His Promise

by Shelley Shepard Gray

“I want to.” He smiled then. “Now lock the door,” he ordered. “And call me or the police if you see more tracks.”

  “Yes, John Michael. I promise.”

  His eyes warmed before he walked out. After she watched him leave, she did lock the door. And then did set the card right next to the Lees’ phone.

  Just in case.

  Chapter 6

  The alarm bells started ringing barely two hours after John Michael had fallen asleep in his bunk room at the firehouse. Thanks to hours of practice and his years of experience, his body sprang into action almost before his mind could catch up.

  Within seconds, he was out of bed and shoving his feet into the boots he’d learned to leave neatly by the door. The bright lights and activity of the garage bay shook off the last of John’s grogginess. He ran past the dayroom and hustled down the steps just seconds after Captain Butler himself.

  The captain was speaking into his radio in between barking orders to the engineer. “Ladder and pumper trucks!” he called out as he stepped into his turnout gear.

  As the bells continued and Hank, the crew’s engineer, fired up the ladder truck, John Michael pulled on his own gear, grabbed his helmet and work gloves, then ran to his usual place in the ladder truck—the jump seat in the back of the vehicle.

  “We’ve got ourselves a house fire over in Horse Cave, y’all!” Captain Butler called out from the passenger seat as Hank turned on the lights and sirens and sped down the driveway. “Word is the building’s abandoned, but we’ll need to check. You copy?”

  “Copy,” John Michael called out, grabbing the door handle as Hank took a sharp right turn. Sean and Anderson were following behind them in the pumper truck. Its lights flashed against the snow and cast red and blue beams across the empty streets.

  John Michael felt that same burst of adrenaline that he did during every call. He loved his job. Loved that they helped people—and loved the excitement of it. There was something curiously fulfilling about knowing that he was capable of fighting a fire.

  There was also something gratifying in knowing that he was also part of a team. An accepted and appreciated part of a team. Sean, Anderson, and Hank were English and far more experienced firefighters. Captain Zack Butler had twelve years and started out in Frankfort.

  The other men talked about college basketball while they went through their check-offs; John Michael focused on his own routine. He still got a little nervous every time they went out, and because of that he stayed silent and preferred to concentrate on the work they were about to do. He liked checking and double-checking his equipment.

  And though he’d never made a fuss about it, he also said a quiet prayer to himself. Lord, give me your strength and your protection during today’s fight. Place your healing hands on our victims and ask your angels to look over the other members of our team.

  When he opened his eyes, the truck was making another hard right. He held on tight as the vehicle straightened and then headed down Highway 88.

  “We first in?” Hank asked.

  “Yep,” the captain said. “Looks like we’re five minutes away. You hear me, Miller?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  John Michael could hear other sirens in the distance. He knew that an ambulance and very likely the sheriff or deputy would be en route, too.

  “I’ve been on the radio with the sheriff. Witnesses said that no one lives there, that it’s been abandoned. But still, we’ve gotta check,” the captain continued.

  There was no time to respond as the truck squealed to a stop and they all bolted out.

  It was a small house, really no more than a shack. And it was consumed by flames. Only the thick blanket of snow on the ground had saved what looked like a field of dried grass and brush.

  What followed was what he’d always described as an intricate dance, reinforced by hours of practice and instruction. Captain Butler met the pumper truck. Hank, his breathing apparatus already engaged, led John Michael to the house. John Michael held the jump line, bracing himself for when the hose was fully charged.

  John Michael could faintly hear the captain continuing to communicate with the other truck and the chief, checking in with reports and simultaneously shouting orders and information into his earpiece.

  The heat from the fire was intense, making John Michael more grateful than ever for his gear. It was heavy—near seventy pounds—but worth every ounce.

  Dragging the hose closer, John Michael braced himself for the first surge of water to spray. He concentrated on fighting the flames and following Hank’s hand and arm signals. As each minute passed and the flames were steadily extinguished, he felt the familiar sensations of both energy and satisfaction. He was helping his community. Helping his neighbors. Working with others for a greater cause.

  Those were the things his grandparents and parents had drilled into him at a young age, and though he hadn’t ever considered being a firefighter until he began searching for new meaning in his life, after breaking things off with Beth, John Michael now realized that he was meant to be a firefighter. He worked well under pressure. He was a good team player.

  And he was also far braver than he’d ever imagined he could be. But surely that was the Lord’s doing.

  When Hank signaled for the hoses to stop, John still held his at the ready—until he felt satisfied that all flames were extinguished. Only then did he relax his stance.

  With a sigh of relief, he pushed up his face mask and took deep breaths of the frigid air. It felt soothing. Like a balm in the midst of the chaos.

  “You good, John?” Hank called out.

  “I am. You?”

  Hank grinned at him, traces of soot and ash on his face. “Good as ever. I love this job.”

  “Me, too.” John Michael couldn’t help but grin back.

  “You pray for us?”

  “I did.”

  “Good.” Hank reached out and thumped him on the back. “I knew you were the right addition to us. Knew it.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  John grinned at the words. The first time he admitted to praying for all of them, he’d felt a little wary. Not because he was embarrassed about his practice, but because he didn’t want the men to act as if he wasn’t completely focused on the job at hand.

  But to his surprise, none of the men had ever acted as if his prayers were anything but a blessing to the unit. Some of the men, like Captain Butler, never mentioned it. But Hank always did. It was like the man felt he needed all of John Michael’s prayers to see him through each call out.

  Hank slapped him on the back again before joining Anderson and the captain. It was John Michael’s job to put the hoses away and make sure that no one had inadvertently left out any supplies in the area. After carefully stowing his helmet and gloves, he opened up the toggles on his uniform to allow his body to cool, then began work on rolling the hoses.

  He knew rookies on other crews hated this part of the job. John Michael had never minded it, though. He liked order in his life. Carefully setting the truck’s equipment to rights gave him a lot of satisfaction.

  Then, too, were the stories his trainers and instructors had told him about instances where firefighters’ lives were in danger because someone hadn’t taken the time to check and double-check everything.

  Just as John finished, he became aware that the other men weren’t slowly coming back his way or joking with Deputy Beck or Mitch Quinn, the ambulance driver who had pulled up behind the truck.

  Instead, all the men were circled around Anderson and Captain Butler, who were standing in the rubble. Curious, John Michael headed toward them.

  Hank looked up and, after saying something to Mitch, walked closer. “Looks like I spoke too soon,” he said to John.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This fire wasn’t an accident. We found a metal trash can and the remains of lighter fluid. It was set on purpose.”

  From time to time, they
came across fires that were set on purpose. Teenagers are notorious for starting fires in dumpsters, just to see what would happen.

  This was nothing new. Usually, it was discovered that a fire was started in a cardboard box or with a piece of wood. “I’m curious as to why someone would use a metal trash can,” John wondered.

  “They didn’t care about it being found. All they cared about was that it was bad enough to keep all of us and the sheriff department busy.”

  “If that was the case, I’d say they got what they wanted,” John murmured. The building had been engulfed in flames when they pulled up. “But why would they want to do that?” It seemed like a waste of time to him.

  Hank grunted as he stepped closer. “I’m almost afraid to find out.”

  Chapter 7

  “Did you hear about the fire, Grace?” Irene Keim asked as she approached Grace’s booth at Bill’s Diner.

  Grace nodded as Irene poured her a cup of coffee. “It’s terrible. Such a tragedy, too.” John Michael’s mother had stopped by the Lees’ house yesterday afternoon. She brought Grace a container of bean soup and a plate of snowball cookies, mentioning that her son had asked her to check on her since he had been at work.

  Grace had at first felt awkward and embarrassed. John Michael had gone out of his way to help—both with Snooze and again when he came over to check on her. But instead of practicing forgiveness and concentrating on the present, she treated John Michael almost like an enemy.

  Then Mrs. Miller told her the news about the fire. Grace was frightened for John . . . and then was shocked to hear that there was a rumor about the fire being set on purpose. It seemed particularly foolish and scary. Grace couldn’t imagine why someone would do such a thing.

  “I feel so sorry for the people affected, Irene. Have you heard who it was?”

  She set the carafe of coffee on the table and shook her head. “Nee. I even asked Lora, who you know is married to Deputy Beck. But she didn’t hear anything, either.”

  “It is an awful thing to happen at any time, but it seems even more awful at Christmas.”

  Irene nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Smiling wearily, she said, “But if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that God doesn’t choose only some people and some places to pass out burdens. He’s an equal opportunity giver!”

  Grace smiled at the quip, though she knew Irene was speaking from her own personal pain as much as the latest tragedy in Hart County. “I’m starting to learn that while He does give out burdens, they never seem to be more than we can handle.”

  “I would have to agree,” said Irene, “though I would be lying if I didn’t say that sometimes I wish my burdens were a little lighter.” As she lifted up her pad of paper, she continued. “Now, let’s talk about something far better. Do you know what you’d like for breakfast?”

  “I do. I’ll have scrambled eggs, sausage, and grits.”

  “You got it.”

  Scanning the brightly colored menu again, Grace said, “Oh! I’d like some pancakes, too.”

  “Blueberry or buttermilk?”

  “Blueberry,” she said, already imagining how good the pancakes would taste. Since she was eating by herself, her meals had become sketchy at best, usually only a can of soup or a sandwich. Hopefully, this big breakfast would sustain her until close to suppertime.

  Irene smiled. “Anything else, Grace?”

  “Orange juice?”

  “I’ll get that now,” she replied with a chuckle.

  Grace sipped her coffee and watched the bustle around the diner. Over the last year, it seemed to have gotten busier. There had even been some instances on a Friday or Saturday when she and her family had to wait for a table.

  When the door opened again, she lifted her head expectantly, hoping someone might come in that she recognized and could chat with. She really was missing her sisters and Jennifer!

  But when she saw it was John Michael walking in with Noah Freeman, she felt her skin heat. Honestly, what were the odds? After going years without seeing him at all, or only from a distance, now they seemed to be almost regularly running into each other!

  Staring at him a bit longer than necessary, she looked away.

  But it was too late. John Michael had noticed her, too. After murmuring something to Noah, he walked through the crowded dining room and stopped by her side. “Grace, it’s gut to see you. Boy, twice in less than a week, too.”

  Feeling like half the restaurant was watching their exchange, she felt a little self-conscious but determined to finally put the past behind her. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “I hope you are doing well. Is your ankle all right?”

  “My ankle?” Realizing he was speaking of her clumsy stumble in the field, she waved a hand. “Oh, it’s a little bruised but otherwise none too worse for wear. How are you?”

  “I’m gut, too.” Just as he looked like he was about to turn around and join Noah, she caught a bandage on the top of his hand.

  “Are you hurt? Did you injure yourself in the fire?”

  “This?” He looked at his hand like he’d forgotten a bandage was attached to his skin. “It ain’t anything, just a cut.”

  It seemed like a pretty big bandage for a small cut. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “Jah. I’m fine. I wouldn’t be a firefighter if I didn’t sport a couple of cuts every now and then.”

  “It’s such a dangerous job.”

  “It is,” he said slowly, like he was attempting to navigate his way through an increasingly surprising conversation. “But I can handle it. I appreciate your concern, though.”

  She heard the caution in his voice, and she didn’t blame him for not being sure how to handle this new, kinder version of herself. Forging ahead, she said, “I know I have no right to feel this way, but now that we’ve reconnected, I think I’m going to worry about you every time I hear there is a fire in the area.”

  “There’s no need for you to worry. I take every precaution and my captain makes sure we’re well trained.”

  “Though my brain might agree, I have a feeling I’ll still worry.”

  Tenderness appeared in his eyes before he blinked it away. “I can understand that. I mean, I would worry about you if the situations were reversed.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at that scenario. “I’m fairly sure that the only fires I’ll ever be fighting are the ones in the fireplace.”

  “It will be a blessing if that’s your only experience fighting flames.”

  His expression was so earnest. Truly, the things he said! “I’m kind of a scaredy-cat, so I hope that’s the case,” Grace admitted. “But I will keep you in my prayers, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all, especially if you keep my whole crew in them. Firefighters can’t have enough prayers sent to heaven.”

  What a conversation they were having! It felt like they were talking about two different things at the same time. His safety and their relationship.

  Both tangents seemed very personal.

  Seeking to lighten the tone, she smiled. “Consider it done.”

  His light-brown eyes skimmed over her. “How did you get all the way over here? You didn’t drive a buggy all this way, did ya?”

  “Nee. I hired a driver to take me back and forth.” A buggy would have made the journey take at least an hour. It would have been a bitter-cold trip, too.

  “I’m glad. The roads are slick.”

  “The driver drives a Jeep, so I was safe.”

  “You just come in for breakfast?”

  “Nee. I’m going to do some shopping, too. It’s nice spending part of my Saturday among people instead of only Snooze.”

  “I imagine so.”

  When they exchanged smiles, Grace felt something new pass between them. Maybe it was the beginnings of a friendship? She wasn’t sure.

  Looking disappointed to be leaving her side, he gestured toward a booth. “I need to join my friend,
but I wanted to tell ya that mei mamm said she had a nice visit with you. Thank you for treating her so graciously.”

  The compliment stung, but given the way she’d treated him during their search and rescue of Snooze, she supposed she couldn’t blame him. “No need to thank me. I enjoyed visiting with your mother. It was nice of her to stop by. The days can be long.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “I still intend to stop by again one day soon.”

  She smiled. “Then maybe I’ll see you.”

  After knocking his knuckles on the table, he walked to the booth he was sharing with Noah. Unable to stop herself, she watched his retreating back.

  She was so glad she’d let go of that anger she’d been feeling toward him. They were on their way to becoming friends. Though she had a feeling she was going to be having to explain their renewed friendship to her family when they returned, she felt good about her decision. Moving forward really had been the right thing to do.

  Just as Grace was about to turn away, she caught sight of an older Amish woman sitting alone. Something about her pulled on her heartstrings, though Grace wasn’t sure exactly why. After all, she was sitting by herself as well.

  But maybe it was because the woman looked a little dejected?

  Unable to stop herself, Grace continued to study the woman. She looked so very alone. Rather unkempt and exhausted, too.

  When the woman turned her head to watch a family with four children rush in through the door, Grace studied her more intently. Thanks to her pet-sitting job, she knew a lot of people in the community.

  But this woman? Other than a feeling like she should know her, she couldn’t place her.

  When the woman turned her head and looked directly back at her, Grace averted her head, feeling self-conscious. No doubt the woman didn’t appreciate being stared at.

  She pulled her latest library book out of her tote bag and carefully opened it to where she’d left off last. It was a mystery set in Shipshewana, Indiana, filled with Amish folks, a little humor, and two murders. She dove into the story, glad to have something else to concentrate on.