All Roads Lead Home

by Christine Johnson

  Mariah’s eyes flew open. She’d forgotten that he was beside her. But so was God. She knew that now.

  “Where is the fire?” Hendrick asked Judge Weiss.

  The judge nodded to the south. “Out by the school.” He put the car in gear and started to roll away from the station.

  Hendrick’s gut clenched. The children. Anna. She’d gone to the school to help one of the teachers. He raced forward and grabbed onto Weiss’s car. “My sister is there,” he panted. “No time for mules. Hitch to car.”

  Miraculously, the judge understood what he meant. He applied the brake, and Hendrick bent to gather his breath.

  Weiss got out and came around to the back of his Willys. “You telling me you can hitch that fire wagon to my car?”

  Hendrick took a deep draught of air. “Not hitch, but we’ve got enough men here to set up your car to pull it.”

  “You lost me, son.”

  Hendrick explained how they could use a towrope or chain to drag the fire engine behind the Willys. It would take some strong men in the car and on the engine, but it would be faster than waiting for a horse team to arrive. “But it might scratch your paint job.”

  Weiss laughed. “You think I don’t have any dings on that car? It’s a car, son, not family. We got a fire on our hands. Let’s hop to it, boys.”

  In no time, Hendrick, Talltree and his friends attached a chain to the fire pump. Meanwhile, Weiss pumped several cans of fuel for the motor and stashed them inside his car. Three strong men got in the back of the car.

  “Don’t drive too fast,” Hendrick cautioned, “or the wagon’ll sway and tip over.”

  “I’ll ride it,” one of the remaining Indians volunteered.

  The others followed alongside, ready to hop on or steady it if necessary. Hendrick motioned for Talltree to join them, but the Indian waved him on.

  “I’ll get help,” he said, backing toward the hotel.

  Hendrick didn’t know if Talltree intended to recruit the tourists or if he had some other idea, but they needed all the help they could get.

  When Mariah and Gillard reached the Glacier hotel, he suggested she call Gabe from there. Mariah tensed. What would she tell him? What if Felicity picked up the telephone? She rapidly calculated the hour.

  “He wouldn’t be home from church yet,” she said triumphantly, “and there’s no telephone there.”

  “Then you can talk to your sister-in-law.” He winked. “Break the news to her.”

  Mariah couldn’t do that. “We’ll just wait.”

  He frowned. “Why put it off? An hour isn’t going to make any difference.” Without waiting for her to reply, he pulled her into the lobby and asked to use their telephone.

  Her heart pounded. What would she tell Felicity? How could she warn her without alarming her? She pondered running, but Gillard would catch up to her before she reached the car.

  “Hello, operator. Hello?” Gillard tried unsuccessfully to make the connection. After several failed attempts, he replaced the receiver. “The line’s dead,” he said to the clerk. “Do you know why?”

  The clerk picked up the receiver, tested the connection and replaced it. “No, sir, I don’t, but we do have periodic outages.”

  Praise God.

  Gillard wasn’t that easily dissuaded. “We’ll head back to Brunley. We’ll go all the way to Cut Bank if we have to.”

  Mariah’s nerves went on alert. He desperately needed her to make that call today. Why? It didn’t make sense. There was something he wasn’t telling her, some reason he had to have Luke here. More and more she worried that wasn’t for any of the reasons he’d stated. That niggling fear returned full force. Something evil lurked in Frank Gillard, and she was at its mercy.

  The sky grew more lurid the closer they got to Brunley. It had to be late afternoon now, but the sky was darkened by the rainless storm. Back in Pearlman, Gabe and Felicity would be resting after supper. Perhaps Gabe worked on his sermon while Felicity embroidered clothes for the baby. Luke would be playing in the backyard.

  Mariah squeezed her eyes shut, though this time not because of the hairpin turns. Then she smelled something. She sniffed.

  “Is that smoke?” She looked ahead, but the wind had tossed so much dust in the air that she couldn’t possibly tell it apart from smoke.

  “Wildfire,” he said tersely.

  They’d left the foothills and were entering the rolling plain. That’s when she saw the flames shooting high into the air. She gasped. No wonder the telephone line had been dead. “Brunley’s on fire.”

  The mile-long drive to the Indian school took forever. Hendrick watched the flames leap into the sky, clouds of smoke climbing high. Rain would help, but only one or two drops splattered against his face.

  “Keep Anna safe,” he prayed. Mariah would probably be with Gillard at his ranch by now. The thought still made him sick.

  When they finally rounded the turn that took them to the school, the heat knocked his breath out. His skin sizzled, and his eyes itched and burned. This fire was hot and getting hotter. Trees burst into flames like fireworks, huge torches in the gloomy afternoon. The smoke made him hack and cough, so he pulled out his handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose.

  Even before Weiss stopped the car, Hendrick saw the horror that faced them. Flames shot skyward in a wall of fire not twenty yards from the back of the schoolhouse. Screaming and crying children ran around the yard like chickens on the loose, their teachers trying desperately to round them up.

  Hendrick looked for Anna and spotted her consoling several of the youngest children. Relief gave way to a welling pride. She was a good girl, a strong girl, a loving girl. She’d make Ma and Pa—God rest his soul—proud.

  “Where do you want the fire engine?” the judge asked, drawing Hendrick back to the task at hand.

  “We’ll draw water from the creek. The men know what to do.”

  Thank God he’d finished the motor before leaving. Thank God he hadn’t been able to catch a train until Friday. As it was, they might be able to keep the blaze at bay until everyone was safe. But he knew they stood little chance of saving the school with the pumper’s single stream of water. They needed more.

  He looked around and spotted the hand pump in the yard. “I want every adult not watching children to grab a bucket,” he yelled, cupping his hands as a megaphone.

  The frantic people actually listened. Mr. Sowich ran toward the pump. “There are more buckets in the laundry.”

  Gradually, order came to the chaos. A brigade formed, and buckets of water were tossed on the fire. The new pumper motor fired up, and water began to flow. But it wasn’t enough. They could never beat back a fire this big. The water merely hissed and turned to steam while the fire marched on. Maybe they could save just the schoolhouse.

  “Throw the water on the building,” he yelled.

  In the confusion, no one seemed to hear him, so he grabbed the nozzle and directed it toward the building. The squat but muscular Indian manning it nodded with understanding and began sweeping the water across the face of the building. Soon the others understood what he wanted, and the bucket brigade began dousing the building.

  “We need to help with the fire,” Mariah insisted when they reached Brunley. The town wasn’t on fire, but it soon would be. In this wind, it wouldn’t be long before the flames rolled across the mile or two that separated the fire from the dry and dusty town.

  Gillard continued to drive down the main street. “Not until you make that telephone call.”

  “Why?” Mariah had been wary before. Now she knew something was odd in his behavior. “I can call tomorrow or the next day. Why is it so important for me to call right now?”

  His jaw had tensed. “Because I need my son.”

  She didn’t believe his excuse. He pulled in front of the telegraph office and stopped the car. She shot out. She’d get away from him, go help with the fire.

  He grabbed her. “Where do you think you’re going?” Th
e smile had long since vanished, replaced by steely determination.

  “What are you doing?” She tugged her arm. “You’re hurting me.”

  He gripped harder. “You are going to call your brother and you are going to tell him to send Luke on the next train, understand?”

  This Frank Gillard terrified her. No one was on the streets or in the shops, presumably because of the fire. No one would come to her rescue if he struck her.

  “You can’t make me say anything,” she fired back.

  His grin was cruel. “Yes, I can. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll file legal action against your Society.”

  He would win. She had obstructed his right to his son. The agency would fold. Mr. Isaacs would be crushed, but he’d understand if she told him it was to save a child. He’d understand.

  “I won’t do it.”

  He gripped her jaw with his other hand and forced her to look at him. “You won’t do it for me or for your agency. Maybe you’ll do it for Luke.”

  She paled.

  “Every hour you delay will be taken out on his back.”

  She gasped. “You’re the one he’s afraid of.” Anna’s words came back to her, that Luke had told Peter he was afraid of a man, but that man wasn’t his father. “You’re not Luke’s father.”

  Gillard’s lips curled in a sneer. “I have the birth certificate to prove I am. Now I know who has him. Trust me, Miss Meeks, I can find your precious Luke.”

  Her legs lost all strength, and she stumbled as he dragged her to the telegraph office. He rattled the knob.

  Locked. Praise God.

  “It’s too late. They’re all at the fire.”

  “You’re not getting out of this that easily.” He grabbed her by the elbow, forced her into the car and drove to the Mountain View Hotel.

  Through the windshield she could see fire shoot above the trees that edged the narrow road to the Indian school.

  “The school,” she gasped. She unlatched the door before the car came to a stop at the hotel.

  Gillard grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  He dragged her up the steps, and she felt something cold and hard press into her back. A gun? She nearly collapsed. Surely she looked terrified. Surely Mrs. Pollard would notice.

  The woman looked up when they approached. “Oh, good. I need you to pack in case the fire heads in this direction. I just pray Mr. Hendrick’s fire pump works. I’m heading to the church to set up for those poor children.”

  Mariah braced herself on the edge of the counter since her legs were about to give away. “Are the children all safe?”

  “Don’t know, Miss. All we can do is pray.”

  Gillard slapped twenty dollars on the counter. “Can you give us a minute, Mrs. Pollard?” He used that oily-smooth tone that had fooled her for so long. “We have a private telephone call to place.”

  Mrs. Pollard looked from him to her with surprise. “Are you sure there’s time?”

  Gillard’s smile fooled so many. It fooled Mrs. Pollard, too. “It won’t take long.”

  The woman hesitated a moment before picking up the money. “Five minutes. Then you’re out.”

  Noooo. Mariah wanted to cry out to her, to beg her to stay, anything to stop this telephone call. Instead, she must hope the lines were down or no operator answered.

  Gillard walked her to the telephone and placed the receiver in her hand. He cranked to make the connection. Alas, an operator answered. She had no choice but to proceed.

  “I’d like to place a long-distance call to Pearlman, Michigan.” Then Mariah gave her the exchange and number. During the intervening wait, she prayed that no one would answer, that Felicity would not be home, that the call wouldn’t go through. Instead, after a single ring, Gabe’s voice crackled over the line, barely audible.

  Her mouth was dry. No words came to mind. The hard barrel of the gun pressed into her back.

  “Gabriel,” she croaked out.

  “Mariah? Is that you?”

  She had to concentrate to hear him.

  The gun pressed harder. She had a choice: tell Gabe to bring Luke west or die.

  “He, uh.” She swallowed hard, but there was nothing to swallow. Her throat ached. Her limbs had gone numb. Her ears rang.

  Gillard’s left hand circled her neck.

  She could barely breathe.

  “Mariah?” came Gabe’s faint voice on the other end. “What’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing,” she stammered. “It’s Gillard—Mr. Gillard. H-he has Luke’s birth certificate. It shows he’s the father.”

  After a long pause on the other end, Gabe quietly asked, “Do you want me to bring him?”

  Had Gillard heard? He stood within inches of her, but Gabe had spoken softly and the connection was very bad. Maybe he couldn’t hear. Her mind raced to find an answer that would satisfy Gillard while warning Gabe.

  “Do it,” Gillard hissed in her opposite ear.

  Of course. The opposite.

  “No, don’t,” she said with exaggerated urgency, as if Gabe had just asked if he could wait to bring Luke. “He insists on seeing Luke at once.”

  That should make no sense to Gabe. It certainly had the desired effect on Gillard. He took his hand from her throat and broke the connection.

  After holstering his gun, he said, “Now, that wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

  The firefighters’ efforts couldn’t halt the wind-driven flames. They advanced with unrelenting fury, consuming everything in their path. Sparks landed on the schoolhouse roof. Hendrick directed the pumper’s spray upward, but in the stiff wind it couldn’t reach above the second-story windows.

  He ran from the creek to the engine to the bucket brigades, coordinating the effort. More and more people appeared every minute, and three bucket brigades had formed. The whole town must be there. Still, it wasn’t enough.

  Before long, the shingles caught fire, and then the flames crept down the walls to the windows, which shattered with terrifying explosions.

  “Hendrick.” The cry came from a familiar voice.

  He turned to see Mariah running toward him, her face ashen. He had no time to comfort her. The battle with the fire required his full attention. The pump needed more fuel. The stream of water ebbed and flowed as the hose picked up debris in the creek and the valve had to be stopped momentarily so they could unplug the intake.

  The fire was gaining strength. He could use more people. Where was Talltree? Questions flew from every direction. He barked orders to get the children away from the building, to direct the water on the lower level, to refuel the pump.

  He ran from place to place, shouting directions. That’s why he didn’t notice the tap on his shoulder the first time. The second time Anna punched him in the chest.

  “What?” he snapped. He didn’t have time for his sister’s questions.

  “They’re not all out,” she cried, her soot-streaked face drawn with terror.

  “Who’s not out? The children?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide.

  Adrenaline shot through him. Why hadn’t he asked that first thing? Didn’t each teacher count her students?

  “How many?” He grabbed Anna by the shoulders. “How many are missing?” There was still time to save them if he moved fast.

  “Three from my class. They were going to the latrine but never got there.”

  He sprinted toward the schoolhouse, the enormity of the task smacking him hard. The building was huge, encompassing two stories. It would have numerous classrooms. Where would the missing children be? With the smoke and the flickering light, he’d have a hard time finding them, but he had to try.

  As he ran toward the building, he calculated the most likely location. Fear drove children to the place they felt most secure. That wouldn’t be the director’s office. It might be the classroom, where they would have expected to find their teacher. He’d forgotten to ask Anna where her classroom was located, but time had just about run out. Flames lick
ed the walls. The roof looked ready to collapse. The heat scorched, so hot it was like being in a closed oven. He could barely breathe.

  He’d nearly reached the porch when a woman darted past him. Mariah. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back before she set foot on the first step.

  “The children,” she cried, struggling against him.

  She must have overheard Anna.

  He wasn’t about to let her run into a burning building. “I’m going in, not you.” Then he recalled that she knew where Anna’s classroom was located. “Where would the children go?”

  Mariah looked pale as death as she pointed to the upper floor. There, framed by the broken window, stood Constance with two smaller children clinging to her.

  His heart nearly stopped. Not Constance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mariah stood paralyzed as Hendrick raced up the stairs and bashed open the front door with his shoulder. The back of the building was enveloped in flame, the interior dense with smoke. He waved toward his firefighters, and they directed the stream of water at the front door, wetting him to the bone.

  “Hendrick,” Mariah gasped as he vanished into the flames.

  A car horn honked. She knew that sound. It was her car, the Overland, and it stopped next to the fire engine. The doors opened, and Joshua Talltree and Gillard’s entire staff piled out.

  Then, to her horror, she saw Gillard’s Packard drive up.

  He jumped out and yelled at his staff, “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  Not one of them answered. Mrs. Eagle stepped next to Mariah.

  “Get back to the ranch,” Gillard barked, “now.” He wheeled on Mrs. Eagle. “You, too.”

  Then Mariah saw the gun. He aimed it at the housekeeper.

  “No,” she gasped, darting in front of the woman, “don’t shoot.”

  “You heard the lady.” Judge Weiss tossed a bucket of water at Gillard, knocking the revolver to the ground.

  Gillard scrambled after it, but Talltree got there first. Mrs. Eagle held tightly to Mariah, but her grip relaxed once Talltree had the gun.