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What will it burn?

It twists and spins through the air until it settles.

chapter fifty THERESA

July 2, 1960

The fire department hadn’t yet closed off the road leading up to Rosewood House, but Matt dropped the car a few blocks away on Allen Avenue just in case Theresa needed to get back down the hill quickly. They did not discuss the fact that there was a very real possibility that fire meant they might have to get Theresa, Miss Pearce, and Matt out if an evacuation was ordered.

They raced up the hill on foot, passing Rosewood Nursery and heading straight for the house. As soon as they were through the gate, Matt began to shout, “Miss Pearce! Miss Pearce!”

Theresa added her voice, and as they turned the corner, they spotted Miss Pearce in a floral-patterned nightgown brandishing a garden hose pointed straight at the roof of the front porch.

“There is no need to shout, Matthew. I might be old but I can hear perfectly well,” snapped Miss Pearce.

“There’s a fire making its way down from Idlehour,” Matt gasped out.

“What do you think I’m doing? Watering the house for my own amusement?”

“You heard?” asked Theresa.

“I couldn’t sleep. I heard the first fire trucks wailing their way up the road,” said Miss Pearce. “I might ask how it was that you two both came racing up here. Together.”

Theresa fought a losing battle against a blush, and Matt started to stammer.

“Oh, never mind that. Matthew, get a ladder and start clearing the gutters,” said Miss Pearce.

“You intend to stay and fight it?” he asked.

“Your grandfather and I did not save this house from burning down in 1907 only to see it go up in flames now.”

Theresa’s eyes went wide even as Miss Pearce closed hers, as though cursing herself for her slip.

“Alex Macalister is Matthew’s grandfather?” she asked at the same time Matt asked, “You knew my grandfather?”

“She employed him. He was her gardener,” said Theresa.

“Miss Johnson, we do not have time for this,” snapped Miss Pearce. “Matthew, the ladder.”

After a moment, Matt nodded and took off at a run for the side of the house.

Theresa looked about her at the soaked front of the house. “Do you think you can save the house?”

“If the wind stays blowing to the northeast as it is now, yes. If not…” Miss Pearce trailed off. “This is not my first wildfire, and I am determined it will not be my last. So long as the fire department holds off on its evacuation order, I’ll stay.”

Theresa swallowed. A part of her wanted to take up another garden hose and do everything she could to help Miss Pearce, and yet she knew it was impossible. The moment she stepped over the line from observer to participant, she would no longer be able to report on the story. She knew without question that this was her chance to break news and make her mark on the Herald Times.

“I am so sorry, Miss Pearce, but I can’t help,” she said. “It would be too much of a conflict of interest, and my job—”

“I know, my dear. You’re a reporter. You must report,” said Miss Pearce firmly.

She let out a breath. “Thank you for understanding.”

“All we have is our integrity, Miss Johnson. Would it be overstepping the mark if you accepted my offer to use the house telephone to call your newsroom or whatever it is that you reporters do?”

“No. No, that would be really helpful, actually,” she said.

“Then you do that, and Matthew and I will do what we can to save the house and the nursery.”