A Promise to Love (26 page)

“Do you want to ride into town with us?” Ingrid called. “There is room.”

“We ain't leaving. This place is all we got.” Virgie's expression was grim. “If a fire comes, we aim to fight.”

“I take children to Hazel's where it safe.”

Virgie's face softened. “You need to get the children out of here, but me and Richard—we have no children left to worry about.”

Ingrid noticed something missing on their porch. “Your dog is gone.”

Virgie looked troubled. “He abandoned us in the night. The poor old thing is as crippled with arthritis as an old man—but he up and took off. Guess he's going to the lake too—although I'm not sure he can make it.”

“Promise if fire comes, you go to the lake. Don't try to fight fire all by yourself.”

“I won't be by myself. I'll have Richard here with me. We built this place together, and we'll fight to save it together. You go on to church now and don't worry about us. Richard has been plowing for the past three days—on the west side of the farm—ever since the smoke started. Fire can't burn when there's nothing but dirt to burn. We'll be fine . . . but I sure wouldn't mind getting a couple hugs from my grandchildren before you go.”

Ingrid held Buttons steady while Virgie hugged and kissed each of the children. Last of all, she took Bertie from Mary's arms and held him tight against her heart. “He always was such a good baby,” she said and handed Bertie back to his other grandmother. “Now, get these children out of here!”

As they rode toward town, down the old lumber road, wildlife accompanied them on either side. The haze of smoke made it difficult to see very far, but there were so many shadowy figures, it felt as though an army of animals were walking through the woods alongside of them.

“I've lived in Michigan my whole life,” Mary said. “But I never knew animals would do this. They don't even seem to be in a rush. They're all just moving toward the lake.”

A magnificent buck with a rack nearly as wide as the wagon stepped in front of them. He seemed confused. As they drew nearer, he shook his head as though to clear it, and proceeded to walk a few steps in front of Buttons, as though leading them.

“I'm getting really scared,” Trudy said through her handkerchief.

“Only one more mile and we'll be at Hazel's house.”

“But what if the fire comes?”

“Then we'll go into the lake until it passes.”

“But I can't swim.”

“We will be careful not to go out so far that the water is too deep. The fire, if it comes, will not come any further than the beach.”

Mollified, Trudy curled up on the soft blankets while Ingrid wondered if Mary and the little ones could survive the cold of Lake Huron in October.

When they got to White Rock, she saw that many deer had come to the village, presumably for safety. A bear walked right down the main street, looking neither to the left nor to the right, just simply lumbering along. The thing that concerned her the most, though, was the exhausted flocks of birds that were taking refuge in the village. They were everywhere, upon everything, and in such shock from whatever inferno they had escaped that they didn't move or even attempt to fly away when approached by a human.

Before going to Hazel's, they stopped to see if there would be worship services at the Cains'. Only a handful of people were there when they entered. She discovered that most of the people from the surrounding farms were making the same stand that Virgie and Richard were—trying to protect their homes.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked Susan when they entered the Cains' house.

“One of the steamboat captains stopped yesterday and told my father that the smoke is making it impossible to see anything out on the lake—even land. He said several ships have already wrecked because they couldn't see where they were going.”

“We will go to stay at Hazel's,” Ingrid said.

“I think that's wise,” Susan said. “I'm afraid this is going to get bad.”

 25 

“I don't like the looks of things,” Foster said loud enough for everyone in the cook shanty to hear. It was Sunday morning and they were all eating breakfast. “There's too much smoke, and everything is too dry. I think the camp might be in danger.”

All chewing stopped, and the men turned to look at him. Forks were poised in midair, hands reaching for bread were snatched back, and even Katie and Jigger, who were busy in the kitchen, paused.

There was one rule that was never broken in any camp, especially one where Jigger was the cook—no talking at the table. The men were supposed to eat in silence, as quickly as possible, so that the cooks could immediately begin the process of clearing, washing up, and resetting the table.

The rule was so ironclad that even for the owner of the camp to speak out was breaking serious protocol. Jigger had been known to smack men upside the head for something as simple as complimenting him for a good meal.

When they saw that Jigger wasn't going to hit anybody, one of the men ventured a comment. “We seen some animals acting real strange out there in the woods,” he said. “A herd of deer passed within a few feet of us, and they didn't seem to be the least bit afraid—they was so bent on heading toward the bay it seemed like they didn't even see us.”

“What are you thinking we oughta do, son?” Jigger's voice was solemn.

Foster stood up from the table and put his hands in his pockets. “Four years ago the camp I was running found itself directly in the path of a wildfire. It came in the middle of the night, faster than anything I ever imagined. There wasn't enough time to make it all the way back to the bay. Instead, there was an inland lake we ran to. The Lord saw fit to send a rain that saved most of my camp, and all of our lives. I vowed then that if I ever had an inkling my camp could be in danger, I would not wait around until it was too late.”

There was a general sound of approval and nodding of heads.

“As you know,” Foster continued, “I just got back last night from Bay City. There is so much smoke out on the lake that boats are coming in and hunkering down for fear of wrecking. That's never happened before. In my opinion, everything is so dry after this drought I think the whole state is in serious danger. I've decided that we should break camp and go to Bay City until it rains or the fires burn themselves out.”

“What about our pay?” one of the men asked. “I came here flat broke. I can't even feed myself in Bay City.”

“You can all go by the office and Josh will write you out scrip for the days you've worked, minus your purchases. I've made arrangements for you to get your money at my bank. As soon as we can get packed up, I want everyone to clear out and head toward safety. If the camp is spared, I would take it as a great personal favor if you men would come back.”

“It ain't no personal favor for us to head back here—not with Katie's cooking,” one of the men said as an attempt at a small joke.

There was a smattering of laughter, but when the men resumed eating, there was a somberness that had not been there before. Joshua left the table to get a head start on tallying the books and writing out the scrip. As he left he passed Katie and Foster standing close together near the door.

“You are paying all these men,” Katie said, “even though we might lose this whole season and not make a dime this year? We are not wealthy people, Robert.”

“I can't let the men go without something to live on.”

“You are no businessman, Robert Foster.” Katie put both hands on her husband's shoulders and gazed into his eyes. “But I love you for it. We'll survive.”

Joshua decided that Foster was a lucky man to have such a wife as Katie, but he felt no envy. Ingrid was waiting for him at home, as lionhearted as any woman he had ever known.

It took awhile to total everything and write out a scrip for each man. He suggested that they not blow their wages on booze and broads in Bay City, especially after Foster had sacrificed out of his own pocket. The men listened—rough as they were. They'd seen Foster shut down the camp to rescue the kidnapped men. They'd eaten the good food he had provided. They'd been treated fairly, and to a man, they vowed to come back as soon as the rains came—if the camp was still standing.

The men loaded the wagons with the food supplies and as much equipment as they could carry. The teamsters cracked their whips over the mules, and then everyone followed the wagons on foot—except for Jigger—who rode beside one of the teamsters on the wagon seat. Katie expertly rode Foster's horse with their daughter, Betsy, riding behind. Katie's young brother, Ned, and their son, Thomas, walked alongside the men as they all set out on foot for Bay City.

The church service was brief. Everyone, including the preacher, was distracted by what was going on outside. Lanterns had to be brought from houses, and even then the haze was such that it was difficult to see the words in the hymnal. The smoke hurt their throats when they tried to sing.

No one commented on Trudy's mask—many were already holding handkerchiefs up to their mouths and noses. There was much coughing.

As soon as the last amen was said, instead of standing around and visiting, everyone hurried away, each to their own home.

Hazel sought her out as everyone else was leaving. “I hope you had enough sense to bring what you needed so you can stay with me until this is over.”

“Ja. I bring enough.”

“Good. Let's head on over there now before it gets any darker. I put some stew on—I thought you might be coming—I half-expected you last night.”

The afternoon passed slowly in Hazel's house. The children, much like the confused chickens, became sleepyheaded because of the continual darkness. Normally at this time of day, they would be chasing each other all over the house.

Mary, complaining of a headache from the smoke, climbed the stairs and lay down. Even Bertie seemed listless. Ingrid couldn't help worrying about the poor animals she'd left penned up back at the cabin. What would Joshua have wanted her to do?

She-Wolf kept pacing the floor, looking at the door, until Hazel gave up and let her out. The minute the dog was outside, she raised her head and gave the most mournful, eerie howl into the darkness that Ingrid had ever heard. It was followed by every other dog in town and it went on and on until she wanted to scream.

“Did you see Virgie and Richard?” Hazel asked.

“They say they are staying. Richard plow up land all around their cabin to keep the fire away. They are putting water on house. They say they stay and fight.”

“They still got water, do they?”

“Joshua say their well very deep and good spring at bottom.”

“Water or not, if a wildfire comes, they won't make it through,” Hazel said. “All these little farmers staying out there are crazy if they think they can fight a real wildfire. A little bitty bit of plowed ground and a damp roof won't even make it slow down.”

“They make up minds to stay. They say house and farm is everything they have.”

“People put way too much stock in their houses.” Hazel shook her head. “But you can't reason with Virgie and Richard—I seen that when they turned against Josh.” She sighed. “These old bones are tired, do you mind if I lay down for a bit?”

“Of course not,” Ingrid told her. “Go get some rest.”

All four girls were curled up together on the mattress, sound asleep. She lay Bertie down beside Ellie, and then she sat in the rocking chair, watching over all of them, looking out the window from time to time to see if anything had changed. She could see nothing but the unnatural darkness.

She must have dozed in the chair, because she jerked upright and looked around in the semi-darkness, wondering what it was that had awakened her. Then she saw that Agnes was missing. The first thing she did was look upstairs, but Agnes was not there. The next possibility was the outhouse, which she hurriedly checked. Then she heard She-Wolf barking incessantly around front. Hazel had once told her that the animal never barked unless it was something truly important.

She went to investigate and discovered that Agnes had managed to hitch Buttons back to the wagon, had the reins in her hand, and was not at all pleased to see Ingrid.

The minute their eyes met, Agnes yelled at the horse and slapped the reins on its back, but Ingrid was faster. She jumped onto the wagon before it could gain any speed and pulled back on the reins, shouting, “Whoa!”

Not once had she felt any real anger toward any of the children, but right now, she was furious. “What do you think you doing!”

The girl's lower lip began to quiver. The unshakable Agnes was on the verge of tears.

“I heard what Hazel said to you when she thought I was asleep. I heard her say that if the fire came, there would be no way Grandma and Grandpa could survive. I'm gonna go get them.”

“Already we talk to them, Agnes. They will not leave.”

“
You
talked to them. I didn't.” Tears were running down Agnes's face. “I didn't know how dangerous staying there was going to be until I heard Hazel talking. They'll leave if I ask them to.”

“Why did you not tell me you go do this?”

“Because you would have stopped me—just like you're trying to stop me now!”

“You see wild animals go to water? You see smoke? Too dangerous!”

“No, it isn't. See?” Agnes pointed. “There's no red glow on the horizon.”

“You cannot see horizon. Too much smoke!”

“If they were
your
grandparents,
you
would go after them!” Agnes shouted.

Hazel came out onto the porch. “What's all the yelling about?”

“Agnes trying to go get grandparents,” Ingrid said.

“They won't come, sweetheart,” Hazel told the girl. “I've known Richard forever. He's as stubborn as a mule.”

“I have to try!” Agnes was sobbing now. “Don't you understand? I have to
try
!”

Ingrid realized in that moment that her relationship with Agnes would forever hinge on what she did in the next few seconds, and she decided to not allow fear to come between her and her oldest daughter.

“Hah!” she shouted, slapping the reins hard against Buttons's rump. “Hah!”

It all happened so fast, Agnes barely had time to grab hold of the seat. Her expression of surprise and gratitude was something Ingrid knew she would remember for the rest of her life—if she had a life left after today.

The last place Buttons wanted to go was westward on the logging road toward their farm. Like the wild animals, his instincts were to go in the opposite direction. Ingrid had never used her whip on him before, but she did now—and with much eye-rolling, jerking of the head, and rattling of harnesses, he began to gallop.

“It's only two miles,” Agnes said apologetically.

A strange, hot wind had begun to blow against them, and Ingrid had little doubt now that the fire was coming. There was a good chance they would all be standing knee deep in Lake Huron soon. No longer did she have doubts about whether or not to let their animals loose. It would be inhumane to keep any living thing penned up. She wished she had not dithered earlier. It had become clear to her that there would be no last-minute reprieve. No miraculous rainstorm. Nothing that would stop this terrible, burning monster that was eating up the land. She and her family would never live in Joshua's cabin again.