Chapter 8 - Fire in the Snow
“Fire!”
The shout came from the street.
Josephine flew out of bed.
Orange light flashed against the bedroom window.
“Harlan!”
His door opened at the same time.
They ran downstairs.
Nora was already outside.
Her stable burned behind the boarding house.
Flames climbed through the roof.
“Animals!” Nora screamed.
Two horses kicked wildly inside.
Harlan ran toward the stable.
Josephine caught his arm.
“No.”
“I can get them.”
“The roof—”
“Stay back.”
This time Josephine did not argue.
Because his request was not control.
It was survival.
Harlan wrapped a wet blanket over his shoulders and disappeared through smoke.
Josephine and Nora formed a bucket line with neighbors.
Thirty seconds felt like ten minutes.
Then one horse burst through the doorway.
People grabbed its reins.
Where was Harlan?
“Come on.”
Josephine stared at the flames.
“Harlan!”
The second horse emerged.
Harlan followed, coughing.
Josephine ran to him.
“You're burned.”
“Not badly.”
His sleeve was scorched.
She touched his face.
“Look at me.”
“I'm looking.”
“You're impossible.”
“Frequently.”
Relief made her knees weak.
Then Harlan saw something near the fence.
He walked over.
A broken glass bottle lay in the snow.
It smelled of kerosene.
Nora's expression changed.
“Someone did this.”
Nobody needed to say the name.
Silas Vale.
Yet proving it was another matter.
By morning half the stable was gone.
Nora stood among the ruins.
Josephine looked at the boarding house.
“I'm sorry.”
Nora turned.
“For what?”
“This happened because of me.”
“No.”
“Vale—”
“Vale did this because Vale chose to do it.”
Nora pointed a soot-blackened finger toward Josephine.
“Do not start carrying men's sins because they're angry you said no.”
The words struck Josephine hard.
Harlan's sister.
Her mother.
Herself.
Women seemed to spend entire lives apologizing for consequences caused by other people's choices.
Josephine looked at the ruined stable.
“No more.”
Nora raised an eyebrow.
“No more what?”
“Apologizing.”
Something fierce entered the older woman's smile.
“Good.”
By noon Josephine had hired three carpenters to rebuild the stable.
With her own money.
The first expenditure she had ever authorized herself.
She stared at the receipt after signing it.
JOSEPHINE E. CREEK.
The surname bothered her.
Not because she disliked Harlan.
Because even that name had not been chosen.
She crossed it out.
Then wrote:
JOSEPHINE E. BELL CREEK.
Harlan noticed.
He said nothing.
Later Josephine asked, “Does that offend you?”
“What?”
“Keeping Bell.”
“It's your name.”
“My father's name.”
“Also yours.”
She considered that.
Harlan added, “Names don't belong only to the people who disappoint us.”
Josephine smiled.
“That's annoyingly wise.”
“I read Shakespeare.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
Their eyes held.
Josephine felt that warmth again.
Then a deputy arrived.
Sheriff Daniel Mercer was a compact man with a tired face.
He examined the bottle.
“Could be anyone.”
Harlan frowned.
“Convenient.”
“I'm not saying Vale didn't do it.”
Mercer lowered his voice.
“I'm saying accusing him without proof gets us nowhere.”
Josephine stepped forward.
“What would count as proof?”
“Witness.”
“Then we'll find one.”
Mercer studied her.
“You're Eleanor's girl.”
Josephine blinked.
“You knew my mother?”
“Everyone did.”
“Did everyone know my father was stealing from me?”
Mercer's discomfort answered.
Josephine felt anger rise.
“How many people knew?”
“Suspected.”
“And nobody told me.”
“You were in Missouri.”
“Nora wrote.”
Mercer looked away.
Josephine laughed bitterly.
“All these respectable men afraid of offending Gideon Bell.”
Harlan murmured, “Josephine.”
“No.”
She turned toward the sheriff.
“I spent my whole life being told I was helpless. It seems half the reason was because people who knew better stayed quiet.”
Mercer accepted the rebuke.
“You're right.”
Josephine hadn't expected that.
“What?”
“I said you're right.”
He removed his hat.
“Eleanor asked me once to make sure the deed reached you if anything happened.”
Josephine's anger sharpened.
“And?”
“I was twenty-three. New deputy. Your father threatened to have me dismissed.”
“And you let him?”
“Yes.”
Mercer's face held genuine shame.
“I've regretted it eighteen years.”
Josephine stared.
Harlan said quietly, “Regret isn't evidence.”
Mercer nodded.
“No.”
Then he looked at Josephine.
“But maybe this is.”
He removed a folded paper.
“A stable boy saw someone buying kerosene after midnight.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't say unless I guaranteed protection.”
Josephine's pulse quickened.
“Can you?”
“I can try.”
“Then try.”
Mercer handed her the paper.
A name was written there.
Thomas Reed.
Josephine recognized it.
One of Vale's riders from the mountain.
Harlan read over her shoulder.
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
“Of course.”
Mercer frowned.
“Not Vale's man. The witness.”
Josephine's hope collapsed.
“He disappeared this morning.”
Harlan looked toward the street.
“Then Vale got to him.”
“Maybe.”
Mercer put his hat back on.
“If Reed leaves the territory, we may never prove anything.”
Josephine folded the paper.
“Where would he go?”
Mercer hesitated.
“South.”
“Railroad?”
“Possibly.”
Harlan understood.
“Stage leaves tomorrow.”
Josephine looked at him.
“You're not going.”
“Wasn't planning to.”
She blinked.
“No argument?”
“You're coming too.”
Josephine smiled slowly.
“Now you're learning.”
The next morning they boarded a stagecoach bound for the territorial capital.
They believed they were going to find a frightened stable boy.
May you like
Instead, they were walking directly into the trap Silas Vale had prepared since before Josephine ever reached the mountain.
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