The Green Lace Corset, стр. 79

54

Sally Sue quickly and quietly donned the red dress and slipped out to the barn. Inside, Scout whinnied beneath her loving hands as she stroked his neck. “Hush.”

He calmed under her touch. She haltered and saddled him up. She’d ride to town, borrow money from the McMillans, leave Scout with them, and hop a train back to Missouri.

A day moon rose over the edge of the mountain as Sally Sue began her escape. She glanced back at the cabin and dug her heels into Scout’s flanks. He whinnied and ambled out the dirt path toward the bridge.

Past it, she whispered, “Gentle moon, lead the way.” Salty tears choked her voice. “Away from him.”

On the other side of the bridge and out of sight, she clucked and kicked her heels into Scout’s flanks. “Good boy. Let’s go.”

Sally Sue leaned forward, and Scout began to lope. After a few strides, she fell into Scout’s rhythm and became one with him. Ponderosa pines lined the road like sentinels guarding their way.

Before a bend in the road, she stopped. She thought she heard Roan’s hooves behind them, so she encouraged Scout to pick up the pace. Soon they were flying along, Scout a Pegasus. They followed the curves and continued on the road, this way and that, until, exhausted, Scout slowed to a walk.

They passed the crop of boulders where Elvira’s revolting husband had been killed. Had a coyote, wolves, or vultures picked away at his mangy body? Had Elvira told the sheriff what had happened? The wind whooshed, and clouds swirled above, covering the moon. Sally Sue shivered—she didn’t believe in ghosts—but even so, she encouraged Scout to split into a gallop.

At the lumber camp, she paused to catch her breath. A scarlet sunset filled the windy sky. She kept going, and after a while, from a rise, she spotted the town lights below.

Entering Flagstaff, she passed the church and headed toward the mercantile. As they drew closer, her eyes began to water and sting. A strong gale blew sticky moths that landed in her hair and on her arms, smelling of soot. This was not moths, but ash. A flickering light rose and lit up the dark night sky.

In shock, she held Scout’s reins tight as the hussies and men ran from the saloon across the road. Crackling sounds echoed, more voices called, and folks started to pass buckets from the well, dousing flames.

In horror, Sally Sue watched a spark fly across the street to the mercantile eaves, and the roof quickly caught on fire. She imagined fabric ribbon, lace, hats, shoes igniting, guns and tools melting.

“Is the family inside?” she shouted.

No one heard her.

She leaped off Scout, ran toward the mercantile, and shoved the door open.

As her boots crossed the threshold, Cliff, seemingly out of nowhere, pulled her back by her arm. “Sally Sue, there you are.” He dashed into the burning building. “Get back. Leave it to me.”

Coughing and trying to inhale, she staggered over to the hotel porch, catty-corner from the mercantile. It felt like an eternity until he ran out of the building with the boy Isaiah in his arms.

“Mama, Mama!” Isaiah cried.

Sally Sue dashed toward Cliff. He handed the boy to her. “Move him to safety.”

Cliff raced back into the inferno. She returned to the hotel, sat on the wooden steps, and shifted the sweet boy onto her lap. Soot tears streaked his cheeks.

She cooed, wiped his face with her handkerchief, and held him close to her chest, not wanting him to see the mercantile ablaze. Her eyes focused on the wooden structure in hopes Isaiah’s parents would escape the building with Cliff. Please, God, protect them, she prayed.

A crashing sound came as the roof caved in. It seemed like hours but was probably only a minute by the time Cliff lumbered into sight and collapsed in the doorway.

Sheriff Mack and the blacksmith reached Cliff as the whole mercantile gave way behind him. One picked up his arms, the other his feet, as they carried him to the hotel and laid him near her on the porch. Then they ran back to help put out the flames.

She sat Isaiah down on a step, slid over to Cliff, and put his head in her lap. “Breathe, please, breathe.”

She wasn’t sure if her eyes were teary from the smoke-filled air or from a deep longing and love for this man—the man she’d wanted to get away from all this time.

His eyes opened, and they blinked at her with a smile that said so much.

She ran her fingers along his forehead scar where she’d stitched the lesion.

Then his eyes closed for the last time.

She held him close, her heart tugged with grief, and she cried, “Cliff, don’t go! Come back to me.”

55

A spark flew toward the church steeple but disappeared as it blew out. Isaiah reached for her hand and moved close to her. The fire burned down to its last embers. The livery, saloon, and mercantile were all destroyed. Fortunately, the flames hadn’t spread farther or jumped across to the north side of the street.

Elvira sat beside Sally Sue and wiped her cheeks with a cloth. “Turns out there was honey in that heart.”

“You were right.”

“It’s a miracle God saved you.” Elvira put her hand on Isaiah’s back.

“God saved me?” he asked.

Mr. Bjork came out of the hotel and walked toward them with an armload of blankets. Elvira stood up and backed away.

“Wait.” He handed her a blanket.

“Thank you, Mr. Bjork.” Elvira accepted it, spread it over Cliff’s body, sat again, and put her hand on Sally Sue’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Mr. Bjork