CHAPTER 18

Libby threw the door open and dashed to the top of the stairs, clutching the pistol before her. Smoke rolled up the stairwell. Pulling in a deep breath, she hurried down. The air seemed clearer at the bottom of the flight, though she could now see flames rising from a heap on the floor between the counter and the racks that held housewares and baking supplies.

She looked all around. No one moved through the thickening smoke in the big room. On tiptoe, she approached the site of the fire. Merchandise had been piled up in a mound—clothing, stationery, and seed packets. Combustibles. No hardware or pots. Things that would burn quickly. A sudden flare-up in the blaze drove her back several feet. Something had caught and sizzled. Lard, maybe, or bacon?

She laid the Peacemaker on a shelf and grabbed a wool blanket. The fire bucket always sat near the pot-bellied stove, even in summer. She shoved the blanket into it, trying not to slop the precious water. The heavy cloth soaked her nightclothes. She stood and carried it to the blaze. Choosing the part that burned most fiercely, she flipped the wet cloth over it, slapping at the fire and jerking her blanket back. The hot floorboards made the bare soles of her feet smart, but she couldn’t stop. Several times she swatted at the flames and glowing embers. A flaring brand rolled toward her, and she lifted her robe and nightgown, jumping back.

She soaked the blanket again and returned to her task until the blanket began to smoke. The fire bucket was nearly empty, so she upended it on the fire and edged around the burning pile. She managed to squeeze past the end of the counter. The bucket of drinking water was nearly full. She picked it up and hurried back to the fire, coughing so hard she spilled some of the water. Aiming for the spot that persisted in burning the worst, she swung the bucket and threw the water on it. She jumped back, lest the swash throw hot embers on her.

The smoke thickened, and flames kept licking at the heap. More water. Libby ran through the storage room. The back door was unlocked, but she wouldn’t think about that now. She ran to the rain barrel and scooped her pail full.

As she hurried back inside, sloshing water against her legs and again soaking the lower part of her nightclothes, she wondered if she should run for the nearest neighbors. But as she threw the full bucket onto the fire and a great deal of water ran off it and flowed across the floor, she decided she could put it out if she persisted. If she ran for Peter Nash or the mayor, the fire might grow beyond their ability to stop it.

She made three more trips before she was satisfied that the flames wouldn’t leap up again. Exhausted, she leaned against the counter, panting. Her wet clothing was covered in soot, and she assumed her face looked as bad. She went to the front door and threw it wide open. What difference would it make now to leave the doors open? Already her domain had been breached.

Slowly she climbed the stairs and opened all the windows in her living quarters to clear out the smoke. Her feet were sore, but nothing worse than a sunburn, so far as she could tell. In her bedchamber, she lit the lantern and pulled the curtains. Dawn was upon her, and there was no point in going back to bed. She wasted no time but dressed carefully. Her hair would smell of smoke until she washed it, but at least she could scrub the soot from her face and hands. At last she felt presentable. Time to go for help.

She stopped partway down the stairs. The fire was out. Should she even bother her neighbors? The sheriff was the man she needed. A moment’s thought, and she went out the front door, closed it firmly behind her, and dashed across the street and down the walk. The jail loomed still and dark, but already lantern light shone through the side kitchen window of the Dooleys’ house. Libby hurried to the back and knocked softly. Gert opened the door cautiously.

“Good morning! Forgive me for coming so early,” Libby said.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Gert’s nose wrinkled as she threw the door wide and stepped back so Libby could enter.

“Yes. Someone broke into the emporium and started a fire downstairs. I was able to put it out, but I’d like to talk to the sheriff before I open the store.”

“Oh, Libby! Are you all right?” Gert grasped her wrist and looked her over. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. I want to go back and start cleaning up right away. It’s a mess, but I hope to open the store on time. Do you think—”

“Hiram’s getting up. He’ll go right away for Ethan. Maybe you should wait until the sheriff gets there to start your cleaning.”

Libby shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t be able to open on time if I waited. I want to get all the burnt stuff out and air the building well. I’m not sure how badly the floor is damaged, but if I can help it, I won’t give the ruffian who did this the satisfaction of closing my business.” Her voice choked, and Gert put her arms around her.

“There now. If some outlaw broke in and vandalized your store, you really oughtn’t to be over there alone.”

“He’s gone now.” Libby swiped at her tears, wishing she had strength enough to keep from crying. “Oh, Gert, why would anyone do this?” A little sob leaped out of her throat, and she put her hands to her face.

“Sit down.” Gert led her gently to the table and pulled out a chair for her. “I’m fixing you a cup of tea as soon as I tell Hiram and get him on his way. Then I’ll go over with you, and we’ll do whatever’s needed.”

“You don’t have to. You’ve got your own work to do.”

Gert gave a little snort. “I’ve got nothing more important than fixing breakfast for a man who’s capable of doing it himself.”

Libby arched her eyebrows. Gert had never before implied that Hiram might not need her quite so much as she wished. “All right.” She blinked back her tears and searched her pocket for a handkerchief.

Gert left the room and returned a moment later with Hiram on her heels. The gunsmith stopped in the doorway and eyed her mournfully. At last he spoke.

“You’re all right, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am, Hiram. Thank you for asking.”

“I’ll go to the ranch for Ethan.” He strode to the back door, grabbed his hat, and left.

Gert went to the stove and lifted the teakettle. “He offered to check through the store and your rooms, but I told him you’d rather he fetched Ethan. But I’m going with you, and no arguments. You might have been killed.” As she spoke, she measured tea into a pot and poured hot water on it. Then she brought their cups to the table and pushed the sugar bowl toward Libby. “I don’t expect you’ve eaten anything, have you?”

Libby shook her head. “But I don’t want to lose any time—”

“Just a bite.” Gert brought a tin box from the cupboard and opened it to reveal several cold biscuits. “Leftovers, but with a little cheese, they’ll go down. You’ll be glad later that you had something.”

Libby supposed her friend was right, though she barely tasted the biscuit and wedge of sharp cheese Gert placed before her. The tea comforted her.

“Thank you.”

Gert put the last bite of her own biscuit into her mouth and stood. She reached to gather the dishes and carried them to the dishpan. “Come on, now. I’ll take care of these later. Shall I bring my mop?”

“I’ve got everything we’ll need in the store,” Libby said.

Together they walked across the street and up the boardwalk. The early sunlight streamed down Main Street. Libby opened the door of the emporium and led Gert inside to the site of the fire.

Water had run over the floor, pooling in spots and draining through cracks between the floorboards in others. The pile of charred merchandise stank, and the air still held the strong, acrid stench of smoke.

“I’ll prop both doors open,” Libby said. “I’ve got the windows open upstairs.” The storeroom had no windows to open. Isaac had designed the building that way on purpose, partly for security, and partly to give him more wall space for shelves and stacks of goods.

She took her broom, mop, and bucket from the back room.

“Maybe we should start with a shovel.” Gert eyed the wet, ashy pile distastefully.

“Good idea. And I’ve got a wash boiler over there in the hardware section. We can fill it and carry it out back. I’ll get Josiah to haul the trash off later.”

“Right,” Gert said. “Let’s just get it outside for now.”

Libby walked quickly to the apparel section and grabbed two pair of men’s heavy work gloves. She took one to Gert. “Here. I don’t think we want to touch that stuff without gloves.”

They set to work, removing all of the ruined items. For twenty minutes they said little. Libby gasped when she recognized some of the wrecked merchandise—the remaining unsold Bibles.

“Wicked.”

Gert peered over at the charred leather and paper. “Oh, Libby. I’m so sorry.”

Libby sighed. “I’ve felt a little guilty, anyhow, making a profit from selling the scriptures.”

“I don’t think you need feel badly about that. Folks in town were glad to get them.”

Libby sat back on her heels and wiped her brow with the back of her wrist. “It could have been much worse. So much worse.”

The sleigh bells hanging from the door jingled softly as Ethan brushed past them with Hiram close behind.

The sheriff strode toward them and halted, staring down at the stinking mess on the floor.

“This is where it happened?”

Libby nodded. “A pile of merchandise from all over the store—things that would burn easily. Cloth, paper. I’m guessing some lard to help it burn faster.”

Ethan frowned.

Before he could speak, Libby said, “I guess you wish we hadn’t started cleaning, but I want to open on time today. That is …” She faltered, looking to Gert for reassurance. “You don’t think it’s too smelly, do you? A lot of the other merchandise might be ruined from smoke. I wonder if the flour will taste like it. And the bolts of cloth—I suppose I could wash them if the smell won’t air out.”

“Let me look around for a few minutes, please, before you do any more,” Ethan said. “Where did you put the burnt stuff?”

“Out back.” Gert nodded toward the door behind the counter as she pulled off her work gloves. “We made a heap behind the store and figured Josiah could take it away later.”

“All right, but I’ll want to look at it before he does. Mrs. Adams—”

“I think he burned nearly all the seed packets,” Libby said absently, looking at her depleted shelves. “But it’s late in the season. Most folks had got what they wanted for seed.”

“Did you see the person who did this?” Ethan asked.

She jerked her head around to look at him. “No. I …” She was shaking. That was odd. She held her hand out before her, curious at the way it trembled.

Gert stepped forward and put her arm around Libby’s waist. “We’ve been working hard. Why don’t you come sit down in the back room while you talk to Ethan?”

“I’m all right.” Libby pushed back a lock of hair and wondered if her face was all sooty again. “I didn’t see anyone, but I heard someone walking around down here. I think that’s what woke me up. Probably he was gathering the things to burn. I heard footsteps and thuds. It frightened me, so I got up and went to my bedroom door. Then I smelled the smoke.”

“You put the fire out all by yourself?” Ethan asked.

“Yes. It … wasn’t that big, but it put off a lot of black smoke.”

“There was an empty lard pail in the junk we hauled out,” Gert said.

Ethan nodded. “I’ll have you show it to me later. Now, Mrs. Adams, think hard. You’re sure you didn’t see anyone?”

“No one.”

“How do you think he got in?”

“The back door wasn’t locked.” She shook her head. “I know I locked it last night. I always do. But I suppose …”

“I’ll look at it.” Ethan knelt and examined the floorboards. “The fire doesn’t seem to have burned through the floor, but it’s charred here.” He looked up at Hiram. “We could replace these three boards, couldn’t we?”

Hiram nodded. “I can go get what we need right now.”

“Oh, you don’t—” Libby stopped. Hiram was already out the door.

“He’ll fix it good as new,” Gert said.

Libby looked toward the case clock. It was nearly six in the morning, and she had only two hours to get ready for opening. Florence would help when she arrived at seven thirty. Libby sent up a quick prayer of thanks that she’d put all the ledgers in the safe last night.

“If you could make me a list, I’d appreciate it,” Ethan said. “You can do it later today when you have time. Put down anything that’s missing from your inventory. And if you know it was in the fire heap, check it off. If you’re not sure, and something was maybe stolen, let me know.” He stood and walked around, peering under the tables and racks. He paused by a set of shelves that held blankets and linens. “Does this weapon belong to you?” He turned, holding Isaac’s Colt pistol.

“Yes. It was my husband’s. I brought it downstairs with me and left it there when I began fighting the fire.”

Ethan brought it to the counter. “You’ll want to put it back in a safe place before you open for business.” He stood for a moment, looking down at the countertop. Then he looked up slowly. “Could you come here for a moment, please, ma’am?”

Libby walked over to stand beside him.

“Do you know how this got here?”

Libby looked down to where he pointed. Near the pistol on the otherwise bare countertop lay a penny.