chief,” Kent yelled back on the radio. “We’re ready.”
It was like a scene from a movie or a nightmare. The helicopter rose quickly into the dark sky with its burden beneath it. John was left in midair, his arms straight up, as his hands and feet tried to grab on to something that would save him.
As he fell off the ledge, Stella felt the abrupt pull at her rope and prayed that it would hold. It did, possibly too well, as it dragged her off of the side of the mountain with him.
They dangled in the darkness, swinging against the side of the dark mountain. A few tons of rock slid past them, but they were alive and uninjured, held from above by her team.
“It’s okay, Chief!” Kent yelled into the radio. “We got you.”
“I hope they have me too,” John shouted to Stella once the noise from the helicopter was gone.
“You’re here,” she said breathlessly. “I think they do.”
The progress going back up was slow and painful. Once they were on the bottom ledge again, another rope was sent down.
John ignored it. He grabbed Stella and hugged her, kissing her long and hard, even though the spotlight was illuminating them. The team above cheered.
“Thanks,” he said. “You saved my life.”
Stella tried not to take his actions to heart. He was just glad to be alive and she was the closest one to him. “It’s what I do.”
It was easier going from ledge to ledge. Stella and John were with the rest of the volunteers in ten minutes. They put their arms around each other as they began hiking off of the trail.
The Smittys, Chief Rogers, and Ben Carson were all waiting in their cars by the fire engine when the fire brigade reached the main road again.
As usual, the Smittys were full of questions and took dozens of pictures. Chief Rogers slapped John on the back when he saw him. He was equally enthusiastic when John told him about the drugs they had confiscated.
Bernard, Ben’s longtime driver, held a large black umbrella above his employer’s head. Ben hugged his granddaughter. “I heard the news and came right out. Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?”
“Just doing my job.” Stella shrugged, still surprised by the fanfare that frequently accompanied the work done by the fire brigade.
“Could you be a little less heroic?” he requested. “Just kidding. I love you, Stella. I’m proud of you. I’m so glad you’re safe.”
The Smittys took several pictures of Ben hugging Stella. The volunteers were exhausted and cold. They climbed into the Cherokee and the fire engine and went back to the firehouse.
There was always the afterglow of what they’d done that carried them through changing clothes, cleaning the engine, and getting home again. By the time Stella had reached the cabin, that glow was gone, leaving her exhausted and ready for bed.
Eric and Hero wanted to hear everything. Eric had the TV on with the big headline Local Fire Department Saves Hikers, Discovers Drugs.
“That was a close call,” Eric said when he heard the story from her. “Shouldn’t you be the one on the top ledge giving orders? You’re the chief.”
“Like you did that?” She yawned. “You do what’s needed. I don’t have to tell you that.”
She’d finished the brandy-laced hot chocolate that Eric had made for her. The soft leather sofa near the fire made it too comfortable to get up. Stella yawned again, and closed her eyes.
*
When she opened them again, it was morning. Ice covered everything, making the tree branches hang low and the front door hard to open. The sun was up, sparkling on the frozen wonderland outside her window. It was a good day not to venture outside.
“There’s no food,” Eric complained. “You have to keep enough supplies around in case of conditions where you can’t get to a grocery store.”
“I’m sure there’s something. I know Hero has food. As long as there’s a Pop-Tart left, I’m fine. You don’t eat. Problem solved.”
Eric opened the kitchen cabinet. “No Pop-Tarts. No bread. No milk. Walt drank the last of the coffee. The best you can hope for is pancakes with mustard on them.”
Stella laughed at his worried face and then grimaced. “I think I must’ve hit that mountain a little harder than I thought. I’m sore all over.”
“Take a hot shower. I’ll search for more food.”
There was a loud, crunching sound outside. They both went to the wi
ndow to see what was happening. “I hope that isn’t Bob again,” she muttered.
But it was John’s old pickup, chains on the wheels, crunching across the ice on the mountain road.
“What time is it?” Stella panicked.
“A little after nine,” Eric replied.
“I was supposed to be at the memorial at nine.” She rushed into the bedroom. “No time for food. Problem solved.”
Chapter 9
Stella took out her formal dress uniform. It was still in a plastic bag. The uniform was stark black with dozens of shiny brass buttons. The Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade emblem on the front gave it a touch of red and gold.
It was a little snug. She’d been fitted for it a few months before. Either it had shrunk or she’d grown. Darn those biscuits. Who’d have thought she’d like biscuits almost better than pizza?
Her hair was too long to tuck under her uniform hat. She had to tie it back at the nape of her neck. There was no time for makeup. The cold weather would make her face pink anyway. She put on her boots and was ready to go.
As an afterthought, she grabbed the box that held Eric’s fire chief badge in it. The town had sent it away to have it cleaned after it had been recovered, and the mystery of Eric’s death had been solved. The badge would be kept at the firehouse in his memory after today.
Stella looked at the badge she wore. The two were almost identical. Eric’s badge had some dents and wear to it. She thought she could always hold his badge up if words failed her during her speech.
Two speeches in two days. She put on her black wool coat that matched the uniform. That was two speeches too many.
John was anxiously waiting in the kitchen. He looked tall, fit, and handsome in his dress uniform. “What are you doing? The mayor is about to burst a blood vessel. Come on!”
“I slept in. I didn’t even think they’d do this today after the storm.” She grabbed her gloves and keys with her bag.
“I have my pickup,” John said when he saw her keys. “It’s warm already. Let’s take it.”
“I’m not going to the memorial in your old pickup,” she said. “That’s why we have the Cherokee. I know the town council would take it the wrong way if I don’t show up in the vehicle that has my name on the door.”
“Are you kidding?” He held up his hands when he saw that she was serious. “Okay. I’ll meet you there. Hurry.”
John ran outside, and Stella looked back at the room. Eric had reappeared, which had sent Hero into fits of jumping and barking.
“Hero’s already been outside, and I fed him,” Eric said.
“Thanks. I’m sorry you can’t be there.”
“How weird would that be anyway?” he asked with a laugh. “I don’t think people are supposed to be at their own memorials. Drive carefully.”
Stella considered that it made sense for him not to hear people make speeches about what he’d been like when he was alive. She was still sad that he couldn’t go. But there was nothing she could do about it.
“I’ll see you later.”
Hero ran out the open door and started jumping at the door of the Cherokee.
*
Mayor Erskine Wando had been talking about Eric Gamlyn for almost forty minutes when he gratefully saw Stella drive up in the bright red Cherokee with the fire brigade symbol on the door.
Despite the weather there was a good turnout—including representatives from the state and the investigators who were there to look into Barney Falk’s death.
Barney Falk had been scheduled to speak at the memorial. Instead the present state representative for the area, Susan Clark, was on hand. She was waiting impatiently for her turn. It was scheduled after Stella’s speech.
Stella and Hero ran from the parking area at the Heavenly Peace Cemetery to the temporary platform that had been set up on the back of the Scooter’s Barbecue flatbed trailer. It had been decorated with fire department paraphernalia and colors. There were also large black-and-white pictures of Eric and the original fire brigade from the 1970s.
The last time Stella had seen the trailer was during the Sweet Pepper Festival when a group of people had been clogging on it.
“And here’s our brave fire chief now,” Mayor Wando said into the microphone. “Stella Griffin, get on up here.”
Representative Clark, Chief Rogers, and members of the town council were seated in chairs set in front of the flatbed. They applauded as she went quickly up the stairs. Hero started to follow her, but Kimmie called him to where she was seated in the audience with his mother, Sylvia.
Stella looked out into the faces of the people she’d come to know. She smiled at all of them and adjusted the microphone for herself. “Good morning. Sorry I was late. I’m glad to see so many people out here this morning.”
Mayor Wando ducked in close to her. His formal top hat that he wore to all town events was slightly askew on his shaved head. A heavy coat made his tall, bulky body look even larger.
“I just want to say a word about our present fire chief.” His breath was visible in the cold air. “Chief Griffin was out with her volunteers a good part of last night when the rest of us were home drinking hot cocoa and staying out of the weather. They rescued a group of young people on Dead Bear Trail. Could I get the fire brigade members to stand where they are so you all can give these heroes a round of applause?”
The members of the fire brigade—all of them as far as Stella could see—got reluctantly to their feet. The rest of the audience gave them a long round of applause.
Stella was surprised the mayor put his arm around her. He smiled so the Smittys could take their picture. Then he shook her hand for another picture.
Mayor Wando finally gave her two thumbs-up and went to sit in a chair off the dais.
Stella knew that was her cue to speak. “We’re here today to honor a man who gave everything he had to keep the people of Sweet Pepper safe. Fire Chief Eric Gamlyn.”
There was more applause as Stella gestured to one of the pictures of Eric.
“Chief Gamlyn created the fire brigade in the early 1970s after perceiving the need for a local group to fight fires in Sweet Pepper. He recruited his volunteers and built a firehouse. I heard from a reliable source that there was already a group in place before the original fire brigade. I think they were called the garden hose brigade.”
People in the audience who remembered those days laughed and applauded. Stella went on to explain how the garden hose brigade worked.
“Wish we had pictures of that,” Walt Fenway yelled from the front row.
“No, you don’t.” Tagger laughed and shook his head, his eyes tearing up at the memories.
“In Chief Gamlyn’s time, the fire brigade saved thousands of dollars in property and hundreds of lives,” Stella continued. “Today the Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade continues Chief Gamlyn’s vision and legacy to the community. We honor those first brave citizens who came forward to make a difference.”
She nodded to Kent, who pulled the large gray tarp that had been wrapped around the larger-than-life sculpture of Eric. The wind helped him, and the tarp flew back from the statue.
It was remarkably lifelike, made of granite and set beside Eric’s grave in the cemetery. Already the Daughters of the American Revolution had raised funds to put in a flower garden with a bench beside it.
Everyone applauded again. A few people from the old fire brigade got up and saluted the image of their chief. Tears flowed freely as everyone stood to salute Eric.
Stella thanked everyone again for being there. She felt for the box holding Eric’s old badge that was in her coat pocket. She took the badge out and held it up for everyone to see it. She knew she hadn’t spoken even close to twenty minutes, but she was late and Representative Clark’s assistant was tapping his watch. She knew no one would mind if she left the podium.
There was a bright shaft of sunlight that came down to illuminate the badge. It was as though the clouds had parted to let the sun shine down just at that mom
ent. The badge glinted as it caught the light. Everyone saw it and gasped, holding one another’s hands and remarking on it.
Stella put the badge away and stepped aside to let the representative say a few words.
Susan Clark spoke about how important local volunteer firefighters were. Her words fell on unappreciative ears. Sweet Pepper had appealed to her when the county had decided not to continue fire service. They’d hired Stella to start their own group soon after. Most there wouldn’t forget that when election day rolled around.
The applause for her wasn’t as hearty as it had been for Stella, but people in Sweet Pepper tried to be polite.
Mayor Wando announced the Sweet Pepper VFW memorial group. The men, none of them under eighty, got to their feet, clutching their rifles. Their uniforms were pressed and neat.
Stella admired their military precision—and the fact that they could still fit into their old uniforms. She hoped fifty years from now she’d be able to do the same. She was going to lay off the biscuits, or get some workout equipment in the firehouse. Otherwise, Molly Whitehouse, the town seamstress, was going to have to let out her uniform.
The captain who was the head of the group raised his hand for the twenty-one-gun salute. He called out orders to the seven shooters. They pointed their rifles at the clear blue sky. “The Star-Spangled Banner” started blasting from the speakers on the truck. The shots rang out, echoing off the Smoky Mountains that ringed the town.
When the salute had finished, people applauded, and the cold group began to break up.
“That’s enough noise to wake the dead,” a voice said very near Stella’s ear.
She looked to her left and gasped. “Eric! How did you get here?”
Chapter 10
“Is something wrong, sweetie?” Flo asked on the other side of her.
“No.” Stella took a deep breath and looked again. Eric was still there.
“Shh.” He laughed. “Someone might think you’re crazy.”
“I know what you mean.” Flo wiped tears from her dark blue eyes. She patted her blond hair into place. “It gets me too. Eric was such a good man. He should’ve married me when he had the chance. He’d have lots of grandchildren here to see this memorial.”