Through the Fire

by Diane Noble

  “They may not want to divulge any more than they already have. But you’d think if there’s a plea bargain, they would come clean about every detail.”

  “I don’t think they’re connected,” he said.

  “Then we’re back to square one. Who did it?”

  “Someone else with a grudge against the church,” Skip said, shrugging. “Or against God.”

  “That’s been my husband’s theory from the beginning,” Kate said.

  “He may be right.”

  WHEN KATE ARRIVED HOME, Paul was just coming back from his fishing trip. He exited the backseat of Sam’s vehicle and held up a string of pan-sized trout, looking tired but happy.

  “I guess I know what you want for dinner tonight,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist.

  He doffed his baseball cap, waved to Sam and Eli as they drove off, and then handed it to Kate. As he headed to the stationary tub in the garage to clean the fish, Kate took his cap in the house to hang in the coat closet.

  She turned the cap over in her hands and lifted it toward the hook. Then she stopped, frowning, as the iridescent logo caught her attention.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh no.”

  When Paul came in the house a few minutes later, she was still holding his baseball cap.

  “Honey, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I know who started the fire,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  After weeks of preparation, the first annual pumpkin festival was ready to begin.

  The day of the opening, Kate woke before dawn, as usual. She pulled back the living-room drapes and looked out. The weather forecast had called for clear skies, and though an almost imperceptible pale violet light announced the coming dawn, it promised to be a perfect Indian-summer day.

  Paul had worked on his pumpkin grits the night before, and she pulled the containers out of the refrigerator.

  Though she missed Ruffles, she was glad he had gone home to the Philpott brothers and their mother, Enid, who was recovering nicely after her gall-bladder surgery. Otherwise, the grits wouldn’t have been safe.

  During Ruffles’ stay, Kate learned early on to keep everything on the kitchen counter covered, not just with cellophane wrap or foil—the cat could eat his way through either—but with a heavy-glass or plastic-snap lid. She found he loved lasagna almost as much as he loved Paul’s five-alarm chili. But his all-time favorite was Paul’s grilled chicken with a sage and rosemary rub.

  The animal had an iron stomach and never seemed to get full.

  At her feet, Kisses sat looking up at Kate with his soulful gaze, his tiny tail thumping on the floor.

  “Okay, little umpkins, what’ll it be? Maple tree or breakfast first?”

  She knew better than to ask. The maple was a do-or-die sort of thing. She grabbed a sweater and the leash and headed to the door.

  The phone was ringing when she stepped back inside. Paul was in the shower, so she ran to pick up the phone. There were a million and one things to do before they left for the festival, and she was certain it would be LuAnne or Livvy on the phone.

  “Mrs. Hanlon?” said a very weak voice.

  “Yes, this is Mrs. Hanlon.”

  “This is Renee’s mother, Caroline Beauregard Johnston.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Is everything all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Kate sighed and tried a different question. “How are you this morning?”

  “Fair to middlin’, I suppose, for an old lady.”

  Kate waited, but the woman didn’t go on.

  “It looks like it will be a beautiful day for our pumpkin festival. I’m hoping Renee will be able to get away. We’ve got someone lined up to come over and visit with you for a little while.”

  “I don’t like strangers. Don’t warm up to them easily, if you know what I mean.”

  “He’s no stranger. He’s my husband, and he’s looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, the preacher?” Her tune changed. She sounded delighted. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing I like better than a good old-fashioned talk about theological things. I hope he’s ready for some fire-and-brimstone talk.”

  Kate stifled a smile. “Yes, I’m sure he will be.”

  “The reason I called is because Renee is fit to be tied over the idea she might not win the pumpkin-pie contest. She was up all night baking one pumpkin pie after another to get the perfect pie. She’s very competitive, you know.”

  “How can I help?” For the life of her, Kate couldn’t figure out why Caroline had called.

  “I just hate seeing her so unhappy, especially after trying so hard to bake the perfect pie. I called because I know how upset she’ll be if she doesn’t win, and I’d like for you to bring that yippy little dog home after the doin’s.”

  Kate smiled. “Of course. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

  PARKING WAS LIMITED DOWNTOWN, so Paul and Kate got an early start and walked to the festival. When they reached Main Street, they stood for a moment, looking at each other in astonishment, then back to what had been transformed into a pumpkin fairyland.

  Tiny orange lights shaped like pumpkins were strung up and down both sides of the street, along storefront rooflines, and window frames. Bales of hay, decorative haystacks, and fresh-cut real pumpkins were strategically placed on the sidewalk. It was pretty now; it would be utterly magical at night.

  Canvas booths lined the street. Even from a short distance away, Kate could make out the booths filled with candles, wood carvings, paintings by local artists, needlework, and stained glass for sale. And, just as LuAnne promised, there were also painted saws with pastoral scenes of Tennessee’s hill country. Booths selling all kinds of food were at the far end of the street, and Faith Briar Church had its own little booth across from the Mercantile, selling treats and crafts donated by church members, including Kate’s stained-glass lamp.

  In the distance, the band was warming up. Strains of “Seventy-six Trombones” drifted toward them as they made their way along Main Street, visiting with parishioners and friends along the way.

  The parade was scheduled to open the festival. The band would march first, followed by Mayor Lawton Briddle and his wife, Lucy Mae, in an orange VW Bug. Riders on Arabian horses would follow, then all the children, who were dressed like pumpkins.

  As people gathered along the parade route, Kate took in the crowd. There had to be a couple thousand people here already, and more were pouring in. She recognized a few, but most were strangers. Yet they were all here because of Faith Briar.

  She whispered to Paul, “Think of it, honey. This all began because one person had the seed of an idea.”

  “LuAnne Matthews.”

  “Yes. And just look what grew from her idea.”

  Paul nodded, his eyes on the people around them. “And all the rest...” He turned, smiling as if in wonder. “Some are from other denominations, other towns, or other counties. Yet they’ve all come to help us with the sticks and mortar we need to rebuild. It’s almost overwhelming.”

  The band started to play, and the crowd fell silent as it rounded the corner. It was impressive, every member dressed in navy blue and gold, marching in step, swinging gloved hands.

  Eli came up to stand beside Kate as the band neared. It stopped in front of where they were standing to do some fancy footwork while playing “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  Eli smiled. “I love parades,” he said. They watched in silence for a moment, then he slowly turned to her. “So did Diedre.”

  It was the first time Eli had mentioned her name, and his eyes watered behind his thick glasses.

  “You still miss her,” she said softly.

  He nodded. “I’ll never stop loving her. We were supposed to get married a few months ago.”

  “I know.”

  “Then the cancer hit.” He was watching the band while he t
alked. “And everything changed.”

  The band did a few more crisp turns while the majorette tossed her baton higher and higher, catching it behind her back and under her leg, then tossing it up in the air again. The band finished the song and marched on by.

  THE MORNING SPED BY. Joe Tucker spotted Kate and Paul at the Faith Briar booth and reminded them to drop by the booth selling his hand-carved walking sticks. Others stopped at the table to visit—Betty Anderson, the Pippins, and Sam Gorman. The excitement was contagious. Betty said she’d heard they had made thousands of dollars, and it wasn’t even noon.

  The group was just leaving to have a look at Joe’s walking sticks when Sam, MC for the day, excused himself to go to the podium. A few minutes later, his booming baritone announced the upcoming events.

  “Come one, come all,” he called out. “Find out who will be crowned Little Miss Pumpkin and Little Mister Pumpkin at the first annual Copper Mill pumpkin festival. The contest begins in exactly ninety minutes.”

  Paul gave Kate a quick kiss, then left to walk to Renee’s to sit with her mother.

  LuAnne sidled over to Kate, eating orange cotton candy.

  “Pumpkin flavor, darlin’,” LuAnne said. “Want a bite?” She broke off a piece and stuffed it in Kate’s mouth.

  “Hmm,” Kate said. “Tastes like stale cinnamon-and-nutmeg-flavored bubble gum.”

  “Darlin’, you don’t know what’s good eatin’ at one of these affairs.” She laughed. “Hey, I’m on my way to see who won the pumpkin-pie contest. Want to come along?”

  Kate took off her apron and headed across the street to the park where the stage and bleachers had been set up.

  People were drifting over to take their seats in the audience, and the contestants were hovering near the stage. There were kids in pumpkin costumes of every shape and size. Off to one side, judges were sampling the pumpkin-pie entries.

  Kate looked around for Renee, but when she didn’t see her, she sat down next to LuAnne. “Have you seen Renee?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Paul’s staying with her mother so Renee could get away.”

  Kate checked her watch, then scanned the crowd again.

  Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned. It was Renee, wringing her hands and looking very nervous. “Have they started yet?”

  “Partway through, I think.”

  “I brought my pie over early this morning. Wanted it to be the first they tried so the memory of that bite would transcend all the others.” She paused, frowning. “You two didn’t enter, did you?”

  LuAnne laughed. “Darlin’, I can serve up pies till the cows come home, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about makin’ one from scratch.”

  “My mind’s been preoccupied,” Kate said.

  Renee shot her a knowing look. “Having to do with BOLO?”

  Kate grinned. “‘Be on the lookout.’ Nothing describes my preoccupation better.”

  Children in pumpkin costumes paraded through the area, followed by the Copper Mill High School marching-band majorette performing to the beat of snare and bass drums.

  A drumroll followed as one of the judges walked to center stage. Portly and balding, Willy Bergen, owner of Willy’s Bait and Tackle, looked like a man who knew his way around a pumpkin pie. He cleared his throat into the mic and announced, “Third runner-up: Trudy Johnson!” A small blonde woman smiled and walked to the stage to accept the ribbon Willy was holding out.

  “Second runner-up: Candace Kent!” The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering.

  Another drumroll preceded the announcement of the first runner-up: “Renee Lambert!”

  Kate shot a glance at Renee, who looked like a thundercloud, lips tight, arms crossed in front of her chest. She clearly didn’t like being runner-up, but she reluctantly went to the stage and let Willy pin a ribbon on her.

  Another drumroll sounded, this time longer and louder. Then Willy called out, “Our first-place winner of the most delicious pumpkin pie in all of Tennessee is...” Another drumroll interrupted him, so he shouted louder than before: “Betty Anderson!”

  The crowd clapped and cheered, then surged forward to buy tastes—fifty cents a spoonful—of the winning pies, and lighthearted chaos reigned.

  Afterward, Kate looked everywhere for Renee to congratulate her, but she had disappeared. She finally gave up and went back to work in the Faith Briar booth.

  Paul found her there.

  “Renee must have gone home immediately after the contest,” Kate said.

  He nodded. “She didn’t seem too happy.”

  “Renee doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who likes to be runner-up to anybody for anything.”

  “She said the only reason Betty Anderson won was because she gave the judges free hairdos. She plans to boycott all future festivals plus spread the word that the judges are biased.”

  “She put her all into this, Paul. Her mother said she was up all night baking pies, trying to find the perfect recipe. Was she okay when you left?”

  “She was her usual incorrigible self, ranting on and on, but I could see how devastated she was deep down. She was having a hard time holding back her tears.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After Paul left to check out the barbecue stand, Kate headed to the pumpkin weigh-in, enjoying a hot dog with all the fixin’s on the way. She didn’t even like hot dogs and couldn’t understand why they tasted so good at a ball game or fair, or in this case, a pumpkin festival. She was glad she talked LuAnne out of ordering pumpkin-apple sausages for a rather different tasting hot dog.

  Up ahead, she spotted Eli pushing a wheelbarrow into a large tent where the pumpkins were kept before they were judged.

  She followed him inside.

  The tent was as big as a barn, with hundreds of pumpkins of all sizes scattered around on a hay-covered floor.

  Eli was on the far side of the tent by a mound of small pumpkins, loading them into the wheelbarrow. He turned when he heard the crunch of her footsteps in the hay.

  She stared at him, a million thoughts running through her head.

  He spoke first. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “I saw it in your face at the parade.” Eli let his gaze drift away from hers. “It was a fantasy, I suppose, but I had hoped you and Pastor Paul would never find out.”

  She finally found her voice. “The day of the fire was your wedding day, wasn’t it?”

  He stared at her, then swallowed hard and said, “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. At least until you talked about it this morning. Then the pieces began to fit together. I already knew about the baseball cap.”

  He frowned. “What cap?”

  “Jed Brawley saw you run from the church that morning. But all he recognized was the iridescent logo on the front of your hat. He said it looked like a pirate.” She paused. “Or, more accurately, a buccaneer.”

  Eli’s quick intake of breath was audible. “And Pastor Paul has one like it. I’ve seen it.”

  “He wore it fishing yesterday. It has the official logo of the East Tennessee State Buccaneers, your alma mater, and Paul’s.”

  “The fire was an accident.” He swept back his shock of blond hair. His face was pale, and his brown eyes seemed larger than ever behind his tortoiseshell glasses.

  “I figured that, Eli.” She kept her voice low, though truth be told, her sadness for him, for them all, made it difficult to speak.

  “Diedre and I had planned it for years, then cancer took her. I was inconsolable. She was everything to me.”

  Kate took a step toward him, but he backed away. “Please, stay away from me.”

  She held up a hand to calm him. “It’s all right. Go on.”

  “I went into the sanctuary to yell at God, to tell him everything I’d kept pent up for all those weeks and months. Something about the place was comforting, maybe a sense of holiness, or maybe the memories of being th
ere with my grandparents when I was a little kid.

  “For a long time, I didn’t do anything. I just stared up at the cross. Then I sat down in the first pew and started talking to God. I spewed out my bitter story, I railed on and on, and I cried until I had no more tears left to cry.

  “And then, in the stillness, I felt his touch. His forgiveness. His mercy.”

  Eli fell silent for a moment. Outside the tent, the sounds of the festival went on, the laughter of little children, the blare of Sam’s voice over the PA system announcing the winner of some event, and somewhere in the distance, the band played “Way Down upon the Sewanee River.”

  “When it was over,” Eli said finally, “I was exhausted. I’d been staying up day and night, unable to sleep because of my grief. I was emotionally wrung out. I fell asleep, right there in front of the altar.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how the fire started,” Kate said.

  “I lit a candle. The flame was to remind me of God’s refining fire. I wanted to start over fresh. I wanted to be rid of the bitterness and hatred.

  “When I fell asleep, I must have knocked it somehow.” He shrugged. “However it happened, the candle fell over and caught the altar cloth on fire. That’s when I woke up and tried for a few minutes to put it out. But it spread so quickly, I ran away like the coward I am.”

  “You’ve got to tell Sheriff Roberts.”

  He shook his head. “Who’s gonna believe me?”

  “I do.”

  “I can’t go to jail. You don’t understand. I would die in jail. I’ve told you how I feel about being outdoors. Working in the shop is bad enough, but if I was locked up...I-I wouldn’t survive. If I don’t tell, then I don’t have to worry about it. Everything’s cool.” His expression didn’t match his cavalier words.

  “You’re weighed down with guilt, Eli. You will be until the day you die unless you tell what happened.”

  “I can’t,” he said and dropped his head in his hands.

  “Come with me, Eli. I’ll go with you.” She took a few steps toward him.

  He shook his head and backed away from her. “I tried to make up for what I did—all the plans, the construction, all that was to try to pay back what I’d taken from you.” He was crying now. “But it still wasn’t enough.”