Love's Rescue (7 page)

Jess’s head snapped up. Mother! Emma! Already, one precious minute had flown by. Emma’s nursery window revealed angry spears of flame and billows of smoke within. Above, fast-multiplying flames stabbed through the roof, which shrieked and groaned as it was consumed. Unconsciously, Jess reached up toward her mother, who was dying right this moment, burning. She knew it. In her mind, she could see her trapped upstairs, twisting away from the fire that rolled over her. Rolled over her, devoured, and won.

Jake threw a thick arm around Isaac’s throat, fighting to drag him back from the inferno. Isaac broke free again and thrust a boot against the front door, scattering blackened boards and flames onto the already burning carpet and stairs.

A gale screamed past, scattering white-hot embers into the yard and spreading them to other homes, driving the blaze onward. Somewhere above Jess, a window burst. It was too late. Jess ran forward again, this time to stop her father. Then she froze. Her father drove an elbow into Jake’s gut, which loosened the rancher’s hold on his throat. He wrenched free, then faced Jake at arm’s length and shouted at him once more. This time, unbelievably, Jake stepped back and let him go. He let him go.

For one clear moment, her father faced her with apologetic desperation in his eyes, his cheeks black with soot, the once-elegant black trousers and coat burned in a dozen places. Then he spun and ran into the burning house.

Sparks fell between Jess and Jake in a shower of embers. The roofline sagged. The front wall near Jess began to give way.

Her eyes drifted, as if in a dream, to Jake. He darted off the porch and ran toward her as more timbers descended, crashing in a sea of flame that separated them. He came to a stop, then waved his arm in a wordless command to someone on the road. Jess turned her face to the glowing window of her father’s study, a sick dread engulfing her as she accepted the fact that her family was gone. The war had killed her brother, and a fire had claimed her mother, her father, and her sweet sister. From within the house sounded cracks like gunfire and a long, groaning wail as the main staircase gave way.

Suddenly, a strangely comforting sound came to Jess. It was the thrumming of horse hooves somewhere in the night. Blinding light filled her eyes, and she closed heavy eyelids. All of them gone, she thought, in rhythm with the hoofbeats. All of them gone.

She was tired, so tired. A shrill whinny came from a distance that sounded miles away. Darkness and indifference descended as something caught her around her waist and she was swept like a rag doll from her feet.

The darkness in her mind was a deep haven of peace—a haven she rose from unwillingly as she was tugged toward dreaded consciousness. Jess hovered below the surface, fighting against the need to break through, even though she couldn’t quite recall why she did not want to do so.

She felt as though she were rising and then falling over ocean waves, gliding from one crest to the next. With the swelling movement came a familiar, rhythmic beat, and she realized she was being carried on a horse.

Jess opened her eyes and fixed them on the night stars above. One ear was pressed against something firm and warm, but the rest of her face, exposed by her hood, caught the cold desert wind. She turned her eyes toward the warmth to see that she was being held by an Indian man wrapped in fur. His face was hard, and his eyes stared straight ahead.

Jess grunted, trying to move. The Indian’s dark eyes, looking concerned, connected with hers. He pulled her higher against him, and she felt the pressure of twisted crinoline and hoops. Jess passed her fingertips over the smooth silk of her ball gown. The searing pain of recent memories rushed over her, flooding her mind with terrible pictures—Ambrose lying among hundreds of dead on a battlefield. Jake releasing her father as flames curled around the doorframe. The last look her father gave her before disappearing into an inferno of smoke and flame.

The reality of these images rapidly drove her back toward the escape of unconsciousness, while, beneath her, an unfamiliar Indian man kept her safe and carried her, on horseback, to a place unknown.

***

A low murmur of masculine voices reached Jess’s ears. She felt hard ground beneath her and warm furs swathing her from chin to feet. With great effort, she shifted her tired legs among the layers of her petticoats. A steady hand brushed over her hair, and she was impressed again with the image of the hard-faced Indian.

Unable to resist the welcome current that dragged her under, she gave in to it and let it take her away again.

***

Eventually, both gliding stride and blowing cold ended. Jess became aware of the dense curves of a cotton-filled bed beneath her. Her body seemed weighted, and her heart felt heavy with a dull ache as she finally passed from hopeful dreams to grim reality. Hearing movement beside her, Jess opened her eyes.

A lovely young Indian woman in a doeskin dress turned to her in surprise, a pitcher and basin suspended in her hands. Her black hair was cut chin-length—a sign of mourning, Jess recalled—but warm, dark eyes shone from a caring, brown face.

“It is good you have awakened,” she said softly. “The burns are not bad, but we must bathe and dress your arm.”

Jess struggled to shake the cobweb of confusion from her mind. “I didn’t know I had any burns.”

“We will put a salve on them. They will heal soon.” The woman set down the basin and began to fill it with water.

From somewhere near the bed, a lantern scattered meager golden light. Jess lay in a small room constructed of thick pine logs. The walls to both sides were angled, the slanting, timbered ceiling only a few feet above her head where the roofline sloped down. Across the room rose a high log wall, its uppermost tiers nearly lost in shadows. In the far corner to her right was a door, and to her left was a window. No curtains covered it, and Jess was able to see that the sky outside was a deep gray—the hour was either after dusk or approaching dawn. She surmised that she was on the second floor, for the sky was all she could see.

Where she was, she couldn’t guess. This was a place she had never been before, and, like the Indian man, this woman was a stranger.

Reluctant to continue lying as though helpless, Jess rolled on one side and braced her hand against the mattress to sit up. She gasped as a sudden burning sensation raked her right arm.

“Please, you must keep still,” the woman urged her. “The burns will hurt more if you use your arm. If you wish to sit,” she offered, “I will help.”

Dazed, Jess allowed the kind woman to help her sit up. She took great care with Jess’s stinging arm, then placed a folded Indian blanket at her back for support.

“I am called Red Deer,” the woman said, dipping a ladle in the water basin. “The one who brought you is my husband, Lone Wolf. Here, drink.”

Jess complied eagerly, then thanked the woman. Finally, her mind was beginning to clear. With considerably slower movements, Jess took in her soot-blackened hands and the wide blotches of angry red skin along her arm. The burning sensation extended up her right arm and halfway across her chest. She was clothed in her linen chemise, which was good, she decided—she wouldn’t want to ruin a borrowed garment with greasy salves.

With a sigh, Jess carefully shook back her long, tangled hair. She felt neither the weight nor the motion of her mother’s earrings. Her hand flew to her throat. The necklace was gone, too. Her jewelry! Jess scanned the dark room. To her right, her damaged cloak and gown hung on wall pegs. Her corset, petticoats, and pantalettes were folded neatly atop a dressing table. Beside them, twinkling in the pale lamplight, lay her rose and vine inlaid comb, her mother’s emerald and diamond earrings, and the emerald pendant Ambrose had given her. They were all she had left of the family she loved. From her garments drifted the bitter smell of smoke.

Red Deer caught her gaze. “I will wash your clothing,” she assured Jess, “but I will tend to you first.” With a kind smile, Red Deer wrung a cloth soaked in water and handed it to her. Little shells that fringed her doeskin dress made gentle clinking sounds. “Do you know where you are?”

Jess frowned as she carefully applied the cloth to her face and hands. “No, I don’t. I remember a long journey…sleeping on the ground.” The murmuring. “Men’s voices.”

“The voices were those of the cattlemen who helped to bring you. This is the house of Jake Bennett—his ranch.”

Jess narrowed her eyes sharply. Jake had waved his arm to someone—he must have been signaling Red Deer’s husband, Lone Wolf, to take her away. The last she’d seen Jake, he’d been standing before the blazing façade of her home, or what was left of it—right after he had let her father perish.

“Is Bennett here?” she asked coldly.

Red Deer frowned in confusion. “The ranchmen said he will not return for many days, but you need not worry. He will let you stay.”

“Forgive me, Red Deer,” she countered, “but I don’t intend to stay.”

Jake had let her family die. He should have allowed her father to try to get to her mother and Emma. He should have helped him. Instead, he held him back when they yet had a chance, and then, when it was too late to save them, he let her father die. He let them all die.

The feelings of friendship she’d had for Jake had vanished as smoke. All she felt for him now was hatred. She would stay in Carson City with the Van Dorns until she could support herself, or she’d stay in the cramped upper room of Hale Imports, if she had to—but she would not remain at Jake’s ranch.

Jess shoved aside the covers with her left arm and dropped her legs over the edge of the bunk. She ground her teeth against the burning in her right arm and chest, moving in spite of it.

In alarm, Red Deer helped Jess to her feet, not certain what she was intending to do. “Do you wish to bathe now?”

A cold sweat broke out along Jess’s skin. She felt physically ill from the burns, and she began to shake. A white haze clouded her vision. She knew she was in shock.

“You should not do much yet,” Red Deer said in a soothing voice. “I will help you to wash and put more salve on the burns, but then you must rest. I think a terrible thing has happened to you. Sleep will help your body and your heart to heal.”

Jess nodded weakly, unable to do anything else. Red Deer helped her lower herself into a chair. Jess noted again how her black hair was cut just a few inches above her shoulders. She, too, had lost a loved one. And recently. With all the strife between the Indians and the settlers, perhaps she knew suffering all too well. Though Jess couldn’t stop the deluge of sorrow and reminiscence, she regretted her own surly attitude. She did not want to cause this woman further sadness. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, Red Deer. Forgive me if I was unkind.”

Red Deer reassured her with a gracious smile, then asked, “You lost someone?”

“Yes, my family.” And any servants who didn’t make it to safety, she realized. What had happened to Elsie, Maureen, Malcolm, and Ho Chen? Were they safe?

Red Deer’s black eyes shone in empathy. Her face was round with a softly flared nose, characteristic of the Paiute people. “I saw the way you looked at your ruined dress and ornaments,” she said. “You are one who will remember your dead with the strength of great love, Miss Hale.”

“Please, call me Jess,” she said.

As she carefully sponged her burns, Red Deer rinsed the cloth. “Jessica…I heard the cattlemen call you by this name. Does it have a meaning?” she asked. “I have learned that not all white names have meanings.”

Jess shook her head, too exhausted to elaborate. She remained quiet while Red Deer applied a salve and wrapped her arm in clean strips of cloth.

When she had finished, Red Deer said she would prepare a bath, but Jess held up a hand. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I’ll rest again. I can bathe later, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Yes, Jessica. The rest will be good. I will bring food later.”

Gratefully accepting assistance, Jess slipped under the covers once again. Quietly, Red Deer left. Alone again, Jess cried as the hours came and went until, at last, the comforting arms of sleep embraced her.

***

In the days that followed, Red Deer left trays of food for Jess, which she discovered each time she awoke. She would eat a little, and then, grieving, drift back to sleep.

While she slept, nightmares tormented her—her family dying horribly around her, sometimes along with Maureen, Malcolm, or one of the others. She would bolt upright, initially flooded with relief that it had been only a dream. In the next instant, though, reality would assault her, and she suffered anew the pain of her loss. Then she would cry herself to sleep again, only to have the brutal cycle repeat itself as the sun rose and set.

One morning, just before daybreak, Jess woke from a mercifully dreamless sleep, and, for once, tears didn’t come. Rolling her pillow more comfortably beneath her head, she finally felt clear of mind.

What was she to do now? Jess thoughtfully searched the shadows above. First, she had to find out if the servants had survived. She had to make certain they were well, and, once she did, she would help find them new places to work. After that…her father’s share of the import store was hers now. She could support herself by helping Edmund to run it.

Edmund…and Miriam. Jess pressed a hand to her eyes. The Van Dorns had been her parents’ closest friends since before she was born, and none of the Hales had arrived for the ball that night. The Van Horns must have been devastated to learn of the fire.

No, she couldn’t let herself think of all that again. She had to focus on the months ahead. Jess dropped her hand from her eyes. Her father’s bank accounts would fall to her, and though she knew little about his investments, she would learn to manage them wisely.

The uncertainty lay in what people’s reactions would be to her, a woman, co-owning a “man’s business.” She’d had conflicts aplenty while working discreetly as a bookkeeper in an unobtrusive corner of the showroom. Every situation imaginable had arisen, from women snubbing her as something less than a beggar to men who wanted her job making threats. None of these reactions had troubled her then, but now her income would depend on people accepting her new position.