2. I Smell Smoke
“I was perfectly positive that if we went away and left you in charge for one single day, Kit, you would manage to get into some kind of trouble,” Jean said reproachfully that evening. “If you only wouldn’t act on the impulse of the moment. Why on earth didn’t you tell Dad, and ask his advice before you telephoned to Mr. Hicks?”
“That’s a sensible thing for you to say,” retorted Kit, hotly, “after you’ve all warned me not to worry Dad about anything. And I did not act upon impulse,” she went on stiffly, “I made certain logical deductions from certain facts. How was I to know he was hunting gypsy moths and other winged beasts when I saw him bending over bushes in our berry patch? Anyhow it would simplify matters if Dad would let us know when he expected visitors. You should have seen old Mr. Hicks’s face and Evie’s, too. They were so disappointed at not having a prisoner in tow to exhibit to the Elmhurst populace on the way over to the jail.”
Mrs. Gorham glanced up over her glasses at the circle of faces around the dining-room table. The girls had volunteered to help her pick over berries for canning the following day. It was a sacrifice to make, too, with the midsummer evening calling to them—katydids and peep frogs, the swish of the wind through the big Norway pines on the terraces, and the sound of Jack’s harmonica from the back porch. It was Friday evening, and Mr. and Mrs. Craig had driven over to the Judge’s for a visit. Mr. Craig had invited the erstwhile prisoner to accompany them, but he had decided instead to keep on his way to the old Inn on the hill above the village, much to Jean and Doris’s disappointment.
Doris had discovered that his first name was Frank, which relieved her mind considerably.
“If it had been Abijah or Silas, I know I could never have forgiven him for getting in the berry patch,” she said, “but there is something promising about Frank.”
“Wonder if I turned out that stove,” Mrs. Gorham said thoughtfully. “Seems like I smell something. Tommy,” she called raising her voice, “will you see if I turned out that fire under the syrup? I smell smoke.”
“OK,” called Tommy.
He got up slowly from his seat on the back steps and sauntered into the kitchen. The minute he walked in there poured out a spurt of flame and smoke from the woodwork behind the stove, and Tommy slammed the kitchen door and ran for a pail.
It seemed incredible how fast the flames spread. Summoned by his outcry, the girls opened the door leading into the kitchen from the dining room and quickly shut it again when they saw the flames. Tommy and Jack pulled the garden hose around to the back door and played the stream of water on the fire.
Mrs. Gorham made straight for the telephone, calling up the Judge, and two or three of the nearest neighbors for help. The Peckham boys from the sawmill were the first to respond, and five minutes later Matt was on the spot, having seen the rising smoke and flare in the sky from Maple Grove, Becky’s old home.
“You’ll never save the place,” old Mr. Peckham told them flatly. “Everything is dry as tinder and the water pressure is low. Better start carrying things out, girls, because the best we can do is to keep the roofs wet down and try to save the barn.”
While the fire was confined to the kitchen, the two older Peckham boys set to work upstairs, under Jean’s direction. Kit had made for her father’s room the first thing. When Jean opened the door she found her piling the contents of the desk and chest of drawers helter-skelter into blankets.
“It’s OK, Jean,” she called. “I’m not missing a thing. You tie the corners up and have the boys carry these downstairs and bring back the clothes basket and a couple of tubs for the books. Tell Doris to take the cat out of here.”
“All right,” answered Jean. “And Mrs. Gorham is getting all of the preserves out of the cellar, and Mr. Peckham says he’s sure they’ll save the piano and most of the best furniture, but, golly, Kit, just think of how Mom and Dad will feel when they see the flames in the sky, and know it’s Woodhow burning.”
“You’d better start in at mother’s room and stop thinking, or we’ll be sliding down a lightning rod to get out of here.”
Nobody quite noticed Jack in the excitement, but later when all was over, it was found that he had rescued all the treasures possible, the pictures, all the linen and family silver, and the glassware.
As the rising glow of the flames lighted up the sky help began to arrive from all directions. Mrs. Gorham’s thoughtfulness in telephoning immediately brought the Judge first, with all of the neighbors that had been at his home for the evening. Becky was bareheaded, little curly wisps of hair fluttering around her face.
“I made your father stay up at our place,” she told them. “You’ll all probably have to come back with me anyhow and excitement isn’t good for him. Besides, he wouldn’t be a bit of help around here. Seems like they’re getting the fire under pretty good control. I don’t believe all the house will go. It was so old anyway, and it needed to be rebuilt if you ever expect your great-grandchildren to live here.”
Kit noticed an entirely new and unsuspected trait in Becky on this night of excitement. It was the only time when she had not seen her take command of the situation. But tonight she helped Mrs. Gorham pack all the necessary household supplies into the trailer for Matt to drive up to Maple Grove. As soon as she had seen the extent of the damage she had said immediately that the family must move up the hill to her own old home, where she had lived before her marriage to Judge Ellis.
“It won’t take but a couple days to put it into shape for you, and Matt’s right up there to look after things. You’ll be back here before the snow flies, with a few modern improvements put in, and all of you the better for the change. Jack, go bring the family treasures from under that pine tree, and put them in the back of our car.”
“You know, Becky,” Kit exclaimed, “I thought the minute you showed up down here tonight you’d be the chief of the fire department.”
Becky laughed. “Did you, dear? Well, I’ve always held that there are times and seasons when you ought to let the men alone. After you’ve lived a lifetime in these parts, you’ll know that every boy born and bred around here is taught how to fight fire from the time he can tote a water bucket. Did you save all the chickens, Tommy?”
“Didn’t lose even a guinea hen!” Tommy assured her. “The barn wasn’t touched, and so I’m going to sleep over the harness room and watch the cow and her calf and the mare. Jack will stay too, and keep me company.”