EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the 18th and last chapter of the story that The Augusta Chronicle has published in Your Life on Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
|
ADVERTISEMENT
|
|
|
Have a thought?
Go to the Forums or Chat.
|
|
|
STORY SO FAR: With the barn ablaze and no time to spare, Ben and Mr. Brennan struggle to get the racehorses to safety. Through the inferno, Ben sees Joe Pastore consumed by his own burning revenge.
By the next morning all the horses had been rounded up and taken to the DiSienas' farm. The celebration over Gogo's victory had been a muted one, but the Brennans kept repeating how fortunate they were that none of the horses had been killed - and most importantly, that Ben hadn't been hurt in the fire.
"We're so grateful to you," Mrs. Brennan said for the twentieth time over breakfast. "If you hadn't been here to help, we might have - " She broke off, glancing at her husband with glistening eyes.
From the front of the house came the sound of car doors slamming. Mr. Brennan wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. "That'll be the insurance investigator. Let's hope we can find out how the fire started."
Ben looked down at his plate. He couldn't help thinking he had to say something about the fire, about Joe Pastore trying to get him to start a fire himself. But he couldn't find the words. Who would believe him? It would sound crazy - it sounded crazy to him!
But could Joe have started the fire? There was no question in Ben's mind that Joe had wanted to start a fire to hurt the Brennans - just as he had done fifty years earlier. The question was, could Joe have done it? And would there be some way for the investigator to figure that out?
Without a word, Ben stood up to follow Mr. Brennan outside, and Rachel scraped her chair back and rose also. They made a solemn parade out to the site of the barn, where the odor of smoke still lingered in the air, and the leaves on nearby trees were withered and scorched. The barnyard was a mess of wet cinders and steaming, charred beams, and the driveway was a morass of muddy ruts from the fire trucks. A balding man with rubber boots and a clipboard was picking his way among the ruins, and Mr. Brennan went to meet him.
Rachel put her hand on Ben's arm. "I guess I really misjudged you," she said, her voice low. "I don't know how you could have been brave enough to go in there and get the horses out. But I'm really glad you did. For a lot of reasons," she added, finally raising her eyes to meet Ben's.
"I didn't even really think about it," he muttered.
"Thank you. For Uncle Teddy's sake. And for the horses."
For a moment, they looked at one another without speaking. Then Rachel grinned. "I'm going back in to help with the dishes. Maybe later we can go riding."
"I don't know how - "
"You can learn, can't you?" Rachel asked, turning away.
Ben fought the urge to let out a whoop of elation. Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly as he watched her return to the house. Then he joined Mr. Brennan and the fire investigator, who were crouched over a charred and disfigured lump of metal.
"I'm guessing electrical," the man said, poking the lump with a screwdriver. "Could there have been frayed wiring? Old wiring with cracked insulation?"
Mr. Brennan frowned. "We had the whole thing rewired five years ago, all up to code."
"Did you have mice? I've seen even new wiring totally chewed by mice."
"We've got cats to control that," Mr. Brennan mused.
"Or could have been, say, an extension cord, maybe driven over by the tractor, or stepped on by a horse? Rubbed away the insulation and exposed the wires?"
The hairs stood up on the back of Ben's neck. The night when Rachel had run to confront him in the barn over the lighter - she had skidded on the extension cord, scraping it along the rough cement floor, and then kicked it to the edge of the center aisle where scraps of hay always accumulated ...
He must have made a noise, because the men were looking at him.
"What's that, Ben?" Mr. Brennan asked.
"Nothing," Ben replied. "I was thinking how easily things can go wrong."
"You got that right," the investigator said. He stood up, dusting his hands off. "I'm writing this up as electrical."
As the men moved away, Ben wandered to the edge of the fire zone and stood lost in thought. If the fire started because of the extension cord, then it had nothing to do with Joe. It was an accident, not arson.
An accident, caused by something Rachel had done.
She could never find out. Ben knew with utter clarity that it would break her heart if she ever found out. She would never forgive herself.
But he could forgive her. He could and he would. Forgive and forget. Put it behind and start afresh.
With a start, he realized he was standing on the spot where he had last seen Joe Pastore caught in the inferno of timbers and beams. He nudged aside a piece of burned wood with his foot.
In the clear light of an August morning it seemed incredible that he'd been talking to a ghost since he'd arrived upstate - since he'd arrived upstate to be near his father. Was it possible he had imagined Joe from the beginning?
Whatever the truth was, he had a strong sense that he wouldn't be seeing Joe anymore.
And he thought maybe he'd ask Mr. Brennan for a ride to the prison in a few days. He knew it was time - time to see his father.
TEXT 2003 BY JENNIFER ARMSTRONG ILLUSTRATIONS 2003 BY C.B. MORDAN
REPRINTED BY PERMISSION OF BREAKFAST SERIALS INC.
WWW.BREAKFASTSERIALS.COM.
Previous Chapters of 'The Winner's Circle'
• Chapter 1: Welcome to the Wind Rider Farms
• Chapter 2: Hoofbeats in the Fog
• Chapter 3: The Lashing Whip
• Chapter 4: Meeting Rachel
• Chapter 5: A Horse Race Isn't a Horse Race ...
• Chapter 6: The Face on the Wall
• Chapter 7: Fearless, generous, and kind
• Chapter 8: A Ghostly Warning
• Chapter 9: An Accusation
• Chapter 10: Haunted by Doubts
• Chapter 11: Evening Up the Score
• Chapter 12: A Meeting at the Track
• Chapter 13: Race-Day Revenge
• Chapter 14: And They're Off!!
• Chapter 15: The Broken Circle
• Chapter 16: Fire!
• Chapter 17: Death of a firebug
• Chapter 18: Final chapter
