Skye tried to smile as she stepped forward to greet Stewart, but her face wouldn’t obey. Barely able to breathe, she struggled to overcome the fear that gripped her as if mighty hands were squeezing her chest.
“Skye, you’re safe!” Stewart cried, clasping her to him for a brief moment. He drew back then and cleared his throat. “Our parents ... Are they ...?”
“They’re fine, both of them,” Skye answered quickly. Never once had it crossed her mind that the boys would have been wondering about them, and yet it was only natural that they would.
“And Tavish?” she managed, though it was difficult to force the question out, so constricted was her throat from fear.
“Tavish didn’t come across,” Stewart said slowly. His eyes dropped away from looking at her, and Skye knew instantly that something was dreadfully wrong.
“You must tell me at once!” she cried. “Is he alive?”
“Alive? Oh, yes!” Stewart reached out and took hold of Skye’s arm, steadying her as she sagged with relief.
“And he’s well?”
Stewart hesitated, then said, reluctantly, “It seems the fire affected his eyes.” He took a deep breath. “He can’t see.”
“Can’t see!” Skye gasped. “You mean, he’s blind?”
“We won’t know for certain until a doctor can be found for him, but he’s not been able to see since the night of the fire.”
Skye could hardly sort out her feelings quickly enough. Of course, the most important thing was that Tavish was alive, but the thought of her brother without his sight ... Skye shook her head and pushed it aside, unprepared to think about it just then. At last, she said, “Except for that, is he all right?”
“As much as any of us,” Stewart said.
“Why did he not come across with you?”
“He wouldn’t leave Collin.”
“Uncle Collin!” Skye found herself blushing with embarrassment. She hadn’t even thought to inquire after her uncle and his family. “Are he and his family all right?”
Stewart didn’t answer at once, and in that brief silence Skye knew that whatever he was about to say would be grave news. Her hand automatically reached for her friend and Emily grasped it tightly.
“No!”
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Skye. I wish I had better news.”
Skye hardly heard his words. Images of Aunt Susan and the boys — her cousins Adam, Kenneth, and Duncan — rushed and tumbled through her mind’s eye. Duncan, the baby of the family, had just begun to walk when she’d last seen him, and Skye had taken particular delight in watching him toddle from person to person, clearly excited about his newfound ability.
“There’s no chance that this is a mistake?” she managed after a moment.
“I’m afraid not. They never got out of the house,” Stewart said quietly. “Collin, Tavish, and I couldn’t get to them before the fire came. We tried, but the flames were on the house before we could reach it. We barely reached the river in time ourselves.”
“But how do you know absolutely?” Skye cried. “Is it not possible that they made their way to safety without your knowledge?”
Stewart drew a deep breath and then, with some reluctance, told her, “They were found, Skye. I’m afraid there’s no question that they perished.”
Skye broke down, collapsing against Emily. Her friend’s arms encircled her as she sobbed broken-heartedly.
“There now,” Emily said softly. Tears filled her own eyes as she witnessed Skye’s grief.
Stewart reached a hand out and awkwardly patted his stepsister’s arm. He was thankful that she had not been there with them when the bodies were found, for the sight was a horror he felt he would see every day for the rest of his life, and one that he wouldn’t have wanted Skye to have to endure.
Sleeping or not when the fire came, Susan and the children had most certainly been awake when it swallowed their home and snuffed out their lives. They had been found huddled together, arms clasped about each other in what must have been a final, desperate bid for comfort or relief. Even so, no one who had seen the charred remains of this death embrace could be in any doubt that they had died most horribly, for their final contortions had most certainly been caused by great agony.
“Uncle Collin,” Skye said when she could speak again. “How is he?”
“He’s about as you’d expect, I suppose,” Stewart said. “He’s spoken but little since it happened.”
“And is there ...” Skye hesitated, swallowing hard. She felt she could not bear any more bad news, but could not keep herself from asking, “Is there any news yet of the men in the camps? Of Uncle William?”
“Not of William. I’ve heard that one or two men have come in from the woods,” Stewart told her, “but their camps were not so far off. Still, there’s reason to hope. He could appear at any time.”
Uncle William must be all right, Skye told herself as she had done many times since the night of the fire. Even so, her heart sank to hear that there was no news and she had to remind herself firmly that it was simply too early. Only those working nearby would have had any chance to return to Newcastle so quickly.
“We must go to Father,” Skye said. It seemed to her that Logan Haverill would somehow help make things right, although there was no logic behind this idea. She knew only that her father had always been strong and able and she turned to him instinctively during times of trouble.
The three began walking back toward the Chapmans’. Emily remained with Skye and Stewart until they reached the house, but did not go in.
“I just wanted to know where I could find you again,” she told Skye before turning back the way they’d just come.
Skye and Stewart had almost reached the door when she realized that he didn’t yet know about the baby.
“I almost forgot to tell you, your mother’s time came the night of the fire,” she said. “She had a baby girl.”
“And Mother? Is she okay?”
“Yes. Tired, as you’d expect, but otherwise she seems fine.”
“The baby is all right, too?”
“Yes.”
“Another sister,” Stewart said. A smile flashed. “A smaller one this time.”
His words surprised Skye and, oddly, brought tears to her eyes. In the year since their parents had married she had become fond of Stewart, but she had stubbornly refused to think of him as a brother. That he looked at her as his sister in spite of that had not occurred to her before.
There was no time to think of that, though, for looking up she saw her father, who had spied Stewart and was now striding toward them from the direction of the barn.
Seconds later, Hannah came running from the house, her face lit up with joy at the sight of her son. She threw her arms around him and kissed him, but then she stepped back, looking about. The colour drained from her face.
“Where is Tavish?” she cried. “Stewart! Where is Tavish?”
Skye watched as Stewart repeated what he had told her just a short time earlier. It struck her that a stranger observing the scene would never have guessed that Hannah was not really Tavish’s mother.