Chapter Ten
Open Prairie
The fire began with one spark.
Eleanor never learned whose fire sent it into the grass. The morning had been windy, and the prairie had dried quickly after the rain. One moment, families were breaking camp. The next, a thin line of flame raced through the grass toward the parked wagons.
“Fire!” someone shouted.
Nathaniel's whistle shrilled from the front of the train.
“Move the wagons to bare ground!” he called. “Wet blankets and hides on the edges! Do not let the teams face the flames!”
Eleanor ran toward the Whitaker wagons. “Caroline, take the first team! Rebecca, the second! Charlotte, get Grace and Lucy to the creek bed!”
“I can help,” Grace protested.
“Help Lucy.”
That gave Grace a duty rather than an order to hide. She took Lucy's hand and ran with Charlotte.
Martha and Lydia soaked blankets in the water barrel. Eleanor grabbed one and moved toward the fire line with several other women.
Smoke rolled across the camp. The wind pushed the flames faster than people could stamp them out.
“Beat the edge!” Eleanor shouted. “Not the center!”
The heat struck her face. She swung the wet blanket against the grass. Once. Twice. Again.
Her ribs screamed with every movement, but there was no time to feel them.
Behind her, an ox bellowed.
Eleanor turned. One of the Whitaker animals had broken its tether and was running away from the smoke.
Lydia ran after it.
“Lydia, stop!”
Her sister did not hear her.
Eleanor took one step after her, then looked back at the fire. The rear wagons were still moving. If she abandoned the line, the flames could reach them before they found bare ground.
Nathaniel appeared through the smoke.
“Lydia!” Eleanor pointed.
He looked once and understood. “Stay here. You are the only person keeping this line organized.”
“Bring her back.”
“I will.”
He mounted and rode after Lydia.
Eleanor returned to the fire.
Choosing the line instead of her sister felt like tearing herself in two.
The second Whitaker wagon reached the bare patch. A gust lifted burning grass and threw sparks against its canvas.
“The wagon!” Rebecca screamed.
Eleanor ran.
Flame climbed the rear corner. She pulled at the burning canvas, but the fastening had swollen and would not release. Rebecca threw water. It slowed the fire without stopping it.
Nathaniel rode into camp with Lydia behind him and the runaway ox tied to his saddle.
He leapt down and ran to Eleanor. Together they climbed onto the rear wheel. Nathaniel cut the fastening with his knife while Eleanor pulled the canvas away from the supplies beneath it.
The burning section fell to the ground.
Rebecca and two men smothered it with dirt.
For several minutes, everything was smoke, heat, shouts, and desperate movement.
Then the flame line weakened.
People beat out the last burning patches. The wind carried smoke away from the wagons. Eleanor stood beside the blackened corner of the second wagon and tried to breathe.
Lydia approached slowly.
Her face was streaked with soot. “Eleanor—”
Eleanor slapped her.
The sharp sound shocked both of them.
Lydia put a hand to her cheek.
Eleanor immediately pulled her into her arms. “I am sorry. I am so sorry. Do not ever do that again.”
Lydia began to cry. “The ox was running away.”
“Let it run.”
“We need it.”
“I need you more.”
Lydia clung to her. “I thought I was helping.”
“Help by staying alive.” Eleanor held her until both stopped shaking.
Nathaniel stood several feet away, watching. Eleanor met his eyes over Lydia's shoulder.
He had brought her sister back.
He had also trusted Eleanor to save the wagons.
No man had ever protected what she loved without trying to take command of it.
*****
THE DAMAGE WAS WORSE than it first appeared.
The canvas had burned through. Several sacks inside were scorched, and the heat had blackened part of the axle. Nathaniel did not know whether the iron fittings had weakened until they cooled enough to inspect.
The train would remain in place.
Again.
He made his rounds, checked every person for burns, and assigned watches along the blackened firebreak. No one had died. Three people had minor burns. Two wagons had suffered damage. Several animals were missing, but most would be recovered.
“You frightened ten years from my life,” Eleanor said.
“Only ten? I must be losing my touch,” Lydia said.
“Do not attempt to improve it,” Eleanor said.
It could have been much worse.
Nathaniel found Eleanor behind one of the Whitaker wagons after sunset. She was sitting on the ground with her back against a wheel. Her face was pale beneath the soot.
He crouched beside her. “How are your ribs?”
“Do not ask.”
“Then I know the answer.”
“Martha will bind them again.”
“Good.”
Eleanor looked toward the camp. “I stayed at the fire line.”
“You did.”
“Lydia was running away from me, and I stayed.”
“I was closer to a horse.”
“What if you had not reached her?”
“I did.”
“What if—”
“Eleanor.” Nathaniel took her hands. “You made the right decision.”
“It did not feel right.”
“The worst decisions rarely do.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “I thought the fire would take her.”
“I know.”
“I thought it would take all of them. The wagons. Father's plan. Everything.”
“But it did not.”
“Because you brought Lydia back.”
“And because you saved the rear wagons.”
They were very close. Nathaniel could see the tiny flecks of gold in her gray eyes. One garnet earring was smudged with soot.
“You trusted me,” she whispered.
“I do trust you.”
Something in Eleanor's face broke open.
Nathaniel leaned forward slowly enough to give her time to move away.
She did not.
His mouth touched hers.
The kiss was gentle at first. Eleanor's lips were warm and uncertain. Then she lifted one hand to his shoulder and kissed him back.
Nathaniel had not kissed a woman since Abigail died. Not a real kiss. He had forgotten the softness of it. The startling closeness. The way a single touch could make years of loneliness suddenly visible.
He drew Eleanor nearer.
She made a quiet sound and pulled away.
For a moment, they stared at one another.
“I should check the inventory,” Eleanor said.
Nathaniel's mind was not functioning well enough to understand the sentence. “Now?”
“The food may be damaged.”
“Yes.”
“We need to know how much.”
“We do.”
Neither moved.
Eleanor touched her lips. “That should not have happened.”
The words struck harder than Nathaniel expected. “I see.”
Her eyes widened. “I did not mean—”
“You have work to do.” He stood. “I will inspect the axle when it has cooled.”
“Nathaniel.”
He forced himself to look at her.
“I did not say I did not want it,” she said.
Hope rose despite his better judgment.
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying I cannot think about kissing you while seven sisters and two wagons depend upon me.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
Her mouth curved. “It is.”
“Then we will not discuss the kiss tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“Tomorrow may be another matter.”
Eleanor looked toward the smoke-darkened camp. “We should check the inventory before sunrise.”
Nathaniel managed to smile. “Of course you would think of inventory now.”
“Someone must,” she said, though her hand still trembled from the kiss as much as from the fire.
Eleanor blushed. Nathaniel walked away before he kissed her again.
Behind him, he heard Lydia whisper from under the wagon, “I knew it.”
Eleanor closed her eyes. “How long have you been listening?”
“Since the part about the inventory.”
“Go to sleep.”
“It is not dark under the wagon yet.”
“Lydia.”
Nathaniel smiled all the way to the damaged axle.