Charlotte's Homecoming. Janice Kay Johnson
Faith and Charlotte clung to each other and kept watching as firemen prowled outside and stepped through the hole burned in the side of the barn to check, presumably, for hidden embers.
Eventually, one of the firemen, bulky in a cumbersome yellow suit, crossed the yard.
“Faith, is that you?”
“Yes, and Charlotte, too. Char, you remember Tim Crawford?”
She nodded. “Of course I do. I’m … um, really glad you got here so quick, Tim.”
He’d been one—two?—years ahead of them, and best friends with Jay Bridges, quarterback, whom Faith had gone with her freshman year. Charlotte had liked Tim better than Jay, not that either of them were her type.
“We’re confident we’ve got the fire out,” Tim was saying. “It’s real lucky one of you noticed it before the whole barn was engaged.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Charlotte said. “I was just going to come out and sit on the back steps and admire the stars. But I smelled smoke the moment I got outside.”
“Lucky,” he said again, nodding. “Five, ten more minutes, you’d have lost the barn.”
A shudder ran through Faith. Charlotte tightened her arms around her sister.
“How do you think it started?” Charlotte asked.
“It’s arson,” he said bluntly. “Can’t you smell the gasoline? And I know it’s hard to see the smoke at night like this, but it was black. I’m going to make sure someone is out here in the morning to talk to you about it.”
“Can we, um, look inside?” Faith asked shakily.
Sounding kind, he said, “Why don’t you wait until daylight? Get a good night’s sleep. Didn’t look like that much damage to me.”
“Oh.” Faith nodded, and kept nodding. “Oh, okay.”
“Thanks, Tim,” Charlotte said, and steered her sister toward the house. Behind them, the volunteer firemen were reeling in their hoses and climbing aboard the two trucks. Engines started before the two women reached the house.
In the kitchen, Charlotte said, “I don’t know about you, but I want a drink. Do you have anything?”
“Daddy keeps some bourbon up top of the refrigerator, but I’d settle for tea.” Faith sank into a kitchen chair as if her legs had just failed her. “In a minute. When I can stand up again.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’ll make it.” She thought wistfully about a slug of the bourbon but instead got down two mugs, plopped in tea bags, filled them with water and stuck them in the microwave. One minute later, and the water was hot. Without asking Faith, she added more sugar than she liked to one of the mugs, then carried them both to the table.
“Thank you.” Faith smiled wanly at her. Soot streaked her face, which was paler than it ought to be considering she had a good tan. Her thin nightgown had gotten a blast of water at some point and clung revealingly to her. Below the hem, her feet were filthy.
Charlotte looked down and realized she looked just as awful. Her feet were not only filthy, but one of her toes was also bloody. She had a vague memory of stubbing it. “You know I had three showers today?” she said. “And now I’m going to have to have a fourth?”
“It’s tomorrow now,” her sister pointed out. She stirred her tea, then lifted out the bag. “So this won’t be your fourth shower of today, it’ll be your first shower of tomorrow. No, today.”
Suddenly they were both giggling.
“Oh, Lord,” Faith finally said on a sigh, her hand pressed to her stomach. “I was sound asleep. I never would have woken up. It really is a miracle you happened to go outside.”
Charlotte met her sister’s eyes. “Rory was awfully mad the other day.”
“It could’ve just been a teenager. Why would Rory do something like this? He wants me back. He’d have to know that would blow any chance….”
Charlotte set down her mug hard. “Does he have a chance?”
“No!” Faith glared at her. “How can you even ask me that?”
“You’re the one who just implied …”
“I did not! I was trying to explain how he thinks!”
Charlotte let out a frustrated breath. “When you called, you sounded like he’d been angry lately when he came around. And he was nasty from the minute he walked into the barn day before yesterday.”
“There’s a big difference between …”
God give her patience. “Yes, there is. But if he’s getting angry, it’s because he’s realized he doesn’t have another chance. You thought he’d just go away once he realized that, didn’t you?”
Stricken, Faith finally closed her mouth and nodded, just once.
“But when you were married, he got violent every time he thought he was losing control of you.”
“Yes,” her sister whispered.
“Maybe after he put you in the hospital he was ashamed of himself for a little while. Maybe he thought if he gave you time you’d forgive him eventually. But if he’s finally realized you aren’t going to, do you really think he’s not going to make some … I don’t know, some parting gesture?”
Head bowed, gaze fixed on her tea, Faith looked … broken. “I don’t know. I guess I was more afraid he’d get mad and hit me. This seems so … sneaky.”
“He must know how badly you want to keep the farm going, for Dad’s sake, and because it’s ours.”
She heard herself and thought, Ours? Where had that come from?
Faith looked up, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks dirty. “This would have been one of the worst things he could do to me.”
Charlotte didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
After a moment of silence, Faith said, “There are other possibilities. It could have just been random vandalism. Or … You know how Angie just started a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes, but what does that have to do …?”
Faith interrupted. “I had a boy who worked for me before Angie. I caught him stealing money from the till and had to fire him.”
Charlotte blinked. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“He claimed it was the first time he stole anything, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Really? You didn’t think he’d learned his lesson and would be grateful and loyal if you kept him on?”
Faith sprang to her feet. “That’s enough! You don’t know me at all anymore. I will not let you treat me as if there’s anything wrong with believing my husband loved me enough to change.”
Shame flooded Charlotte. She rose, too, facing her sister across the small kitchen table. “You’re right. I’m … really sorry.”
Faith just looked at her, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, footsteps went up the stairs and then Charlotte heard a door shut.
“Why did I say that?” she asked the silent room. The awful thing was, she knew the answer, which made her feel even worse.
CHAPTER THREE
GRAY VAN DUSEN WAS THE first visitor come morning, which somehow did not surprise Charlotte. He was probably kept well informed about any exciting events in West Fork. She imagined him sipping his morning coffee while he perused an e-mail list of every fire and police call made in the previous twenty-four hours.
Faith