July Thunder (19 page)

“Damn right it was,” he said. He rose to his feet, dropping the towel on the table. “I've got to get back.”

She stepped between him and the door. “Sam,
no!
You can't even hold a bowl of soup, for God's sake. Let someone else be a hero for tonight.”

He drew up short, looking down at her, his eyes steely in his fatigued face. “I've got news for you, Mary. I'm no hero. Not at all. I'm just doing something that needs doing, like a couple hundred other people are doing out there right now. I don't get any special exemption just because I'm Sam Canfield.”

“But they're all going to take time off to sleep!”

“They're all going to take time off to go back to work. In the mine.”

She looked at him, something inside her shrivel
ing. He was furious with her, she realized. And it was all because she had shot off her mouth. She was fatigued, too, from worry and fear for him, but that still didn't excuse her. “Sam, I said I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” But nothing about him softened, and he started to pass her on the way to the door.

“Sam?”

He paused.

She bit her lip, fearing the pain she was opening herself up to with the question she was about to speak. “Sam…why did you come here tonight?”

His back was to her, and for endless seconds he didn't move. “I wanted to see you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Then please don't go.”

He shook his head. “Mary, this isn't working. I'm too tired. You're tired.”

“Exactly. So crash for an hour or so. I promise to wake you up. I'll even set the alarm if you want. But you need some rest.”

Finally he turned to face her. “All right,” he said. “I'll crash on the couch. But only for an hour.”

“Good.” That much at least made her feel better. He couldn't leap right back into firefighting with nothing but a bowl of soup in his belly and no rest. She got him a blanket, then left him alone in the living room. Returning to the kitchen, she decided to use the time to make him something heartier than soup. A couple of thick sandwiches. He was going to need them.

And then she wondered why she hadn't just let him go when he'd been ready to. Because he was just going to go anyway, eventually. Now was as good a time as any.

With an aching heart, she began to make sandwiches.

 

Sam didn't exactly sleep. He was too wound-up. But he lay in some sort of netherworld, his thoughts running around in circles while his body relaxed bit by bit. With his eyes closed, it was almost as refreshing as sleep.

Or would have been if it hadn't given him so much time to think.

Mary's accusation wouldn't leave him alone. He should have been able to brush it off as words born of fatigue. He'd certainly never felt insecure about his masculinity. Never. It was something he didn't even think about—or hadn't since high school.

But Mary's comment had struck hard, as if she had caught on to something he hadn't recognized himself. Could he feel as if he had something to prove to his father still?

Well, of course he could. In those terms, it wasn't even a surprising comment. He'd never been able to please the man, and with someone like that, you either kept continuously trying or you gave up completely. He thought he'd given up years ago, when he left home.

But maybe Mary was right. Maybe he hadn't re
ally given up, and his father's return to his life had awakened all those old fears and feelings.

It wasn't a thought that made him feel good about himself. After all, he liked to believe that he had matured over the past years.

Cripes, he probably needed a shrink to help him through this. How did you deal with leftover feelings and reactions that went back so far in your life? How did you get past the knee-jerk reactions and responses when you were hardly aware of them? When they seemed so right?

“Sam?”

Mary's voice drew him out of his uncomfortable reverie.

“Sam, it's been an hour. Are you sure you don't want to sleep longer?”

He opened his eyes, knowing he wasn't going to sleep tonight. He had to save that church. Maybe Mary was right. Maybe he just wanted to prove what a man he was to his father. He didn't know anymore, and he was too tired to sort it out right now. All he knew was, he couldn't let that church burn.

“I'm fine,” he said, and managed a smile. God, she was beautiful, even with fatigue drawing her face. Beautiful and intelligent and…uncomfortable. What was bugging her? “I'm sorry I got so steamed before.”

“It's okay, Sam. I have no business popping off like that. I'm no psychologist.”

He sat up and reached for her hand, drawing her
down beside him. Then he gave her a hug and dropped kisses on her cheek. “I'm feeling like a bear. It's my fault. But my arms aren't shaking anymore.”

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek back. “Good. And I made you some sandwiches. You can eat them here or take them with you.”

“Thanks.” He brushed a tendril of her hair back from her cheek, then hugged her again. He couldn't remember that it had ever felt so good to hug anyone. Not ever. He just wanted to sink right into her embrace and forget the rest of the world even existed. But that wouldn't save the church.

“I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“Sure. Listen, just stop by here when you take your next break. I don't want to be worrying when you're safe at home, okay?”

“I promise.” But he noticed she didn't invite him to stay with her. Maybe his reaction had turned her off for good. The idea pained him, but he didn't know how to pursue it, especially right now. This wasn't a good time for a heart-to-heart. Not with that fire raging.

So he let go of her, hard as it was to do, and accepted the sandwiches and bottled water she offered, and got out of there as fast as he could.

Because he was in danger of forgetting his duty. In danger of forgetting everything. And all for Mary.

It wasn't a happy state of mind.

M
orning brought dreary skies and worse news. Several of the fires had joined up, creating a wall of flame to the west of the church, and that wall was marching east, toward them. Fire was also spreading toward the subdivisions a few miles north, and most of the fire-fighting effort was being concentrated there.

“Of course it is,” Elijah said, when a deputy gave them the news. “People's homes are more important than one church.”

Elijah appeared exhausted. He'd caught a few hours of sleep on a church pew during the night, but even in the rosy dawn light he looked ashen.

“Dad,” Sam said in his best I'm-the-cop-and-I'm-in-charge voice, “you're not looking good. You need some real rest.”

“I can't leave while my people are trying to save the church.”

There were about fifty of them now, all members
of the congregation, few sure what to make of Joe and Louis, who were working as hard as ten men. They took their cue from Elijah, though, and were at least civil.

“Then go sit in my car. Roll up the windows and breath some air-conditioned air for a while. This smoke isn't good for anybody.”

And it
was
getting thick. Sam's eyes were burning, not quite as badly as if he were cutting an onion, but badly enough. And every breath he took was making his chest feel raw inside. He'd begun to wear a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, annoying as it was.

Elijah looked as if he were going to argue, but after a moment his shoulders slumped. “All right. For just a few minutes.”

Sam didn't argue with him about how long. He figured once his dad sat down in the SUV and started breathing air that was relatively smoke-free, exhaustion would probably knock him out.

They had a complete circle around the church cleared now. Men with shovels were digging up dirt to bury stumps. Another man with a small tiller was walking slowly back and forth, turning the dirt and burying the pine needles and dead leaves. They were a long way from an eighty-foot barrier, but it didn't look as hopeless as it had yesterday afternoon.

People were getting tired, though. Dangerously tired. Mary was right; they needed to be extra careful dealing with the chain saws. No building was
worth having someone lose a limb, much less his life.

Pulling out a whistle, he blew on it. Break time. They all needed to sit and rest. Have a drink from the fountain and tap inside. He just wished he had some food to offer them.

Reluctantly, it seemed, or maybe just wearily, saws were turned off, tools were dropped, and groups of people straggled toward the church hall.

They needed more helpers. They needed food. And nobody was about to give up, as near as he could tell.

Miraculously, almost as if his thoughts had summoned them, several trucks arrived carrying older women. They climbed out and began toting ice chests and covered bowls into the parish hall.

“The church looks after its own.”

Sam turned his head and saw Carl Hasselmyer. “You set this up?”

Carl shook his tired head, a smile lighting his grimy face. “The missus did. Knew she would.”

Remembering all the church suppers he had attended as a child, Sam realized he wasn't really surprised. The women had probably been working most of the night to make food. They didn't look as exhausted as the men did, but their eyes were red-rimmed and weary.

The food had an energizing effect, though. The hungry and fatigued men began to perk up. To talk a little, to move a bit faster. Sitting at the long picnic
tables in the church hall, they gorged on food and water and began to sound more like a social meeting than a fire-fighting team.

Soon the church's urn was full of fresh-perked coffee, and the women were delivering large foam cups of coffee to all the people at the tables. Sam accepted a cup for himself and found it thick and strong. The caffeine jolt was just what he needed.

Unfortunately the arrival of breakfast had caused Elijah to abandon Sam's SUV. Now he wandered around the hall, talking to everyone, expressing his appreciation at how hard they were working. Joining in prayer circles one after another. Eating nothing and drinking nothing.

At first Sam felt irritated: Elijah needed to take better care of himself. The man was getting up in years and didn't have the resilience anymore to work himself nigh unto death.

But as he stood there drinking his coffee and eating a fresh-baked cinnamon roll, he realized something else: Elijah had always been this way. Always ministering and taking care of his flock, whatever the self-sacrifice. And for the first time, Sam realized that it was not selfishness on Elijah's part.

His father felt called to the ministry. Maybe he'd made some mistakes prioritizing in the past, or maybe Sam had simply wanted more than he'd had a right to.

No. He shook his head at that and looked down into his coffee. Maybe the Catholics had it right, he
thought. Maybe a man who wanted to devote his life to the ministry didn't really have room for a family. Maybe if you were Elijah, and didn't see it as a nine-to-five job, you ought never to marry.

But that didn't make Elijah a bad man. Or did it?

Fatigue was clogging his brain so badly that Sam gave up trying to sort through it. He grabbed another cup of coffee and another roll, and waited for the caffeine to hit his system. All he knew was that Elijah's dedication was real. Apostolic, even. Heck, the Bible never did say what happened to Mrs. Simon-Peter and all the little Simon-Peters. They must have existed, since Peter's mother-in-law was in the Bible.

Imagine what Mrs. Peter's reaction must have been when her husband announced that he was taking up with some itinerant rabbi. Probably something to the effect of, “Simon, how am I supposed to feed the kids? Who's going to pay the tax collector?”

Sam almost laughed at the mental image he got, then sobered as he realized he was getting a little punch-drunk. Not good. Another cup of coffee and maybe a couple of those sausage links.

“Sam?”

At the sound of Mary's voice, he whirled around, nearly spilling his coffee. “Mary? What are you doing here?”

She was dressed in hiking boots, jeans and a
heavy denim shirt. Work gloves peeked out of her front jeans pocket. “I came to help.”

He didn't know what to say. Part of him wanted to tell her to go home and be safe. This day was apt to become dangerous if that wall of fire kept marching this way. Yet part of him was touched that she was willing to come out here and help.

“Don't tell me it's not women's work,” she said sternly. “We may not have the upper body strength of you guys, but there's plenty we can do anyway.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.” No, the thought that crossed his mind was, How many of the people he cared deeply about did he want out here risking their necks?

“So tell me what to do,” she said.

“Take a break. Everybody's eating right now. We'll go back to work in a few minutes.”

“Mary!” Elijah joined them, giving her a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help. You look like you need some rest, Elijah.”

“We all need some. But there's no need for you to—”

Mary shook her head, silencing him. “Every hand can help, mine included. And don't get paternal on me. I'm in better shape than you are.”

For an instant Elijah looked stunned; then he gave a weary laugh. “I can't argue with that, my dear.”

“In fact, you look about ready to drop. That won't do anyone any good, Elijah.”

“I'm fine. Just tired. I need to do what I can.”

Sam knew the measure of his father's stubbornness, so he didn't even bother to argue. Opposing Elijah rarely got him anywhere.

“Well,” Mary said, “consider me your replacement. When I get tired, you can take over for me. We'll switch out, okay?”

Sam silently applauded Mary's astuteness. He watched the emotions play over his father's face and saw the instant when it struck Elijah that he had to agree or Mary would never get a break. “All right,” Elijah said.

“So go find someplace to sit down and rest,” Mary told him. “Maybe catch a little nap. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to hold up out there.”

Elijah, surprisingly meek, nodded and walked away.

Sam looked at Mary. “You go, girl. I've been trying to get him to rest for hours.”

She eyed him critically. “I could say the same about you, except I know you'll never listen to me.”

He was pretty sure that wasn't a compliment.

Ten minutes later they all filed back outdoors and picked up their tools. Sam wondered if it was his imagination or if the smoke was thicker now. He couldn't be sure.

Mary took over the tiller, and the man she relieved picked up a shovel. Once again the growl of chain saws filled the wood, along with the clank of
shovels, the rattle of chains and the roar of engines as the timber was dragged a safe distance away.

Overhead, thick clouds hung low, almost seeming to scrape the treetops. And still no rain.

At that moment a deer burst out of the woods, heedless of all the people, and dashed south. Not a good sign, Sam thought. Not a good sign at all.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who read the deer's appearance that way, because it seemed that everyone started working harder, at least for a while.

Sam went back to hauling logs across the road, and helping to load brush and tree limbs onto trucks.

A few more people arrived to help. Some of the women who had brought the food pitched in, too, while others went home to get more food for lunch. Time must be passing, Sam thought, but there was really no way to measure it. The sun was invisible, and the clear-cutting seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. As the morning wore on, more animals passed by in flight. More deer, chipmunks, raccoons… No, it didn't look good at all.

He had to pause to pour a couple jerry cans of gas into his SUV and was thinking about whether he should send someone to town for more when he noticed something going on at the edge of the clearing.

Sawing had stopped in that area, and Mary was involved in some kind of discussion with a couple of the men, her arms waving and one finger pointing upward.

What the hell?

As soon as he finished gassing up his truck, he went over there.

“What's the holdup?” he asked, his voice cutting over the others'.

“There's a bear cub in the tree,” the man holding the chain saw said.

Sam's first thought was to look around and wonder where momma bear was. As far as he knew, they were never more than a few feet from their cubs, and they were fearless about protecting them. “Where's the mom?”

“Haven't seen her,” the man answered.

“Sam,” Mary said, “we can't cut that tree down with the cub up there. No way.”

He suddenly had the worst urge to laugh, to throw up his hands and just roar. Fatigue, he reminded himself. He wasn't thinking clearly or reacting normally. Get a grip, man!

“Mary…” He didn't quite know what to say. “Leaving that tree there would be like leaving a match. It's too close to the church. The fire could leapfrog, no matter how much we manage to clear-cut.”

“We've got to get it down.”

“How? Only a mother bear can get a scared cub down a tree. Where the hell is she, anyway?”

“Maybe she got hurt. Why else would he be alone?”

Good question. Sam peered up into the tree and,
at a height of about thirty feet, saw the cowering cub. Man, it didn't look like it could be very old.

The man with the chain saw spoke. “We mess with that cub and we might find out where the mother is. Real quick.”

There was that possibility, too. But Sam had to admit, he didn't want to hurt the cub, either. Nor did he want to render all their efforts useless by leaving a tower of tinder so close to the church. He sighed and rubbed his weary eyes, trying to think.

“Sam,” Mary said, pleading, “we've got to get that cub down.”

“I know.” He bowed his head a minute, then looked at the men. “Keep clear-cutting, but leave this tree for now. I'm going to get help.”

The men shrugged and went off to work on a different tree. Mary tightened her hold on his arm. “What are you going to do?”

“Hell, I don't know. I'll think of something.” Looking into her eyes was like drowning, he realized. He could feel everything in the world slip away, leaving him in this tiny bubble of silence as he fell into those green pools.

Danger. “Give me a minute,” he said.

He was halfway back to his car when he had a thought. Hurrying inside the hall, he looked for the phone, praying it still worked. A dial tone greeted him when he picked up the receiver.

Thanking God for small mercies, he called the
local vet, Barry Geffen. “Barry,” he said when the vet picked up, “I've got a small problem.”

“How small?”

“It's about the size of a bear cub. A small bear cub.”

“Hmm, that could be a
big
problem.”

“Well, it kinda is. It's up in a tree we need to cut down to stop the fire. And its mother is nowhere to be seen.”

“Yet,” Barry corrected him. “Nowhere to be seen
yet.
”

“Well, that thought does cross my mind, when my mind works. But I don't want to cut the tree down with the bear in it.”

“No…”

He waited, but Barry didn't say anymore. “Can you come up here and tranquilize the cub? So I can get it down?”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” But Barry laughed. “Sure, I'll leave my waiting room full of dogs and cats and run out there.”

“Barry…”

“I'm just kidding. I'll explain to my patients. Or rather, to their parents.”

“Thanks. We're at The Little Church in the Woods. Do you know where that's at?”

“I have a passing familiarity. Give me twenty or thirty minutes, okay?”