“Rain stop fire?”
He looked at me with questioning eyes. I knew he must think me a little mad. He did answer me though. “Good rain—yes. If it come soon.”
“Good,” I answered, and started to move around him to go out the door.
“Mrs. Delaney,” he stopped me, “if rain does not come soon—very soon—then whole village be burned. We cannot stop forest fire. We have nothing to fight with. We can only run—or fry like chickens.”
I stopped long enough to let his words sink in, then asked slowly, “Run where?”
“I do not know,” he responded and his shoulders sagged.
I wanted to tell him not to worry, to be patient and trust in God, but I didn’t know how to say the words in either Indian or French, so I just smiled again and went on out the door.
I looked to the west. Surely the rain clouds would have to be showing by now. There wasn’t much time left. But the sky was still clear. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, and I was smart enough to know that the smell was not coming from the cooking fires.
All around me people were milling about, concern and fright showing in their faces.
There were few men in the village. They had all left four days before to attend a feast and rain dance at another village two days’ ride away. Now we had only those who were ill, or old, or too young to participate in manly affairs. It was not a comforting thought.
I looked at the nervous women. Crying children clung to the skirts of some of them. Older children gathered in groups, pointing at the sky and chattering in alarm.
I knew the fire was much closer by now. I decided to run to the open meadow where I could get a better look.
It was even worse than I had feared. The whole eastern sky seemed to be one boiling smoke cloud. You could hear the crackling of the flames, and the snap as large pine trees split wide open with the intensity of the heat. Bits of debris were carried sunward, and the wind, which had seemed to come from nowhere, carried them forward to plant new fires, leading the way for the giant flames leaping behind them.
I looked once more at the sky. There was no rain.
“Father,” I prayed, my voice breaking, “I don’t understand this, but I do trust You. What do I do now?”
When I lifted my head I caught sight of two empty wagons Wynn had left beside the small clearing. In the corral nearby, their eyes rolling in fright and their nostrils flaring as they snorted at the unwelcome smell of smoke, tramped the horses that had pulled those wagons. Grasping my skirts in my hand, I ran toward the trading post.
Without waiting for Mr. LaMeche to say anything, I flung an order his way. “Put harness on horses and hook to wagons. I find drivers.” I didn’t even wait to see if he would follow through with it but turned and ran on.
A group of frightened women stood by the path. “Get ready to go,” I called to them. “Gather everything you can and put it on your backs, and then go to lake,” I said, gesturing to emphasize my words.
They stared at me. I knew they had understood my Indian words—that was not the reason they were hesitant. It was because of who I was that they questioned me. The thought made me angry. “Go!” I flung at them. “Do what I say!”
In the panic of the moment, they acted on my words and scattered to do my bidding.
I ran toward a group of huddling young boys and picked out the two I considered to be the most likely to be able to handle horses.
“You and you,” I said, pulling them forward, “run to corrals and help trader harness horses. When they are hitched to wagons, drive through village and gather up all who cannot walk; then go to lake.”
They just looked at me, their eyes large with fear and hesitation.
“Go!” I said, giving them a little push in the right direction. They started hesitantly toward the corral.
“Run! Quickly!” I called to them, and they ran.
I turned to the rest of the boys. “Tell everyone in village to grab what they can and run to lake. Hurry! We do not have time. Everyone! Those who cannot run go in wagons. Run!”
They scattered, and I could hear them yelling the warnings and commands as they ran.
Soon the whole village was alive with activity, people hurrying to the lake with hastily gathered packs on their backs. Mothers bundled up children and sent them running ahead; then they picked up younger ones and ran after them.
I watched for only a moment and then turned to hurry to the corrals. Already LaMeche had the teams harnessed and hitched to the two wagons. The two young boys were each given a team to drive.
It was not an easy task, especially for ones so young with no driving experience. The boys looked as frightened as the horses who plunged and jumped, champing on the bits as they tossed their heads at the sound of the coming fire.
“Go quickly through village,” I called to one of them above the roar and crackle. “Get everyone who cannot walk.”
Mr. LaMeche looked at me. He was trying to hold the heads of the extra team of horses. They wanted to bolt and he was hard put to hold them in check.
I picked up the slack reins and took a firm hold of the team. I had never handled horses before and this was a poor time to be choosing to learn, but I could see no other option.
“Go with him,” I called to LaMeche. “Get what you can from trading post, then see if everyone has left.”
He did not let go of the horses but stood questioning my command.
“Go!” I screamed. “We not have time.”
He went then and the horses reared the moment he let go of their heads. For a moment I feared I would not be able to hold them. They pitched wildly, tearing at the reins in my hands. I brought a rein slapping down across the sorrel’s flank, and it seemed to be enough to bring the horses to their senses.
Running behind them, I managed somehow to get them to the spot where our cabin stood. I will never know how I managed, except that God was with me, for somehow I was able to get that pitching team hooked to that wagon. I thought of our few belongings in the cabin and wondered how I would be able to both control the team and collect our few necessities.
I was still wondering when a young Indian woman appeared.
“I hold!” she cried. “You get pots to cook.”
“No,” I called back. “Don’t wait. Drive them to lake. Take wagon right out in water. Do you understand? Drive out far in lake.”
She nodded and then, wildly plunging, the team was gone, the woman calling to the horses and urging them on. The wagon was heavy but the horses left the village at a gallop, weaving in and out among the cabins and their surrounding trees.
I did not stand to watch them leave. Kip was still in the cabin. I rushed to the door and threw it wide for him.
“Run!” I screamed at him. “Run to the lake.” But Kip stood whining, refusing to leave without me.
I waited only long enough to hurriedly grab around me for anything that my hands touched. As I pulled things off the wall or from the cupboards, I threw them onto the blankets on our bed. Then wrapping it all up together in one large backpack, I heaved it over my shoulder, and Kip and I started for the lake as fast as we could.
The air was heavy now with the smell of smoke. I could hardly breath from the intensity of it.
I came to the stream and stumbled across. My throat was parched and my chest burning with each breath. I was afraid I would not make it. Just behind me I could hear the crackling of the fire.
I turned once to look back. Already the fire had reached the village. I saw the red flames leap up higher as they fed their hunger on the village homes.
“Oh, God!” I cried. “May everyone be at the lake. Please God, may they be at the lake.”
And then my cry changed, “Help me to make it, God. Help me to make it.”
I cast aside the cumbersome bundle that I was carrying so that I might run faster. All the necessities for our living were in that bundle, but I did not hesitate in mourning. I did not have time. I picked up my skirts, heavy with the wetness of wading through the stream, and ran on.
Someone’s hands reached to me from the darkness. A voice coached me on as I ran, and then I felt the merciful coolness of the lake waters. I sank down on my knees, the blackness engulfing me. My last thought was, “Thank You. I made it.”
FOURTEEN
Reversal
Someone was pouring water over my head. The water was cold. I shivered and fought to right myself. I was in the lake. All around me were people. They should have been milling and wailing, but they were not. There was a deathly silence.
Ahead of me I could see the three wagons. They all stood in water almost up to the wagon box, and at the head of each team someone stood holding the horses’ heads. They still snorted and tossed their heads, their frightened eyes reflecting the firelight behind us.
I could see our belongings still under the tarp, piled high on one of the wagons. Another was stacked with articles I could not make out through the smoke and darkness, and the third held silent people. Now and then someone would slip from the wagon to dip under the coolness of the water and then climb slowly back onto the wagon bed again. Nearby, people used cooking pots or pails to dip water and slosh it over themselves or one another.
It wasn’t until I wondered about this that I realized how hot it was. It was a strange sensation. The water was so cold—the air so burning. I dipped my head underwater again and reached up to squeeze some of the water from my tumbling hair.
Behind us was the roar and crackle of the flames. I didn’t want to turn and look at the village, but I couldn’t help myself. I turned slowly but a hand on my arm stopped me.
“Should not look,” said a familiar voice, and I realized that Mr. LaMeche, the trader, was beside me.
I could not stop my backward glance.
The flames had claimed the whole village and were moving rapidly toward the stream. It was the only obstacle now between the fire and the lake. Already my face seemed to be blistering from the heat, and the fire was almost a half mile off.
I looked back to LaMeche.
“We be safe?” I asked him.
“Who can know,” he replied. “But if we are not, not be safe anywhere.”
The lake was our only hope. The water should keep us from severe burns, but would there still be air for us to breathe?
I dipped under again.
“Did we get everyone?” I asked LaMeche.
“I think so,” was his reply.
“Thank God!” I cried and the warm tears ran down my face to mix with the cold lake water.
Next to me a child was crying. I moved in the semidarkness. The mother was exhausted from holding the little one.
“Here,” I said, “let me hold him for you.”
She gave up the child and I took my hand and thoroughly soaked his hair and face. He squirmed his displeasure but I held him firmly.
“It is coming closer,” I heard a frightened little girl say, and I looked up at the flames.
I passed the child to LaMeche and reached out to help an elderly woman. For a moment she lost her footing after dipping into the lake, and she struggled in the chilling waters. She murmured as her balance was restored and I turned back to LaMeche.
“Will the stream stop it?” I asked, but in my heart I already knew the answer.
“No,” he answered. “The wind blows too hard, the stream is too dry. The fire will jump like it was not there.”
I began to pray again. There still was no rain, though I could not see the sky for the billowing smoke all around us.
I looked for Kip. In my concern for the people, I had forgotten him. He was near me, treading water, only his nose and eyes showing above the surface.
Then I noticed that Kip was not the only animal in the lake. Here and there were other dogs and woodland creatures who had been driven from their homes by the flames. A fox paddled not more than five feet away, and showing just beyond him were the horns of a buck. Rabbits, reluctant to take to the water, ran panicky along the shoreline.
I thought then of Wynn’s dog team. They were tethered on the little island! If the stream did not stop the raging flames, they would all be burned alive! I started to weep, and to get control of myself again, I ducked my head back under the water and held it there until I had to gasp for air.
The flames were almost on the banks of the stream when a strange thing happened. I think we all saw it, and yet none of us who watched could really believe our eyes.
One moment the fire was being driven directly toward us, the wind sending sparks and burning bits of charred branches sailing through the air, and then the next, the wind completely changed direction, and the flames were being driven back the other way, turning again to the area that had already been consumed.
We watched in disbelief. Could it possibly be so? Would it change again in another moment? Did we dare to hope? Did we dare?