outside to work side by side with Linnie and the men and boys.
It clearly was a losing battle. The scrub pines on the slope were almost a solid wall of fire. One by one, the fire fighters fell back—exhausted, defeated.
Then, as the first pine on the skyline flamed to a torch, the sky opened and the rain came. It came in sheets of water, quenching the holocaust as quickly and completely as snubbing a cigarette in an ashtray.
The men sprawled on the lodge lawn and let the rain drench them—too tired to move or talk.
Trixie, Mrs. Moore, Linnie, and the neighbor women slowly walked to the house to prepare food and coffee. Honey had made pallets of quilts for the children, and they slept on the living room floor.
For a while, the women and girls did not talk. Instead they cut bread, made sandwiches, opened cans of fruit, brought out cream and sugar, and heaped the kitchen table with food.
Slowly the men filed in, washed their sooty faces at the sink, then reached for sandwiches and cups of steaming coffee.
“That fire was set,” one man said.
“For a purpose,” another one added.
“I don’t know who your enemy is, do you, Andy?” a third asked. “Do any of these young ’uns know?” Trixie started to answer, but her Uncle Andrew gently stopped her. “If we do, we’ll name no names until there is proof,” he said. “When there is proof, there will be speedy punishment. Of that I’m sure.”
“We ain’t had a hangin’ in this part of the mountains for many a day,” one of the neighbors said, “but the devil that set that fire deserves to swing. When you decide to name names, Andy, there’s those among us that knows how to take care of the scoundrel that threatened your home and ours. Now we’ll get our kids and womenfolk together and get on.”
“You won’t go without my thanks,” Mrs. Moore said warmly.
“And mine, too,” Uncle Andrew said as he shook hands all around.
“We were fighting for the same thing, Andy,” the men assured him. “And we appreciate the play-party you all gave us tonight. If it hadn’t been for that, we’d never been on hand.”
“With no one here to help fight the fire, it would have been too late when the rain finally came,” Mrs. Moore said, shuddering. “It seems now as though the Lord sent rain just for us, doesn’t it? The sky’s clear, and look at that moon! I hope the creek’s not up so’s you can’t cross it.”
“We’ll manage,” Bill Hawkins replied. “When you start rebuilding the sheds, let me know, Andy.”
“That’ll be tomorrow,” Uncle Andrew replied.
“I’ll be here, in the late morning.”
It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when Mrs. Moore and the others finished washing the dishes and setting things to rights. The smell of damp burned wood filled the air, reminding them constantly of the averted tragedy.
By common understanding, no one discussed the origin of the fire. “We’d better all get to bed now,” Uncle Andrew said. “There’ll be work to do tomorrow to clean things up, and there’ll be things to talk over.” When the Bob-Whites went upstairs, Trixie couldn’t settle down to sleep. She heard the boys tossing and turning in the next room. Honey, exhausted, slept restlessly, mumbling and moaning.
Trixie could hear her Uncle Andrew pacing back and forth, back and forth, downstairs. In Mrs. Moore’s scorched cabin, a light burned.
Then Trixie slept.
Operation Fix-Up • 11
WHEN THE BOB-WHITES came down for a late breakfast, a sorry sight waited for them in the area around the lodge. The chicken house was completely destroyed, and the chickens were running wild. The ruins of the cow shed still smoldered. Nothing was left of the mule shed but a pile of charred boards.
Uncle Andrew’s face was stern. “It’s hard to believe that anyone would be so low as to deliberately set fire to someone’s home. All the men seemed certain that the fire was set.”
“It burned in such a straight
It clearly was a losing battle. The scrub pines on the slope were almost a solid wall of fire. One by one, the fire fighters fell back—exhausted, defeated.
Then, as the first pine on the skyline flamed to a torch, the sky opened and the rain came. It came in sheets of water, quenching the holocaust as quickly and completely as snubbing a cigarette in an ashtray.
The men sprawled on the lodge lawn and let the rain drench them—too tired to move or talk.
Trixie, Mrs. Moore, Linnie, and the neighbor women slowly walked to the house to prepare food and coffee. Honey had made pallets of quilts for the children, and they slept on the living room floor.
For a while, the women and girls did not talk. Instead they cut bread, made sandwiches, opened cans of fruit, brought out cream and sugar, and heaped the kitchen table with food.
Slowly the men filed in, washed their sooty faces at the sink, then reached for sandwiches and cups of steaming coffee.
“That fire was set,” one man said.
“For a purpose,” another one added.
“I don’t know who your enemy is, do you, Andy?” a third asked. “Do any of these young ’uns know?” Trixie started to answer, but her Uncle Andrew gently stopped her. “If we do, we’ll name no names until there is proof,” he said. “When there is proof, there will be speedy punishment. Of that I’m sure.”
“We ain’t had a hangin’ in this part of the mountains for many a day,” one of the neighbors said, “but the devil that set that fire deserves to swing. When you decide to name names, Andy, there’s those among us that knows how to take care of the scoundrel that threatened your home and ours. Now we’ll get our kids and womenfolk together and get on.”
“You won’t go without my thanks,” Mrs. Moore said warmly.
“And mine, too,” Uncle Andrew said as he shook hands all around.
“We were fighting for the same thing, Andy,” the men assured him. “And we appreciate the play-party you all gave us tonight. If it hadn’t been for that, we’d never been on hand.”
“With no one here to help fight the fire, it would have been too late when the rain finally came,” Mrs. Moore said, shuddering. “It seems now as though the Lord sent rain just for us, doesn’t it? The sky’s clear, and look at that moon! I hope the creek’s not up so’s you can’t cross it.”
“We’ll manage,” Bill Hawkins replied. “When you start rebuilding the sheds, let me know, Andy.”
“That’ll be tomorrow,” Uncle Andrew replied.
“I’ll be here, in the late morning.”
It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when Mrs. Moore and the others finished washing the dishes and setting things to rights. The smell of damp burned wood filled the air, reminding them constantly of the averted tragedy.
By common understanding, no one discussed the origin of the fire. “We’d better all get to bed now,” Uncle Andrew said. “There’ll be work to do tomorrow to clean things up, and there’ll be things to talk over.” When the Bob-Whites went upstairs, Trixie couldn’t settle down to sleep. She heard the boys tossing and turning in the next room. Honey, exhausted, slept restlessly, mumbling and moaning.
Trixie could hear her Uncle Andrew pacing back and forth, back and forth, downstairs. In Mrs. Moore’s scorched cabin, a light burned.
Then Trixie slept.
Operation Fix-Up • 11
WHEN THE BOB-WHITES came down for a late breakfast, a sorry sight waited for them in the area around the lodge. The chicken house was completely destroyed, and the chickens were running wild. The ruins of the cow shed still smoldered. Nothing was left of the mule shed but a pile of charred boards.
Uncle Andrew’s face was stern. “It’s hard to believe that anyone would be so low as to deliberately set fire to someone’s home. All the men seemed certain that the fire was set.”
“It burned in such a straight
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