Imogen gave her father ten minutes before she stood up and went to the kitchen to make something to eat for them both. She told him she was going to and informed him that she knew the cook had quit after the first time Imogen moved out.
She hadn’t really thought before about how her father was feeding himself. She’d assumed he was going to the restaurant, the saloon, or somewhere else that served food. So it was quite a surprise to see the well-stocked pantry. She opened the icebox expecting to see the common brown bottles of beer, but it contained not only no beer bottles but had lemonade, tea, and water pitchers being kept cold.
She blinked at the drinks and pulled out the lemonade. She got to work making some rice and chicken and was quite warm by the time it was done. She made a plate for herself and her father and carried both to the parlor where she’d left him.
He had passed out. The liquor bottle in his hand was tipped to the side, but it was sealed shut, so none had spilled out. The cigar had gone out long ago. She set the plate of food next to him on a table, hoping the smell of the cooked food would reach his nose.
Imogen turned away from her father, tears misting over her eyes. She took her plate to the deck out front and stood near the railing, eating. What would become of him? She had absolutely no control, and it frustrated her to feel so helpless. He wasn’t going to put down the bottle, not anytime soon.
She was sure he was at a point where if he stopped drinking, his body reacted negatively, making him think he would die if he didn’t get another drink. She’d heard of men reacting to their liquor that way when they drank too much for too long. Women, too, but not nearly as many.
A smell drifted to her nose that made her food taste smoky. She lifted her chin and sniffed the air.
Smoke was drifting through the air from somewhere. Something was on fire.
Curious, Imogen walked to the right, looking over the railing at the side and seeing nothing but lamps lit inside windows of nearby houses and buildings.
She walked toward the other side and heard a sound that sent fear into her heart. She was right. Something was definitely on fire. She peered closely at the building next to their house and realized the crackling sound was coming from inside. It was dark, so there didn’t appear to be anyone in the place. But with it being dark, she couldn’t see where the smoke was coming from or even if it was coming from that building.
Imogen went back inside to wake her father. Once she got to him, though, she stared down at him with disapproval. What could he do, even if she woke him? It wasn’t like he was in shape to fight a fire.
She went to the linen closet and pulled out two blankets and a bucket sitting on the floor beneath the shelves. Hurrying back to the front door, she left the house and crossed the alleyway to the building. It was the local seamstress shop where repairs were made to various clothing and linens.
Three young women worked there, and it was owned by an older couple who had decided to stay in Bryantsville. Their home was on the outskirts of town. Imogen considered whether she wanted to break into the shop or get on her horse and ride to their house to warn them.
A fire could be fast spreading. It could be dangerous. She decided the only option was to break into the shop and see what was causing the smell of smoke. If it were nothing, she would explain herself the next day. Perhaps leave a note. But if there was a fire, she was sure the Bentleys would be grateful that she’d checked on it.
She went to the front door, flanked by windows on either side. She could see the clothes on the other side, ready for either picking up, repair, or delivery, depending on what pile it was in.
The door was locked, but she knew it probably wasn’t all that secure. The money was not kept on the property. Everyone knew the Bentleys kept their money in their home, guarded by three of the most ferocious dogs anyone in Bryantsville had ever seen. She went to the window to the right and peered through, seeing light flickering from somewhere but not spotting the source.
Her chest beginning to tighten with anxiety, Imogen moved to the other window, cupped her hands around her eyes, and looked through. She was on the side where the door that led to the back room could be seen. Underneath that door, Imogen saw what she feared most. The bright orange glow of fire.
Chills covered her body as fear gripped her. She went back to the door, lifted her skirt with both hands, and kicked the door with one foot as hard as she could right next to the doorknob where it was locked. The adrenaline racing through her body had made the kick harder than any she would normally have been able to make. The door burst open and slammed to the side against the shelves sitting there.
It bounced back slightly, but Imogen held out one hand and caught it from shutting. She vaulted herself into the space, turning swiftly to grab the bucket and blankets she’d set next to the door.
There was a pumping faucet in the sink, but she was pretty sure the sink was in the back. She looked down at the bucket, feeling helpless. The only thing she could think of to do was go back to her house to get water.
Before doing that, Imogen went to the door, feeling the heat as she got closer. She held out her hand and touched her fingers to the wood. It was hot to the touch.
She got down on her hands and knees and looked underneath. The fire was blazing fiercely. She could barely see through the flames on the other side, and all she could hear was the crackling as the fire destroyed everything in the room.
She shot back to her feet, grabbed the bucket and blankets, and headed back out the door.
“Help!” she cried out as she ran to the entrance of her house. “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
She streaked through the door of her house and ran to the washroom. The tub was the best way to get water in the bucket. She thanked God her father had put in the most recent plumbing available at least in that one room, allowing her to turn a knob and fill up the bucket with fair speed.
“Papa! Wake up!”
While the bucket filled, she ran back to the door of the washroom and yelled through it. She didn’t want to leave the room. She needed to get the blankets wet and carry all of it back to the shop next door, whether it was too heavy or not.
“Papa!”
She went back to the tub and pulled out the heavy water bucket, tossing the blankets in and maneuvering them quickly to get them soaked with water.
Stunned by how heavy the blankets and the water bucket were, she hefted the blankets so she had one over each shoulder and picked up the water bucket with both hands. The weight was so much, Imogen was sure she wouldn’t make it. But she was determined, and it fueled her to move as quickly as she could, faster than she’d ever thought she’d be able to.
Imogen called out to her father one last time before leaving the house behind and hobbling over to the shop with the blankets and water bucket. She didn’t have the energy to scream out that there was a fire, but now it was licking the shop’s roof, exposing itself to the world. She glanced up, wondering if it would catch the trees in the alleyway on fire and transfer it over to her house.
Fear ripped through her, but she couldn’t stop. She went into the shop, set the bucket down, dropping the blankets near it, and ran back to the entrance. Grabbing the sides of the door jamb with both hands on either side, she leaned out as far as she could, pulled in a deep breath, and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Then she turned, grabbed one of the mannequins, and used it as a battering ram to knock down the door. She tried to stay back, aware that if she opened the door just right, it might blow the fire into the room and engulf her.
Imogen pushed back against her fear when the door burst open. She could see in the room, now completely in flames. Nothing in there could be saved. She hoped there wasn’t a human in there. They would not be alive now.
She grabbed her bucket, held it back, and then tossed the water into the flames. The sizzling was almost as loud as the fire itself. Grabbing one blanket, she slapped at the fire, putting out as much of it as she could.
When she’d exhausted her strength, Imogen ran to the door again and leaned out to scream. But she saw the shadows of several men running in her direction, so she went back into the shop to continue beating the flames with the blankets.