The Soul of the Rose (27 page)

“My pleasure.”

Edward stooped for his satchel and as he did so, he glanced up the stairwell. Celia drew back. She didn’t think he had seen her, but couldn’t be sure. Moments later, he exited their house.

As soon as her father closed the door, Celia rose and raced to the front bedroom, darting to the window. Thrusting aside the curtain, she gazed hungrily at the tall, powerful figure walking with purposeful stride down the stone path. “Don’t walk so quickly,” she whispered. In another few seconds, the tree branches would hide him. Her lips parted to take in more air. She felt faint.

Then without warning, he wheeled around and looked up at the house. For a brief moment, shock made her limbs immobile. Then she quickly drew out of sight. He must have seen her. What must he think? Her hands clasped each other over her racing heart. But a little bit of her hunger for him had been assuaged. Even now, her mind’s eye etched the two pictures of him in her memory.

Edward clenched his hand in triumph. He’d seen what he’d desired. When he’d glimpsed a moment that pale, lovely face surrounded by a flaxen braid at the top of the stairs, he’d hoped he would see her again. Outside, he turned instinctively, hoping against hope to glimpse her at a window. As soon as he wheeled around, he saw the same oval face, a slender frame dressed in the color of sky, standing at an upper window. Then disappeared. Ah, she hadn’t been fast enough for him!

He was assured of what he most wanted to know—that she was his. And that she, hopefully, felt their separation as keenly. Somehow, it comforted him to think she suffered as he did.

He stood for some moments, his hands clenched, sorely tempted to march back to the house, gain admittance, and demand—no, rush up the stairs and storm the bedroom she was in. His chest heaved.

“No!” His breath exploded the word, then his chest tightened. He would not do it. Would not lose the respect he’d gained from her father. And what of herself? Would she still respect him if he did such a foolhardy act?

The crux of the matter was he didn’t know how the gulf between them was to be spanned. She, a believer in the God of the Bible, a God he thought he knew. But what did he really know? Her father had given him much to think about. A worthy man. And she, a worthy woman. A woman he wanted with all his heart.

Taking a deep breath, he turned onto the street. He would make that train.

He grimaced, but at that same moment, a little loveliness settled around his heart. Two fleeting pictures he would keep secure in his memory: an oval face at the top of the stairs, and the blue figure and pale countenance at the upstairs window.

27

M
rs. Divers inched her way down the stairs, her legs trem
bling. She’d had a good rest after that noon meal, but oh,get
ting old was no picnic. These knees were getting worse. She had to get going though. Loydie would be coming for his list of errands. Besides, she wanted to have the cookies ready for him.

She entered the kitchen and plodded her way to the stove. A cup of tea would hit the spot right about now. She had asked Miss Waul to stoke the fire before she left to visit a friend, told her to use better hardwood so the fire would last a good hour and a half. She slid the teakettle onto the burner.

That scamp Loydie, she thought affectionately. Not every boy would have done the things she’d asked him to do; they saw eye to eye on things. Maybe that’s why they got along so well. It sort of bothered her, though, when he’d asked
that
man
to help him with his archery. It all came from that contest. She didn’t like the boy getting friendly with the enemy. Loydie needed to keep his distance from Edward. She might need the boy to do a little spying again, especially after Mrs. Adams told her about Miss Thatcher coming from that man’s house—alone. With all those flowers to boot.

And just the other day Miss Waul was sure Miss Thatcher had done it again. Edward had no business inviting her in. Just went to show the man’s morals wouldn’t bear much scrutiny. It grieved her to think Miss Thatcher was taking to him. And from all appearances, he to her. Just the thought caused a pain in her chest. Mrs. Divers clamped down her jaw hard. It wasn’t fittin,’ it just wasn’t fittin.’ He didn’t deserve happiness. And now she didn’t know what to think of Miss Thatcher. Hadn’t she better sense? She’d warned the girl!

Now, what had she come here for? She stood staring at the pantry shelves. Oh yes, the cookie ingredients for that rascal. Flour, sugar, lard. Yes, that Loydie had a bit of mischief in him, but he’d turn out all right. She’d bet her last dollar on that.

Gathering up the ingredients in her arms as best she could, she turned from the pantry. She would set these by the stove, then pour herself a cup of tea and go over her list. Then bake those cookies. All before Miss Waul came back later this afternoon. She’d amaze her companion and do something herself in the kitchen for once. She might be getting old, but she could still hand out a few surprises.

She set down the ingredients on the little counter by the stove. Drat that Miss Waul! She’d left out the grease from this noon’s fried chicken. The woman was getting forgetful. She’d warned her before about grease by a stove, letting it sit so near those burners.

Pray tell, where was her own head? She snorted. Why hadn’t she noticed the grease when she’d set on the teakettle? Aw, they were both getting old.

She lifted the grease pan to move it over, but it was heavier than expected. Her wrists felt ready to break. Suddenly, the pan slipped. Grease shot across the stove and onto the wall in back. Faster than she could have thought possible, flames leapt up from the stove.

She could hardly think. What to put out a fire? Baking soda? She jerked away from the stove heading for the pantry. Her foot slipped and she lost her balance, her shoulder hit the floor. Pain shot through her body. “Ow!”

She could hardly get her breath, it seemed knocked out of her. Oh, her shoulder! She’d injured something. Then glancing up, dread overwhelmed her. Flames were spreading to the wall.

Had to get that baking soda from the pantry! Tried to get up. “A-ow-w-w!” She couldn’t! Tried to push herself across the floor. Too much. She could hardly move.

Smoke billowed from the stove, curling around the kitchen and down to the floor. She coughed. Everything was happening so fast. Was there no help? Had something else caught fire? The curtains! She had to get herself out.

She tried to push up, but the pain in her shoulder was excruciating. Using her feet, she slowly pushed herself away from the stove, but managed only a yard or so.

“Help! Help!” she yelled. Could no one hear?

She felt so alone. And helpless. Smoke burned her eyes and throat. Starting to feel woozy, her head drooped. All she could do was lie down. Did she have a handkerchief in her pocket? She struggled to get it, fighting unconsciousness.

Just then she thought she heard the door open. A figure rushed in.

“Mrs. Divers! Mrs. Divers!” Loydie shook her shoulder.

“Oh!” she wailed. Pain snapped her out of her grogginess. “Don’t grab my shoulder, I think it’s broken!”

“Got to get you out of here!” He caught at her other arm. “Sit up!” he yelled. He coughed. “This smoke is terrible.”

She tried to sit up and finally made it with his help. He put his arms around her as best he could and tried to drag her. She couldn’t budge.

“I’ll go get help! Put your face down! To the floor!” He ran across the kitchen and rushed out the door. It slammed shut behind him.

Was she trapped in here? She sank down, shoved her nose to the floor, trying to keep conscious.

Edward was sitting at his desk when he heard shouts at the back of the house. “Fire! Help!” He shot up from his chair, bolted out the library door and ran into a boy racing down the hall. The boy grabbed him. “Mr. Lyons! Fire at Mrs. Divers’s —I can’t get her out!” Edward heard his housekeeper clamoring down the stairs.

He turned to her. “Get the fire wagon over to Mrs. Divers’s! She’s trapped inside. I’m running there now.” He rushed down the hall with the boy. “Where’s the fire? How bad is it?”

“In the kitchen. I don’t know where else. But there’s smoke! Lots of it!”

“Stop!” In the kitchen, Edward grabbed dishtowels and doused them with water and handed one to the boy. “Lead the way.”

They ran out the back door and across the lawn, into the woodland that separated the two houses. Edward saw smoke coming out one of the windows.

As they rounded the corner of the house near the kitchen, the boy stumbled. Edward caught him. “Wait!” Edward yelled. “Put that over your nose and mouth. Here!” He looped the ends of a towel around the boy’s head and tightened it, then tied one around his own. They ran up the steps, then stopped. “Take deep breaths out here and when you go inside, hold your breath as long as you can!” He grabbed the boy’s arm. “Keep low. Show me where she is.”

Edward tried to see, but the kitchen was dark with smoke. Fire raged on one wall. Both he and the boy crouched close to the floor, the heat blasting them. On the far side of the darkened room, they stumbled into a figure slumped on the floor. Edward turned to the boy. “Run and get help!” He sucked in smoke-filled air and coughed. “Get Ned! I’ll get her out!” The boy hesitated and Edward pushed him hard. This time the boy went. Edward bent over the woman. “Mrs. Divers! Mrs. Divers!” She didn’t respond.

Smoke burned his eyes and throat. And the heat! Like hell in here! He rolled the woman on her back, grabbed her under the armpits and started dragging. His eyes burned. He kept them closed as much as possible, then arched his head around to make sure he was heading for the door. A faint rectangle of light off to his left. Had he gotten disoriented? His lungs screamed for oxygen. He drew in the smoky air, started coughing again.

He tensed his body, barreled toward the open door, dragging the heavy limp figure with him. Finally, he reached the threshold where air was less acrid. He lifted the dead weight of the woman over the doorstep onto the stoop.

Half-lifting, half-dragging, he managed to get her body down the steps. All he could think was to get away from the house. His head was feeling fuzzy. With force of will, he hauled her across the lawn and collapsed beside her.

Someone ran up. Several others arrived right behind. “See what can be done for Mrs. Divers,” someone yelled. “And help Mr. Lyons. The fire wagon is coming.”

Dizzy, Edward felt like vomiting. He’d never fought flames and smoke like that. Except once when he was a boy.

He shuddered violently.

Edward sat on the edge of his bed and leaned to turn down the lamp, but as soon as it was nearly extinguished, he turned it back up. The dark—that dark, smoke-filled kitchen—he felt it to the core of his being even yet.

He lay back and brought the sheet up to his neck, only the sheet as a light cover. Those flames, the heat—

The memory of fire in his grandfather’s summer home leapt up. While he’d slept upstairs, it’d licked up the stairwell. Shouts woke him. In a daze, he half-ran to his bedroom door, opening it, saw the stairwell engulfed in flames.

The smoke! He’d coughed and slammed the bedroom door shut and rushed to the window. His grandfather was bent over below, hardly able to move, but on a neighbor spotting him, he turned his head up, shouted for him to jump.

Neighbors held a blanket, stretched to break his fall. Wasn’t there any other way? He had looked back at the door. Saw the smoke seeping from under it. That terrible fear he’d felt came back with a vengeance.

Without warning his mind reverted to a picture of hell, the hell Celia’s father described. Fire that never quenches. Never quenches! Everyone salted with fire.

At the time, Edward had sloughed it off, wouldn’t consider it. But now, he thought, if terrible fire and smoke existed here on earth, couldn’t it exist—in the afterlife? After what he experienced today, he couldn’t
not
think about it.

His body twitched violently. He grabbed the pillow, held it hard, trying to control his muscles, trying to make his mind go blank.

Had Mrs. Divers felt the same? The heat and that awful smoke. Holding her breath, terror stricken. No one should have to die that way.

Edward walked up the sidewalk to the Bakers’ home. They had been kind enough to take in Mrs. Divers and Miss Waul. He wondered what arrangements could be made for their future. At present, Mrs. Divers’s house was unlivable. The kitchen had been burned out or smoke-damaged to the point of needing major repairs. Smoke had sullied most of the house. Miss Waul’s and the guestroom doors had been closed. Miss Waul had tried to sleep there for one night, he heard. Said she’d rather sleep on a cot beside Mrs. Divers.

He knocked. It had been a week since the fire. Maybe this visit would tell him more. Also, he had come to do what he should have done long ago. He’d not been able to forget what Celia said to him.

The mistress of the house opened the door, her smile guarded. “Mr. Lyons.”

“Hello, Mrs. Baker. I’ve come to see Mrs. Divers.”

The aperture of the door widened. “She’s in the back bedroom.”

“You’ve been very good to take her in.”

“Appreciate you saying that, sir.” She led him to a long hallway. “She’s been very little trouble, though. And Miss Waul sees to her needs most of the time. I just put aside food for them.” She tapped on the bedroom door. “Miss Waul, Mrs. Divers. You have a visitor.” Opening the door, she announced, “Mr. Lyons.”

Miss Waul looked up immediately. Edward saw she had been reading to the woman lying in bed. His old neighbor didn’t open her eyes at his entrance, but her hand twitched on the bedspread. Her breathing was forced. She had aged in the week since he’d seen her.

Miss Waul put down her book and rose to meet him. “Mr. Lyons, how kind of you to come. We were just reading a story. You know how Mrs. Divers loves to read.”