Shenandoah Home (Sinclair Legacy Book 1)

by Sara Mitchell

  Whirling, she dashed across to the window, which overlooked the back lawns. Fingers clumsy with terror, she struggled to raise the sash high enough to shimmy herself and her long heavy skirts through, fumbled to unhook the wire screen and knock it away. A sob escaped when she heard a whooshing roar behind her. Flames licked beneath the door, igniting the carpeting. Dingy gray smoke thickened, billowed across the room toward her searching for air. Like Meredith. With a last agonized glance, she gathered handfuls of slippery crepe de Chine and lace-edged cotton as she ducked down to the opened window. In an inelegant tumble of limbs she clambered to freedom, landing beside a bushy shrub whose branches clutched at her skirts and stockings. Breathless, her heart skittering with panic, Meredith scrambled to her feet.

  The hotel was designed as a central block with two wings on either side, the main lobby and dining room comprising the central block. Stunned, her breath squeezing out in shallow pants, she watched smoke leak through the row of windows to her immediate right, watched flames as well as smoke fill the dining room windows across the lawn.

  Benjamin. Where was Benjamin? Meredith knew as surely as she could see those orange-and-yellow flames that he would not wait beneath the elm tree. He would come after Meredith, broken ankle, rolling chair or not. He would—with an anguished sob Meredith hiked her skirts and ran, screaming his name as loudly as she could, praying that God would be merciful, that Benjamin would hear her and know that she was no longer in her room. That Hominy would have found and restrained him before he threw his life away to save her.

  Vaguely she registered the sound of other screams, the sound of breaking glass, and the sounds of the fire as it gathered strength. From far away she heard the clanging of a bell.

  By the time she fought her way through a mob of hysterical guests and staff pouring out through the front entrance, the entire hotel was engulfed in flames. How could it happen so fast? Clawing and shoving, Meredith burst around the corner of the opposite wing—and spied Hominy wrestling a maniacal Benjamin to the ground. The rolling chair had fallen onto its side. With one arm Hominy held Benjamin in a headlock, while the other stretched like an iron bar across his heaving chest.

  “Benjamin! Hominy! I’m here—I’m safe!”

  She dropped to her knees beside Benjamin’s head, tears blinding her as she placed her palms on either side of his bone-white face. “I’m all right,” she said. “Benjamin, I’m all right.”

  He stared, blinked, and the crazed look filming his eyes gave way to relief. “Meredith, my love. I thought—”

  “Mr. Ben, Miss Sinclair, we need to move away. The fire!” Without wasting time on words, Hominy hefted Benjamin to his feet, holding him steady while Meredith righted the wheelchair.

  “I need to see if everyone’s out. The dining room . . . I heard an explosion. I—”

  “No sir. Too late. It’s too late, Mr. Ben.” For just a moment, Hominy’s massive hand rested on Benjamin’s shoulder. “Happened too fast. This was no accident, Mr. Ben.”

  Meredith thought about her mysteriously jammed door, but for once kept her thoughts to herself. Instead she lifted Benjamin’s hand and held it tightly in her own. “Benjamin.” She couldn’t hear herself over the inferno and leaned over to press her mouth by his ear. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll try—”

  His head lifted; in the blistering heat and orange-streaked night their gazes met.

  Meredith bit her lip until she drew blood but didn’t volunteer to leave his side again. Hominy muscled the rolling chair across the lawn, and Meredith clung to Benjamin’s hand as they joined the throng of people fleeing the doomed hotel.

  By the time they traversed the length of the block to a safe distance, the crowd was six-deep. Hemmed in by the crush of onlookers, Meredith pressed against the rubber-tired wheels of Benjamin’s chair and maintained her lifeline to his hand. Hominy’s unyielding bulk sheltered their backs.

  Nobody spoke. There was nothing to be said. Like the rest of the crowd, all they could do was to watch.

  Twisted columns of smoke boiled upward into the night, chased by writhing fingers of fire. The stench of burning wood stung their nostrils. Sounds roared into their ears like a hundred waterfalls—the out-of-control flames, the shrieks of panicked guests, the desperate shouts from desperate men still fighting a losing battle against impossible odds. Hoses from several fire wagons soon lay in flaccid tangles along the ground. Winded firemen stood helplessly by empty hand pumpers, empty buckets scattered at their feet. The fire had proven to be too much even for the Rouss Fire Company’s new steam pumper. Somewhere a bell still clanged without ceasing. A horse squealed in terror. Hot. It was so hot. Whenever Meredith remembered to breathe, her lungs writhed like the flames, protesting air the consistency of scorched sorghum.

  Had someone wanted her to be trapped inside? The possibility was unthinkable. Meredith thrust it away.

  In a cannonade of fire bursts, the glass in a score of windows exploded, hurling thousands of shards outward in a deadly shower. Fed afresh, red and orange pennants of flame unfurled through a hundred new openings. A woman nearby shrieked, and a man behind Meredith muttered an oath.

  Through it all Benjamin sat unspeaking beside her, rigid as an iron statue. But his fingers dug into Meredith’s with enough force to grind the bones of her hand together.

  The guests . . . Slowly her reeling senses picked out the incongruous sight of clusters of the doomed hotel’s guests, most of them dressed in their silk and satin evening finery, standing shoulder to shoulder with townsfolk dressed in homespun and calico. A few of the guests clutched a handful of possessions; most stood like everyone else with dangling hands and horror-dulled gazes.

  Her heartwood chest . . .

  Meredith’s heart twisted in a spasm of denial. A half-formed prayer whispered upward. When she could no longer bear the sight, she closed her eyes, her only contact with the surroundings Benjamin’s corpselike hand.

  A breeze kissed her heat-seared cheek, and Meredith opened her eyes, blinking against the stinging ash. Another gust, this time strong enough to ruffle her sleeves, blew through the crowd. Across the way, rising wind hurled flames and sparks higher into the boiling night sky.

  Suddenly a thunderclap shook the earth, its cavernous boom resounding over even the fire’s incredible fury.

  And rain poured forth from heaven. A drenching, pounding deluge.

  Around them people scattered in all directions for shelter.

  But Meredith, Benjamin, and Hominy remained rooted to the spot watching nature finally win the battle against the fire.

  Fifty-One

  Dawn bathed the world in quiet tones of luminous pink. The air was clear, cool. Rain puddles dotted the sidewalks.

  On the corner of the street where Meredith stood, however, a blackened ruin defied the crystalline promise of the new day. There was nothing left of the Excelsior Hotel but a pile of stinking rubble.

  Meredith picked her way across the charred remains to where the veranda used to be. Overhead, instead of smoke and flames, a fading pearl moon glistened in the pastel blue sky. She was alone except for a milk wagon pulled by a sleepy mule. It clip-clopped behind her down the deserted street, and a roused bird warbled a greeting from the branches of a scarlet-tipped maple.

  It might have been any other morning, after any other night.

  Meredith’s gaze drifted to the charred tree trunk a hand’s span from where she stood, all that remained of the graceful elm where she and Benjamin were to have met. This time yesterday, she thought, the words repeating themselves in a tiresome cant, this time yesterday the hotel was teeming with life and color. With people. Now . . . Meredith tried not to dwell on what lay buried in that rubble. The fiery grave for ten people—eight guests and two hotel employees.

  Grief was a dull spike, crushing her ribs. Clyde Henkle would never greet her at the door again, never gallantly compliment her latest hairstyle, never be able to take pride over his part in bringing Benjamin and Me
redith together. And Mr. Dayton—

  Meredith pressed her fingers over her heart and counted until the swell of emotion receded. Just hours ago, she had watched the stiffly reserved man wipe away a tear after she’d told him that she hoped he would make it to the wedding, come November.

  The two men had died along with six of the guests they tried in vain to save; a couple from Roanoke perished after they fled from their flaming third-story room to the roof, then in panic, leaped to the burning shrubbery below.

  But thanks to a merciful God, the remaining eighty-seven guests and staff inside when the fire broke out had all made it to safety. The other two hundred or so guests had already left the hotel for their sundry evening activities. If arson was the cause of the fire, at least the instigators had chosen their time for the least risk to human lives. It was difficult, however, to feel gratitude toward them . . . or him.

  Rage and grief spiraled upward again, as consuming as the fire. Eventually Meredith managed to turn away from the ruins. From death. Morning sunlight poured into her, warm and insistent. Comforting. A gentle reminder that daylight always followed darkness. Meredith held on to that nascent hope on her solitary walk to the Taylor Hotel, where Benjamin was ensconced along with as many of Excelsior’s guests as the proprietor could accommodate.

  The entire community had pitched in to help; when every room in every hotel and boardinghouse was filled, stranded guests were welcomed into homes. At some point during the scarlet-and-black nightmare of the past twelve hours, Hominy steered Meredith into Mrs. Biggs’s trembling arms. Equally traumatized but ever stoic, the office assistant urged a protesting Meredith to spend the remainder of the night with her and her husband, in their neat two-story bungalow four blocks away.

  Meredith had protested until Benjamin uttered his first and only words since she found him wrestling with Hominy on the ground beneath the elm. “Please go with her. I need to know you’re safe.” He pressed his forehead against his fist, his shoulders bowed. “Please, Meredith.”

  Meredith went. She lay sleepless on a narrow bed in a tiny room filled with family photographs, lithographs, and a collection of Staffordshire ceramic figurines. At dawn she gave up, rising with the sun to make her way to the Taylor Hotel.

  She found Benjamin in a deserted alcove. He was sitting in a large upholstered chair, his ankle propped on a matching tasseled hassock. Sunlight streamed through the window, outlining his profile with a soft golden hue which nonetheless could not hide his gray fatigue. His gaze was focused toward the window.

  As Meredith watched he swallowed. A deep sigh shuddered up from his chest.

  “Benjamin.” She flew across the room, watching the naked flash of relief, of welcome, burn the dullness from his eyes. He held out his hand. The strong supple fingers were trembling. Meredith knelt at his side and pressed her cheek against his hand. “I couldn’t sleep. I had to come. I left Mrs. Biggs a note—Benjamin?” She lifted her head. “We’ll make it through this. Somehow, we’ll survive.”

  “Yes. We will survive. Don’t look at me like that, love. I’ll be all right.” He stroked her cheek, then cupped her chin. “I’ve had a lot of practice, remember.”

  “I know. I know you have.” She tried to smile. “Trouble is, I haven’t. I want to help you. I want to give you strength—I want to be your strength when you give out. Only I can’t seem to think. Focus. I need my writing pad.”

  For some reason that inane remark sparked a burst of laughter from both of them.

  “I need my desk clock.”

  “Oh? Well, I need my button boots with the round toes. These things pinch my feet. I almost walked over here barefoot.”

  “I need a fresh cravat.”

  “A clean hankie.”

  Abruptly Benjamin leaned forward in the chair, resting his forehead against hers. “Meredith, I love you so much.” He lifted his head to look at her. “Your heartwood chest . . .” His voice thickened, and the dark blue gaze filled with agony. “We need to talk about it, face it. I-I can’t deal with the rest, until we reconcile the loss of your heartwood chest.”

  “I don’t want to. I’m too—” She took a hard, short breath. Felt as though she were inhaling embers. “Too ashamed of even thinking about it when you’ve lost so much more. And ten people lost their lives. Clyde. Mr. Dayton.”

  She rose, pacing the floor with restless steps. “I keep begging God to fill me with all that strength He promises us. Yet all I feel inside is panic.” Almost defiantly she swiveled to face him. “And denial. Always the denial. I’d much rather focus on making a list of everything we need to do than think about Clyde and Mr. Dayton or my heartwood chest.”

  “Panic is natural. Denial won’t make it—or reality—go away.” He reached for a crutch lying on the floor and with remarkable ease hefted himself to his feet. “Trust me. I’ve experienced them both.” He maneuvered himself forward, wielding the crutches with such skill they functioned almost as a part of his body. “Until recently, I was convinced that I was capable of managing whatever came my way. Relied on my own strength, my own wits.” He paused, then admitted in a low voice, “Last night I learned I was wrong about that.”

  Watching him Meredith was struck anew by the return of the natural power Benjamin had always manifested. Regardless of his confession—no, she instantly corrected herself. Because of his confession, mentally as well as physically he was the strongest man she had ever known. Yet only now could she appreciate the depth of his character, because twice over the past weeks she had met the helpless little boy still hidden inside the quietly powerful man.

  “You might not think so at the moment,” she told him, “but you are the most estimable man I have ever known.”

  Looking uncomfortable, Benjamin shook his head. “Right now I’m as confused as you are,” he said. His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “After years of relying on self, I finally learn to trust the Lord’s wisdom over my own. Accept that I need His Presence in my daily life. And for what? Why did God allow this to happen when I’ve been trying to be obedient? Trying for the first time since I was a child to live my life in a manner that would honor Him?”

  “I don’t know. I know what I’m supposed to feel, I can even quote passages of Scripture, but—” Meredith spread her hands in a helpless gesture.

  “Anything but that.”

  “Oh? Well, perhaps I should preach a sermon. I could probably expound for let’s see, at least an hour. No? All right.” She eyed him innocently. “How about if I steal your crutches? Then you’d have to listen.”

  Some of the bitterness shadowing his face lightened. “I’ve known people who use verses of Scripture as though they were crutches,” he said. “But you’re right. Since I can’t stand on my own two feet without these, I consider myself reprimanded. Quote away, my love. Let’s see if some verses will help both of us to hobble through the day.”

  “Benjamin . . .” She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. “You’ve forced me to admit that not a single one of them comes to mind at the moment.”

  She heard a quiet chuckle rumble beneath her ear.

  That was when she decided not to burden him about the jammed door. What purpose would it serve? In her heart, Meredith knew the reason: She would certainly have perished had she completed her panicked exit through that door into the hallway. The window had offered her best hope of escape, so the door had been blocked to ensure that she had no other choice. Preston. It had to be Preston.

  But neither she—nor even Benjamin with all his resources—would be able to prove anything, including the true explanation for that locked door. Perhaps Benjamin had been right all along, about the futility of fighting a man like J. Preston Clarke. Instead her fiancé had chosen a nobler path: protecting the woman he loved rather than pursuing vengeance, even in the name of justice. So Meredith would thank God for her life and leave the rest behind in the cooling ashes. She would depend on God’s promises and trust Him to provide the dis
cipline to carry the secret to her grave.

  Yes, there was a time to speak, as Garnet had learned the previous year. But there was also a time for silence, as Meredith had discovered this morning. Some things were better left unrevealed.

  She hugged Benjamin hard. “I love you.”

  For a precious span of time they stood, gathering strength from togetherness until another thought settled softly inside Meredith’s heart. The spiritual manifestation of God’s love was real—as real as the love she and Benjamin shared. She might not see Him as she could see Benjamin, and she might not be able to hold Him as she was holding Benjamin. But . . . perhaps it was the Lord’s very Presence in their lives that imbued their human love with a touch of the divine.

  “Benjamin?”

  “Hmm?”

  She felt his lips brush her hair. “I don’t understand much about the workings of God’s ways. But I think I’m beginning to grasp that it isn’t necessary for me to understand.”

  Benjamin murmured an unintelligible sound of encouragement.

  Meredith lifted her fingers to trace the deep lines scoring his face from nose to mouth, lines that hadn’t been there yesterday. “It’s life that delivers pain and tragedy. But it’s God who gives us pieces of Himself, all of it wonderful, all of it designed to help us through the pain and tragedy of life. Not run from it.”

  Not deny the problems, until now her cowardly response. “He gives us the love. The peace. The joy, patience—all of it. I can’t explain very well.” She shook her head, frustrated. “I still have all this awful pain—so vast it hurts to breathe. I’ll miss Clyde and Mr. Dayton. But I know, from being with you, that time really does heal. I know that, in time, you can rebuild the hotel. It’s just that”—she forced herself not to lower her gaze—“I’m afraid there’s always going to be a part of me that . . . I do know my heartwood chest was just a-a material object, like my mother’s cookie cutter. Yet for me they were . . . they were . . .”