Chapter Thirty
James’s boots pounded against the hard-packed ground as he reached the corral. The fire roared, its flames leaping high into the night sky, casting an eerie orange glow over the camp. The acrid stench of burning wood and straw filled the air, thick and suffocating.
“Toby, get the water barrels!” James shouted over the roar of the flames, his voice sharp and commanding. “Elias, grab anything that can smother the fire—blankets, burlap sacks, anything you can find!”
The other men were already moving, their faces grim as they sprang into action.
Toby bolted toward the wagons where the water barrels were stored, his long strides kicking up dirt and ash.
Elias disappeared into the shadows, returning moments later with an armful of blankets and tarps, his shirt sticking to his back from the heat.
James scanned the scene, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the growing blaze. The fire had started in the straw near the corral fence and was now climbing up the wooden posts, licking hungrily at the dry wood. If it reached the wagons or spread to the camp, they’d lose everything.
“Thomas!” James called, spotting the blacksmith hauling a bucket of water toward the flames. “Get to the left side and douse that fence—keep it from spreading to the wagons!”
Thomas nodded, sweat dripping from his brow as he hurried to obey.
The first of the water barrels arrived, pulled on a handcart by Toby and one of the younger men, Robert. James grabbed the barrel’s spigot and turned it sharply, water gushing into a line of waiting buckets.
“Move fast!” James barked, passing a brimming bucket to Elias. “We don’t have much time!”
The men worked quickly, forming a bucket line to ferry water to the flames. Each bucket hissed and sizzled as it met the fire, steam rising in angry clouds. The smell of wet ash filled the air, mingling with the oppressive heat that pressed down on them like a weight.
James grabbed a heavy burlap sack from Elias, soaking it in a trough of water before tossing it onto the flames.
He used a long stick to push the sack closer to the base of the fire, smothering the flames where they burned hottest. The sack blackened and smoked, the flames retreating slightly before surging again.
“More water!” James shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke.
Rosie appeared out of the corner of his vision, leading a few of the women toward the creek with more buckets.
James felt a flicker of gratitude, but there was no time to dwell on it.
“Toby, cover the right side!” he ordered, pointing toward a patch of flames climbing dangerously close to the wagons. “We need to keep it contained!”
Toby nodded, his face streaked with soot as he hefted a water bucket and hurled its contents at the fence. “We’re on it!”
The fire crackled and popped, the flames greedily consuming every bit of straw and wood they could reach. James could feel the heat searing his skin, could taste the bitter ash coating his tongue. The smoke stung his eyes, making them water, but he didn’t stop.
The men worked in grim silence, their muscles straining as they passed buckets, threw water, and beat at the flames with wet blankets. The fire fought back, flaring each time they thought they were gaining control.
“We need more water!” Elias shouted, his voice cracking as he coughed against the smoke.
“It’s coming!” Rosie called, rushing forward with another line of buckets.
James grabbed one, pouring it directly onto the base of the flames where they burned hottest. The fire hissed and recoiled, the wet wood steaming as the flames began to die down.
“Keep at it!” he urged, his voice rasping as he passed another bucket.
Bit by bit, the fire began to weaken. The men pressed harder, their movements relentless, until finally, the flames sputtered and died, leaving only smoldering embers and blackened wood in their wake.
James straightened slowly, his chest heaving as he wiped a hand across his sweat-soaked brow.
Around him, the men sagged with exhaustion, their faces streaked with soot and ash.
The silence was deafening after the roar of the fire, broken only by the crackle of dying embers and the labored breathing of the group.
He turned to Toby, who was leaning heavily on a bucket, his shirt clinging to his back. “Any injuries?”
Toby shook his head, though his expression was grim. “None that I can see, but we lost half the fence and some of the straw. Could’ve been worse.”
James nodded, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the damage.
The fire had been extinguished, but the camp was still in chaos. The corral was a charred mess, and smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging James’s throat with every breath.
The others had gathered in clusters, talking in low voices as they surveyed the damage.
James scanned the group, his eyes searching for one person in particular. Angela. She should be here. He’d told her to stay back but he hadn’t expected her to listen.
“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, wiping soot from his hands onto his pants.
His stomach twisted as he turned in a slow circle, his gaze flicking from the wagons to the group of women near the water barrels.
Rosie and Rachel stood among them, their faces tired but calm.
He approached them quickly, his boots crunching over the scorched ground.
“Rosie,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. “Have you seen Angela?”
Rosie frowned, exchanging a look with Rachel. “No,” she said. “I thought she stayed back near the wagons.”
James turned and walked toward the wagons.
“Angela?” he called, pulling back the canvas flap of their wagon.
Empty.
A knot of unease settled in his chest, and the camp was quiet except for the crackle of dying embers and the distant whinny of horses still spooked from the fire.
“Angela?” James called.
No answer.
“She wouldn’t have just wandered off,” Rosie said. “Not in the dark.”
“Everyone!” he called sharply, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the camp. “Has anyone seen Angela?”
Heads turned, confusion rippling through the group. The other pioneers shook their heads, murmuring among themselves as the tension grew.
“We need to find her!” James called, his voice rising. “Search every wagon, every corner of camp. Now.”
James scanned the camp again, his eyes narrowing as he checked every shadow, every corner.
As everyone began to search, James’s heart was in his throat.
The flickering lanterns cast long, erratic shapes across the wagons and scattered supplies, but there was no sign of Angela.
His gut twisted tighter with each passing second, the knot of unease growing heavier.
The fire had thrown everyone into chaos—Angela most of all, he realized. She hadn’t been the same since the river crossing, and who could blame her? After nearly drowning, he’d seen how much the ordeal had shaken her, even though she tried to hide it behind soft smiles and determination.
And then there was the fire. Fire like that, sudden and uncontrollable, must have brought back memories for her. He didn’t know all the details, but he’d heard enough to understand.
The fire that had taken her family was a scar she still carried, no matter how steady she tried to appear.
Had she needed to get away?
The thought hit him hard, his jaw tightening as he stood by the edge of the camp and scanned the horizon again. Maybe she’d walked away from the others to clear her head, to breathe. But out here, in the vast, empty wilderness, stepping away from camp was dangerous.
James clenched his fists at his sides, a hundred possibilities flashing through his mind.
What if she’d gotten turned around in the dark?
The prairie stretched out for miles in every direction, a disorienting mix of shadows and uneven terrain.
Without the light of the fire or the moon, it would be easy to lose her way.
And the wilderness wasn’t forgiving.
The faint howl of a coyote echoed in the distance, and James’s chest tightened. Out here, she was vulnerable—to animals, to the cold, to the sheer emptiness of the prairie.
Or worse.
James shook his head sharply, forcing the thought away. He had no proof that anything had happened—only the heavy knot in his chest and the gnawing instinct that something was wrong.
But he couldn’t ignore the other possibility—the one he didn’t want to consider. Angela wouldn’t just wander off, not without telling someone. Which meant…
His eyes darted toward the perimeter of the camp, his unease deepening. If she didn’t leave on her own…
He couldn’t finish the thought.
“Angela!” he called again, his voice hoarse now from shouting.
The sound of his own voice was swallowed by the vast silence beyond the camp, broken only by the occasional crackle of a smoldering ember or the murmur of the pioneers still searching.
“James,” Toby said, coming up beside him, his own face creased with worry. “We’ve checked the wagons, the creek, even the far side of the camp. She’s not here.”
James clenched his teeth, the knot in his gut twisting tighter. “She wouldn’t go far,” he said, more to himself than to Toby.
The older man shook his head. “Maybe she needed a moment. That fire—it’d shake anyone up, but her? You know her history.”
James swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the camp. “She wouldn’t leave the safety of the firelight, not without good reason. Not alone.”
“Unless she had one,” Toby muttered, his tone grim.
James didn’t respond. His eyes swept the camp again, but the shadows offered no answers. All he could think about was how vulnerable she was out there. Angela, with her strength and stubbornness, had no idea how much danger the prairie could hold.
The thought made his chest ache. He couldn’t let himself think about what might happen if they didn’t find her.
Just then, he spotted a small figure standing near the far edge of camp. His heart leaped as he strode forward.
It wasn’t Angela.
“Lucy?” he said, his voice softening as he approached the little girl.