Something to Hold (18 page)

I know she's trying to keep us calm. She can't possibly know that we'll be OK. But I want to believe her. "There's nothing we can do?" I ask. I'm afraid to say the words out loud, but I have to know.

Mrs. Wesley tightens her arm around me. "We did what we had to by getting up here. Now we're going to hold on." Her voice is soothing, and I relax a little.

A hot wind buffets the tower, sniffing the walls like a wolf after a rabbit. The roar from below grows as the smoke puffs more quickly through the cracks. Mrs. Wesley lets go of my shoulder for a moment and takes the mask from Pinky's mouth. She reaches over to the bucket, dips the cloth to wet it again, and hands it back. Then she does the same for
Káthla,
for me, for Jewel, and for Raymond and then finally for herself.

Mrs. Wesley's hand is now moist on my arm. I try to match my breathing to hers, but I can't hold still the great shaking that has taken me over.

Quietly,
Káthla
begins to sing, a tune that softly rises and falls, with words I don't understand. In a moment, Mrs. Wesley lifts her head and hums. Jewel, Raymond, and Pinky join in.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. As the heat builds in the tiny room, we send our prayers out into the burning night.

I
lift my head to the gray light that filters into the tower. Right away, I know that my bottom hurts. And when I move my head, my neck is stiff and sore. I sit up, and Mrs. Wesley stirs beside me. Her arm still rests on my shoulder, though now there is no grip in her hand, only weight.

It takes a moment for me to realize that the smoke is gone. We are still here, breathing in the cool, dark air. All of us are huddled in the corner of the tower, backs against the raw wooden slats of the walls.
Káthla
seems to be holding up Raymond and Jewel. Pinky's head lolls far over her mother's arm. Mrs. Wesley must be numb, I think.

She shakes herself awake. "You OK?" she asks.

I nod my head, not yet ready to speak. When I look up at the window above our heads, I can see stars.

Mrs. Wesley leans over and kisses the top of my head. "We made it," she says.

She gently touches Pinky's face, waking her. Slowly, we shift onto our knees. Carefully testing our bodies.

Káthla
opens her eyes and wraps her arm more firmly around Jewel. Raymond stirs.

I make it to my knees before the pins and needles stab every movement. I rest for a moment, then pull myself up to the window for my first glimpse of the new world below.

"Oh" is all I can say. The fire has taken everything.

Waning moonlight now floods the knob of Sidwalter Butte. There is no forest left here. Only a parade of sentry pines, black and scarred and limbless but still standing. No undergrowth, no small plants: an endless charred carpet.

Mrs. Wesley pulls herself up beside me and stares. Pinky quickly goes from window to window.

"Mom!" she calls. "Come here!"

I peer over her shoulder and see that the cabin still stands.
Káthla
's pickup, untouched, nuzzles up to the porch. Some invisible hand channeled the fire away from the cabin, leaving it untouched in a ring of devastation.

"Well, look at that," says Mrs. Wesley. She gives each of us a big hug and wipes her eyes with the hem of her shirt.

Now I hear honking again—it's rising from somewhere below. Mrs. Wesley opens the window that looks down on the road. An army of pickups and pumpers speeds through the ash and dust and skids to a stop at the top of the rise.

They have come for us!

A wiry man in a red hard hat jumps out of the first pickup. Even before we can shout, he scrambles to the cabin and flings open the door.

Pinky lets loose from up above, screaming, "Dad! We're here! Up here!"

He stops, turns, and runs to the steps as Mrs. Wesley throws open the trapdoor. Pinky scrambles down the stairs as fast as she can, with Mrs. Wesley and me right behind her.

He meets us somewhere in the middle of the tower. Pinky flings herself into his arms, and he has to steady himself on the landing to catch her. Mrs. Wesley joins them, and then he reaches out his arms and gathers me in too. I remember that I'm in my pajamas, but I don't even care.

By now, there is a mob on the tower steps. The firefighters' faces are grim and gritty. They have been working hard all night, but this is what they've been working for.

Two of them scramble up into the tower cabin. They tenderly carry
Káthla
down the long series of steps. Raymond and Jewel follow close behind.

From up on the tower steps, I see a last pickup lurch to a stop at the top of the road. It is the green we look for every time we drive home during fire season—with the Interior Department buffalo stamped in the paint under the driver's window. That door is flung open, and those familiar boots step into the charred duff.

"Daddy!" I scream from the last landing.

He looks up, and it must be relief flooding into his face, but I can't see clearly now, as I scramble down the rest of the way, past the crew gathering at the bottom, and fold myself into his outstretched arms.

"Oh, baby," he says. Dad holds me so close, all I can smell is sweat and smoke and the fear of this long night in his skin. "Oh, baby," he says again.

***

Káthla
rests on the porch of the cabin, wrapped in a blanket, Raymond beside her with his arm around her small shoulders. Mr. Wesley has brought a pitcher and a stack of cups outside. He holds them on a tray while Pinky's mother pours water for the firefighters.

Pinky pushes out through the screen door. She has put on her jeans and a sweatshirt. And then Jewel comes out too, one of Mrs. Wesley's wool jackets over her sooty clothes.

Dad clasps my hand and walks over to the porch. He reaches his other hand out to
Káthla.
She takes it and nods at me. "You be proud of her."

Dad's voice catches. "I am." He wraps his arm around my shoulders and says to Pinky, Jewel, and Raymond, "I'm so proud of all of you."

Raymond lifts his head and meets my dad's eye. Then he nods.

Mrs. Wesley helps me roll up my sleeping bag, and I quickly get dressed and stuff the rest of my clothes back in the knapsack. I can't let myself look out of the window or think about what happened. I just want to go home.

When we come out of the cabin, Dad is shutting the pickup door for
Káthla.
Her truck starts rough, but it runs. Raymond sits beside her on the front seat, Jewel by the window. When they pull out and we lift our hands, Jewel waves back.

The firefighters have fanned out across the knob of Sidwalter Butte to mop up hot spots. Pinky and her parents will leave as soon as the last spark has cooled.

Dad tucks my things into the back of his pickup. He doesn't mention the government and kids not being allowed to ride in trucks. He just holds open the passenger door for me, and I climb in.

It's a long ride out of the woods. I keep my head down so I don't have to see what the fire took away. Nothing can keep out the sharp sting of smoke that hangs in the air, even with all the windows rolled up. And finally, I give in and let loose the great weight that's been in my heart for what feels like forever. When he's not shifting gears on the bumpy road, Dad keeps his big hand over mine on the seat and lets me cry.

At the highway, Dad waits for a break in a long line of cars coming from Portland. Then he pulls into the lane and points the pickup toward home.

***

Mom, Bill, and Joe are all standing out in the yard when we pull into the driveway. Dad radioed ahead to tell them I was safe. It feels so strange to see the worry and relief that flood their faces. For me.

Mom opens the pickup door and wraps me in a hug. "What an ordeal," she says. She keeps her arm around me as we walk toward the house.

Dad tosses the sleeping bag to Joe and carries my knapsack himself. Only when we get out in the open do I smell the smoke that clings to my clothes, to everything that comes out of the truck.

Bill stands on the back steps, holding the screen door open. He bumps his fist gently against my shoulder. "I hear you did good."

It's the best thing he could have said.

A
week after the fire, everything has settled back to normal. One evening, Dad walks in the back door from work as Mom is putting the hamburgers on the table. He pauses in the kitchen doorway. I see him catch Mom's eye and nod. A quick smile passes between them.
What's that about?

"Big game tonight," Bill says as we sit down.

"You bet," Dad says, forking a burger from the plate and slapping it into a bun.

We're playing Metolius again, at home. Last game of the season.

***

When we pull up to the field, Dad parks near the back of the stands. Bill and Joe pile out to join their team. Mom and Dad greet the other parents and find places in the bleachers.

The boys took off without the big jug of Kool-Aid for the team. I reach into the back of the station wagon to jerk it free.

"I'll take that," says an eager voice behind me.

It's Howie. Same old silly grin on his face and buttoned-up shirt, even in the warm evening. I'm surprised how glad I am to see him.

"Thanks. Can you take it over to Joe?"

"Yup." Howie nods. "My friend Joe."

He carries the jug in both arms over to the bench and sets it in the grass at the edge of the field. Then Howie sits himself down next to Joe. He's not even on the team, but there he is, keeping Joe company on the bench.

I have to smile.
Some people just make everything a little bit better.

A familiar tribal police car stops next to our station wagon. Mr. Wewa grabs his patrolman's hat and puts it on as he gets out. He sees me and smiles.
What's he doing here?

Káthla
parks her black pickup next to the cruiser. Jewel slides out behind her and helps her grandmother up to the first row of the bleachers. Raymond steps out of the truck with his glove. He hangs back, like he's not sure he belongs here.

Mr. Wewa walks over to him. Raymond looks nervous, turning his glove in his hands.

"Your dad passed away a long time ago," Mr. Wewa says. "You might not know what you're supposed to do to make this right. It's our way."

I expect Raymond to shrug or scowl or act like Mr. Wewa isn't standing there. But he simply shakes his head. "No, sir."

Mr. Wewa leans in and tells him something. Then he steps back. "Son, you let me know what you decide." And he returns to his patrol car and leans up against it, watching the field.

Raymond stands still, like he's trying to make up his mind. Then he takes a deep breath and walks over to Mr. Wewa. "OK," he says. "I'm ready."

Mr. Wewa gives him a nod, and they walk together around the backstop and onto the field. I hurry up into the stands to sit with Mom and Dad, wondering what Raymond's going to do.

Bill is warming up on the mound, throwing strikes to Jimmy, who's behind the plate. He looks up to throw one more, then holds still when he sees Raymond with Mr. Wewa. He signals to Jimmy, then walks off the mound. He goes over to Raymond, puts the ball in Raymond's glove, and calmly heads over to third base.

The players gather around Raymond. They look wary, and so does he. He talks to them for a few minutes, then cocks his head toward the bleachers. The whole team walks over, and everyone gets quiet.

Raymond steps out in front of the team. He pauses for a moment, then speaks loud enough for everyone in the bleachers to hear.

"I'm sorry for hitting the batter," he says. "I threw the ball at his ankle, but I had no argument with him. I know I dishonored my team and Warm Springs. I hope you all will accept my apology."

I look over at my dad beside me. He sits there nodding. Mom, on his other side, reaches for his hand."Is that what Mr. Wewa worked out—an apology?" I ask.

"Yep." Dad smiles down at me. "It's a custom here," he says. "A good one. You face up to the truth. Take responsibility for the things you do that hurt people. It doesn't change what happened, but you do what you can to make it right."

That took a lot of courage.

Jewel turns to catch my eye. She gives me a warm smile.

Raymond stands in front of the silent bleachers for a few seconds. He looks up into the faces before him, but nobody speaks. After a few moments, he turns and walks away, but he doesn't go to the mound. He walks straight over to the Metolius bench. He stops in front of the kid leaning on crutches at the far end and says something. The red-haired kid nods once, then turns away.

Raymond turns and walks back, tosses the ball to Bill, and sits himself down at the far end of the bench next to Howie.

The umpire steps up to the plate. He points at Bill and calls, "Play ball!" My brother walks to the mound, and the teams take the field and play.

B
ILL
pitches a shutout. The only threat comes on a fly ball hit straight to Joe in left field. And he catches it. Howie goes nuts with his whooping and clapping.

Warm Springs wraps up the season with a win.

Sherf invites the whole team across the road to his house for pop and ice cream. "C'mon, son"—he points to Howie—"you too."

"We've got some cake at home," Mom says to Dad and me. "We can celebrate too."

I'm surprised when Dad tells her, "Why don't you take the car. Kitty and I can walk. It's a nice evening."

Mom pulls out of the parking lot, then turns at the corner and heads up the road toward McKenzie's. Dad and I take the path that leads past Fire Control, across the bridge over Shitike Creek, and up the hill behind the jail.

He must want to talk to me about something. Maybe the fire. Neither of them has said anything since I got home, like they're waiting for me to bring it up.

Mrs. Wesley went back to the lookout a few days later, but it made her so sad to be up there that she asked to be relieved. Dad sent one of the forestry trainees to finish out the season.