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Nathaniel’s heart leapt to his throat as he yanked on pants, boots and jacket. No pretense of quiet now. He tore down the stairs yelling, “Fire at the orphanage!” as he exploded out the door and across the field.
Halfway across the field, he realized he should have saddled the horse. Too late now. It would take longer to go back than it would to run the rest of the way to the orphanage.
Where were they?
No one stood outside. Snow blew in little whirlwinds, and Nathaniel could just barely see through the window to the inside. Flames flickered on the lower floor, coming from their common room, he thought.
He started hollering before he got to the rear yard. Screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs. He dashed up the steps, pounding and yelling.
*****
It was too warm, Melanie thought, throwing off the quilt. Why was it so warm? Through the foggy haze of sleep, she reached down to pull off her socks and opened her eyes to make sure she didn’t accidentally drop them into the chamber pot under the bed. But the haze didn’t go away.
She inhaled, choked on smoke and suddenly realized why she was so warm. Instinctively she drew a breath to scream to the children and choked harder on the smoke that clogged her throat and lungs. Thrusting her feet into shoes—why hadn’t she kept her socks on?—and grabbing her shawl, she threw open the door only to be met by searing whorls of smoke.
She picked up the back hem of her nightgown and drew it forward, effectively turning the nightwear into loose trousers of sorts. She wished desperately for a belt to hold it in place, opted instead for the large, old hatpin at the edge of the shawl that she sometimes used to hold it closed. Crouching, she hurried to door after door, pounding and screaming as best she could to wake the children.
“Get out! Hurry! Out! NOW!”
The words sometimes came out as a croak, but as she went to each room, the older children heard and understood, shepherded the younger ones toward the stairs and down. Melanie had rehearsed this kind of emergency with them once or twice, and while they were frightened, she had the peace of mind of seeing them do as she had instructed them so long ago. Ben and Bernard rushed out of their room, helped her rouse the others, and grabbing hands, led them down the stairs.
Melanie wondered if anyone had woken the Grinkovs. Barely able to breathe now, she pulled a corner of her shawl over her mouth, got down on her hands and knees and headed for their room. Dimly, through the roar of flames, she heard thumping and yelling. Was it them? It took her precious moments to realize the noise came from outside. The Grinkovs door stood open, the room empty. Relief flooded Melanie as she crawled toward the stairs.
Near the bottom, she heard a thunderous boom and cracking. The heat nearly drove her back. Thick smoke clouded everything. It was near impossible to see where she was going.
Incongruously, mixed in with the smell of burning old wood, came the scent of fresh evergreen smoldering. She turned her head in the direction of the common room, but could see nothing except a wall of flame.
Shouts. Screams coming from somewhere to her left.
JEB!
She saw the open rear door, Mr. Grinkov with Rachael and another girl, his hand on her back shoving her out the door into arms outside.
Melanie crawled in the direction of the screams, found Jeb huddled, sobbing, in a corner, eyes closed and arms around his knees, rocking and crying. “Jeb!” She nearly had to scream herself to be heard above the roar of the fire, the crackle of the wood splintering, popping, exploding. She could barely see him and reached out to grab his little arm.
“Come on!” It was what she wanted to scream. The syllables stuck in her throat, came out “‘mon.” It was enough, though. Jeb put out his hand without raising his head, clutched her fingers for the lifeline they were and fell forward. She circled his waist with her arm, drew him to her side and inched their way to the door. Behind and to the side of them, she heard the fire devour everything they had. Unable to see, she followed the scent of fresh air, air she knew made the fire burn harder and faster and prayed she was faster than it.
She felt Jeb ripped from her arm. Unthinking, she took a breath to yell, choked and gagged and dropped to her knees, then flat onto the floor. She knew it was suicide to stop, but she had to get air into her lungs. But it was brutal, searing air that filled her mouth. She laid her head down, too exhausted to try anymore, ready to give up her soul. Then hands grabbed her own arm and yanked her out into the cold snow, dragged her upright.
“Are you all right?”
Nathaniel’s voice held panic even as his hands roamed over her, searching for injury. She nodded mutely, and collapsed into his chest. His strong arms wrapped around her, lifted her off her feet and carried her away from the burning building.
Off in the distance she heard a clanging, like a spoon hitting the bottom of a big, empty pot and recognized the farmer’s version of a fire alarm. William, she thought, and would have smiled if she weren’t exhausted.
They were all huddled at the far end of the yard. Nathaniel set her on her feet again, his hands rubbing up and down her arms, his eyes anxious. Melanie heard sobs and turned slightly to see Mrs. Grinkov holding Jeb who squirmed and wiggled to get away, tears streaming down his face.
“It’s all right,” Melanie said to the old woman, and pulling away from Nathaniel, crouched and held out her arms to the boy. Jeb dashed for them, throwing himself into her embrace. The impact of him would have knocked her down had Nathaniel not been standing behind her.
“Shhh.” She stroked and kissed the child’s hair as she held him and murmured soothing sounds, even as the snow swirled around them. She looked up at the other children and sighed in relief. All of them stood together. No one was lost, thank God. They might have lost their possessions, but the children were alive and safe.
Tears of relief coursed down her face to mingle with Jeb’s tears of fear. “It’s all right, honey,” she whispered. “We’re all fine, we’re all right.”
The cold penetrated at the same time that they heard the rumble of wagons, the shouts of men. William’s alarm had alerted the neighbors and now they turned out in force, but it was obviously too late to save the structure. They stood by and watched helplessly as the fire ate the building with the voracity of a starving man. A couple of them had run to the pump and tried to fill buckets to pour on the flames but it was immediately apparent it was an exercise in futility, and they joined the others and watched.
The wind blew, fanning the fire, pushing it to even greater heights. It gobbled the second floor and nausea gathered in Melanie’s stomach as she realized just how close they had come to not getting out at all.
She fought down the sickness and stood, keeping her hand on Jeb’s shoulder as she assessed the children. Some of the girls stood, arms around each other, silently weeping. The older boys clustered together, fists clenched tightly, wanting to help, to save, yet frustrated by the uselessness of it all. The younger ones, those just old enough to realize their near escape, wailed in fear while Mr. and Mrs. Grinkov tried in vain to soothe.
It didn’t take long for all of them to begin shivering from the cold, the snow falling heavier now, coating heads, shoulders and bare feet.
“We have to get them inside somewhere,” Melanie said to Nathaniel. “They’ll freeze soon.”
He nodded in agreement. The same thought must have occurred to the neighbors who had come to help, as well. Someone must have gone to bring the women back, for soon there were several couples heading their way.
“We’re so sorry,” one woman said. “We want to help, but we only have room for one child in our home. Who should we take?”
And with those four simple words, Melanie’s heart broke.