Vultures at Twilight (32 page)

‘Right, that's what we told everyone. He gave us twenty-five thousand lousy dollars in exchange for pieces that were hundreds of thousands, maybe more. Beautiful things; a Queen Anne lowboy and a pier mirror that had been in my family for centuries . . . gone. Of course he couldn't get the prices he wanted for them here, so he faked a sale and had his buddies sell them in Manhattan. I'm sure they made a tidy sum and all the time my mother kept telling me, it was for the best. “Why do you want those old things?” she'd ask. “You don't have any children, what do you want them for?”'

‘That must have hurt,' I offered, trying to break through to him.

‘You have no idea. She couldn't understand; what I was creating was better than a family. I wanted to leave a legacy that would have lived for centuries, a collection of eighteenth-century life that would bring scholars and visitors from all over the world. I'd throw open the doors, and say, “Look at what I've put together.”'

‘It's a marvelous idea,' I said, encouraging him to go on. ‘It's what the town needs. It's not too late.'

I could see passion in his eyes as he considered the possibility, but just as quickly, it passed. ‘Too late . . . Too late for me, too late for you, and too late for Hank and all his busybody friends.'

‘Don't do this, Calvin,' I pleaded as I struggled to pull my legs under my body, the weight of my bound wrists making it treacherous.

‘Sorry, Lil, I wish it could have been different. I'd even thought that with Bradley gone . . .' He paused. ‘Ssssh . . . I hear them.'

He pressed his ear to the trick wall. A thin strip of denser black framed the entry; it wasn't fully closed.

With his attention momentarily off of me, I pushed back against the wall and using my legs for leverage struggled to my feet. My head throbbed; I felt faint from the kerosene fumes.

He glanced back and saw that I'd made it to my feet. He smiled. ‘It's too late, Lil.' He reached toward a drum of kerosene, removed the lid, and, straining, spilled out a forty-gallon wave. The fluid sparkled yellow and blue as it washed across the floor, soaking the dirt and leaving puddles. The smell was overwhelming as he hurriedly opened can after can and dumped the contents. My shoes, already soaked from the rain, got splashed and the chemical further chilled the soles of my feet. I heard muffled voices from behind the hidden door. It was hard to breathe. And all I could think was:
I don't want to die.
I thought of my daughters and my grandchildren, but mostly I pictured Ada.

Calvin stumbled as he emptied the last barrel. With a flourish he threw a can top into the air, deliberately letting it clang as it bounced and rolled into a row of muskets.

I heard Hank Morgan shout in the distance.

Followed by Mattie's: ‘There's something coming from behind that wall.'

Calvin turned to me. He smiled as he pulled the matches from his pocket. ‘It's time,' he whispered, turning back to the door. ‘Time to go.'

I edged away, realizing I was about to die. And then I heard another voice, Ada's. ‘No!' I screamed as loud as I could. ‘Get out of here! He's going to blow us up!'

Calvin turned and winked. ‘Good girl, Lil. I knew you had it in you.'

‘They're behind the wall,' Mattie yelled, and I saw specks of dirt land in the pools of kerosene as they pushed the trick panel, and it started to move, opening into Calvin's death trap.

‘Go back!' I screamed, horrified that my words were having the opposite effect. ‘Get out! Please!'

Calvin's hands shook. ‘It's time. It's time.' He was practically dancing with the match in one hand and the box in the other.

As the wall moved, I ran toward him, my hands shackled behind me and the flaps of my coat catching between my legs. I didn't know what I was trying to do, but he saw me coming and stepped away. ‘It's time,' he taunted, planting himself in front of the opening door.

‘Go back!' I shrieked, changing directions and stumbling toward the hidden passageway.

‘Lil!' Ada yelled.

‘Go back! Get out!'

‘Come on in!' Calvin shouted.

I caught the flicker of flashlights as the crack widened. With a final surge the door flew open. As it did, Calvin struck the match.

THIRTY-EIGHT

T
ime hung suspended as the horror of what he was about to do spread. I watched as Mattie struggled, revolver in hand, deciding whether or not she should shoot.

‘Go ahead,' he taunted, ‘shoot, it's better than a match.' He was clearly delighting in her predicament. ‘No? Guess I'll have to do it after all.'

With a desperate surge, I lurched toward the door, the weight of my sodden coat slowing me down. ‘Get out!' Moving like the Frankenstein monster toward Mattie, Hank, Kevin and Ada, whose eyes were fixed on mine. I couldn't see behind me, but, like Lot's wife, I knew that looking back was a terrible option. Still, from the corner of my eye I saw Calvin touch the lit match to his kerosene-soaked sleeve. A horrifying wave of blue rolled up his arm.

‘Go back!' I screamed, and stumbled through the door, barreling into Mattie and Hank. ‘Ada, run! Just run!' I pleaded as I caught the glimmer of orange flame. My shoes squished with rain and kerosene and I knew that one touch from the fire would send me up like a candle.
But maybe?
Realizing that I would not survive, but perhaps I could increase the chances that Ada and the others would. I knew about kerosene; I've been around it my entire life, from Girl Scout camping trips, to the stove in the house where I grew up before the town had installed gas lines on Main Street. Kerosene is relatively sluggish to ignite and I was soaked in water. These thoughts passed in an instant:
I can be a barrier – at least for a few seconds – between them and death.
On the floor a terrifying tongue of orange rippled past my feet. ‘Move!' I screamed. ‘Get out!'

Slouching into my coat, I managed to flop the wide hood over my head as I pushed behind them, and we stumbled en masse back down the uneven dirt passage. I imagined myself a giant green-wool mother duck herding her young to safety.

Waves of blinding smoke caught up with us and swirled over and past. My eyes teared as I struggled for breath.

Directly in front of me, through the dim flicker of flashlights, I could see that Ada was lagging;
why is she even here?
She glanced back at me, her expression frozen with terror. Our eyes connected. ‘Run faster,' I begged. I desperately wanted to grab her hand, which, considering mine were firmly bound behind my back and getting warm, was not possible. And I had an awful thought –
if we die, at least it's together.
‘Ada, faster!' I shrieked, gasping with the growing heat.
She's not going to die down here. That is not going to happen!

‘Keep your heads down! Smoke rises; stay low,' Mattie ordered as we hurried down the tunnel. I had the vaguest memory of being carried and then dragged down here by Calvin.
Was there a turn? Is it just straight? I don't remember it being this long. It's endless.

Behind us the flames spread, lapping at the kerosene that had spilled into the tunnel. A wave of heat chased at our backs as the fire sought out oxygen to feed its mounting hunger. An unearthly scream followed us. ‘Burnnnn!' It was Calvin, his voice high pitched, clearly in unbearable pain, but triumphant.

I focused on my feet, knowing that to fall would be the death of me, but worse, others would try to help me up, robbing them of precious seconds. The heat exploded into pain on the exposed flesh of my hands. The metal shackles throbbed around my wrists as they passed comfortably warm into something more like a branding iron. I bit the inside of my mouth to hold back the scream, wondering if the second had come where I too had caught on fire.

My heart pounded, and I heard Barbara's accusing voice in my head, and saw the face of Dr Doom and Gloom:

‘
She should never have left the hospital.
'

‘
See, this is what happens to people who don't follow doctor's orders.
'

I told myself:
keep moving, don't die down here, Lil. Tell Ada how you feel. Tell Ada you love her.
While trying to pull my hands turtle-like back up my wet sleeves.

And miraculously I was still moving, each awkward step a victory. Ada in front of me. I glanced up from under my hood at a different sound . . . The sound of hope. I caught the flicker of a flashlight and then light from above. Impossible to see, with the smoke so thick, and the heat like a furnace. But then I heard Mattie helping Ada up a flight of rough-hewn steps and then Hank's firm hand on my shoulder urging me upward. I heard Kevin cough, and someone grabbed my elbow as I nearly fell face first up the stairs. ‘Let me help you, Lil. Careful.'

A wave of denser black rolled up behind us, and I held my breath as I cleared the last step. I'd been barely conscious when Calvin had carried me down, but I did remember this pewter-filled pantry. My eyes teared as I caught hazy glimpses of the priceless heirlooms, which had started to sag under the rising temperature. In seconds, I imagined they'd be little more than dull gray puddles. My lungs burned, and I turned my mouth into my hood and took a tiny sip of air through the cloth. In front of me I saw Ada's outline in the pantry door. She grabbed me by the coat, and gasped, ‘Lil, come on!'

There were helmeted men and women at the door in black parkas with huge rifles. Someone was barking at us, ‘GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!'

I nearly toppled as I passed through the kitchen door and out into the driving rain. But Ada stopped my fall, and someone was holding my coat from behind. I heard a man shout out, ‘She's injured! Where are the medics? We have wounded!'

I shuddered, praying that whoever was hurt it wasn't too bad. My eyes fixed on Ada. She stared back at me, her silver hair blackened, streaks of soot running down her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. ‘Your eyebrows,' my voice croaked. ‘They're gone.'

‘Lil,' she said, tears running down her face, ‘we have to get away from here.' She was sobbing.

I gasped, when she pulled at the sleeve of my coat. The pain was unlike anything in my memory. It shot from my fingertips and went screaming to my brain.

‘What's wrong?' And then Mattie's voice: ‘We need a medic, now!'

THIRTY-NINE

I
tried to breathe through the pain as Ada and I were directed by Mattie to a relatively dry patch under an ancient red beech. ‘Don't move!' Mattie instructed. ‘I'm going to find medics and then you're both going to the hospital.' Her tone making it clear that this was not something to be discussed.

‘It's your hands, Lil,' Ada said, her expression anguished. ‘They're burned.'

‘But we're alive,' I said, feeling like someone was holding my fingers to a lit stove. But if I stayed perfectly still, it was almost bearable.

Behind us, sirens blossomed through the driving rain. While we watched, flames and dense black smoke swept over the ancient house. Around us, Grenville came to life as crowds of rapt onlookers drank in the spectacle. Fire trucks and ambulances filled the air with deafening wails as they screamed down High Street.

My knees trembled, my hands felt like they were still on fire and my wrists – still cuffed – throbbed with every beat of my heart. My head swam with vivid images, Calvin striking the match, his screams and the very real fire before us. ‘The poor man.'

I felt Ada's hand on my shoulder. ‘Why did he do it, Lil?' Ada asked as the front wall of the upper floor seemed to shudder and then the whole top-floor facade gave way.

A gasp went through the gathering crowd as the front of the house collapsed, revealing rooms filled with Calvin's priceless antiques.

‘A cherry highboy!' one of the local dealers shouted as a tongue of flame shot up the side of the nearly three-hundred-year-old piece of furniture.

Ada's question hung in the air.
Poor Calvin.
Rather than answer it, there was something I desperately needed to say. I turned to her, and despite the pain and the horror of what we'd just been through, I felt such certainty as the words came through my lips. ‘I love you, Ada.'

She smiled, which, considering the lack of eyebrows gave her an oddly surprised expression, and before she could respond a pair of medics, led by Mattie, approached.

Tears fell as they gently separated us and started to ask questions. ‘Can you walk?' one of the medics asked.

Considering I'd just run through hell it seemed odd, but I answered in the affirmative, never once taking my eyes off of Ada. They led us down the gently sloped side yard. In front of us, barriers were being erected and seemingly from nowhere there were news crews and swarms of locals taking pictures with whatever electronic device they happened to have. I saw cameras and cell phones pointed in my direction and then shifting back to the burning house, as though unable to snap up enough tragedy fast enough.

I let my body surrender as the earnest young medics eased me up on to their stretcher's orange mattress. Two others were with Ada in the ambulance parked directly in front of us. I watched as they placed an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and strapped her to their gurney before hoisting her into the back.

‘I'd like to get these handcuffs off of you, before we get you into the ambulance,' the female medic said, her voice kind. ‘I'll give you a shot of morphine. Do you have any allergies?'

‘No,' I answered as her partner put an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth and he then proceeded to cut away my wonderful green wool coat. His red-handled utility shears struggled with the dense fabric. It reeked of kerosene, but there was still so much water trapped in the warp and the weave that it had saved my life.

The lights on Ada's ambulance sprang to life, and the siren blared as they pulled away. ‘You need to take me to the same hospital where she's going,' I said.