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chapter fifty-seven ADELE
October 1907
On the third day of smoke, the wind changed, the air freshened, and there was rain. Huge, fat drops of rain that came seemingly out of nowhere and crashed to the ground like a thousand drumbeats.
Adele, who had been standing at the pump, raced back to the house. She was drenched by the time she reached the back door, water trickling down her neck and the back of her dress.
“Alex!” she shouted. “Alex, where are you?”
She heard the clattering of his boots on the hardwood floors inside, and a moment later he burst out of the doorway, sweeping her up in his arms and twirling her around.
“It’s pouring!” Adele cried, giddy in a manner she never had been about rain before.
He put her down with a laugh. “Thank God for that.”
“Do you think it will be enough?” she asked, squinting as she peered up into the sky.
“If it rains long enough, it will wash out the worst of the flames.”
“Then we’re not out of danger yet?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, but this could be the beginning of the end.”
She looked out at the garden they had created together, praying he was right.
chapter fifty-eight THERESA
July 3, 1960
When Theresa next woke, the light that was coming through the windows was the soft, deep blue that bloomed just before the dawn.
She rolled over onto her side, careful not to pitch herself off the sofa, and spotted Matt stretched out over the one across from her. She smiled a little as he snored lightly, his head cast back on a pillow propped against the sofa’s rolled arm.
Moving quietly so as not to wake him, she tugged her sneakers back on and laced them up. Then she tiptoed to the front door and let herself out, leaving the front door slightly ajar rather than risk waking him with the sound of it closing.
On the front porch, she found Miss Pearce sitting on the porch swing, a plaid blanket wrapped around her despite the warm summer morning.
“Hi,” she said softly.
Miss Pearce glanced her way. “Miss Johnson.”
“No news?” she asked with a nod in the direction of the fire.
“Nothing. The best thing we can hope is that air tankers start to fly again now that dawn is coming,” said Miss Pearce.
“You said this is not your first time trying to save Rosewood House from burning,” she said.
Miss Pearce shook her head. “There was a horrible fire in 1907. In that instance, the wind was not in our favor, and I truly thought I would lose the house. Rain was what saved us in the end.”
“And 1917?” she asked, remembering the World War I veteran she had spoken to earlier.
“I had to evacuate that time. I’ve never worried like that in my life, but when I returned I found Rosewood House had been spared. Not everyone was so lucky.”
Theresa stared at the trees that lined the edge of the front garden, shielding the house from view of the road. “The 1907 fire. Did that break out before or after you left your husband?”
Miss Pearce leaned her head back against the porch swing. “I suppose you could say it was during. I had already made my retreat to Rosewood House by then.”
“With Macalister?” ventured Theresa.
