Business at the Emporium was good, both downstairs and upstairs. Alma, Francine, and Marisa were all in action in their upper chambers, while on the main floor four of the card tables were in action and half a dozen citizens stood at the bar.
Binky had just finished his rendition of Crook-back’s cry for “A horse! A horse!” and, drink in hand, navigated toward Belinda’s table.
Rupert Lessur entered and headed for the same table.
“Good evening,” Lessur said cheerily.
Neither Belinda nor Binky responded with the same cheer, but both nodded as Binky sat down.
Belinda pointed. “If you’re looking for a game, there’s an empty seat at that table, but the stakes might be too low for you.”
It was a low-stakes game because the players consisted of Tom Bixby, Antonio Gillardi, Doctor Zebelion Barnes, Oliver Knight, and Knight’s copy-boy/reporter/assistant editor, Matt Crowley, who had most of the meager winnings from the table in front of him.
“No, it’s a little late. Thought I’d just come by and have a nightcap. Say, what time is it?” Lessur had pulled a fob and watch from his vest pocket. “Seems my watch has stopped.”
“There’s a clock on that wall,” Belinda said. “Been there for years.”
“Oh, yes. Twelve thirty-five.” Lessur went through the motions of setting and winding his watch, then tucked it back into his pocket. “Would you two care to join me in a drink?”
“No, thanks,” Belinda said.
“I would!” Binky responded.
“Fine. Henry. . .,” Lessur called out as he sat down, “bring over my bottle.”
Rooster had made his way along the dark back-streets of town and was soaking rags with kerosene at the side of Ike Silver’s store. He set down the can, struck a match, lit the rags, picked up the empty can and skulked back the way he had come.
Ike, still dressed, had fallen asleep in his chair with the book still in his hands.
Flames leaped up the side of the outer wall, cracking, then bursting the windows from the heat, and crawled, outside and in, toward the second floor.
Moby Dick fell from Ike’s hands onto the carpet. His eyes blinked open, then closed. In a moment they opened again. As he started to rub his eyes, he saw the book on the floor and reached down for it, but abruptly stopped.
Smoke from below had begun to curl into the room.
Inside the store the blaze was spreading. Flames crackled and twisted. Black smoke billowed upward through the building.
“Jake, get up!” Ike shook his brother. “Fire! Get out of here!”
Jake bolted out of his sleep. “The boys!” He yelled.
“I’ll get ’em. Get out of here!”
. . . Inside Lessur’s stable, Jim Gallagher stirred. He rolled from his back and tried to rise, but failed. He tried again.
Through the swirling smoke Ike had lifted a boy under each arm and was carrying them toward the stairway.
. . . Gallagher swayed to his feet, staggered to the stable door. Padlocked. With his bull shoulder he smashed it open.
On the street, people rushed from all directions toward the burning Silver store, with fire and smoke knotting through the broken window panes and front door. First Jake, then Ike, still carrying both Jed and Obie, careened through the entrance. Ben and Melena, in their nightclothes, had come around the corner from the stable and rushed to help. Benjie stood in the street, still half asleep, but safe.
Ike set the boys on the ground as Gallagher pushed his way through the crowd.
“Ike! Is everybody out?”
“I think so.” Ike nodded.
“Where’s the Sister?” Gallagher looked around.
“My God!” Melena cried. “She’s still in there!”
“Ben!” Ike turned. “Are you sure?”
“She didn’t come out!”
Gallagher wheeled and weaved through the door and into the store. Like a crazed bull he tore through the store and anything in his way toward the schoolroom door. Locked—or stuck. He rammed through, splitting the door apart.
On the street Ike, and by now half the town, including Belinda, Binky, Knight, Doc Barnes, Bixby, Gillardi, Crowley, Scotty, Lessur and Rooster, were staring at the inferno. Suddenly, Ike turned and bolted around the corner and down the side street.
“Ike!” Jake screamed.
Jed started after his father, but Jake grabbed and held him.
Ben looked at Melena, then followed down the side street after Ike.
The classroom was choked with smoke. Sister Bonney lay unconscious in her bunk. Gallagher knocked over benches and part of the partition to get to her. He lifted her in his huge arms and began to carry her.
Gallagher had a bullet in his back and his head had been struck by a crowbar, but with Sister Bonney in his arms, it seemed as if a second strength had reinforced every muscle and fiber of his body. Through the flames licking the classroom, he staggered and pitched forward. A beam collapsed just behind them. Then another; the second hit Gallagher, and he went down still holding on to Sister Bonney just as Ike and Ben came through the side street door.
Both coughing and crouching low, Ike and Ben made it to the fallen couple.
“Get her out,” Ike said.
Ben lifted Sister Bonney and carried her toward the side door while Ike followed, dragging Gallagher by both shoulders.
Jake, Jed, Obie, Melena, Belinda, Binky, Doc Barnes and a few others had come over to the side of the building.
Ben, carrying Sister Bonney, then Ike, dragging Gallagher, came through the door as another flaming beam crashed behind them.
The cold night air revived Sister Bonney and she looked up at Ben.
“Can you stand, Sister?” he asked.
“Yes.” She nodded.
Melena came to her side as Ben set her on her feet.
Doc Barnes moved near and whispered something to Sister Bonney. She looked at him for just a moment, then they moved together, his arm around her, to where Gallagher lay on the ground braced by Ike.
Ike withdrew his hand from Gallagher’s back, his palm smeared with blood. Sister Bonney knelt at Gallagher’s side. His eyes opened in recognition of the nun whose life he had saved.
“Sister . . .” Gallagher tried to smile.
It took all his ebbing strength, but he raised his hand. She took it in both of hers and leaned closer.
“Please. . .,” he uttered.
James Gallagher coughed and began to whisper the Act of Contrition as Sister Mary Boniface prayed:
“Eternal rest give to him, O Lord: and let perpetual light shine upon him. A hymn, O God, becometh Thee in Sion; and a vow shall be paid to Thee in Jerusalem: O Lord hear my prayer; all flesh shall come to Thee . . .”
A pause; Gallagher was dead.
Ike looked at Sister Bonney and said softly, “He can’t hear you, Sister.”
“He can hear me. ‘. . . Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and perpetual light shine upon him.’ ”
A shadow passed over Gallagher’s face. The shadow of Rupert Lessur, who stood as an innocent spectator to the events with Rooster next to him.
Ike rose and Ben stood beside him.
“How’d it start?” Ben asked.
“It started,” Ike said.
Lessur, trailed by Rooster, moved away.
“What’s the difference?” Jake said. “We’re licked. We’ve lost everything.”
“Not everything.” Ike took a breath. “And we’re not licked.”
“The store, the money,”—Jake sighed—“the merchandise, the wagons . . . all gone.”
Fire reflected in Ike’s eyes.
“We’ll build the store up again. We’ll borrow money and we’ll get merchandise. Ben’ll fix the wagons. We’re here and we’re going to stay here.”