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Despite the beard, she could see the corners of his mouth tip up slightly. “I’ve noticed that.”
Mary smiled, prepared to be as noncommitally friendly as he allowed. “Is there something I can do for you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and she had the sense that he was struggling with something. After a minute or so, she decided to take the bull by the horns.
“Sam is your son, isn’t he?”
Elijah’s intense eyes jumped back to her. “Yes.”
“He’s a fine man.”
Again Elijah said nothing, but this time Mary refused to speak, either. If something was troubling him, he needed to tell her or take it back home with him. Their gazes locked and held while time ticked by.
Finally Elijah spoke. “He carries a gun.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to say anything regarding that, either. Offering opinions to this man might be dangerous, unless she wanted lectures.
“A man who lives by the sword dies by the sword.”
Mary bit her lower lip, wanting to defend the necessity of police officers but realizing that Elijah’s real problem was something else. Something she wasn’t ready to wade into.
His gaze seemed to bore into her; then he nodded and walked back to his house.
What a strange man, she thought, staring after him. Then a thought struck her: maybe he was genuinely worried about Sam’s safety. Maybe his objection was something more than that Sam hadn’t become a minister.
And maybe she was being too generous to him. She certainly had a tendency to see the best in everyone other than herself.
In herself she saw only the worst. It was a pain she lived with, one so old it was comfortable.
Shaking her head, she went back to her weeding.
Sam continued to be troubled by the occasional whiffs of smoke he detected and the haziness to the west. Finally he called dispatch and asked if anyone had reported a fire.
Nary a whisper about one. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that something was wrong, so he told the dispatcher that he was going to drive up Reservoir Road and take a look.
The reservoir had been built to provide water to Denver and in return had provided a great recreational area for visitors and the residents of Whisper Creek. The road looped around the entire perimeter of the reservoir, a man-made lake that looked as if it had been there forever. Campsites and picnic sites abounded, and the fishing was pretty good. Branching off the loop was a rutted dirt road that headed up to the pass between the two highest peaks visible from town. From there he could see the valley beyond.
As his car ascended, bumping all the way, the air grew cooler and thinner, taking on just the suggestion of a chill. Pines shadowed his way, hinting of ancient mysteries in their depths.
Every time he got out in the woods like this, he found himself thinking of what it must have been like a hundred years ago for the first settlers. They’d come looking for gold but had found silver. When silver prices crashed, they’d suffered until the next big boom. Right now they were getting by on jobs at a molybdenum mine and the surrounding resorts. It had been a while since times had really boomed.
But the first settlers must have thought that a bright future lay here. And certainly in the summertime the place was hospitable. Plenty of water, plenty of sun and shade, but cool enough for a person to work hard. Of course, at this altitude there wasn’t a whole lot you could grow in the way of crops, but there had always been plenty of deer and elk.
It was easy to imagine setting up camp away from everything and just getting by on the land, maybe trapping beavers for their pelts. He could see why people had come and stayed.
Hell, people still came and stayed. People who wanted to live apart in small houses in the woods. People who were more interested in privacy and freedom than neighbors. People looking for a place where they could be unconventional, or a place where they could walk out their own back doors and ski in the winter. And so many of them came with dreams, just like the first settlers.
His car jolted in a deep rut, shaking him out of his reverie. Better pay attention. The pass was up ahead, but the higher he went, the worse the road grew, because it was so rarely traveled. The only things up here were a couple of microwave repeaters and the kind of woods he always thought of when he read that Robert Frost poem.
The smell of smoke was getting a little more noticeable, too. When his car bottomed out in another rut, he turned it around carefully and parked it to one side on a bed of pine needles. Better to hoof it the rest of the way.
He’d come up another two thousand feet, and he could feel the difference as he hiked up the road. He was well above ten thousand feet now, at a place where even his altitude-adapted lungs labored more than usual.
Most summers, the sky would have been overcast by now, heralding a thunderstorm so regular you could set your watch by it. Not this year. This year the sky stayed perfectly blue from sunrise to sunset, unmarred by so much as even one little puff of cloud.
He was approaching the tree line now, and after climbing another fifty feet he had an unobstructed view of the valley and lake behind him. Another fifty feet upward and he reached the pass.
His puffing lungs forgot to breathe as he saw the smoke filling the valley on the other side of the mountains. Ignoring his fatigue, he trotted forward along the vanishing road until he could look downward.
There was a fire at the north end of the valley. Not too big yet, but a definite threat to the woods down there. A definite threat to Whisper Creek by way of the Edgerton Pass to the north, lower and well-enclosed by trees. Maybe a hundred acres were burning right now, and the valley stretched south of the flames like a smorgasbord.
Sam reached for his radio. With nothing between him and Whisper Creek, the connection was as clear as a bell.
“We’ve got a forest fire on the west side of Meacher Peak, about two miles north of Edgerton Pass.”
“How much involvement?”
Sam looked again to double-check his earlier impression. “Maybe a hundred acres.”
The dispatcher said he would take care of it. Sam stood there for a few minutes longer, looking at one of nature’s most ferocious beasts. And for some reason it made him think of his dad.
Although “dad” seemed like too familiar a name for the man who had sired him. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when dad or daddy had seemed appropriate for Elijah. Sam’s tender years had been filled with terrors of the devil, nightmares about burning lakes and the endless screams of the damned. Countless nights, horrific visions of the end of the world had kept him from sleeping after he’d listened to his father preach.
Elijah’s brand of religion was all about fear and punishment. For some people that was great and exactly what they needed. For Sam, however, it had driven a wedge between him and his father. To a young boy, Elijah had seemed the embodiment of threat and punitive love. A tall man, a very large man to a small boy, whose face twisted in rage when he spoke of sin, whose voice thundered judgment over every peccadillo. For a sensitive child, it wasn’t the right brand of religion.
Sam shook his head and tried to banish thoughts of his father as he drove back down to Whisper Creek. Maybe it was time to consider taking a job elsewhere, because there was no way in a town this size that he wasn’t going to run into Elijah around nearly every corner.
He wasn’t sure he could deal with that; there was just too much bitterness.
5
The Whisper Creek airport, a small private landing strip, had become a beehive of activity. Fire-fighting planes lined the runway, loading the chemicals they would drop from the air. Smoke jumpers were beginning to arrive in their planes, as well.
Up near Edgerton Pass, a command post had been established. Volunteer firefighters were being gathered there to truck into the valley below and cut firebreaks. Up north, at the far end of the valley, similar crews were gathering to try to prevent the fire from spreading in that direction toward the ski resort towns.
The forest service had taken charge, but Sam was assigned as liaison with the local authorities. There were homes in the valley below, scattered miles apart, homes that would be threatened if the fire couldn’t be halted. It would be his job to ensure that any necessary evacuations were made.
At the moment, though, the threat was small and might be contained. Night was fast approaching, though, and the darkness would hinder their efforts.
The first chemical-bearing planes flew overhead as he stood there, then seemed to vanish into the thickening haze of smoke. Lack of wind hampered visibility by allowing the pall to hang thickly, even as it prevented the fire from spreading too swiftly to contain.
“That won’t last,” Sam remarked as one of the foresters commented that the wind was with them.
The guy—Sam remembered his name was George Griffin—smiled. “You some kind of pessimist?” George was a short, compact guy in his late forties or so, with steely hair and eyes that perpetually squinted.
“I’m a realist. That sun goes behind that mountain over there, we’re going to see some stiffening breezes.”
“Yeah.” George knew it as well as he did. “We always do. But right now, conditions are on our side. I’ll take every break I can get.”
Another dumper flew overhead with a loud drone. The first one was already on its way back for another load.
George spoke again. “We can’t send the jumpers in until morning. Not enough time before darkfall.”
Sam nodded. His mind strayed a moment, wondering what Mary was going to think when he didn’t show up to take her to dinner. Maybe he should have dispatch call her. Nah. Right now they were too busy fielding calls about the fire. It wasn’t a date, anyway. She would understand.
Just then the breeze kicked up. Not much, just enough to make him feel a chill through his light jacket. George looked at him. The sun was hanging heavy over the western peaks, a baleful red orb blurred by the smoke in the air.
George spoke. “I hope our luck isn’t running out.”
The trucks full of volunteers pulled out, heading down the narrow, winding road. Their job was to build a firebreak to protect the pass. The guys leaned out, hooting and hollering as they passed. Too high on excitement to realize what they were facing. Too macho to admit it.
The breeze suddenly gusted, carrying away the thickest smoke, leaving the fire visible. It had spread. An angry orange beast devouring the valley’s north end.
“Shit,” George swore under his breath.
Sam didn’t say anything. Even at this safe distance, he was suddenly a kid again, looking into the maw of hell. And even as he watched, hunching against the chilly bite of the wind, he saw another tree go up in a burst of hungry flames. Only it was a tree some distance from the fire. The gust had carried a spark hundreds of yards, starting yet another fire.
“Damn,” George said. “Damn.”
The beast had leaped its own perimeter, running free. George picked up his radio and began to bark rapid orders. They couldn’t wait for dawn. Not now.
Mary dressed for dinner with rather more care than was her custom in a town where casual dress reigned. She chose a green polished cotton dress and a pair of two-inch heels. Her hair, usually allowed to fall in waves below her shoulders, she decided to put up in a loose knot with a few long curls hanging free.
It was more effort than she wanted to think about, considering that Sam and she had agreed that this wasn’t a date. She even went so far as to dab on a little perfume.
At six she peeked out to see if Sam had arrived. Instead she saw her neighbors gathered in their front yards, looking to the west. Curious, she went out to discover what was going on.
“It’s a fire,” Elvira Jones, who lived in the house on the left, told her. “In the next valley.”
Mary turned to see the thick cloud of smoke hovering over the mountains, catching the red of the lowering sun. “How bad is it?”
“Not a threat to us yet,” Elvira answered. “But my Bob says they’re worried about it coming through Edgerton Pass. He went to volunteer.”
Mary immediately turned to her. “You must be worried.”
“Nah.” Elvira smiled, her crow’s-feet deepening. She loved to ski so much that she had a permanently sun- and wind-burned face. “He’ll just be helping with a firebreak at the pass. He won’t get near the flames.”
But Mary remembered fires from the past, remembered how a little wind could create desperate situations. At least there wasn’t a breeze right now. Of course, in the next valley that might be different.
“There aren’t many people living out that way, are there?”
Elvira shook her head. “Just a few loners. It’s too hard to get out of there in the winter.”
Mary nodded, trying to remember if any of her students lived out that way. She didn’t think so. Elvira was right. There couldn’t be more than a half dozen folks out there. As long as they could contain the fire, there wouldn’t be much damage to property.
Just damage to the forest. Harkening back to environmental lessons from her college days, she seemed to remember that was actually a good thing, fertilizing the soil, clearing out old and dead growth, making way for renewal. “It’s awfully late in the day to be sending people out there.”
Elvira shrugged. “They can’t just let it burn.”
No, Mary supposed they couldn’t do that. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was six-fifteen. Sam still wasn’t there. Her heart skipped uncomfortably as she wondered if he’d gone to fight the fire, too. After a brief hesitation, she decided to go inside and call.
Sam’s number was in the book, but there was no answer. She waited another fifteen minutes, then called Maggie Sanders, the sheriff’s wife. She didn’t know Maggie well, but she recognized her from the times she’d come to school about her daughter Allie Williams. Allie, in fact, was going to be in Mary’s literature class this coming school year.
“Maggie?” she said when the other woman answered. “This is Mary McKinney. I was supposed to come for dinner tonight with Sam, but he hasn’t shown up yet, and I can’t reach him at home.”
“Mary! I’m glad you called. Earl didn’t know who Sam had invited, and he was hoping you’d call here. Sam’s up at Edgerton Pass, helping the firefighters. A bunch of us are getting some food together to take up there. Do you want to help?”
“Of course I do. But I don’t have a car. Mine’s in the shop.”
“Not a problem. I’ve got to run by Wiggand’s in about thirty minutes. They’re making up a bunch of burgers and fries to take up there. I’ll pick you up on the way. Say…twenty-five minutes?”
“Sure. I’ll be ready.”
She changed swiftly into jeans, hiking boots and a T-shirt, then topped off the outfit with a flannel shirt and a light jacket. Even in summer, the nights grew chilly at this altitude.
God, she hoped Sam wasn’t anywhere near the fire.
She waited outside for Maggie. It was getting darker now, though the sky above the western mountains was still light and smoky. But now the orange glow of fire was visible to the northwest. Her neighbors had all gone back into their homes, and the street was deserted in the mountain twilight.
A light came on across the street, and a man’s shadow moved behind thin curtains. On impulse, Mary crossed over and knocked on Elijah Canfield’s door.
Presently he opened it, his white hair looking like a nimbus in the light behind.
“Reverend Canfield,” Mary said, “I thought you’d want to know that Sam is up in the mountains fighting the fire.” Then, before he could say a word in response, she turned and hurried back across the street. She didn’t want to know if he thought she was a busybody, didn’t want to hear anything he might have to say about Sam. Any man who could think Sam Canfield had failed in life was a man she didn’t want to know.
She was aware that he stood there a while in his open door, but she didn’t look his way. He might be staring at her, or he might be staring at the threatening glow over the mountains. He might be stunned, or he might be indifferent. She just didn’t want to know.
Maggie Sanders was only a few minutes late. She pulled up near Mary in a silver Suburban and leaned over to open the door. “Hop in.”
Mary obeyed, climbing up into the seat and reaching for the belt. “Where’s Allie?”
“At a friend’s house in town. I didn’t want her to be home alone.”
Mary felt a shiver of apprehension and glanced at Maggie. “That’s right. Your house is close to the pass.”
“Yeah.” Maggie shook her head and put the car in gear. “I’m trying not to think about that. But there are quite a few houses scattered around out there. And The Little Church in the Woods.”
The sun had completely vanished by the time they reached the top of Edgerton Pass. Vehicles were everywhere, pulled off to the side of the road, and a tarp-covered command center was now lighted by gas lanterns.
The smoke from the fire, once again a thick, rising column that reached high into the sky, caught the sunlight, glowing golden and red at the top. Below, in the shadows, it turned silvery-gray, smudgy. Occasionally it would part a bit and reveal the hellish glow of flames.
It was a few miles away, Mary noted with relief as she helped Maggie unload the insulated food containers and pass them out to the men. But even as she felt the relief, she realized how rapidly the situation could change.
“Sorry I didn’t call.”
The sound of Sam’s voice caused her to turn around just as she finished lifting two foam containers from the back of the Suburban. Standing there with the cartons in her hand, she felt relief pour through her, so great that for an instant her knees felt rubbery. He wasn’t down in the valley. A little warning bell clanged in her mind, pointing out that she was reacting too strongly, that she didn’t know Sam well enough to feel this strongly. But the thought whispered away as he smiled at her.
“Hamburger and fries?” she asked stupidly.
