A Promise to Love (27 page)

“You talk to grandparents,” Ingrid said. “I will go home and free animals. When I come back, I stop for one minute. No more. You get on wagon. If Virgie and Richard want, they come with us. If they stay, you make promise to me you leave them. You make promise?”

“What if they won't come?”

“You have fifteen minutes before I come back. You stand beside road and wait for me. You hear me? You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me.”

“I don't . . .”

They were approaching Richard and Virgie's cabin. She did not have time to be nice. She grabbed Agnes by her pigtail and turned the child's tear-streaked face toward hers.

“Promise!”

“I promise.”

Agnes leaped off and ran into the darkness, calling out for her grandparents even before the wagon came to a full stop. Yet again Buttons began to rear and fight. What Ingrid was asking of him was against everything he knew. Once again she had to do something she despised other people for doing: scream and apply the whip. If she didn't hurry, she was afraid they both would be feeling more pain than the momentary sting.

She ran the wagon straight for the barn, leaped off, and jerked the reins into a secure knot. She knew that if the reins didn't hold, Buttons would bolt. She could see the muscles beneath his coat rippling with nerves.

Some women might have tried to run into the house to salvage something precious to them, but there was not one thing that mattered to her at this moment except freeing the livestock and getting Agnes back to the lake. She ran to the fence and opened the gate so their animals could escape. She jerked slats out of the hogs' pen, then slapped the silly things to get them to move out. The chickens and rooster, to her dismay, were all lying on the ground, dead, presumably from the smoke. She understood why; her own throat felt raw and sore from breathing it.

She ran back to the wagon, jerked the reins out of their knot, and maneuvered it around until Buttons was facing toward town. As she did so, she saw a terrifying sight. Even through the smoke, she could tell that there was a red glow on the horizon—and it was growing fast.

This time, the horse did not have to be encouraged. They were headed toward the lake. Buttons took off like a cannon. She prayed desperately that Agnes would obey her—and be waiting at the side of the road. There was not a moment to lose.

Agnes was, indeed, waiting by the road. She saw her small figure up ahead, and the little girl was alone. As she sawed on the reins, she realized that his fear was so great, she was not strong enough to get Buttons to stop. The most she could hope for was to get the horse to slow down. It became a tug of war between her and the terrified horse—but he slowed down just enough for her to scoot to the far left of the wagon seat, brace herself with her feet, and lean out sideways.

“Agnes!” she shouted. “You have to jump! Grab my hand!”

The horse did break stride, the wagon slowed momentarily, and Agnes was ready. The instant Ingrid's hand touched hers, the little girl leaped. There was a moment when all Agnes had was a toe hold on the wagon and a grip on Ingrid's hand, then as agile and quick as a monkey, she caught her balance and scrambled onto the seat.

She-Wolf had stopped howling. She pawed at the outside of the door until Hazel opened it. Then the dog grabbed the old woman's sleeve in her teeth and started tugging.

“What in tarnation . . .” Hazel tried to shake off She-Wolf, but the dog's eyes were pleading with her. Then, she realized that all the other dogs had stopped howling. Instead, there was an eerie stillness, as though every living thing was crouched down, carefully listening.

Then, in the distance, she heard the sound of crackling limbs and falling trees.

“Mary!” she shouted, scooping Bertie from the mattress and snatching the wool blankets under which the girls had been sleeping. “We have to get these children into the boat!”

Ingrid had never known that fire could whip through a forest so quickly. Buttons was running flat out, and she was doing nothing to slow the horse down, even though she was terrified that the wagon would hit a bump and flip over. It was a chance she had to take. To slow down would mean a death sentence by fire.

She glanced back. There was a wall of flame bearing down on them. She estimated that it was about two miles behind them, eating up the distance faster than a horse could run. They were about a mile from the village when fiery debris began to fall around them. A flaming wooden plank fell—straight from the sky—directly in front of Buttons. He reared in fright, and those few moments of getting him back under control and avoiding the flames that had fallen in front of them took time she could ill afford.

“The wagon is on fire!” Agnes screamed.

Ingrid looked back. A piece of burning punk had landed on the back of the farm wagon. The wagon was old and bone dry. It could easily burn right out from under them before they could get to the water. The terrible roar and howl of the flames and wind had become deafening.

“Take the reins!” she shouted.

Agnes didn't hesitate.

The wall of fire was pushing massive amounts of air ahead of it, creating a gale that she had to lean into and fight against as she climbed over the wagon seat.

There were some empty burlap feed sacks Josh had left lying in the back. She grabbed one and began beating out the flames. She found that not only was it nearly impossible to put out the fire that was consuming the wagon, she had to do so while trying to keep her balance and fight against the scalding wind.

“I can see the lake!” Agnes cried. “What do I do?”

Firebrands had been blown against and onto the roofs of White Rock houses. Ingrid saw that the villagers had formed a bucket brigade and were dousing the fires out. She knew that what they were trying to do was hopeless with the fire she had seen bearing down on all of them.

“Do not stop! Do not slow down! Run horse into lake!”

She dropped to her knees and scrabbled beneath the seat. There was a wooden box there where Joshua kept a few tools and odds and ends. Praying that she would find what she needed, her hands closed upon a hunting knife just as the wagon hit the water.

 26 

Many years earlier, Hazel's husband had purchased a twenty-foot dory, which they named
Wind Dancer
in honor of a medicine man who had befriended them when they made their way into Michigan fifty years ago. They had found it to be the perfect rowboat for fishing and traveling upon the rough open waters of Lake Huron. It had a flat bottom, high sides, and the capacity to carry several weeks' worth of supplies. It could also be powered by one strong person with a set of oars. She estimated it could hold no more than eight full-sized adults in an emergency, but since their group of nine consisted of three adults, four children, a baby, and a dog—they would still be within the limits.

Never knowing when she and She-Wolf might get the itch to go fishing, she always kept the dory in the water right beside her cabin, tied to a deep stake her husband had set. As she and Mary hustled the children to the boat, she thanked God for her proximity to the lake. She was afraid that wading out into the water while the fire burned itself out was not going to be enough—not with what she saw looming in the distance.

“I don't think I can do this,” Mary said. “The sides of the boat are too high.”

“You don't have a choice. Pretend you're fifteen again and climb in.”

Standing knee deep in water, Hazel held Bertie with one arm and the dory as steady as she could with the other, trying to make it stationary enough for Mary to climb in. It occurred to her that she was entirely too old for this, but like Mary, she had no choice. They all had a better chance of surviving in the boat than in the water. It was October, and the waves lapping at her knees were cold.

The moment Mary got seated, Hazel handed the baby to her and then lifted the girls in one by one. She-Wolf, already a veteran of boat trips, hopped in with one giant leap.

“I want Ingrid.” Ellie started to cry. “I want my Aggie.”

“They'll be here soon, pumpkin.” Hazel hoped with all her heart she wasn't lying to the child. The baby, upset by Ellie's sobs, began to wail. Polly looked like she was teetering on the verge of tears.

If only Ingrid would get back! Hazel could see the glow in the distance, and she knew that the fire was coming this way. She wanted to wring Richard and Virgie's necks for being so hardheaded. If it weren't for their stubbornness, they would all be on the boat by now and a half mile out into the lake!

The cold water lapping at her legs reminded her that even in the boat, they might get chilled. It was only a few feet to her back door. Now that Mary and the children were safely in the boat, she realized she might be able to grab a few supplies. She had no idea how long they would have to be out there on the water.

“I'll be right back,” she shouted. The wind she had to struggle against made her grateful that she had a good anchor on board.

Inside the cabin, she grabbed a tin pail for bailing if the water got rough, dumped a sack of windfall apples into it, wrapped four loaves of bread that Ingrid had brought into a square of oilcloth, grabbed all the wool blankets Ingrid had brought, and hightailed it out of there. The wind had picked up even more in just those few seconds. It was so strong that it nearly lifted her from her feet.

The bulk of the townspeople, hearing the wind, had rushed outside. Some, looking toward the west, were in such shock at what was coming toward them they seemed paralyzed—rooted where they stood. Others hurriedly organized a bucket brigade to quench the flames that were suddenly blazing up on the cedar-shingled roofs as fire dropped, literally, from the sky.

Hazel saw a woman in an emerald dressing gown running toward them. As she drew near, she realized that it was Millicent, with her hair loose and whipping wildly about her face and shoulders.

“Oh, thank God you have this boat!” Millicent cried. She was carrying a small chest, which appeared to be very heavy. Before Hazel could stop her, she heaved it into the boat and then tried to climb in after it.

“We barely have room for
you
, Millicent!” Hazel shouted against the howling wind. “We do not have room for whatever it is that you have in that chest.”

“Then make that dirty animal get out,” Millicent yelled. “It weighs more than my mama's table silver.”

She-Wolf bared her fangs and growled.

Hazel was stunned when Joshua's gentle mother calmly handed Bertie to Trudy, picked up an oar from the bottom of the boat, and held it poised in the air.

“If you don't take that box out of this boat right this instant, I'll brain you!” she said. “Ingrid and Agnes are coming, and no chest of your mama's silver is going to take their place. Do you understand me?”

“I have to save it!” Millicent wailed. “It's all I have left of home!”

“Then I suggest you teach it how to tread water!” Hazel grabbed the chest and dropped it into Millicent's arms. “For once in your life, why don't you worry about something that actually lives and breathes instead of your
things
, you silly goose!”

Millicent backed away, her eyes wide with fear and shock as she clutched the heavy box. She looked down at it, as though seeing it clearly for the first time.

“You're right.” She shocked Hazel by dropping the chest straight into the water.

Hazel noticed that she was taking short, pant-like breaths of the smoke-filled air. “Are you all right, Millicent?”

“I have to get a knife!” Millicent hurried off with both hands clutched to her stomach.

“A knife?” Hazel asked Mary. “What is that woman talking about?”

“My best guess is she needs to cut the strings on her nighttime corset so she can breathe,” Mary said. Then she pointed. “There they are! Oh, dear Father in heaven, help them!”

Hazel whirled around just in time to see Agnes at the reins, half-standing, leaning over, cracking the whip over the horse's head as it galloped wildly toward the lake with foam flying from its mouth. Ingrid was standing in the back, feet braced, balancing herself against the violent rocking of the wagon as she frantically beat at a fire that was gnawing away at the back end of the wagon. Ingrid was fighting a losing battle, and Hazel could only pray that Buttons would make it into the lake before the flames from the wagon engulfed them.

Agnes did not slow down. Screaming at the horse at the top of her lungs, she drove it straight into the water, plunging in with a violent splash. In a flash, Ingrid leaped out of the wagon into waist-deep water.

They all watched as she fought her way through the water to the front of the wagon, where the terrified horse pawed and fought to get free.

“Over here!” Hazel screamed against the roar of the wind. She untied the boat and stood on shore with the rope in her hands, ready to leave the minute Agnes and Ingrid came.

She saw Ingrid say something to Agnes, who nodded in understanding and then took off like a shot toward the boat while Ingrid frantically sawed at the traces, trying to set the frightened horse free. Hazel held her breath . . . and practically wilted with relief when she saw Buttons lunge away from the wagon. Then she saw Ingrid running toward them. Her long legs ate up the distance so quickly that she overtook Agnes, scooped the skinny little girl up in her arms, and ran carrying her until she splashed into the water beside Hazel and deposited Agnes in the boat.

“Quick!” Ingrid panted. “Get in. Very big fire!”

To Hazel's surprise, Ingrid practically lifted her into the boat as she scrambled in. Then Ingrid leaped in, grabbed the two oars, fitted them into the oarlocks, and dug them deep into the water, pulling away from the beach with all of her strength.

Hazel was grateful for that strength. She did not think she could have made the dory move through the churning waters with all the extra weight it carried.

Suddenly, she heard a loud cry as the townspeople caught a glimpse of a horrific sight. A solid sheet of fire, over one hundred feet high, was racing straight toward them.

Those men who had been doggedly helping with the bucket brigade stopped everything and ran for their lives, diving straight into the water. Women with children in their arms fought their way through waves that seemed determined to fling them back onto the shore.

It took every ounce of Ingrid's strength to shove the oars through the rough water, propelling the dory farther and farther away from the shore. At first, she fought waves that tried to throw them back onto the shore. Then, as the hurricane-force winds brought on by the advancing one-hundred-foot wall of flame hit them full force, she reversed and rowed into the wind, trying to keep them from being blown into the smoky darkness. It was a hard balance to keep—far enough away to endure the heat, close enough to keep land in sight. She battled to keep the boat steady, praying with each breath that they would not capsize.

She was grateful for every inch of her height and her strong arms. She was grateful for every muscle and sinew in her body—even though it seemed as though each one was screaming out for her to stop fighting. She thanked God for the amazing little dory that rode the waves like a buoyant cork. She also thanked God for the boat's flat bottom, upon which the children now lay, shielded somewhat from the intense heat by the sides of the boat.

She saw Ellie start to peek over the boat's high sides.

“Stay down!” Hazel ordered. “All of you children keep your heads down!”

None of them wanted the children to see the holocaust taking place on land.

Illuminated as clear as day by the leaping flames, the scene near shore was a vision straight from hell. Men, women, and children huddled in the water, as far out as they could go without drowning. Mothers held their hands over their children's noses and mouths, taking them down into the water, holding them under as long as possible before coming up gasping for air. This they had to do to keep their skin from blistering, trying to keep themselves alive by taking themselves and their children beneath the waves, over and over. Children were screaming, crying, choking, and spluttering. Mothers and fathers fought to keep their balance in the turbulence of the lake's waters, all the while grasping one or more children. Some lost their footing and were thrown back toward the shore by the angry waves. From Ingrid's vantage point from within the boat, the heat was nearly unbearable. For those nearer, it was deadly.

Some of the people standing in the lake who initially had been trying to put out the roof fires had held onto their buckets, most of which were made out of wood. Now these wet, oaken buckets were brought into service as a sort of protective helmet by those fortunate enough to have one.

Ingrid could hardly believe her eyes at what she saw next. The heat was so intense, even several yards out into the lake, those water-soaked buckets were catching fire while still on top of people's heads.

“Are we going to die?” Trudy said.

“No.” Ingrid did not look at the little girl. She kept her eyes on the shore, terrified of allowing them to get lost in this swirling, smoky madness. “I will not let you die.”