she ran inside.
‘Tillie,” he grumbled, redoubling his efforts to close the space between them.
He didn’t even think she knew he was chasing her, and still she’d chosen the one surefire way to lose him.
BOOM!
Peter flinched. Another firework, for certain, but this one sounded odd, whistling just overhead, as if it had been pointed too low. He looked back up, trying to figure out what had happened, when—“Oh my God.” The words fell unbidden from his lips, low and shaking with terror. The entire east side of the Chinese pagoda had exploded into flames.
“Tillie!” he screamed, and if he’d thought he was trying hard to get through the crowds before, he knew better now. He moved like a madman, knocking people over, trampling feet and elbowing ribs, shoulders, even faces, as he fought to reach the pagoda.
Around him people were laughing, pointing to the fiery pagoda, obviously thinking that it was part of the spectacle.
At last he reached the pagoda, but when he attempted to run up the steps, he was blocked by two burly guards.
“Y’can’t go in there,” one of them said. “Too dangerous.”
“There’s a woman in there,” Peter snarled, struggling to free himself from their grasp.
“No, there—”
“I saw her,” he nearly screamed. “Let me go!”
The two men looked at one another, and then one of them muttered, “It’s yer own head,” and let him go.
He burst into the building, holding a handkerchief over his mouth against the smoke. Did Tillie have a handkerchief? Was she even alive?
He searched the bottom floor; it was filling with smoke, but so far the fire seemed to be contained to the upper levels. Tillie was nowhere to be found.
The air was filling with crackles and pops, and beside him a piece of timber fell to the floor. Peter looked up; the ceiling seemed to be disintegrating before his eyes. Another minute and he would be dead. If he was going to save Tillie he was going to have to pray that she was conscious and hanging from an upstairs window, because he didn’t think the stairs would hold him for an ascent.
Choking on the acrid smoke, he stumbled out the back door, frantically scanning the upper windows, all the while looking for a route up the west side of the building, which was still entirely intact. “Tillie!” he screamed, one last time, even though he doubted she could hear him over the roar of the flames.
“Peter!”
His heart slammed in his chest as he whirled toward the sound of her voice, only to find her standing outside, struggling against two large men who were trying to keep her from running to him.
‘Tillie?” he whispered.
Somehow she broke free, and she ran to him, and it was only then that he emerged from his trance, because he was still too close to the burning building, and in about ten seconds, she would be as well.
He scooped her up before she could throw her arms around him, not breaking his stride until they were both a safe distance from the pagoda.
“What were you doing?” she cried out, still clutching his shoulders. “Why were you in the pagoda?”
“Saving you! I saw you run in—”
“But I ran right back out—”
“But I didn’t know that!”
They ran out of words, and for a moment no one spoke, and then Tillie whispered, “I almost died when
I saw you inside. I saw you through the window.”
His eyes were still stinging and watery from the smoke, but somehow, when he looked at her, everything was crystal clear. “I have never been so scared in my entire life as when I saw that rocket hit the pagoda,” he said, and he realized it was true. Two years of war, of death, of destruction, and yet nothing had had the power to terrify him like the thought of losing her.
And he knew—right then and there he knew to the tips of his toes that he could not wait a year to marry her. He had no idea how he’d make her parents agree, but he would find a way. And if he didn’t … Well, a Scottish wedding had been good
‘Tillie,” he grumbled, redoubling his efforts to close the space between them.
He didn’t even think she knew he was chasing her, and still she’d chosen the one surefire way to lose him.
BOOM!
Peter flinched. Another firework, for certain, but this one sounded odd, whistling just overhead, as if it had been pointed too low. He looked back up, trying to figure out what had happened, when—“Oh my God.” The words fell unbidden from his lips, low and shaking with terror. The entire east side of the Chinese pagoda had exploded into flames.
“Tillie!” he screamed, and if he’d thought he was trying hard to get through the crowds before, he knew better now. He moved like a madman, knocking people over, trampling feet and elbowing ribs, shoulders, even faces, as he fought to reach the pagoda.
Around him people were laughing, pointing to the fiery pagoda, obviously thinking that it was part of the spectacle.
At last he reached the pagoda, but when he attempted to run up the steps, he was blocked by two burly guards.
“Y’can’t go in there,” one of them said. “Too dangerous.”
“There’s a woman in there,” Peter snarled, struggling to free himself from their grasp.
“No, there—”
“I saw her,” he nearly screamed. “Let me go!”
The two men looked at one another, and then one of them muttered, “It’s yer own head,” and let him go.
He burst into the building, holding a handkerchief over his mouth against the smoke. Did Tillie have a handkerchief? Was she even alive?
He searched the bottom floor; it was filling with smoke, but so far the fire seemed to be contained to the upper levels. Tillie was nowhere to be found.
The air was filling with crackles and pops, and beside him a piece of timber fell to the floor. Peter looked up; the ceiling seemed to be disintegrating before his eyes. Another minute and he would be dead. If he was going to save Tillie he was going to have to pray that she was conscious and hanging from an upstairs window, because he didn’t think the stairs would hold him for an ascent.
Choking on the acrid smoke, he stumbled out the back door, frantically scanning the upper windows, all the while looking for a route up the west side of the building, which was still entirely intact. “Tillie!” he screamed, one last time, even though he doubted she could hear him over the roar of the flames.
“Peter!”
His heart slammed in his chest as he whirled toward the sound of her voice, only to find her standing outside, struggling against two large men who were trying to keep her from running to him.
‘Tillie?” he whispered.
Somehow she broke free, and she ran to him, and it was only then that he emerged from his trance, because he was still too close to the burning building, and in about ten seconds, she would be as well.
He scooped her up before she could throw her arms around him, not breaking his stride until they were both a safe distance from the pagoda.
“What were you doing?” she cried out, still clutching his shoulders. “Why were you in the pagoda?”
“Saving you! I saw you run in—”
“But I ran right back out—”
“But I didn’t know that!”
They ran out of words, and for a moment no one spoke, and then Tillie whispered, “I almost died when
I saw you inside. I saw you through the window.”
His eyes were still stinging and watery from the smoke, but somehow, when he looked at her, everything was crystal clear. “I have never been so scared in my entire life as when I saw that rocket hit the pagoda,” he said, and he realized it was true. Two years of war, of death, of destruction, and yet nothing had had the power to terrify him like the thought of losing her.
And he knew—right then and there he knew to the tips of his toes that he could not wait a year to marry her. He had no idea how he’d make her parents agree, but he would find a way. And if he didn’t … Well, a Scottish wedding had been good
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