by Linda Jacobs
Steve rummaged in the closet and came out with a stack of pillows and a comforter. “I’ll take these out to the living room so I don’t have to bother you later.”
“Who’s that?” Devon blurted, pointing at the picture.
“She was my wife,” Steve said evenly. “Susan’s passion was music … and Christa, our little girl. That was taken at the hospital when she was born.”
“Where are they?”
Clare bit her lip to keep from chiding Devon. After the way she’d yelled at Steve in the hospital about not being over his wife …
“They were killed in a plane crash four years ago.” He looked from Devon to Clare and said softly, “I wasn’t.”
The memory of how good it had felt in Steve’s arms when he’d asked her home came back to warm Clare.
Devon made it to the bed and sagged onto it.
Steve headed for the door. “I’m gonna take a walk around and see what’s going on. You make yourselves at home.”
That word again. His body brushed Clare’s in the doorway even though there was plenty of room to pass. She watched him limp down the hall and out of sight toward the kitchen.
When she turned back, Devon was studying her.
“Are you sure you don’t want another Percodan?” Clare offered the pill because it was something she could do. Steve would call it keeping control.
“Okay.” Devon got into bed.
Clare brought the pill and water and smoothed the rumpled covers. That done, she touched her daughter’s cheek. Her little girl, once as clear as rain, had become so dark and deep she didn’t know how to reach her.
Cornflower eyes brimmed. Clare leaned and plucked some tissues from a box on the nightstand. Her hand passed in front of Susan.
Devon fiddled with the cast on her forearm while her tears flowed. Clare put her arms around her; an awkward fit, and felt her own eyes grow wet. “Mom.” A gasp. “I’m sorry for knocking you down, for being so stupid.”
“I forgave you a long time ago.” Clare patted Devon’s back and felt her twitch. “I’m sorry I accused you of something Elyssa was spreading. I should have asked before jumping to conclusions.”
“I wish I had somebody, but I don’t.” Devon sniffed. The guys I like best go for other girls, and older guys are a little scary. Except for Harry.”
“Harry?” Clare tensed.
“Annalise MacIntyre’s big brother. He’s like my brother too. He gave me a ride home the other week and Elyssa saw us. When she went ballistic, I let her think whatever she wanted.”
Clare smiled through her tears.
“Steve is okay.” Devon disentangled herself and pulled back.
“When did you change your mind about him?”
“I heard you two talking in the hospital. I was awake.” Devon looked down and picked at the bedspread. “Yeah, I know, why’d I ask who was in the picture if I knew?”
“Maybe you wanted to hear his answer.”
Devon nodded. “Steve said I needed to figure things out for myself. Well, I have been thinking.”
She would never have thought any good could come of Devon’s night on a dark and lonely mountain. “Thinking about what’s next?”
Devon sniffed again and swiped her uninjured arm across her nose. “I was thinking of getting a place with Annalise. She can’t stand living with her folks anymore and she didn’t want to go it alone. But just before I left Houston, she said she was going to go to A & M in January.”
“College?” Casual, just the right note.
“Dad always said he’d pay,” Devon ventured.
“You said you were finished with school.” If she were just going to party with her friends, it would never work out. “Are you going just to be with Annalise?”
Devon lifted the tissue Clare had given her and blew her nose. “You say there’s nothing out there ‘cept flipping burgers unless I go to school, or train for something … like bein’ a firefighter.” Her voice was a little slurred as the Percodan began to take effect.
“Not that, hon …”
“Yeah. You were talking to Steve about giving it up … but, Mom,” her voice grew fainter. “you’re a pyro.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s right for you.”
Devon smiled sleepily and snuggled down in the covers.
Clare tucked her in and sat beside her until she slept. Relief at knowing there was no man in her daughter’s life made her feel absurdly happy. With her contacts at the fire school, and Jay and the Hendrons, perhaps Devon might yet have the college days Clare had missed out on.
When she came out of the bedroom, it was dim and quiet in Steve’s living room. She checked her watch and found it half past four, too early for it to be so dark.
She switched on a lamp. Polished ebony glowed, but when she smoothed the piano’s top her finger came away dusty. A closer examination made her suspect the dust contained some soot.
After brushing off the piano bench, she sat and poised her hands, the way Miss Bryan had taught her when she was nine. She played, the perfect ivory making it possible to find the way without stumbling. She hadn’t known she remembered, but as she progressed from a soft opening to a more confident tone, she recalled that it was one of Chopin’s Preludes. Music poured into her from the keys, rather than from her mind down a system of nerves. Heedless of Devon’s sleeping, she made her way toward the end of the work, a triumphant crescendo.
The final notes lingered like a subtle mix of fine spices. When the last vibrations died, Clare dropped her head and leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the music rack.
One way or another, Devon had said she’d be moving from under Clare’s roof. She wasn’t yet comfortable with that, but Steve had tried to tell her that Devon had to make her own way. Ranger Butler Meyers had made it clear that even a seventeen and eleven-twelfths runaway wouldn’t be tracked down by law enforcement.
Clare recalled her own youth. A faded shadow of her eighteen-year-old self faced her mother with Jay’s arm around her. “I’m old enough to do what I want.” Constance had folded her hand even as she would have to. She could only hope that college would work out, rather than a job in fast food. Or getting some man to pay the bills, the insult that had made Devon knock her on the floor.
The yearning ache that had centered in her chest wasn’t unpleasant, but she wanted Steve to come back.
The faint vibration of an approaching vehicle resolved into the guttural growl of a diesel coming into Mammoth from the east. Clare got to the kitchen in time to see a red ladder unit pass behind the house. Wind tossed the treetops and moaned around the ancient wooden window frames, driving the smell of char inside.
She frowned. Mammoth’s natural bowl shape was probably collecting smoke from miles away, but she’d not seen a fire extents’ map since Wednesday morning. Black Saturday and the siege of Old Faithful had shown how much could happen in a short time.
A sedan bearing the insignia of the Boise Interagency Fire Center drove in and parked beside the row of firefighting equipment. When Garrett Anderson climbed out and headed with swift purpose toward the Fire Cache, Clare left the house and followed.
YELLOWSTONE FIRES
September 9, 8:00 a.m.
Here is a list of the fires and approximate perimeter acreages. To date, over 816,225 acres in Yellowstone National Park (and over 1,198,00 acres in the Greater Yellowstone Area) have been affected by fire. However, only about half of the vegetation has burned within many fire perimeters. Throughout the summer, 52 different fires have been started by lightning. Of those 52, eight are still burning inside the park. Fire fighters are working to control them. Any new fires will be suppressed as quickly as possible.
*
Clover-Mist Fire: 304,100 acres. Mist Fire started July 9. Clover started July 11. They joined on July 22. Shallow Fire started July 31. Fern Fire started August 5. These two fires joined Clover-Mist August 13. Clover-Mist fire camp was not evacuated as reported earlier. Structure protecti
on in Crandell area is still a priority. Twenty buildings, trailers, and shed were lost, although many vehicles were saved. Pahaska Tepee is reported as being OK. Mop-up continues in the Squaw Ck. area. Acreage increases were in the Jones Ck., Papoose Ck., and Squaw Ck. drainages. 1700 firefighters, 69 engines, 12 bulldozers, and 3 helicopters are on the fire.
Fan Fire: 23,325 acres. Started June 25. The fire is reported as contained. One crew is completing mop-up. 25 firefighters, 1 helicopter.
Hellroaring Fire: 62,340 acres (estimated 9,500 acres in Yellowstone NP.) Started August 15. Most of the acreage increase resulted from backfires. Storm Creek continues to advance in the joint burn area and move down Slough Ck. 562 firefighters, 5 helicopters.
Huck Fire: 88,300 acres. Started August 20. Caused the evacuation of Flagg Ranch. Yesterday’s backfire was successful at keeping the fire on the N side of Pacific Ck. Fire activity was low yesterday due to inversion weather conditions. 798 firefighters, 2 engines, 8 helicopters.
North Fork: 229,400 acres. Started July 22 by human. Split from Wolf Lake Fire at Gibbon Falls. The major activity was on the NE where the fire burned past Indian Creek Campground. Resources are being moved to the area to deal with the anticipated advance of the fire into the area S of Mammoth. Mop-up and structure protection are continuing at Old Faithful and West Yellowstone. Additional line construction is being done to the W of the park near West Yellowstone. 1570 firefighters, 49 engines, 22 bulldozers, and 6 helicopters.
Snake River Complex: 210,300 acres. Red Fire started July 1. Shoshone Fire started June 23. Joined August 10. Falls Fire started July 12. Red-Shoshone joined the Mink Fire on August 31. Acreage includes Continental-Ridge and Mink Creek fires. Emphasis will be on keeping fire out of the Lewis River Canyon. Crews continue to work on the South Entrance road, which will remain closed. Mop-up continues. 564 firefighters, 16 engines, 1 dozer, 6 helicopters.
Storm Creek Fire: 81,000 acres. Started July 3. Residents were allowed back into the Cooke City-Silver Gate area, but were evacuated again because of the concern over high winds today. The fire continues to move easterly into the Beartooth Wilderness. A finger of the fire has reached the backburn at the NE Entrance. The SW flank is still hot and is moving toward the Hellroaring Fire. 1172 firefighters, 35 engines, 4 dozers, 6 helicopters.
Wolf Lake Fire: 70,400 acres. Divided from North Fork Fire at Gibbon Falls. No major runs occurred Thursday. Fire continues to spread toward Tower and Lake. Fire is on three sides of Canyon, although firefighters have prevented any structures from being burned. Tower and Roosevelt are well protected. Planning for the defense of Lake continues. 720 firefighters, 40 engines, 2 dozers, 3 helicopters.
In the United States, 68,396 wildfires have burned 3,799,550 acres in 1988.
In the command post of the Mammoth Fire Cache, Clare and Garrett looked over the morning’s fire map. Constructed through infrared imaging, the study continued to be released daily to appease the army of media. Although the outline of the North Fork did not appear to be within striking distance of Mammoth, the copy indicated that resources were being moved in.
A young man from one of the engines spoke over the clatter of printers and ringing of phones. “We just drove in from the south. The North Fork is up on Swan Lake Flat, coming fast.”
Garrett nodded. “We’re just waiting for the latest weather, but I’m guessing that the front is moving faster than expected.”
Ben Mallory, a sixtyish man who headed the cache, handed a flimsy sheet of paper to Garrett. “Four p.m. update.”
Garrett scanned it, the furrows on his forehead deepening. “We’ll be battening down the hatches here by midday tomorrow.” Looking back at the fire map, he withdrew a pen from his pocket and sketched a slender and deadly tentacle of the North Fork that pointed directly at Mammoth. “If we get the predicted winds, we’ll see fire behavior like we’ve never seen before.”
Clare swallowed. “What next?” she asked on behalf of a circle of listening firefighters.
“Evacuation?” someone asked. “Wouldn’t hurt to get the civilians out of the way.”
“That’s up to the Chief Ranger,” Garrett said. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to disrupt his people’s lives any more than he has to. Tomorrow morning should be plenty of time if folks need to move out.”
“We’ll beat it,” someone said.
A chorus of agreement arose. In spite of herself, Clare caught the contagious excitement. She wasn’t going to fight this battle, but thoughts of the North Fork heated her blood.
“Hey,” one of the firefighters called. “How does the government put out a fire in your kitchen?”
“They backburn your living room,” another hollered.
Clare gave a tight grin.
There would be backburns set around Mammoth tomorrow, a risky endeavor at best. The fire near Grant Village had been deliberately set to deprive the Shoshone of fuel, but had gotten away from firefighters. Tuesday’s near miss at Silver Gate and Cooke City on the east end of the park had been due to a runaway backfire.
Maybe Devon was right about Clare being a pyro, for she could almost feel the drip torch in her hand and smell the pine pitch. She’d learned this summer that despite the dryness, trying to ignite the seedlings of Douglas fir was nearly impossible, so she’d targeted pine and duff.
One of the firefighters was showing the others a cartoon of the National Park Service emblem with its tree and mountain emblazoned on an arrowhead. In this version, the tree was a blackened stick. Clare smiled. After a few days away, it felt good to be back.
“Everybody take ten,” Garrett called. “Shad Dugan is coming over to map out where the crews will set up.”
The group headed for the coffee urn and began passing Styrofoam cups. “Something to drink?” Garrett asked Clare.
“No, thanks.”
“Fig Newton?”
She laughed.
“They’re in my car,” Garrett said. “Why don’t we take a walk?” He led the way out of the command post past the crowded radio room and the warehouse depleted of Pulaskis, rope, shovels, and webbed belts with canteens. The cache was mostly stocked for wildfire fighting, with a small unit for calls in the village. The biggest local fire danger was the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel across the way, or it had been until today.
When Clare and Garrett went out, the world looked brighter. A stiff wind had blown out some of the hanging smoke, giving a filtered view of the surrounding mountains. The sun looked angry, a violent red disc suspended over the white terraces of the hot springs. As they crossed the lawn between Park Headquarters and the first big house on Officer’s Row, Garrett asked, “You see any news last night?”
“Nothing but a few minutes of Peter Jennings. I caught it in the hospital waiting room while they were X-raying Devon. Democrats trying to give the spin that if they were in charge, nothing like this would have happened.”
“Nightline agreed that people will argue about fire management policy for years,” Garrett said. “How is Devon?”
“Cracked wrist and a chest burn she got from a flying cinder at Old Faithful.” Ashes drifted from the sky as premature darkness resettled over the day. “She’ll be okay once I get her home to Houston.”
Garrett stopped in the street and looked at Clare. A flicker of his eyes took in her ragged hair. “How’re you doing?”
She recalled their unfinished business. “I’ll be a lot better when they’ve finished the Hellroaring investigation.”
His dark brow furrowed as they moved onto the lawn with scattered picnic tables. “I’ve already taken statements from Sergeant Travis and the troops. And you told me about it the other night.”
They reached the old parade ground that was thick with sage. Clare stopped beside a fence around a fumarole. Watching the steam rise and whip away on the wind, she dared to hope, “Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
She held the wooden rail and rode a surge of elation.
“I know you won’t let
an accident like what happened to Private Jakes run you off.” Garrett was offhand.
She opened her mouth to tell him she’d quit, but said, “How do you know that when I don’t?”
“A tough gal like you didn’t let the death of Frank Wallace get her down.”
Clare went still inside. “All summer, I’ve kept up a brave front, never thinking you knew.”
“Buddy Simpson at A & M told me. He thought coming up here would do you good.”
“So did the department psychologist.”
Garrett leaned his bulk on the fence rail. It creaked and he stood straight again. “Getting back in action is always the best thing.”
“Now you, too.” Clare let go of the rail and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ve been hearing that from everybody all summer.”
“Because it’s a fact.”
Hadn’t she thought that, herself, back in July when she scanned Lake Yellowstone and wanted to help the anonymous victims of a helicopter ditching?
Garrett went on, “Before you get away from us, I want to ask what you think about wildfire work.”
Clare weighed the hours spent in the fire station in Houston against the mountain vistas the Smokejumpers enjoyed in West Yellowstone. The siren’s wail as the engine negotiated eight lanes of traffic on Westheimer Road, versus the sunlight strobing in an avenue of trees. Going into an apartment to pull down the ceiling with a pike pole, or digging line in the pine smelling forest, with the ever-changing flames crackling a few yards away.
Both were honest hard work.
Billy Jakes had met a terrible end on the Hellroaring, but it was God’s own truth that she saw more death in the city from wrecks and coronaries than she could ever find in the forest. For the first time since she’d made her decision, she hesitated. “What about wildfire?”
“I want you with me at the Interagency Center in Boise.”
Clare glanced over her shoulder toward the small frame building Steve called home. Boise was a lot closer to Yellowstone than Houston. “Talk to me,” she said.