by Al Lacy
It was late when they finally had the turret room polished clean, but before going to bed, the children wanted Aunt Breanna to read them a story. They chose a book from the shelves in the parlor, then turned up the parlor lanterns and sat down, one child on each side of the aunt they had come to adore.
21
IN THE PARLOR OF THE HARPER HOME, Breanna Baylor was reading to James and Molly Kate when a gust of wind slapped the side of the house. She cut off in the middle of a sentence and looked up. A second gust rattled the windows.
James saw the surprise on his aunt’s face and said “It’s all right, Aunt Breanna. We get wind like this every now and then. Daddy says it comes from the ocean.”
“I wouldn’t think it would be so forceful this far inland,” Breanna said. She looked back at the book. “Now, where were we?”
“The big ol’ giant was about to crush the poor farmer’s house,” Molly Kate said.
“Oh, yes.”
The wind seemed to be getting stronger as Jerrod limped into the yard. He paused and studied the house. Lantern light showed in the parlor and in the kitchen. On the second floor, he could barely make out a faint light in the window of his and Dottie’s bedroom.
He grimaced from the pain in his leg as he limped toward the side of the house. He stumbled and fell once, but scrambled to his feet again and soon drew up to the window.
The wind now lashed the house unmercifully. In the parlor, Breanna had to raise her voice slightly to be heard above the howl of the wind as she finished the story.
She closed the book and said, “All right, sweet dumplings, it’s time for little boys and girls to go to bed.”
“Will you come in my room and pray with me before I go to sleep, Aunt Breanna?” asked Molly Kate.
“Me, too?” asked James.
“Of course,” Breanna said, rising from the couch. Suddenly James gasped and pointed to the window. “Look! It’s Daddy!”
The lantern light made Jerrod’s features look ghastly through the glass. Molly Kate screamed and grabbed for Breanna. Jerrod ejected a wild, beastly roar and smashed the window with his fists. Glass showered the parlor floor.
Jerrod struggled to climb through the window. The desire to get at the woman he thought was his wife was so powerful he didn’t realize he was cutting his hands on the shards of glass that still clung to the window frame.
The children stood frozen with terror, eyes bulging.
Breanna grabbed a heavy wooden chair that stood beside the window and swung it in a full arc. The chair caught Jerrod square in the face and knocked him out of the window. Breanna heard him hit the ground hard. She dropped the chair and said, “James, take your sister and go out the back door! Quick! There’s enough moonlight. Run to Grandpa Will’s house!”
The wind shrieked through the broken window, making the curtains fly. James and Molly Kate stood against the far wall of the parlor, their white faces stark against the dark tapestry.
“Aunt Breanna, you come with us!” James said.
“No,” she said, taking their hands and leading them to the hall. “None of us can outrun your father. He’s out of his mind, and your lives are in danger, too. The only hope is for me to stay and keep him occupied while you two run to Grandpa Will and ask him to bring help!”
Breanna could hear Jerrod mumbling angrily. He was going around to the front of the house. She ran to the front door and shoved the bolt home, then hurried back to the children as she heard heavy footsteps on the porch.
“Hurry, James! Go!”
“But Aunt Breanna, he’ll kill you! Please come with us!”
“No! We can’t outrun him, James. He’ll kill all three of us if I go with you. I must stay and try to hold him off while you run and get help! Now go!”
James took his little sister by the hand and ran down the hall. Jerrod was throwing his weight against the door and screaming Dottie’s name. Breanna heard the back door open and close, then wheeled to see the front door splintering.
Her mind racing, Breanna prayed for God’s help and ran down the hall into the kitchen. She had to find a weapon. Butcher knife. Where’s the butcher knife? She had used it yesterday. Or was it the day before? Both children had helped her clean up the kitchen after their meals. Where had they put the knife?
She heard the front door bang open, then heavy footsteps coming down the hall. She frantically opened drawers in the cupboard, one after the other. Her hands trembled as she pushed utensils aside, trying to find the knife. At the same time, she detected the uneven sound of Jerrod’s footsteps. Was he limping?
Suddenly the big man appeared at the kitchen door, bracing himself with both hands against the frame. His eyes were wild and his face flushed as he yelled, “Where are my children, Dottie?”
Rolling pin. There it was on the cupboard. She held his glare with her own and inched her way along the cupboard toward the rolling pin.
“You wicked witch!” Jerrod roared. “Where are James and Molly Kate? Don’t tell me they aren’t here! I saw ’em through the window! Where are they?”
“What do you want with them?” she asked with a shaky voice, trying to delay whatever would come next.
“Where are they?” he bellowed. He let go of the door frame and lunged across the kitchen for her. His faltering gait gave her time to grasp one handle of the rolling pin. When she picked it up, she saw that it had been lying against the knife.
Just as Jerrod came within arm’s reach, she brought the pin down on his forehead, ejecting a wordless cry as she did it.
He staggered and blinked, then lunged at her again. This time he was able to grasp the hand that held the rolling pin. His strength was ox-like. Breanna knew he would kill her if she didn’t get away from him. She swung around and grabbed the knife with her other hand. Before Jerrod could prevent it, she stabbed the sharp blade into the arm that held her.
Jerrod howled and let go. He staggered backward, swinging the wounded arm madly, as if to fling the pain out of it. His hand hit the kerosene lantern on the cupboard, knocking it to the floor. The glass bowl shattered, as well as the chimney, and kerosene spread every direction. Flames licked through it, sending black smoke toward the high ceiling.
Jerrod backed toward the door that led to the hallway, avoiding the flames. Breanna thought of the rear door of the kitchen, which led to the back porch. It was closed. Could she get to it, and through it, before he caught her?
Jerrod came toward her again. The knife was her only hope. The horror she was experiencing made the knife feel unreal, as if the hand on the end of her arm belonged to someone else. Her knuckles were white, she was clutching the knife so hard.
She scurried around the end of the kitchen table to put it between her and Jerrod. She held the knife pointed at him and cried, “Get away from me, Jerrod, or I’ll cut you again!”
Smoke stung her eyes, and she began to cough. Both felt the searing heat of the flames as they burned their way across the floor and up the sides and doors of the cupboards. In seconds, they would be crawling up the opposite wall and engulfing the door that led to the hall. The heat was becoming unbearable.
Breanna dropped the knife and shoved the table at Jerrod with all her might. It struck the thigh of his bad leg, and he screamed in pain and fell on top of the table.
Breanna raised her skirt and ran through the flames and into the hall. She started to run for the front door, but felt heat at her ankles and realized her skirt was on fire. She stopped and beat at the flames with her hands. It took only seconds to squelch the flames, but those same seconds gave Jerrod time to recover and limp through the flames toward her.
Breanna ran for the door. Jerrod picked up a kitchen chair and threw it at her. The chair hit her on the backs of the legs, and she fell on her face. Jerrod limped around her and slammed the door shut. Though it was severely damaged, he was able to ram the bolt into its groove. He turned slowly and lanced her with a murderous look.
Suddenly the kitchen window exp
loded. Wind swept into the hall and rushed through the parlor to the window Jerrod had broken earlier, carrying sheets of flame with it. Fire licked up the walls of the hall and rushed across the parlor floor with frightening speed, as if it were alive and intent on devouring all in its path. Smoke filled the parlor.
Breanna struggled to get up as Jerrod reached for her, eyes wild and full of hate. “Get away from me!” she screamed as she drew her legs back and kicked both feet at his injured thigh as hard as she could. Jerrod screamed, grabbed his thigh, and fell to his knees.
Breanna struggled to her feet. The way the bolt on the front door had screeched when Jerrod shot it home told Breanna she would have trouble getting it open. She would have to go the other way. She turned to run for the back of the house, but the hallway was a solid sheet of flame.
She had no choice. She would have to climb the stairs and go out a window from the second floor. “Please, God! Help me!” she cried as she ran through the smoke and groped her way, coughing, to the staircase and started to climb.
A fist closed around her ankle and gave a violent yank. She came down hard on the stairs, striking her chin. The taste of blood filled her mouth.
Breanna fought desperately, grasping for something to hold as Jerrod dragged her backward. Her fingers closed around the posts of the balustrade and she hung on. She thrust her left leg out, and her heel struck Jerrod’s cheekbone. The force of the kick snapped his head back, and he fell.
Breanna ran up the stairs as fast as she could.
Great tongues of flame leaped through the broken windows at both ends of the house, climbing upward on the outside walls. The yards—both front and back—were alive with an angry glow, and the wind carried sparks skyward.
Breanna reached the second floor and could hear Jerrod on the stairs behind her. She ran down the hall, staggering slightly because of the pain in her legs. She would go into James’s room, bolt the door, and climb out the window onto the back porch.
Suddenly one leg gave way, and she fell to the floor near the table that held the lantern she had lighted earlier. She struggled to rise and looked back to see Jerrod top the stairs, screaming Dottie’s name.
Breanna used the wall to steady herself as she struggled to her feet. Jerrod stumbled toward her, his eyes wild. She took a large painting from the wall and brought it down on his head. The canvas ripped and the frame settled on his shoulders. The impact sent him reeling into the small table, and the lantern crashed to the floor, shattering the glass bowl. Kerosene pooled on the hardwood floor. Hungry flames followed the pools edges, then swept across the surface.
Breanna turned and headed for James’s room. Jerrod lifted the frame off his shoulders and flung it away and started after her. Just as she reached the door, he grabbed her by the shoulders, spun her around, and jerked her up into his face. She struggled, but her frantic efforts only increased the force of his grip.
“Lock me up in the crazy house, will you?” he blared, and clamped a bloody palm over her mouth. “You’re goin’ in the fire!”
Jerrod forced Breanna back up the hall toward the flames. The suffocating pressure of his palm kept her from screaming, but she still had plenty of fight left. Jerking her head sideways, she was able to free her mouth enough to close her teeth on his little finger. She bit down as hard as she could, and Jerrod ejected a shrill cry and released his hold. He raised his other hand to strike her. Breanna saw it and let go of the finger. She dodged his fist, then struck his injured thigh again.
Jerrod groaned and staggered against the wall. Breanna slipped past him, intending to run toward the stairs, but the flames were too fierce to chance it. There was only one way she could go. She ran to the staircase that led to the third floor and bounded up the stairs and into the turret room. She was able to get the door closed and locked before Jerrod hit it with a bang.
“Dear Lord, help me!” she gasped.
Jerrod bellowed and hit the door again. It began to splinter. Breanna looked around and saw the heavy iron poker leaning against the fireplace. She hurried to it and hefted it to a swinging position. The lock on the door gave way, splinters flying, and the door banged open. Jerrod came stumbling into the room, trying to gain his balance. Breanna swung the heavy poker with all her might. It caught Jerrod solidly on the side of the head, and along with his own momentum, helped propel him across the room and headlong into the large curved windows. He crashed through them, fell to the roof of the wide porch below, then pitched like a rock to the ground.
Breanna dropped the poker and hurried to the window. Jerrod lay in the yard and did not move.
The howl of the wind and the roar of the flames filled her ears. She ran from the turret and down the stairs to the second floor. The hall was alive with flame. She remembered that one of the large oak trees spread its limbs close to the house on the back side next to the attic. She hurried back up the stairs to the third floor and into the attic. Light was coming through the attic window from the fire on the outside of the house. She opened the window, crawled out, took hold of a limb, and began working her way to the ground.
22
JERROD HARPER GROANED, shook his pounding head, and raised up on his knees. He had hit the ground on his right shoulder, and the impact had broken his arm and dislocated the shoulder. The pain was as excruciating as that in his left thigh.
Jerrod looked up at the blazing house. The wind-driven flames leaped skyward, and billows of smoke rode the wind, speckled with fiery sparks. Suddenly Jerrod’s attention was drawn to Molly Kate’s room and the figure silhouetted in the window.
“Molly Kate!” he screamed, rising to his feet. “Molly Kate!”
Jerrod summoned all his strength and limped toward the front door of the house. “Daddy’s comin’, honey! Daddy’s comin’! Don’t be afraid! I won’t let the fire get you!”
Breanna heard Jerrod’s words above the roar of the blaze as she came around the corner of the house. She saw him limping toward the front porch with his right arm hanging limply from the shoulder.
“Jerrod!” she shouted, running after him. “Jerrod! It’s not Molly Kate in the window! It’s just a doll!”
But the roar of the fire, the howl of the wind, and Jerrod’s powerful desire to save his daughter blocked out Breanna’s cries. She ran to catch him before he plunged into the house, but she was too far behind him. He crossed the porch and hit the door, breaking it open for the second time.
The heat was intense, and Breanna backed away, using her arms to protect her face. She saw Jerrod enter the parlor and head for the stairs. She withdrew further from the house, weeping for Jerrod, and in a few moments saw him come up behind the doll and wrap his arms around her. His clothes were already on fire. The window shattered from the heat, and Breanna heard Jerrod Harper’s last cry: “Molly Kate!” And he was gone.
There was a deep rumble. The house began to quiver, then it collapsed within itself in a gigantic roar. Breanna backed away to avoid the rush of heat. Smoke and fire billowed toward the night sky.
Breanna’s attention was drawn to a team and wagon coming toward her out of the night. It was Will Reeves. Behind him came five other wagons. He had rallied neighbors for Breanna’s rescue, but her God had brought her through safely.
A week later, Dottie Harper sat in the family wagon beside her sister and looked at the black rubble that had once been her house. James and Molly Kate were in the bed of the wagon, looking on sadly.
Tears coursed down Dottie’s cheeks as she remembered what Breanna had told her about Jerrod giving his life to save the doll he thought was Molly Kate. “He couldn’t help what happened to his mind, Breanna,” she said, sniffing, “but he proved what the real Jerrod was like. He died a hero.”
“That he did,” Breanna said, patting her hand.
“Let’s go,” Dottie said shakily. “I had to see it, but I don’t want to look at it any more.”
As they drove away, Breanna said, “Dottie, I know Dr. Carroll has spent a lot of t
ime with you at the hospital, especially since the fire. Has he ever told you how he feels?”
Dottie brushed tears from her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, he has. Yesterday he … told me he’s in love with me. He knows I’ll need time to grieve for Jerrod but, Breanna, he’s so good. He has offered to move to a boarding house and let the children and me live in his house on Nob Hill. All he asks is that in time, I give my heart a chance to love him back. He said if and when I find that I can love him, we will marry, and he will adopt the children.”
Breanna took Dottie’s hand and smiled at her. “You already like him a lot, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. I liked him the first time we met. But I never had any other kind of feelings toward him.”
“I know,” Breanna said. “But since he’s a fine Christian, and you already like him a lot, you should give the Lord a chance to work it out.”
Dottie looked at her sister for a moment, then said, “Breanna, what do you think? Should I take him up on the offer to live in his house? He said he has a housekeeper who lives in. She could help me with the children while I’m in therapy and unable to take care of them properly.”
“Dottie, I think the Lord is going to put love in your heart for him and give you a wonderful life. Besides, you can’t live with Grandpa Will and Grandma Maudie forever.”
Dottie smiled to herself, but said no more.
The next day at San Francisco’s Union Station, Dottie and the children stood on the crowded platform with Breanna as she was about to board her coach. The whistle blew, and the conductor’s loud voice called for everyone to board.
James wrapped his arms around Breanna and said tearfully, “I love you, Aunt Breanna.”