Jack awakened with a reflexive jerk of his body, and, responding to the strange sense of urgency that swept through him, he sat up abruptly, only to be knocked back down when his head made contact with something hard. He fell back, stifling a painful exclamation, and he pressed one hand to his throbbing head as he stared in disbelief at the wooden beam that had prevented him from rising. It was less than two feet above his head.
Severely disoriented, and still unable to comprehend what had occurred, he tore his eyes from the beam to view his surroundings with wide-eyed astonishment.
Wherever he was, the light was very dim, but he could see well enough to identify the shapes of splintered wooden beams, broken chunks of wooden panels, shards of broken glass, and large stones that had once been the fireplace and hearth that littered the space in which he was trapped. The length of some of the beams held up sections of rubble in places, providing small pockets of space large enough to accommodate a human. He had been fortunate enough to fall into one of them.
His sharp intake of breath was loud in the intense silence of his confined space, but the air was heavy with a fine cloud of dust and contained the lingering aroma of powder smoke, setting off a spasm of coughing. The effort to clear his lungs was painful, for his body felt battered and bruised, as if he had been beaten by an assailant. As the coughing passed, he concentrated on determining the extent of his injuries, and decided that most of his pain was muscular and superficial. His arms and legs appeared to be functioning properly without too much discomfort, and nothing seemed to be out of place, but a steady throbbing pain in the side of his chest beneath his left arm suggested a broken or cracked rib, and he had a massive headache. All in all, he knew he was a fortunate man, if you could call being buried alive fortunate.
Gradually, his mind accepted what his eyes were seeing as he recalled the events that had led to the explosion. He remembered the terrifying feeling of the floor giving way beneath his feet, and he knew he had fallen into the cellar. Recalling his earlier guess that a cellar had existed in the old house, he wryly conceded that he had found it the hard way.
Gingerly, he reached up to touch the painful contusion on his forehead, the source of his headache, and his fingers came away bloody from the laceration at his hairline. His whole body ached, but he forced himself to roll onto his right side so that he could get his arm under him. Rising up on his elbow, he realized that the situation was not good. Obviously, the entire building had collapsed.
With a sudden jolt, he remembered that someone had been with him.
"Marie!" His voice, choked from the dust, did not contain the volume necessary to penetrate the depths of the rubble. He coughed again, grimacing at the painful throbbing in his head and his side.
Squinting in the dim light, he scanned the area around him, but found no sign of the woman.
"Marie!" he cried, frantically. The sound of his voice echoed chillingly through the pile of debris that had once been a house.
"Jack?" came the faint response, so muffled that he almost didn't hear it. "Oh, thank God you're alive!"
Unable to stand upright in the confined space, he dragged his body over the debris, moving in the direction of her voice. She was nowhere in sight.
"Where are you? Keep talkin'!" he urged.
"I'm here!" she called, louder. "There is something on top of me!" In her fear, her French accent was heavier than usual, but even if he had difficulty understanding the words, he had no trouble understanding the panic in her voice.
Crawling under the rubble, Jack dragged his battered body through the narrow spaces until he emerged into a space where he could actually rise to his knees. "Marie, keep talkin'," he said.
"I'm under here!" she called. "I think I'm under a section of the wall," she added, helpfully.
Determining that he was near, he began pulling back the debris in search of her. Finally, his hand grasped a fistful of her long skirt, and he flipped back a section of wall to reveal the frightened woman lying beneath it.
Rising up, she flung her arms around his neck, embracing him, tightly. "I kept calling your name, but when you didn't answer, I was afraid ---" She did not finish the sentence, but he understood the nature of her worry.
"I'm all right," he assured her. "At least, I think I am. I must have been knocked out. Are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"My ankle hurts, but I think it's just a sprain."
"Are you sure it ain't broke?"
"Jack, I'm a doctor," she reminded him.
He drew back, cradling her face in his hands as he gazed at her with eyes so filled with concern that she was left with no doubt in regards to the gravity of their situation.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"We found the cellar."
She could feel the panic building inside her as she tore her eyes from his face to stare frantically about their confined space, and he could see it in her wide blue eyes. "We're trapped, aren't we?" she asked, fearfully.
"Yes, but we're alive," he reminded her in a calming voice. Other than a bruise on her cheek and the sprained ankle, she appeared unharmed. "And we're relatively unhurt," he added. "It coulda been a helluva lot worse. We're gonna git outta this, Marie. I promise."
"No one knows where we are!" She clutched his wrists with her hands, as if to either push them away from her or to clutch them for comfort; he was uncertain which.
"The explosion will have spooked the horses," he told her. "When they git back to town, the others'll know that somethin's wrong, and they'll start lookin' for us."
"What if the horses didn't get free? What if they're still tied up out there? What if they were killed by the explosion? What if we run out of air?" Her rapid-fire questions were spawned by fear, and he knew he had to calm her down. "Jack, we could suffocate!"
His grip on her face tightened, forcing her to look at him. Her wide eyes locked on his, and even in the faint light, he could see the terror that stared back at him. "We ain't gonna suffocate, Marie. The air's gittin' in. When the horses git back to Bordertown, Clive'll start lookin' for us."
"They won't know where to look!" she said again. "It could take days or weeks before they find us!"
"They must've heard the explosion in town, Marie. They might even be lookin' already."
"You don't believe that. I've heard explosions coming from this direction before. They won't know if it's us or whatever is causing the other explosions."
He sighed. That was probably true, but he did not want to worry her by saying so aloud. "There's an old prospector up this way. He's been hunting for gold or silver up in these hills, and he's been usin' dynamite. However, once the horses git back without us, they'll figure it out and come this way. It's just a matter of time." He paused, then asked the question that had been bothering him. "How long can we go without food and water?"
"I've heard of people lasting up to a week without water," she replied. "but if we don't get water before then, we won't have to worry about how long we can go without food."
"That don't matter. They're gonna find us before then," he said with confidence. "Clive is smart. He'll figure it out. We're gonna make it, Marie. I promise."
She nodded, and gradually, the panic began to subside enough that she could observe him with the eyes of a doctor. "You're bleeding!" she exclaimed, alarmed by the blood that trickled down his forehead toward his eyebrow. She reached up to touch his forehead.
"I know. I banged my head."
"You could have a concussion. You say you were unconscious?" In the dim light, she examined the laceration at his hairline above his left temple, and was relieved to discover that it was not a deep cut. "I don't think it's bad. Do you hurt anyplace else?"
"Yeah, my rib under my left arm."
"Let me have a look."
Somewhere high above them, the debris shifted. Beams that supported the rubble groaned under the stress, and dust sifted down. They lowered their faces, waiting until the avalanche of dust had ceased, then they both looked up at the stressed beams.
"The examination's gonna have to wait," he said with concern. "We need to git closer to the wall. Preferably in a corner, where we'll have two solid sides to help hold things up. Do you think you can make it?"
She nodded. "You lead, I'll follow."
"All right. Don't touch anything. It may be somethin' holdin' up all this rubble."
"I won't," she promised.
On hands and knees, he led the way through the narrow corridors of debris, squeezing on his belly under low areas, and climbing over piles of debris in other places, offering Marie a hand whenever necessary to assist her through the tangle of splintered wood. It did not matter which direction they went. At some point, they were guaranteed of reaching the cellar wall, as long as they could make it through the mountain of debris without running up against an unpenetrable obstacle.
Struggling with her long skirt, Marie followed trustingly, watching appreciatively as he carefully and thoughtfully moved shards of glass and other sharp objects out of the way.
The process was very slow and exhausting.
"Now I know what a mole feels like," Jack grunted as he squeezed through a particularly narrow gap. On the other side, he reached back and took Marie's hand, pulling her through the opening.
Merci'." she said.
"Huh?"
"Thank you."
"Yer welcome."
Finally, Jack emerged into a large open space with a higher ceiling. He rose up on his knees, observing the edge of a wooden step that peeked from beneath the debris. 'Hey, I found the staircase!"
Marie rose up to look. She could just make out a small section of the wooden staircase that had provided access to the cellar. The step that was visible was not in good condition. Time and the moist atmosphere of the cellar had deteriorated the wood. "Can we get up them?" she asked, hopefully.
"Well, it's covered by debris, but if we're careful, and with a little luck, maybe we can move enough of it to make a hole big enough for us to git through."
He rose up as high as he could in a space about four feet high, and took hold of one of the wooden planks. Slowly and carefully, he moved it aside. The debris overhead remained stable. So far, so good. He reached for another one and pulled it out.
Overhead, they heard the loud crack of a beam shattering under the weight, and the heart-stopping rumble of the debris crashing down toward them.
Jack grabbed Marie and took her to the ground, landing on top of her to protect her from the shower of debris that cascaded down on them. Small chunks of broken, splintered wood rained down on them, and both held their breath, waiting for the crushing weight of the larger, heavier objects.
Then, it abruptly stopped.
Jack felt Marie trembling beneath him, and he raised his head to gaze into her face. "You all right?" he asked.
"Yes, are you?"
"Yeah." He lifted his eyes to the jumble of debris overhead. "I don't know what stopped it, but I am truly grateful." He rolled off of her, and they both sat up. "I guess I'd better not try that again," he said.
"I guess not," she agreed, her voice shaking with fear. "I guess we'll just have to wait for Clive to find us." Her eyes gazed back at him with fear and worry, wondering how long it would take before Clive to realized they were missing.
Jack would not have admitted it to anyone, even her, but he felt the need for comfort as much as she did. He took her into his arms for a welcomed and much needed embrace. "It'll be all right, Marie." She clung to him, her head on his shoulder, and he held her until her trembling subsided. Drawing back, he observed their space. The size and shape of it had changed in the avalanche; it was now much smaller than it had been before. "Let's get closer to the corner," he suggested.
Together, they moved closer to the juncture of the cold stone walls of the cellar. There was less debris there, indicating that the cellar walls were supporting much of the debris.
Remembering his injured side, Marie said, "Let me examine that rib, now"
"All right." He rose up on his knees and sat back on his heels, providing her with a good position to examine his painful side. She unbuttoned several buttons on his shirt and slipped her hand inside, reaching around his side to feel the hard ridges of his ribs with experienced fingers, moving from one to the next until she felt him flinch.
"That's the one," he grunted.
She pressed gently against his warm skin, but felt no "give" in the solidness of the rib. "I think it may be cracked, but I don't think it's broken. You will have to be careful to protect it from another blow."
"That may be easier said than done," he told her. "At least until we git outta here."
She withdrew her hand, and rebuttoned the shirt.. "We're both very lucky that we weren't seriously injured in this."
Jack nodded his agreement, but he was well aware of the fact that they were not out of danger, yet.
Clive knocked on Grace's front door, then while he waited, he quickly ran his hand over his hair, smoothing down any stray hairs that might have been displaced by the mild breeze. He was freshly bathed, freshly shaven, with freshly trimmed hair, all to make an impression on the young teacher. He knew he would have to take the extra steps to prove to her that he was sorry for his behavior at the town council meeting, especially now that she had indicated a desire to scale back their relationship.
A few moments later, Grace opened the door and his efforts were rewarded by her approving expression.
"You look nice," she said, smiling in greeting.
He had obviously gone to great lengths to make himself presentable, but she was more impressed with his manner of dress than with the rest of his appearance. He was always clean and well-shaven, and the amount of hair that had been trimmed was miniscule, and hardly noticeable. This was the first time, however, that she had seen him out of the cardinal red jacket. He still wore the typical Mountie trousers, but instead of the red jacket, he had chosen instead to wear a tan fringed jacket made of soft buckskin. Nothing about Clive Bennett could be considered "rugged", but the fringed jacket gave him a more "western" appearance that Grace found appealing.
He could tell by her expression that she was impressed, and, of course, that was the reaction he had hoped for. "Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You'd better take a shawl," he suggested. "It'll cool down by nightfall."
She reached back inside and removed her shawl from its peg, and draped it about her shoulders while Clive pulled the door closed behind her.
He offered her his arm, and she accepted, then they stepped off the porch and walked across the grassy lawn toward town. A curtain fluttered in Iris Metzger's window, indicating that she had quickly let it fall back into place when she had been caught spying on them.
Grace lowered her gaze, greatly distressed by the older woman's persistence. "Every time I step outside, I see her face in the window, staring at me. Why is she so determined to humiliate me?"
"Don't pay her any mind, Grace. I ordered some lumber today, so we'll have that new house built soon, and you won't ever have to put up with her again."
"If only I could believe that," Grace lamented, knowing that she would likely see the meddling woman at the general store or one of the other businesses in town. "I hate to run away from my problems, but I don't know how much more of this I can take. I've never seen anyone with such a single-minded objective to ruin someone's reputation. My mother would be mortified, if she knew that her daughter had been accused of an impropriety."
He patted her hand, reassuringly. "It'll be all right. There is no need for anyone in your family to know anything about this. It'll blow over, in time."
They fell silent for several moments, then Grace asked, "What was that explosion I heard this afternoon? I know it was a long way off, but I still nearly jumped out of my skin!"
"Nothing to worry about. There's an old prospector up in the hills who uses dynamite in his hunt for gold or silver or whatever it is he's searching for, but he's harmless. Come to think of it, though, this is the first time I've heard him blast in a couple of months." He shrugged. "I thought maybe he had given up, but I guess he was just taking a break."
They stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon, and encountered a married couple, also entering the saloon with the intention of having dinner. The woman glanced at Grace with an expression of utter disdain, then looked quickly away as she and her husband stepped through the door.
Grace stopped, looking miserably at the wooden walkway beneath the hem of her skirt. "It isn't too late to change your mind, if you don't want to be seen with me."
"Of course, I want to be seen with you," he insisted.
"Didn't you see the way she looked at me? She thinks I'm a harlot!"
"No, she doesn't. You're just being overly sensitive. I know you have good reason to feel upset, but that was Mrs. Cooper, and she's known to be a bit of a snob. Her husband owns one of the largest ranches in the area, and she just naturally thinks she's a little above everyone else. She could just as easily have been looking at me!" he added. "Her husband lost a portion of his land when the U.S. and Canadian boundaries were reassessed, so they both have ill feelings toward anyone Canadian. Don't put any stock in any reaction you see from her."
She sighed, defeated. "All right."
As they stepped through the saloon door, Wendell MacWherter and his wife were just leaving, and they stepped back to allow them to enter.
"Good evening, Corporal Bennett," Wendell said.
He doffed his bowl hat to the young teacher. "Good evening, Miss Upton."
"Good evening, Mr. MacWherter."
The woman smiled pleasantly. Like her husband, she was slight in stature, and very fashionably dressed. "Miss Upton, I have been intending to pay you a visit; you know, to welcome you to Bordertown, but I am afraid I have been very remiss on such matters. I hope you will permit me to visit you, sometime."
Encouraged, Grace smiled. "I would like that very much, Mrs. MacWherter."
"Good. Later this week, perhaps?"
"That would be fine. I'm usually home by three forty-five."
"Good. I'll bring the pastries, and you can furnish the tea."
"I'll look forward to it."
After the MacWherters had departed, Clive nudged her. "See?"
She was only mildly reassured. "She's very nice, but what about everyone else?"
Before Clive could respond, Zack Denny spotted the couple, and stepped from behind his bar to greet them, making a special effort to make Grace feel welcome. "Hello, Corporal. Good evening, Miss Upton," he said in his deep southern drawl. "Are you having dinner tonight?"
"Yes. A nice quiet table in the corner, if one is available," Clive requested.
"Comin' right up. Dom, will you get them seated?"
"Certainly," Dom responded. "This way."
They followed the waiter into the dining room, and were seated at a table in the far corner, farthest from the door. Only a few people were dining out, but, with the exception of the Coopers, they all nodded and smiled politely to the teacher and her escort.
"There," Clive said, quietly. "Didn't I tell you that everything would blow over?"
She smiled, greatly relieved. "I guess I was being foolish."
"Well, we're all entitled to be foolish every now and then. Even me!" he added with a flourish that made her laugh. His laughter joined her.
"Is that a confession, Corporal Bennett?" she asked, amused.
"It might be," he admitted. "But, it doesn't happen very often!"
"The confession, or being foolish?" she asked.
"Both!"
They laughed again. Gradually, Grace's self-consciousness at being in public again began to fade, and she enjoyed the company, the meal, and the laughter.
GO TO CHAPTER FOURTEEN