She didn’t like how far they were running either. Even without being on the road that ran along the harbor, she could tell they were moving farther and farther away from the commercial harbor and closer to the Amos family’s warehouse and shipyard.
Please, God, don’t let it be the Amoses.
It might not be them. There were a few buildings past where their facilities sat on the water that could have caught fire too.
But what if it was?
“Here.” Millicent reached a street that connected the road they were on to the harbor and pointed, her chest heaving for breath. “It’s the shipyard.”
“No.” Rosalind slid to a stop beside her, following the line of friend’s finger. Flames clawed at the side of a wooden building, climbing toward the roofline, while smoke billowed overhead.
She couldn’t tell which building it was, didn’t even know how many buildings the Amoses had inside their shipyard, but she recognized the fencing. There was no question about the building on fire belonging to the Amoses.
Men had taken axes to the fence, and a line had already been formed, with people handing buckets inside the fence.
“Let’s go.” Millicent started toward the blaze, and Jane raced to catch up.
Rosalind stayed rooted to the ground. What could cause such a fire in the middle of winter, when all they got was rain and snow?
What was the chance of this being an accident?
“Are you coming?” Freya paused beside her.
Rosalind only shook her head, acrid air pressing against her face. “I... I’m sorry. There’s something I have to do first.”
Was her father behind the fire? She had to know.
“Come back as soon as you can,” Freya called over her shoulder as she rushed toward the blaze.
Rosalind turned on her heel and ran, racing up the side street until it ended, then turning down another street and running back the direction she’d come. Her feet pounded over the uneven road and her breath burned in her lungs, but she pressed forward, higher and higher up the hill.
Had her father done this? Had he targeted the Amoses?
Why? Did it have something to do with her? Had he discovered the missing ledgers and figured out what she’d done with them? Was this some kind of retaliation?
She passed two boys with buckets sprinting the other direction, then an old man with a wet rag wrapped around his face. None of them spared her more than a glance.
It was just as well, because tears were pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring the street ahead. She blinked, but they wouldn’t stop as she raced up the muddy road, the slope of the hill growing steeper and steeper.
Why did her father hate the Amoses so much?
They were everything she wished her family was. United. Decent. Kind. They didn’t threaten and scheme. They didn’t control people through fear. They didn’t leave bruises on their children or manipulate their daughters into marriages. They loved justice and wanted fairness and didn’t think the person with the biggest pocketbook should get to make all the decisions. Was that really such a crime?
By the time she turned onto her street, she was openly crying. But she didn’t care.
It wasn’t until she reached the walkway to her house that she finally stopped and bent over, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. Her face was soaked from her tears, and she swiped at them furiously, then paused.
What if the dampness wasn’t just tears?
A fat, heavy drop of water hit the back of her neck.
Then another struck her shoulder.
She tilted her face up only to find rain meeting her skin. Not mist. Not drizzle. But thick, fat drops of rain that increased in intensity with each second she stood there, until they hammered the road and rooftops with full force.
Dear Father God, please . . .
She didn’t know what she was praying for.
