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Another whiff and then it was gone. Nothing.
Sighing, he climbed into his patrol car and headed home.
Elijah Canfield had seen Sam help Mary in with her groceries, but he hadn’t seen him leave. He hadn’t intended to watch, but he was getting older and had collapsed into his easy chair, surrounded by the boxes that held the residue of his life, too tired to do any more today. It just happened that his chair had been put in position to see out the front window.
He wandered briefly into the kitchen, where everything was still in boxes, and helped himself to the dinner his new congregation had brought him: cold sliced turkey, salad and slabs of homemade bread. For dessert there was a generous square of crumb cake.
When he returned to his easy chair and settled in the only position that would ease his stiff back, he resumed his absent contemplation. That was when he saw Sam come out of the McKinney woman’s house.
So they were dating.
That was inconvenient, he thought. When he’d accepted the pastorship here, it had never occurred to him that Sam would still be living in this town. Sam was a runner. He’d run away from Elijah more than once in his younger days, and Elijah had just somehow figured that Sam would have moved on when his wife had died.
Regardless, it hadn’t been a possibility that had entered into his decision one way or the other. He’d long since buried his son, emotionally speaking.
Or he thought he had. Judging by the way he was reacting, things weren’t quite as dead as he’d believed.
He felt angry. Of course, anger wasn’t unfamiliar to Elijah Canfield. He routinely got angry at sin. Anger was, in fact, his stock-in-trade. Sometimes he even let his anger spill over from the sin to the sinner, if he thought it might do any good.
But when he thought of his son, he wasn’t angry at sin. He was angry at waste. Sam had wasted himself and his God-given talents. The Spirit had been upon him, but Sam had refused the call.
Belle, his late wife, hadn’t seen it that way. They’d fought bitterly over their son on many occasions, especially after Elijah had disowned the boy. Belle had thought it wasn’t Elijah’s place to determine their son’s calling. Elijah felt that, as a preacher, he was better able to judge that matter than anyone else.
But whatever the arguments had been, it remained that Elijah was still angry. Searingly angry.
And hurt.
Sam had failed him. Sam had turned his back on his upbringing and his faith. He had spat on all that his father believed.
Nursing his pain, Elijah sat on into the evening, thinking about Sam, and about the woman across the street, the woman who had challenged him on the obscene books she encouraged children to read.
His mission here was becoming clear. He knew what he had to do.
The fire, stymied at the heights for lack of fuel, caught between two brooks that stood sentry over the rest of the forest, nearly died. The last flames vanished, and a smoky pall hung over everything, even filling the valley below.
Across the brooks, still unsettled by the smell of soot and ash, animals tentatively tried to resume their routine. But the deer were restless and slept lightly, awakening frequently to sniff the night air for danger. The birds were completely gone, offering no surety of a timely alarm if they were disturbed. Smaller animals, creeping out of burrows and nests, seemed even more skittish than usual as they followed their various habits of hunting and gathering. Pausing more often than usual, they lifted their heads to test the acrid odor of the air.
The fire slumbered. Hot coals, protected by the thick layer of ash, glowed, awaiting their moment. Only hours before a hungry conflagration, the fire bided its time, showing a patience that few imagined it capable of.
Throughout the night, the forest waited, knowing it was not yet safe. Then, at dawn, a breeze freshened. Blowing across the burned-out area, its strength undimmed by the leaves and needles of living trees and brush, it stirred the ash.
Little wisps of smoke began to rise again. The warmth buried in the protective coat of ash grew hotter. And as the blacked acres heated yet again, the rising air sucked the breeze more strongly into the heart of the sleeping fire.
At first only ash lifted on the breeze. Dead, lifeless, it sprinkled itself harmlessly among the still-green trees across the brook. But the fanning renewed the life in the small coals the ash had covered.
And before the sun had fully risen, sparks were swept up on the eddies of the growing wind.
Most fell harmlessly, burned out before they reached the fresh fuel across the water. But at last one made it, finding a welcoming spot among pine needles so dry they ignited instantly.
The fire spread, needle to needle, multiplying rapidly. Soon there was a large, charred circle ringed in flame. A gust of air lifted those burning needles in a shower of orange lights and deposited them among the needles of parched trees, where they grew hungrily.
A dozen trees ignited with a huge whoosh, the hungry fire drawing more wind to its heart.
And the conflagration once again began its inexorable march, this time toward the pass that led to Whisper Creek.
4
Sam smelled smoke again. It was carried on the clear morning air, again just a whiff, gone so quickly it was hard to be sure he’d smelled it. It unnerved him just the same.
Standing in his driveway, he searched the rooftops of the town and saw nothing untoward. Then he scanned the circle of mountains around the valley. Not a thing.
Nothing except, perhaps, the faintest darkening to the west. As if the sky was not quite true blue. He studied it but couldn’t be certain he was seeing anything. Sometimes the sky looked like that before clouds developed, and God knew they could sure use some rain.
He sniffed the air again but detected nothing. His imagination?
Maybe.
“Good morning, Sam!”
He turned and saw his next-door neighbor, Sheila Muñoz, coming out to get her paper. Sheila was an attractive divorcée who lately seemed to have developed the habit of getting her paper just about the time he left for work in the mornings. And lately, when she came out that door, she was still wearing her nightclothes. Nightclothes that were a little too…suggestive. Not indecent. Just suggestive.
“Morning, Sheila,” he called back and slipped quickly into his patrol car. There had been a time in his life when he might have been flattered, but no more. Now he just wanted to escape as quickly as he could.
Gunning his engine, he backed out of his driveway and turned away from Sheila, even though the route to work would be longer.
Coward, he thought almost wryly as he took his alternate route. But he wasn’t interested in Sheila and didn’t want to give her any idea that he might be. The best way for both of them to save face was to avoid any situation where someone might be embarrassed. Especially in a town this size.
But he kind of felt sorry for her, too. Her divorce was new, and loneliness was a miserable thing. Hector had walked out on her only six months ago, leaving her for another woman. Sam had no doubt that part of what Sheila needed was reassurance that she was still attractive. Well, he wasn’t up for that game. She was nice enough, as a neighbor, but there it ended.
“Dinner tonight,” Earl Sanders reminded him the minute he stepped into the office. Apparently he was the first arrival for the day shift.
“I remember.”
“Good. I don’t want you wiggling out again.”
“I won’t.” What was the point? Earl was going to keep on stalking him like a lion after prey.
The thought caught Sam like a hiccup, and suddenly he laughed. A genuine laugh. A feel-good laugh. God, was he really this morose? Or was it just an ugly habit?
“What’s so funny?” Earl demanded.
Sam was still grinning. And for once his face didn’t hurt from it. “Me, boss. Just me.”
Earl scanned him from head to foot. “I don’t see anything funny about you.”
“And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?” Sam shook his head. “I think I’m getting bored with my own company.”
“It’s about time. Six o’clock. And bring a date if you want.”
“Who, me?”
“Yeah, you.” It was Earl’s turn to grin. “I figure you could have your pick of about half the single females in the county.”
“What’s wrong with the other half?”
“Beats me. Maybe not smart enough?”
Sam laughed again, much to his own surprise. “Or maybe just too smart.”
“Nah. So, are you going to bring a date, or do you want me to invite some nice lady?”
That sure sounded like an ultimatum, Sam thought, and he didn’t like ultimatums. His inclination was to become more stubborn than a Missouri mule when he felt pushed or cornered. But this time, just as his contrariness was rising, he found himself thinking of Mary McKinney. Thinking how comfortable it had been last night to share dinner with her. “Yeah,” he heard himself say. “I’ll ask someone.”
“Great.”
As he was walking back out to his car after the morning briefing, he started shaking his head and grinning to himself. Earl was like every other happily married man: he wanted everyone else to be happily married, too. Until last year, when he’d married Meg, Earl had been content to let Sam work out his problems in his own way and time, ready to lend an ear when necessary, but essentially hands-off.
Not anymore. Since his marriage, Earl had been persistently nudging Sam to rejoin the human race.
Well, maybe it was time, Sam thought as he slid behind the wheel. Not to date or anything, but to get over himself. Grieving was one thing, but clinging to it was something else.
And he supposed he’d better ask Mary if she wanted to come with him to the Sanders’s house tonight before it got much later. He wasn’t so rusty he didn’t remember that last-minute invitations could be construed as insulting.
He drove over to her house—it was along his patrol route anyway—and found her in her front garden. Wearing shorts, a halter top and a bandanna over her gorgeous hair, she was kneeling before a bed of marigolds, weeding industriously.
Nice view, Sam thought as he pulled up. Probably giving his father a heart attack, if Elijah was home across the street. It wasn’t giving Sam a heart attack, though; it was giving him an equally strong but very different reaction.
He turned off the ignition and sat a moment, indulging himself. Mary had a nice bottom, with little left to the imagination as the shorts stretched tightly over it. Nice legs, too, slender but not skinny.
Just then she straightened and twisted to see who had stopped, giving him a great view of her breasts in their sheath of stretchy red cotton. Yup, Elijah would have a heart attack.
Suddenly feeling guilty, Sam climbed out of his car. Mary smiled and waved, as unself-conscious as a child who had been playing in a sandbox. She clearly had no idea that one of her neighbors would consider her to be indecently dressed. Nor was Sam going to advise her. Elijah had always needed to loosen up a bit.
“Hi,” she said. She dropped her trowel and weeding fork and pushed herself to her feet. For an instant Sam could almost see down the neck of her top. Down, boy.
Her knees were grungy with dirt, but she didn’t seem aware of it. He smiled to himself. “Morning,” he said. “Sorry to bother you but…” It suddenly struck him that he didn’t know how to ask.
“But?” She waited with a pleasantly expectant look on her face. “Did you forget something last night?”
“Uh…no. It’s… Well, I was wondering. Would you like to go to the Sanders’s house with me for dinner tonight?”
Something almost fearful flickered across her face, making him wonder what he’d said. Reviewing his words, he couldn’t see anything frightening in them. But they certainly weren’t clear enough. “Not a date or anything,” he blurted.
He winced inwardly, realizing how that sounded. Man, his social skills had not only atrophied, they’d died. Now she would be offended, and rightly so.
But she surprised him by looking relieved. “Great. Sure, I’d like that. As long as it’s not a date.”
She looked relieved because it wasn’t a date. Sam was taken aback by the disappointment he felt, even though he’d laid the ground rule himself. But no, he must be mistaking a little ego bash for something else. He wasn’t capable of getting involved again.
“Good,” he said, forcing a smile. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m sure it will.”
A few moments of awkward silence, as if neither of them knew what to say next. Get back to work, Sam told himself, but that seemed too abrupt right after asking a woman to dinner—even if it wasn’t a date. But he wasn’t much of a talker, never had been. Although this was even worse than usual.
Mary gave him a sidelong look, as if she were a little uncertain herself. Then she shocked him. “Your father?”
He didn’t want to talk about Elijah. He wanted to pretend the man didn’t exist, even if he was right across the street. But Mary’s mention had been so tentative. And what if something was wrong? “What about him?” he asked roughly.
“He’s standing in his window watching us.”
Sam swung around and saw Elijah standing in the picture window across the street. The man didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a wave. “Nosy old coot,” Sam said, his gut twisting.
“Maybe…maybe he’s hoping you’ll come talk to him.” She offered it almost as a question, hesitantly.
“Not a chance in hell.” Sam turned his back on the old man. “He probably figures you’re in trouble with the law. That’s the way his mind runs.” And he needed to get out of there before the old anger managed to burn through the glacier that encased his heart.
“Well,” said Mary, an impish smile coming to her mouth, while a strange shadow remained in her eyes, “I’m sure he thinks I’m a scarlet woman after our conversation about books yesterday.”
Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Maybe. I’ll see you tonight, Mary. Gotta get back to work.”
He felt her eyes on him as he drove away.
When Sam’s car disappeared around the corner, Mary looked again at the house across the street. Elijah Canfield had disappeared from his window.
She didn’t want to believe Sam was right about his father. She didn’t want to believe any parent was capable of such meanness. But she was also an experienced teacher and she knew better. She’d certainly seen her share of it.
Troubled, she went back to her weeding, trying to ignore a prickling at the back of her neck that seemed to say she was being watched. There was no reason on earth why Elijah Canfield would want to watch her grubbing around in the dirt.
But surely there had to be some way for Sam and Elijah to reconcile?
“Hello.”
The deep voice, so like Sam’s, caused Mary to start. Twisting, she found Elijah Canfield standing in her driveway. He was wearing dark slacks and a white shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up.
“Hi,” she answered, feeling wary.
“I wanted to apologize for the way we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” he said, giving her a pleasant smile. He was a handsome man, she thought irrelevantly. Almost as handsome as his son.
Mary sat back on her heels, still holding her weeding fork, and looked up at him. “We had a significant disagreement of opinion,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “Nothing wrong with that.”
He nodded briefly, an acknowledgment that didn’t quite make it to agreement. “But we’re neighbors,” he said.
“That’s right.” Mary waited, a trick she’d learned with difficult adolescents. Let the silence hang until the other person felt compelled to speak. She certainly wasn’t prepared to go out on a limb with this man; she didn’t know him. But from what Sam had said, she wasn’t inclined to trust him.
“The Lord says we should love our neighbors.”
Mary, who was quite religious herself, wondered if she was going to be treated to a sermon every time she saw this man. “That’s right. But sometimes it’s easier to love them from afar.”
