Josh slept fitfully. His mind was on Natalie, the identity of M.D., and the huge fire that had completely destroyed one of Nathan West’s main buildings. Was it possible that Natalie, the woman he loved, was an arsonist? Was she someone with such an overzealous concern for the environment that she would burn a building to make a point?
He had a vivid dream of a wild-eyed blonde woman, splashing gasoline on the new hog house and then touching a match to the liquid, and watching, laughing wildly, as the flames quickly spread up its side. Through an enormous cloud of black smoke, he heard the woman yelling in a high-pitched, eerie voice, “The Tamarack River Ghost doesn’t want you here. The valley doesn’t want you here. Leave, and don’t ever come back.” Then she walked into the burning building and disappeared as the flames shot ever higher into the air and the smoke became blacker and denser. As he watched the building burn, a strange apparition appeared above it—a white ghostlike creature emerging from the fire without seeming to be harmed by it. A faceless blonde joined the apparition, which embraced her. Then the two merged into one ghostly figure that floated off toward the river, away from the fire. He heard singing as the apparition slowly moved away:
Ho Ho, Ho Hay, keep the logs a-going
Keep ’em rolling and twisting.
He sat up in bed, wide awake. Had he really heard the song? Was it in his room, or was it just a dream, a bad dream? He glanced at his bedside clock—4:00 a.m. He walked into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He knew there would be no more sleep this night. The memory of the dream played over and over again, as he sat at his little kitchen table, drank coffee, and tried to sort out his feelings toward Natalie.
At 8:00 a.m., he drove to the hospital. He went directly to Natalie’s room, where he found her sitting up, looking mostly like her old self. The oxygen mask had been removed from her face, as had the tubes from her arms. She was eating breakfast.
“Good morning, Josh,” she said, smiling. “Do you want a cup of coffee? I can order one for you.”
“No thanks.”
“You are looking terribly glum on this fine morning, and rather tired, too, I might add.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“How come? I hope you weren’t worried about me. I just got a little too much smoke last night. Doctor said I could go home this morning and that I’m fine.”
“We’ve got to talk,” Josh said.
“You are the serious one this morning. You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”
“Maybe I have,” said Josh quietly.
“So, what do you want to talk about?” Natalie sipped on her coffee.
“Last night when I was here, some papers were falling out of your bag, which was over on that chair.”
He pointed to a chair next to the wall on the far side of the room where her bag still sat.
“I saw some poetry written by M.D. You are M.D., aren’t you?” asked Josh, frowning.
“You’ve finally found me out.” Natalie held up her hands. “Yes, I’m the mysterious M.D. I wouldn’t dare have used my real name, being the county conservation warden.”
“But . . . but you could have told me. I wouldn’t have told anyone. I know how to keep a secret!” Josh hesitated for moment before continuing. “Did you . . . did you write that rather threatening letter I shared with you on the phone?”
“Of course not. Somebody else was trying to remind us of Mortimer Dunn—the letter was not mine.”
The room filled with silence.
“What?” Natalie asked, raising her voice.
“About the fire—” Josh stammered.
More silence filled the room as the young couple stared at each other.
“You think that I . . . You think that I started that fire that almost killed me?”
“I . . . I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking it, aren’t you? You’re thinking I did it.”
Now the room was filled with thick, emotional silence.
“Well, Mr. Josh Wittmore, you just turn around and leave this room right now. Leave me alone, you hear.”
“But, but—”
“Just leave,” Natalie said as she burst into tears.
Josh turned and left the room, then drove toward his office. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. He couldn’t remember when he had felt more awful.
As he passed by the counter outside his office, he picked up the morning copy of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. He tossed the paper on his desk and turned on his computer and waited for it to boot up.
“Wittmore, did I hear you come in?” his boss yelled from the office next door.
“I’m here.”
“Well, get your ass in my office. Right now.”
Josh dragged himself out of his chair and walked into the office next door.
“You look like hell,” his boss said, by way of greeting.
“I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“Have you seen this? Have you read this?” Lexington was waving a copy of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
“Not yet—I just picked up my copy.”
“Well, let me tell you what’s here. Let me tell you about the biggest story of the year and how you missed it. Completely missed it.”
Josh almost blurted out, “What story?” But he remained silent.
“See this?” Lexington was waving a copy of the newspaper again.
“Did you know that one of Nathan West’s big hog barns burned last night? Burned to the ground. Did you know that?” Lexington yelled.
“Yes, I heard about that.”
“Well, why weren’t you out there, taking pictures, interviewing people, putting together a story? Where the hell were you?” Josh chose not to admit that he’d turned off his scanner and hadn’t heard about the fire until the sheriff called him.
“I was at the hospital with my friend, Natalie, who was caught in that fire. I think I have my priorities straight, which is more than I can say for you,” Josh blurted out, his face red with anger. “Besides, you told me not to cover stories like this.”
“Are you challenging me? Are you questioning my priorities?” Lexington asked, the veins in his neck bulging.
“You just don’t get it, do you, Lexington?” Josh said. This was the first time he called his boss by his last name. “You have no idea what good journalism is all about. All you’re interested in is the almighty dollar, journalism be damned.”
“You . . . you impertinent bastard. Where do you get off, talking to me like this?” shouted Lexington.
“It’s about time somebody stood up to you and all the rest of those hiding behind journalism, trying to make money by being deceptive. This thing you call a newspaper—it’s no newspaper. It’s just a bunch of poorly written ads with some paid-for freelance material tossed in to make it look legitimate. Well, it’s not legitimate, not by a long shot.”
“Are you finished? You done with your little tirade?”
“For the moment, yes,” Josh said quietly.
“Well I have one more thing to say to you. You are fired. I don’t want to see your sorry ass around here ever again,” Lexington said.
“Thank you,” Josh said, with a bit of sarcasm in his voice. “I was about to quit anyway.”
Josh returned to his office, found a box, and gathered up his camera, laptop computer, a photo of Natalie, and a few other items and carried them to his truck. He tossed the morning Journal Sentinel in with his other things. As he slowly drove back to his apartment, his mind was in a fog. He felt relieved and concerned at the same time. Relieved that he didn’t have to work at a job that went against all his principles. Concerned because he now was without an income—and without a girlfriend. He did not see the brilliant yellow aspen leaves or the maples that were in full fall splendor. He did not hear the long skeins of Canada geese winging their way south from their summer nesting sites deep in Canada. He saw nothing of autumn’s beauty that was once more visiting central Wisconsin.
He parked his pickup and climbed the stairs to his apartment, carrying his box of office possessions. He put the box on the table, the photo of Natalie that he’d taken last winter when they were cross-country skiing on top. He stared at it. Natalie was smiling, obviously enjoying the day. Could she possibly have had anything to do with the fire at Nathan West’s big operation? Now that he knew she was really M.D., at least the M.D. that contributed poetry to the paper, he was both relieved and furious. He thought he knew this woman, thought he knew her well. But she had secrets, obviously lots of them. Why hadn’t she told him that she wrote the M.D. poems? He wouldn’t have told anyone.
He put the photo facedown on the table and sighed deeply. In a matter of twenty-four hours, he had lost both his job and his girlfriend. He slumped deep into the chair and rubbed his eyes. He could feel a headache coming, one of the throbbing head-busters that started just above his eyes and then moved around to his neck. The kind that aspirins barely touch, that wouldn’t stop until it ran its course, which sometimes took more than twelve hours.
Josh walked to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, opened the medicine cabinet, and dumped three aspirins in his hand. Maybe three would help stop the pain. He went to his bedroom and sprawled out on the bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. What would he do now? What could he do? Since he had graduated from college, he had always had a job—when Farm Country News was flourishing, even a good job and a good boss. How he missed Bert Schmid. He could talk to Bert, share his problems with him. His new boss—former boss, he reminded himself—was a money-obsessed tyrant. All that Lawrence Lexington had on his mind was money and how he could make more of it, newspaper be damned. The newspaper’s employees were merely cogs in his moneymaking machine.
When Josh awakened, the room was nearly dark. He glanced at his clock. He had slept all day. He went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee—his head felt better, but the sickening feeling of loss was still overwhelming. He saw the Journal Sentinel sticking out of the box of his office possessions. He looked at the photo on the front page—the Nathan West building with smoke billowing from its roof—and then he began reading.
Dan Burman, a farmer in the Tamarack River Valley, became a hero last night. He is credited with saving the life of Natalie Karlsen, Ames County conservation warden. Burman arrived at the disastrous fire at the Nathan West holdings in the valley shortly after Karlsen. He found her inside the building and pulled her to safety.
Burman said, “I saw the smoke and fire and jumped in my truck to see what was going on. It had to be a big fire. A really big fire, from the smoke I saw. And it weren’t no forest fire either. I could tell by the smoke. The smoke I was seein’ was black, really black.
“When I turned into the Nathan West property, I noticed the lady warden’s truck a ways ahead of me. I don’t believe she saw me. The warden jumped out of her truck, and I saw her go into the flaming building—the end where she went in wasn’t burning. I suspect she was checking to see if anyone was trapped in there. I parked my truck and waited for a bit, not quite knowing what to do. I heard sirens in the distance, so I knew help was comin’. She must have radioed in.
“The warden didn’t come out of the building. So I went inside myself. It was so smoky I couldn’t breathe, so I got down on my hands and knees and started crawlin’. I had only crawled a few feet from the door when I bumped into something. It was the lady warden. I pulled her outside and away from the building. She seemed to be breathin’, but she didn’t look too good. Just then, the first fire truck and an EMT unit arrived and took over. That was about it.”
By the time the firefighters arrived, the building was beyond saving. The smoke and flames from the inferno could be seen for miles around. One of the neighbors of the new hog operation, when asked about the fire, said, “Good riddance. Nobody wanted all these pigs here anyway.” She would not give her name.
As of late last night the warden was in the Willow River Hospital and reported to be doing well, thanks to Dan Burman. Ed Clark, regional representative for Nathan West, one of the country’s leading hog producers, said, “This new production unit, with the most up-to-date technology for raising hogs, is a complete loss.” When asked if the company planned to rebuild, Clark said, “I don’t know. That will be a corporate decision.”
The company recently purchased the former Tamarack River Golf Course in western Ames County. After some considerable debate with many people opposed to the construction, Nathan West eventually gained approval and the necessary permits to build. They had planned to produce more than 75,000 hogs a year on this site.
Josh read the article a second time. What a fool I have been, he thought. What a fool. He immediately went to the phone and called Natalie’s number. No answer. When her voicemail kicked in, he said, “It’s Josh, Natalie. I’ve made a fool of myself. A complete fool. Can I come over? I have lots of explaining to do.”
He slumped back into his chair, remembering when he and Natalie first met and she had accused him of tipping off Dan Burman, whom she suspected of game poaching. Now he had done the same thing, but much worse. He had suspected Natalie had something to do with starting the fire at Nathan West, and the truth was she arrived first on the scene afterward, prepared to rescue anyone who might have been trapped in the flames. He had the story completely backward. No wonder she was so angry with him. She had every right.
Rather than wait for her to call—he feared that she probably wouldn’t—he pulled on his jacket and ran down the stairs and out to his truck. He stopped at the Willow River Bakery and bought a chocolate cake, then drove to the liquor store, where he bought two bottles of wine. He headed toward Natalie’s cabin. He was feeling better, much better. He saw smoke coming from the cabin’s chimney. She had a fire going in the fireplace. He parked his truck. Carrying his peace offerings, he walked up to the cabin door. He knocked. Knocked again. Then knocked a third time. Finally, Natalie, her eyes red from crying, answered the door. She had heard the phone message and couldn’t help but smile when she saw a very contrite Josh standing at her door, holding two bottles of wine and a chocolate cake.