“Mark’s inside—” Layla started, but tears gushed out once more, and all her words came to a standstill.
The short woman shuffling across the grass came up to them and held out her hands toward Heath. Layla recognized the woman as Dollie Calkins, the neighbor who used to care for Heath. “I’ll watch the baby. The rest of you come up with a plan to rescue Mark.”
Emmett passed Heath over to Mrs. Calkins, relieved to have the assistance. Layla watched as he crouched and placed the Bible gently on the ground at their feet.
“I—” Layla stammered. She was frozen, not knowing what to do. The only thing she could think about was flying back into the house so she could be at Mark’s side.
Billy arrived and said authoritatively, “Don’t just stand there! Head down to the barn and grab some pails. Fill them with water from the horse trough—”
Jack and Emmett took off before he finished his instructions. Her father coughed vigorously as he moved, but he kept time with Jack, nonetheless. Eliza tugged on her hands, and the two women followed swiftly after them. Billy raced along beside Eliza and Layla, though he was faster.
“Here!” Billy called out as he grabbed pails off the side of the wall and handed them to each of the people. Layla took hers with a shaky hand. She followed the others to the water trough, dipping her bucket in, feeling the cool water splash over her fingers. Filling the pail three-quarters of the way, she raced back toward the house.
Billy shouted over the roaring fire. “Over here, y’all. Pour the water near the front door,” he yelled as he demonstrated. “Let’s clear a path. We need to keep pouring right near the front of the house,” Billy told Layla as he took off, running back to the water trough.
The kitchen was entirely consumed, and it had been for some time. Layla followed Billy’s directions, dumping her bucket on the spot he indicated. She raced across the yard, her breathing labored as she had inhaled so much smoke.
The third time, Layla thought that when she dumped her bucket on the blaze, she heard a sound from inside the house. “Mark!” she called, dropping her bucket and waving her arms wildly overhead. She knew he couldn’t see her, and he probably couldn’t hear her either, but she was willing to do anything she could to aid him.
When her efforts proved fruitless, Layla rushed to the water trough. As she ran across the grass that was covered in dew, mixed with fine gray ash, she prayed.God, I know I keep asking you to help my family and me, but I need you now more than ever. Save Mark. Help him find his way out of the house. Bring him back to me. I love him so, and I need him. Heath needs him. We all do. Please.
Layla dipped her pail back in the water once again and kept speaking to God, her savior, hoping He would hear her and rescue the man she loved.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The fire breathed around Mark, and the flames that once brilliantly lit up the area became darker and more threatening. Instead of glowing white or yellow, they were now royal blue or a deep dark orange that reminded Mark of a pumpkin rotted to the core.
He struggled to breathe and turned about, trying to find a way out of his labyrinthine house. Images of Layla and Heath propelled him forward. He pictured the two playing in the garden together with Layla showing Heath how to pluck a pea pod from the vine without harming the entire plant. He envisioned her speaking softly to his son while bathing him and how Heath would splash back at her playfully in the water.
I’m coming, Mark thought but didn’t dare speak the words aloud.
The black and gray smoke intermingled all around him. Clouds of lighter-colored smoke puffed up, trying to become one with the darker, heavier finger-like clouds that lingered along with the ceiling. When he tried to use his thin white cotton shirt to cover his mouth, he could see it was stained by the smoke and a patch which had disappeared altogether as though one of the sparking embers burned through the material.
Mark refused to let the fire keep him away from his family, so he strengthened his resolve and moved more quickly through the house. He knew he should have escaped near the front door, but when his eyes adjusted in the dim light, he found that he was crouching in the hall near his office. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten turned around, but it didn’t matter; he needed to get out of the house, no matter what. Mark remembered the window that looked out onto the garden, and keeping his head low, under a cloud of smoke, he went toward his office door.
He tentatively grasped the brass handle. It was hot to the touch, but since Mark didn’t see thick smoke swirling out from underneath the closed door, he figured that the fire had not wholly engulfed the room yet. With his shoulder against the green door, he gave it a push.
Mark stumbled as the door gave out, but he managed to stand up straight.I’m almost there,Mark thought.Layla, Heath, I’m almost there.The moonlight was glinting through the heavy green curtains.
Mark pushed the curtains aside and raised the window, the frame shaking as he shoved roughly upward. Without a second thought, Mark swung one leg and then the other out the window. Since he was on the first floor, his feet easily reached the ground. When his bare feet touched the soft earth, his knees buckled, and Mark collapsed.
He bent forward and allowed his momentum to carry him. He put his hands out in front of him to stop himself from falling face-first into the dirt. But his hands slid out to his sides in exhaustion, and Mark let his cheek touch the cool sand. He took gulping breaths of air, keeping his head turned to expel the smoke and not suck in any sand.
Coughing as the fresh air battled its way inside his lungs, Mark used a burst of strength to flip himself over. Stars blinked overhead, and he knew that he had made it to safety.Thank you, God, Mark thought. His eyes squeezed shut as his body was consumed by a terrible coughing fit. He clutched at his stomach and chest as the rough shaking overtook his body, and he fought to get the stale, smoky air out.
When Mark could finally control himself, he squinted at the night sky once more, but his view was obstructed. Looming over him was the livid face of George Winn.
“What are you—?” A jolt of pain rocketed through his fingertips as George Winn stomped on his hand, and Mark groaned in anguish. His right hand was already injured, and when George brought the heel of his boot down on it, not once, but twice, agony raced up his fingertips, through his hand, all the way into his arm. Mark used his left hand to clutch at his forearm, and he tried to roll away from George Winn, but the man pursued.
“Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” George shouted, the toe of George’s boot connecting with Mark’s rib cage, who grunted when the kick landed. His hand flew from his forearm to the throbbing pain that now emanated from his ribs.
“You moved to this town!” George yelled angrily, kicking Mark on the other side. “You stole away my customers! You tried to buy up the neighboring lands! You took away everything that was supposed to be mine!” With each proclamation, George kicked Mark repeatedly in the same spot. The pain was excruciating, and he could do nothing to stop it.
Mark rolled away from George and his pointed boot. Squirming, Mark was able to move onto his stomach. His movement appeared to catch George off-guard as the kicking stopped, allowing Mark to get his hands underneath him. He pushed himself up to sit on his haunches, and he saw George pacing back and forth angrily.
“George,” Mark’s words came out feebly as his breathing was labored. He clutched at his chest as he tried to breathe deeply to speak once more. “I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry?” George shouted incredulously. He gesticulated wildly with his arms and then covered the space between them with three long strides. He bent down so that his face was inches from Mark’s and growled, “You’re not sorry. Don’t pretend like you are. My family owned this town until you showed up. My father and I had the most prosperous ranch in the entire territory, but then you came here, Mr. Marcus Flint.” He spat onto the ground next to where Mark knelt.
