Chapter Thirty-Two
Word spread quickly down the Irish Road the next day that there would be no meeting at the riverbank that night. The day had been too cold, with the air only growing more frigid. Everyone had agreed it would be for the best if they kept to the warmth of their houses.
Katie buttoned up Joseph’s coat, more grateful for it the past nights than she could say. Katie was bound for the river. None of the Irish would be there. But if there was even a chance Emma or Ivy or Joseph—she wanted to see him most of all—meant to go out that night, Katie wanted to be there. She needed to see them again.
She made certain Mrs. Claire had a warm fire and an adequate supply of blankets before leaving. She left her fiddle behind. As much as she would have liked to play for them, her fingers couldn’t bear another night in the cold. The fiddle itself likely couldn’t either.
The biting air hit her like a slap. Heavens, but it’s cold tonight. She secured her scarf over her face. She’d been warned not to breathe in through her nose without it. Only her feet were even the tiniest bit warm. Thank you for that, Joseph. She’d worried that night months ago when he saw her bare feet that he’d be disgusted by the sight of them, that he’d think less of her. But he’d understood. He’d understood enough to give her stockings to keep her feet warm and safe.
Katie had nearly reached the spot where the bridge had stood. The Irish were, of course, nowhere to be seen. But across the river, lights shone in the lower level of the Archer home. Silhouettes filled the windows.
Was Joseph having a party? She doubted it. More likely a gathering or meeting of some kind.
Wagons sat around the house. Horses stood about, draped with thick blankets, their breath clouding in front of them. This was no small affair.
A light flickered in the barn. Perhaps some of the guests were searching for a place in the barn for their horses.
Except why would they be searching in the loft?
Katie debated turning back. Joseph wouldn’t be waiting for her down at the river with a house full of people. The girls wouldn’t be out alone.
Unless Finbarr has brought them.
The least she could do was check. Her teeth chattered so hard her jaw hurt. Though she’d miss seeing the girls, Katie hoped they hadn’t come out in this weather.
The rope Joseph and Ian had looped from one side of the river to the other was still in place. They’d managed to tie it to Ciara’s fence but couldn’t anchor it in quite the right way for getting supplies across the water.
Crunching snow pulled her gaze and her thoughts toward Joseph’s barn. The shutter over the window facing her was closed, but she could see an outline of light, flickering like a single candle. Who would be in a barn loft in such cold weather?
She saw movement in the shadows at the base of the barn, then a sudden burst of flame. As always, the sight made her breath catch.
Someone had lit a torch. ’Twas a man, she could see that much. He was stocky, with broad shoulders. Katie watched as the man stepped from the shadows. He turned the tiniest bit, just enough for his face to be illuminated by the torchlight.
Bob Archibald.
A weight settled in her stomach. Katie had never seen the man without an evil glint in his eye. What trouble was he about this time?
Bob Archibald moved around the barn and out of sight. Katie inched to the edge of the river, watching for him to come back into sight. Minutes passed. She argued with herself, first insisting he wasn’t doing anything untoward. After all, there was a gathering just across the way at Joseph’s house, a gathering of the Red Road, she was certain. Mr. Archibald wasn’t likely to be up to tricks when amongst his side of this feud. And yet, the sick feeling in her stomach only grew.
He suddenly reappeared, moving quickly toward the house. He was nothing more than a shadow again. What had he done in the barn?
A more worrisome question occurred to her: Where’s his torch?
Bob disappeared into the house. He didn’t look back.
She ran down the list in her mind of the many fires the town had seen in the past weeks. A small one at the smithy, followed by the larger one that destroyed it completely. The bridge burning to nothing but charred posts sticking out of the river.
She knew, even without smoke or flame, that he’d left the torch inside the barn, that he’d lit something on fire. She looked around frantically. There was someone in the loft. She’d seen the light up there. Someone was in the barn, and Bob Archibald more likely than not had set a fire inside.
“Help!” she called out. “Someone! Help!”
Nothing answered but the wind.
What could she possibly do? Someone was in danger. She couldn’t simply walk away.
Perhaps whoever was there would think to get down. But who would be hiding in the loft anyway?
Hiding. In the loft.
“Merciful heavens.” Ivy hid in the loft. Emma said she did it all the time. “Oh, sweet heavens.”
Katie looked out frantically over the river at the rope hanging there. She had to cross it. She simply had to.
She hooked her arm over the rope, holding it with both hands and stepped out onto the ice.
Please let this hold. Please. My baby girl’s in danger.
Her mind could think of nothing but Ivy.
She moved one step at a time along the slick ice, leaning heavily on the rope to keep her balance. How she hoped Joseph and Ian knew how to tie a good knot. If the ice broke underneath her, would the rope be enough to hold her? Would she fall through the ice? She held desperately to the rope, looking around while her mind spun. Was there any other way to do this? Was she panicking for no reason?
’Twas then she saw the first wisps of smoke rising from the barn. One of her girls was in danger. She would cross the river no matter what it took.
Afraid the force of a step would crack the fragile ice, Katie slid carefully but quickly. She held her breath as she reached the middle of the river.
One step at a time. Just one. Just one.
Without warning, the ice beneath her right foot gave way. The rope dug painfully into her armpit with the weight of her falling body. She desperately clung to the rope as her feet sought for something solid. Freezing water rushed into her boot, soaking through her stocking. She couldn’t find the ice, couldn’t find anywhere to put her foot.
Help me, please.
Smoke continued inching out of a lower window of the barn. No one was coming from the house. She’d seen no one leave the barn. With every bit of strength she could muster, she pulled herself forward on the rope, sliding the foot that still had contact with the ice and praying she wouldn’t slip. Her arms burned with the effort of keeping herself out of the water. Finally, she had both feet on the ice. There was no time for relief or rest.
On she moved. The ice gave again. Fear clutched her heart. Not fear for herself, but the horrifying possibility that she wouldn’t make it to Ivy in time. She reached her leg out as far she dared and set her toes on the ice. The rope tore at the sleeve of her coat as she dragged herself forward. Both her feet were soaked. She shook with cold and effort.
“I’m nearly there, Ivy,” she said. “I’m nearly there.”
The moment her feet reached the far bank, she ran.
“Help!” she shouted. “Someone!”
She threw open the barn doors. The air inside was far warmer than it was outside. She could smell smoke.
A flood of memories washed over her. Her mother’s screams. Her sister sobbing in fear. A rain of fire as the thatch roof of her childhood home fell down around her. The searing pain of her feet and legs burning beneath her.
You cannot stop now, Katie Macauley.
“Iv—”
Someone rushed passed her into the barn. After a quick moment, she realized it was Finbarr.
“Help me put this out,” he called back over his shoulder.
She moved to the back corner, where the smoke was thickest. The wall had begun smoldering, though there were no flames yet. The bits of hay on the floor were, thankfully, wet enough to be smoking more than burning.
Finbarr tossed a wool horse blanket to her. He beat at the heap of smoking hay with a blanket of his own. She understood without instruction. If they could beat down the fire before it got out of hand, they could save the barn—and Ivy.
Together they beat frantically at the cinders. The smoke grew ever thicker.
Just as she swung the blanket again, flames erupted on the wooden back wall. She stepped back.
I hate fire. I hate fire.
“I’ll let the animals out.” Finbarr rushed in that direction. “Get to the house.”
She stood a moment, too afraid to even move. Fire continued to spread. The entire wall would be aflame in a matter of minutes. Everything in that barn would burn.
Sweet heavens. Ivy.
Katie rushed to the ladder and climbed toward the loft.
“Miss Macauley!” Finbarr called. “You have to get out!”
She reached the loft, eyes scanning the darkness. “Ivy? Are you up here? Ivy?”
No response. The candle she’d seen flickering before seemed to have been blown out. Perhaps Ivy had extinguished it when she heard Mr. Archibald come in.
“Ivy, I saw your candle, dear. Please, you have to get out. You have to come with me now.”
The air tasted of smoke. Katie swallowed down a sob.
“Ivy, please.”
Over the sound of crackling wood and Finbarr shouting for the animals to leave, Katie heard a tiny voice. “Katie?”
“Sweetheart?”
Where had Ivy been the last time Katie had found her hiding in the loft? The near corner.
Katie moved quickly in that direction. It was too dark to see anything. She dropped onto her hands and knees, searching with her hands. “Ivy? Please don’t hide from me.”
The smoke grew thicker with each passing moment. Katie’s lungs fought to pull in a breath of clean air. Her mind screamed for her to run away as far and as fast as she could. The barn was on fire. Fire.
“Katie, I’m scared.” Ivy’s voice shook.
“Where are you, sweet one? Keep talking so I can find you.”
“The people were mad.” Ivy coughed. “And it smells smoky.”
Her eyes were adjusting. She could make out a tiny silhouette in the corner.
“Come along, Ivy.” She moved quickly toward her. “Come with me. We need to go.”
“I’m scared. I’m scared.” Ivy coughed in the smoky air.
Katie took hold of Ivy’s arm. “We have to go quickly.” The taste of ash filled her mouth.
“I can’t see you, Katie.” That was Emma. She was up there as well? Merciful heavens!
Panic like she’d never known surged through every inch of her. She felt about frantically until she found Emma’s arm. “We have to get out now, girls. We have to.”
She kept a hand on both of their arms as she struggled to her feet. The girls were coughing harder. They fought her efforts to pull them toward the ladder, but she didn’t let go. She would not leave them.
“It’s smoky, Katie.”
“There’s a fire down below, girls. We have to get out.”
“But, Katie—”
She tugged on their arms again. “We have to go, Emma. We have to.”
“But we can’t leave Marianne.”
She froze. Marianne? Marianne Johnson? “Marianne’s here as well?”
“Everyone was shouting.”
“Marianne!” She coughed. The air had grown thick and hot. “Was she sitting with you? Have you any other friends up here?”
“It’s just us, Katie.”
“Marianne! Answer me, child. We have to get out. Marianne!”
The back wall was full on fire, flames leaping toward the ceiling. The hay in the loft would catch any second. She had to get Emma and Ivy out, but she couldn’t leave Marianne behind.
What do I do? What do I do? ’Twas little Eimear again, a poor child’s life in danger, and she was the only one there to help.
“Marianne!”
Ivy and Emma were coughing near constantly. But Katie heard another cough. If she could just follow it—
She heard Finbarr’s voice instead. “Miss Katie, you have to get out. The whole place’ll come down on your head.”
“Help me, Finbarr. Emma and Ivy are up here.”
“Saints above.” He scrambled up the ladder.
“Marianne Johnson is over here as well, but I can’t find her.”
“Marianne!” Finbarr ran across the loft. He coughed hard. “Marianne!”
Suddenly the crackling grew to an almighty roar. The hay had caught.
Her pulse pounded hard in her head. They likely had mere minutes.
“Katie.” Ivy whimpered at her side.
Emma had grown silent.
“Take the girls, Finbarr. Get them as far from here as you can. I will find Marianne—”
“No, you go. I’ll look.”
“Finbarr—”
“Go, quickly.”
Steam rose off the hem of Katie’s dress, the heat of the fire pulling the last of the river water from her clothes.
“Don’t leave me here,” a frightened little voice pleaded in the darkness.
“Marianne?”
“Don’t leave me. Please.”
“We won’t leave you,” Katie called out. “I promise.”
Finbarr was a step ahead of her, moving toward Marianne’s voice.
“Come with me, Marianne,” he said. “We have to run.”
“Finbarr.” Katie’s eyes stung painfully. Each breath burned. “There’s no time.”
He grabbed Marianne, holding her fast as they all rushed toward the ladder.
Katie swatted at the girls’ dresses as cinders set the hems smoldering.
“The ladder’s on fire, Katie.” Ivy clung close to her.
“No, dear.” Not yet. “Down. Quickly.”
Both girls pulled away, afraid. Katie looked down at the flames and smoke below. She couldn’t let herself be paralyzed by it. Hold yourself together until the girls are safe. She’d done it before. She could do it again.
“Come down with me,” she said. “We’ll go together.”
She took the first step over the edge, her foot finding the rung, then the next. “Come on.”
Ivy stepped over. They took one rung at a time. Emma hesitated, looking back over the loft.
“Finbarr!” Katie called out.
He appeared in the next moment, Marianne still clutched tight to him.
It was enough for Emma. She climbed down the ladder too. Katie stepped onto the ground below and reached for Ivy.
“Katie.” She was crying, shaking.
“Run, Ivy. Run straight from the barn and don’t stop until you reach the house.”
She could hear voices shouting outside. The people in the house had discovered the fire.
“Your father’ll be out there, dearest. You run to him, now. Run!”
Ivy took off like a bolt. Emma hadn’t come all the way down the ladder yet. She’d stopped halfway. Finbarr stopped above her, Marianne clinging to his neck.
“Come on, Emma,” Katie encouraged.
“I’m scared, Katie. It’s all on fire. Everywhere.”
“I’m scared too, sweet girl. But we cannot stop now.” She held her hands up, but Emma wasn’t near enough to reach. “Hurry, please, darling.”
Her legs were suddenly hot. She glanced back. Heavens, I’m on fire! She swatted at her skirts, slapping out the flames.
“Emma! Now!” That startled her into action. A moment later, she was within reach. Katie grabbed her and set her on the ground.
A loud, ominous creak sounded above the rushing flames. They had to run. The whole place was coming down.
“Run, Emma!”
Through dropping hay and ashes and cinders, they ran. The barn groaned. Katie looked up. The entire roof was engulfed in flame. ’Twas that night all over again. The roof above her coming down. Running for her very life.
The entire barn seemed to shift around her. Emma was very near the doors, but not quite out yet. Katie ran faster than she ever had. The walls gave way. Emma looked up and screamed. The terror cut at Katie’s heart.
She lunged forward, pushing Emma through the barn doors and out into the night. Katie spun back around, frantically reaching for Finbarr and Marianne. They were just out of reach. Something heavy and hot knocked her down. An almighty crash filled her ears, then silence.
She couldn’t get up. She couldn’t breathe. Somewhere in the background she heard voices shouting. Pain pulsed through her in waves. She tried to pull in air, but there didn’t seem to be any.
She closed her eyes and tried to endure the pain. She hurt so much. So deeply. Her thoughts began to muddle.
The sound of Father playing his fiddle came to her from across the years. “Ar Éirinn” filled her mind. ’Twas the tune he’d played the night of the fire, and the one that always made him feel close again.
“I’m scared, Father,” she silently told him. “I’m here, dying, alone.” Just as he was. He was dying, and she wasn’t there with him. She was dying, she knew she was, and he wasn’t there with her.
Each breath grew harder, more painful. No thoughts came after that. Only pain. So much pain.