Читать книгу Rescued By The Firefighter - Catherine Lanigan - Страница 15

CHAPTER FIVE

BY THE TIME Beatrice returned to camp at dawn, reality was crashing down on her. Pain was the first of her comprehensions of change. The ice water in the boot was warmer than her body temperature now. Dressing, bathing and asking Maisie to come to her cabin to redress her burns added another twenty minutes to her morning routine. Pain accompanied all these tasks that just yesterday she’d taken for granted.

Just yesterday, I wasn’t under investigation, either, she thought.

But after agonizing about it for the last couple of hours, she’d steeled herself for whatever Rand could bring. She tried not to think that an investigation could be the worst thing that could happen to her. The camp was old, and when she’d bought it, the list of repairs and necessary maintenance had been three sheets long. Two sheets longer than she could afford to fix, even with a small inheritance she’d received from her aunt Elizabeth.

She’d done much of the work herself. The repainting, the gravel for the driveway. She’d pulled every weed, and torn out the unproductive old rosebushes. She’d relaid the heavy stones around the gravel driveway. She’d hauled 52 tons of rock that first spring to create pretty flower beds and garden “islands,” where yard-sale benches mingled with Victorian iron arches that she’d also found at junk shops along Red Arrow Highway. She’d begged and bartered for all the used commercial kitchen appliances that their cook, Amanda, made the meals on.

Beatrice had suffered through one building inspection after another as she readied the camp for opening. She’d bought twice the liability insurance required. She and the camp had passed every building, plumbing and electrical wiring inspection required. Even her little lake was considered safe for all activities because it was only three to four feet deep. Safer than a swimming pool.

She’d obtained her state license as a caregiver. She limited the number of campers to ten and hired three counselors so that her counselor-to-child ratio was better than the one required by the state, which was four to one. She knew children with special needs required one-on-one care, and Beatrice, with sixty clocked hours of training and a child-development-associate credential, took care of those children herself.

The camp and the positive influence she had on the kids’ lives was more than just rewarding for Beatrice. It was her reason for living.

So if Rand came at her with his sword clashing, she’d strike back with a blade just as mighty.

She stood, then winced as pain shot up her leg.

“You okay?” Maisie asked as Beatrice eased her way on her crutches out the door and to the front porch.

“Fine.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m not buyin’ that one.”

They gazed out at the scorched woods, the felled trees and the blackened ground.

“It looks as bad as your hair,” Maisie mused.

“My hair? I just washed it.”

“Okay, but those burned chunks still look bad. Cindy is good with scissors. Maybe she can whack it off.”

“Yeah.” Beatrice closed her eyes. Her long, natural-blond hair had always been a source of pride for her. Pride before the fall, she couldn’t help thinking. “I figure six inches will need to come off.”

“And that would just make it even.”

Beatrice gasped. “And it would be shoulder-length.”

“An improvement.” Maisie grinned, touching her chin-length cut. “Cindy cuts mine. Saves me lots of money compared to what I paid my stylist in Chicago.”

“I’ll ask her to do it this morning.”

“Good,” Maisie replied. “So, look, the kids are at breakfast. I’ll meet you over there.” Maisie started running backward, then twirled and took off toward the dining hall.

Beatrice was nowhere near close to being able to twirl. She was still navigating her new life with the awkward contraption on her foot. She’d come home with a pair of crutches, which were a hindrance inside her little cabin. She’d knocked books off her small, rickety bookshelf and nearly tripped on the rag rug next to her bed when the crutch caught on an edge. That was when she tossed the crutches down and decided to wing it without them. Fortunately, she’d been told she only needed the crutches for this first week. Then she would start rehabilitation. Exercises. Writing the alphabet with her toes.

The very idea made her wince.

Right now, she needed ice water for the interior of the boot to keep the swelling down. She grabbed the crutches and slowly made her way down the three steps of her porch and onto the gravel path that led to the kitchen.

In the kitchen she greeted the cook, Amanda Reynolds, who was turning Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakes on the griddle. Amanda was sixty-five years old, and had recently been forced to retire as a paralegal from a large law firm in Chicago. Amanda had been nowhere near ready to retire. She had enough energy to run rings around both Maisie and Cindy, from what Beatrice had observed. A widow whose only daughter lived in London, Amanda had always loved to cook. Though she preferred gourmet fare for herself and her guests, what she served for the kids was pure home-style family food at its all-American best. The kids loved it and, better still, they ate it.

“Pancakes? It’s not Sunday,” Beatrice said as she entered the kitchen by the screen door.

Amanda jumped. “Good heavenly days! You scared me to death! Don’t do that!” She flipped a mouse head. “I thought you’d take the day to rest.” Amanda walked over and gave Beatrice a big hug. Amanda was tall and slender, and wore very tight jeans, expensive running shoes and a camp T-shirt. Her dyed chestnut hair was clipped up on her head, and her makeup was immaculate, all of which confirmed her stylish Chicago career days. There was nothing “down home” about Amanda.

“After that ordeal last night, I thought the kids and the counselors needed something happy. I’ve got blueberries for the eyes, cherries for the nose and whipped cream smiles.”

Beatrice gave Amanda a smile of her own, the first one that had creased her face since she’d whiffed smoke. “You’re an angel.”

“No. I’m a cook, honey. You’re the angel for going in after those boys.”

Beatrice drained the warm water from the boot, went to the freezer and scooped ice cubes from the bin. She filled the boot resevoir. “Ah. Better already.”

Amanda scooped the pancakes off the griddle, placed them on plates and started decorating.

Cindy came through the swinging kitchen door. “Beatrice! You’re up!”

“Wobbling, but upright, yes.”

“Good. I could use you out here.”

“How so?”

“Would you talk to the kids? They’re upset, and Bruce and I are at our wits’ end. They need—”

“Leadership,” Amanda interjected. “Like the kind most of them don’t get from their parents.”

Beatrice stared at Amanda, who always spoke the truth sans varnish. And didn’t care when she said it or to whom. Sometimes, Beatrice wondered if that was the real reason she’d been pushed into retirement.

Cindy glanced at Beatrice’s air boot. “That’s just so intimidating. To a kid, I mean. Possibly scary. But hey, if anyone can pull this off, you can.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Beatrice replied and hobbled past Cindy and out the kitchen door into the large, vaulted-and-beamed dining hall. The long wall of windows at one end overlooked the little man-made lake at the back of the property, and the morning sun glinted off its surface. The opposite wall of windows looked out over the burned trees. Cindy was right. The atmosphere was already daunting to her camp kids.

She gazed around the room at the fear-filled wide eyes. No one said a word. No one was eating, pinching their neighbor, arguing or joking. They weren’t camp kids now; they were children floating through insecurity’s seas. The Kettering sisters held hands as Beatrice walked into the hall. Little Ricky stared blankly at his full glass of orange juice, though Beatrice perceived the tiny movements in his shoulders to be quiet sobs.

Eli wore a gauze patch over half of his left cheek, but he was the only child who ventured to smile at her. To his right was Chris, whose eyes were focused on the wall above Beatrice’s head. Eli reached for Chris’s hand, but Chris brushed him away and leaned back against his chair, folding his arms defensively over his chest.

Joshua Langsford was the only one who spoke, as he asked, “Does it hurt, Miss Beatrice?”

“A little bit, but nothing like what you’ve had to go through, Joshua.” She smiled. He didn’t smile back.

Every one of the kids clamped their eyes on Beatrice’s air boot. “So, here’s the scoop, guys. I broke a bone in my foot. I’m going to be fine. But for now, I have to wear this boot and use crutches when I’m outside or going up stairs to my cabin. I’m hoping the doctor lets me toss the crutches in a week.”

“Yeah, crutches help, but they’re a pain after a while,” Joshua said.

Beatrice’s cell rang. She looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number, but it was local. She hit the decline button. “I’ll get it later. So, this is what I want you all to know. Last night was an accident and luckily no one was seriously hurt. What we need to focus on is the loss of trees.”

“The trees?” the kids said in unison.

“That’s right. Those trees were here when I was your age. I loved those trees. They were my friends when I didn’t have friends.”

Amazement and incredulity hung in the air as the kids leaned a bit closer, propped a chin on a palm or cocked their heads.

An adult revelation was rare to them, which made this moment all the more precious. Their hearts and heads were open to her and she hoped they felt her sincere caring.

“The Indian Lake Nursery has agreed to deliver over a hundred baby trees to us tomorrow. We’re all going to work together and plant these new trees to rebuild the forest.”

“But the ground is burned,” Ricky said.

“That’s the interesting thing. Did you know that ancient tribes used to purposefully burn the land in order to start new growth? The trees have cones filled with seeds that start new trees, but the cones only open with great heat. In one month, we may see little trees peeking up through the ground. It’s new life. A new beginning.” She paused to let the children absorb what she was saying. “We aren’t required to plant new trees, but I wanted you all to be part of helping to rebuild the forest. It’s sort of our way to put the past behind us, and to learn that out of every sorrow, every pain, there is something good and wonderful to be found. But you have to look for it. Work for it.”

The errant tear that rolled down Beatrice’s cheek didn’t let its presence be known until it hit the edge of her jaw. Only then, when she stopped talking, did she lift her fingertips to whisk it away. She’d never cried in front of camp children before. This was a first.

Then again, she’d never run headlong into a blazing fire to save one of her kids, either.

“For all of you who went to St. Mark’s last night, Father Michael phoned me early this morning and told me that you were the best group of kids he’s ever seen. You made me proud. Bruce and Cindy didn’t have to worry about any of you. You took an emergency situation and dealt with it calmly and respected those in authority. I couldn’t ask for more. Thank you to the older kids who helped the younger ones. Everybody pitched in. You’re all—” she looked directly at Chris and Eli “—the best group of campers who’ve come to stay with me. I hope you all come back next year and stay for a whole month!”

The room erupted in cheers and clapping. Beatrice’s heart swelled and she breathed in their affection.

They were so young, and though the night had been fraught with terror, they’d all grown from the experience.

“So, listen up, guys. Amanda has made a special breakfast for you all. Pancakes, bacon and baked cinnamon apples with oatmeal crunch. We have lots of homemade syrup from the Indian Lake Boy Scouts and plenty of butter. After breakfast, Cindy is taking those who signed up for kayak lessons to the lake. Bruce and Maisie are heading up baseball practice. Joshua? How’s the leg? You think you want to try some batting practice?”

“You bet, Miss Beatrice,” Joshua replied happily.

“Great!”

Amanda, Bruce, Maisie and Cindy entered the dining hall with trays filled with special breakfast plates. While the kids cheered, Beatrice’s cell phone rang again.

This time, she turned away from the dining tables and headed toward the door. Walking in her boot slowed her down enough that she could read the caller ID.

It was the same number that had tried to reach her previously.

Still looking down at her phone, she reached for the screen door to the outside porch. “Who in the heck is calling me?”

Then she ran smack-dab into a broad, rock-hard human chest. Beatrice wondered if she’d suffered a concussion. Not another trip to the ER! And what would that cost? “What?”

“I called,” Rand said. “You didn’t pick up.”

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“I gave you my card.”

“When?”

“Last night. Er, this morning. In the hospital.”

“Sorry. I was drugged. I mean, medicated.”

“I see that. We’re here about the investigation.”

Beatrice’s skin iced over as if the contents of her boot had thrown over her whole body.

She tried to remember that he was responsible for saving her, and Eli and Chris. He was handsome. And strong and heroic.

But Rand stood like a colossus in front of her, and at this moment he represented every fear that had festered in her head from the instant she’d smelled smoke. Her earlier resolve to go toe-to-toe with him faltered.

Ultimately, she was responsible for Eli and Chris being in that fire last night. Their safety was her obligation. She’d put them in harm’s way. Would Rand report to his superiors that the camp was unsafe? That she, personally, was at fault for the kids being out by themselves?

If Rand found one fault and declared her camp unsafe, the sheriff could shut her down, send the kids away and force her to make improvements. Not until a city inspector deemed the camp safe again, could she open. If Rand or his superiors declared her negligent, her state license could be revoked. She would lose more money than she could ever recoup.

And Beatrice’s dreams would be lost, too.

The fact that everyone was safe and alive didn’t matter, she realized. Rand was here to find fault. From the dour look on his face, she guessed that he believed she should be toe-tagged with the blame card.