The Big Burn (11 page)

"Excuse me," Lizbeth said, "but I'd like to know about the fire situation in the Placer Creek area. My aunt and I have a homestead up one of the smaller gulches."

"I don't know what to tell you," Mr. Polson said. "Several fires are burning in there, but at the moment we've got the upper hand on most. And one of those companies of soldiers that just got here is likely to be sent in to help."

"Where are the rest of the soldiers going?" Jarrett asked.

"Probably Avery. The situation down there is getting more serious by the day." Mr. Polson paused. "Didn't you say that's your home?"

"My father lives there," Jarrett answered, "but I don't, anymore."

***

"That's something I meant to ask you about," Lizbeth said, once they were outside again. "Just where
do
you live?"

"Wherever the Forest Service sends me," Jarrett said.

"And when the fire season is over?"

"I don't know. Right now, it doesn't feel like it ever will be." He kicked a rock so hard it spun across the street. "Once,
just once,
I'd like to see a fire stopped in its tracks." He broke off. "You don't need to hear that. What have you been doing?"

"Besides worrying about fires?" she asked.

They wandered slowly, turning down one side street and then another. She told him about visiting the ranger station and about how Samuel and her aunt had gotten along so well. "It was your brother's scrapbooks that did it," Lizbeth said. "All those lovely drawings, and Cel..."

Lizbeth realized Jarrett wasn't listening. His attention had focused on a trio of men slouching in the open doorway of a warehouse. When one of them turned and looked toward them, Lizbeth felt Jarrett tense. He took her elbow and said, "Let's go another way."

"You got two hours," Sarge told Seth and Abel. "Get going."

Their outfit had pulled into Wallace about 5
A.M.,
after spending the better part of three days and nights riding trains. They'd marched to a park, made camp there, and now the men were being given time to see the city they'd come to protect.

"Ain't Atlanta," Abel said as he and Seth investigated the downtown.

"That where you from?" Seth asked. "You never said."

"Near enough. You?"

"Mississippi. A small place."

Abel asked, "How come you didn't live where your father was stationed?"

"Never worked out to, I guess," Seth answered. "He was out of the country some. Besides, there was a lot of us kids, and where we lived, Mama had my two grandmamas to help rear us up."

"That why you join the army, to get out from three women bossing you?"

"No. I just wanted to," Seth said. "How come you did?"

"Better than jail," Abel answered, in a tone that gave no hint whether he was joking. "Hey, ain't that Sarge and his buddies heading this way? Let's go, before they see us and think of some reason to send us back to camp."

He and Seth turned up a street with vacant lots and then warehouses farther on. Smoke made everything look blurry the same way fog would have.

Seth didn't like the smoke. It made him feel uneasy.

Back at American Lake, once he'd got over being angry about the latrine ditch, he'd almost eagerly latched on to the idea of fighting fires. He'd thought it would be the kind of hard, stick-to-it battle he could shine at, and it wouldn't be a practice battle either.

But he hadn't expected things to start out like this, with an enemy he could feel and smell but not see.

"Abel," he said, "you scared at all? Of the fires?"

"Scared!" Abel said. "I can hardly wait! I saw a big fire once, city blocks burning, people going crazy."

"You liked that?" Seth thought he must be misunderstanding. "Why?" he asked as Abel hushed him.

Nodding toward three threatening-looking men moving in on a young couple down the street, Abel said, "Look yonder. I'd guess that white boy's about to meet trouble."

"Why are we turning back?" Lizbeth asked.

Jarrett answered, "I think we ought to go where there's more people."

From behind them came the shout, "Hey! Ain't that the ranger's little brother?"

Lizbeth felt Jarrett's grip tighten as he hurried her along.

Running footsteps closed in and the same voice, right behind them now, called, "It
is
him!"

Lizbeth glanced over her shoulder and saw that all three men had come within a few feet. The nearest, a man with a scar and one crossed eye, sidled close to Jarrett. "You hear Tully and me spent a night in jail because of your brother? That weren't nice of him, sending us to jail over nothing."

Jarrett's face went taut with anger, but he glanced at Lizbeth and didn't say anything.

"No, it made Tully right mad," the man went on, matching his walk to theirs. "Say, you seen your brother's place lately?"Cause Tully was saying how pretty a ranger station would look all done up in orange."

Frightened, Lizbeth wished they were closer to downtown and other people. Where they were now the only possible assistance was two young soldiers on the other side of the street.

"Or maybe Hilly decided to visit your daddy first," the horrible man was saying. "Take grievances in order, so to speak. How 'bout it, junior, when's the last time you heard how your daddy's doing?"

Jarrett released Lizbeth's elbow then. "Go on," he told her. "Now. I'll catch up."

"But..."

"Now."

She started walking but heard Jarrett say, "I want to know what you're threatening."

"So you can do what?" the man asked. "Help your daddy like you helped your brother out in the woods?" He laughed. "You learned to walk without tripping yet?"

Lizbeth heard a sharp, pained exclamation and turned to see Jarrett reeling, one leg buckling under him. The man who'd been talking kicked Jarrett's other leg, right behind the knee, and Jarrett fell forward. One of the other men caught him and shoved him back to the scar-faced man, and then all three were on him.

Lizbeth screamed.

"Let's go," Seth said, breaking into a run. The white boy was on the ground now, getting his ribs kicked.

The girl tore by, going the other way, skirts jerked up. "I'll bring help," she called as she passed Seth.

Reaching the men, Seth grabbed the arm of the nearest one and ordered, "Let him up."

The man whirled around and, seeing Seth, said, "Soldiers! Let's get out of here,"

But then one of his companions, a vicious-looking man with a scar on his face and something wrong with his eyes, said, "Just one, and he don't look like no soldier. He's the wrong color."

Where was Abel?
Seth turned for a quick look behind but couldn't spot his friend.

"Bet he stole that uniform," the scar-faced man said.

Ignoring him, Seth reached down to give the white boy a hand up. As he did, a boot toe slammed into Seth's temple, knocking him from his feet and sending pain shooting through him. For a moment he was blinded, and when his vision came back he saw a booted leg pulling back to kick again.

In the next instant the white boy rolled over and grabbed the man's other leg, and Seth's attacker was swept backward, bellowing with rage. The man's companions laughed at the sight before turning on Seth and the boy again.
We're in for it now,
Seth thought.

Then a whistle blew sharply and Seth heard shouts and the sound of running feet, and the three men took off.

Still dazed, he watched soldiers rushing up; saw Sarge swiftly swinging toward him on crutches, the girl by his side.

Sarge spoke to the white boy first "You hurt bad?"

"Just bruises, I think," the boy answered, struggling to his feet.

"You?" Sarge asked Seth.

"I'm all right. Just got kicked some."

"Sarge, you want us to go after those three?" another soldier asked.

"No, not our job," Sarge answered. "Miss, can we walk you somewhere?"

"No, thank you," the girl replied. "Thank you for coming so quickly." She turned to Seth. "Thank you."

"We'll be going then," Sarge told her. "Brown, get back to camp. Your time off just ended."

Mrs. Marston pursed her lips and wondered what to say to Lizbeth, showing up on the doorstep with this young man who'd clearly been fighting. Surely this wasn't the beau Lizbeth had been so eager to see, waiting in the park for hours yesterday in case he came. Mrs. Marston had sat with her, for appearance's sake.

But, yes, Lizbeth was introducing him. "Mrs. Marston, I'd like you to meet Jarrett Logan."

"Are you a ruffian?" Mrs. Marston asked him. Might as well get her position laid out Find out where matters stood and let him know her thinking on coarse behavior.

"No, ma'am," he said, a smile beginning and then turning into a wince. A fresh line of blood broke out from a cut near his mouth.

"For heaven's sake, Mrs. Marston," Lizbeth said, "Jarrett got jumped on by a whole gang of men that ought to be in jail, and if it weren't for some soldiers, he'd probably have wound up dead. I told him you'd help."

"I didn't say I wouldn't But, Lizbeth,...you're all right?"
Mrs. Marston hated asking as much as she knew Lizbeth hated being fussed over. But she did care for the girl so much ... more than she'd ever tell her. Too much softness ruined a girl quicker than anything, in her experience.

"Yes, Mrs. Marston," Lizbeth said, giving her a quick hug, not seeming to mind that Mrs. Marston had no idea how to return it. "I am fine, truly. It's just Jarrett that's not. He needs cleaning up."

"Then why aren't we in the kitchen heating water?" Mrs. Marston led the way, knowing the two would follow. She remembered all the times Mr. Marston had shown up with black eyes and bruises that needed tending. Good man that he was, he had been a brawler.

Lizbeth, who had brought Mrs. Marston's sewing basket from the parlor, told Jarrett, "While you're washing, I'll sew your shirt where it's ripped."

"No need," he said, looking embarrassed. "I can do it later."

Probably thinks neither of us has ever seen a man's chest!
Mrs. Marston thought.

"Lizbeth, go wait in the front room," she ordered. "Jarrett, take that shirt off and hand it over. I sew a straighter seam than she does anyway."

Lizbeth couldn't believe how fast the next hours went. Mrs. Marston fed them lunch and urged cake and cookies on Jarrett, all the while saying she didn't know what the Forest Service was coming to, starving firefighters the way it did.

Finally Lizbeth came right out and said, "I think he looks just fine."

Jarrett, beet red under their scrutiny, looked as if he wanted to sink through the floor.

"Well," Mrs. Marston said, "I just hope he has strength enough to see you home." She turned to him. "You are intending to see Lizbeth gets safely home?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"There's no need," Lizbeth protested. "It's too far for him to walk."

"That's not a problem," Jarrett said. "Yes, Mrs. Marston, I'll see her home."

"And you, Lizbeth," Mrs. Marston said, "you tell Celia to stop being a fool, staying in the woods, just asking to get the both of you burned up. You tell her your room's waiting. You can call it a visit and not owe a thing. And she won't have to cook either, since the Forest Service has taken all my boarders."

"That's generous," Lizbeth told her.

"You think she'll come?"

"No."

"You tell her there's no place worth dying for."

Lizbeth didn't want to argue, so she kept silent.

"You don't agree?"

"I guess it depends on the place," Lizbeth finally answered. "I don't want anybody to die, not us and not any of the firefighters..." She shot Jarrett a quick look. "But maybe some places are worth taking risks for."

Mrs. Marston
humphed
, her breath exploding out her nose. "'Risks!' If you plan to live to my age, you better think that out again, young lady. Now, you get on so you're home before Celia gets worried."

They left the boardinghouse on foot, leading Trenton. Once they reached the woods, though, and started up the Placer Creek trail, Jarrett got on the horse and put out an arm to swing Lizbeth up behind him.

She knew, even as the miles went by, that they were on a journey she'd remember. She'd never even been close to a boy, and now she rode with her hands on Jarrett's waist, or her arms around him when the trail got steep and Trenton broke into a choppy quickstep.

Sometimes they rode quietly. Sometimes they talked.

Once, going through an especially pretty part of the woods, Lizbeth burst out, "I do love it here, all the trees and the mountains, and how there are animals to watch and birds always singing. You know our canary, Billie? Sometimes he sings so hard trying to answer all the wild birds that he goes hoarse!"

"My favorite thing," Jarrett said, "is in the winter, how pretty the magpies look with their dark feathers, flying against the snow."

"The jays are like that, and I get tickled at how they're always fussing," Lizbeth said. "Sometimes they remind me of Celia and me, squabbling whether there's reason or not."

"You two still aren't agreeing on much?"

"Hardly! At least not about what to do with our place. If something doesn't knock sense into Celia, by this time next year she'll have me stuck in some East Coast front room learning embroidery."

"I hope that doesn't happen," Jarrett said. And then, in a lighter tone, he added, "Though Mrs. Marston did seem to think your sewing could use improving."

"As if your fighting skills couldn't!"

They laughed comfortably. She was glad to learn Jarrett could take teasing as well as give it.

***

The long ride ended way too quickly, with them getting to the homestead just as Celia was putting supper together. "You'll stay and eat?" she asked Jarrett.

"Thank you," he answered, "but I'd best start back if I want to get to Wallace before too late."