Читать книгу: «The Defenders»
“We don’t dare assume that anything that happens from now on is innocent or simple.”
Lowering his voice, Mitch added, “Those kids in there are orphans because somebody purposely killed their parents.”
Jill felt a shiver zing up her spine. Mitch was right. She grabbed his arm in a viselike grip. “You don’t think the children are really in danger, do you?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you willing to take the chance they aren’t and let down your guard?”
“Of course not!” She didn’t release her hold until she’d said, “I’m scared, Mitch.”
To her chagrin, he replied, “Yeah. So am I.”
The last thing Jill wanted to do was frighten the children more than they already were. Mitch seemed to sense her uneasiness. He paused and laid a hand of gentle comfort on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”
Dear Reader,
I spent many years working with elementary-school children. That’s probably why, when it comes time to write about them, I usually create characters between four and eight years old. Those are the ages I think I understand—as much as any adult can. In those days I saw my job as a way to demonstrate the love of Christ in a secular atmosphere. Now I do it mostly in print.
This is the first book in my new miniseries, The Defenders, that features the work of CASA volunteers. These court-appointed special advocates represent children in regard to the legal system, appearing before any judge who is being asked to decide their fate. It’s a thankless, unpaid position that must make all of heaven rejoice, especially when there is a happy ending.
I pray that your personal happy ending includes a commitment to Jesus Christ. Mine certainly does. I love to hear from my readers. The easiest way to reach me is by email, val@valeriehansen.com, or send a letter to P.O. Box 13, Glencoe, AR 72539. You can also see my other work at www.valeriehansen.com.
Blessings,
About the Author
VALERIE HANSEN was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.
Married to her high school sweetheart since age seventeen, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for all of the Love Inspired lines.
Life doesn’t get much better than that!
Nightwatch
Valerie Hansen
MILLS & BOON
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My husband and son were career firefighters
and my daughter also volunteered
before she went into nursing.
The men and women in the fire service
put their whole hearts into their work
and no amount of praise or thanks for their efforts
will ever be enough.
Thanks also to the dedicated CASA volunteers
who take over after disasters and help children
put their lives back together.
Whoever receives one of these little children in
my name receives me; and whoever receives me,
receives not only me but Him who sent me.
—Mark 9:37
ONE
Boom!
Fire station windows rattled. Overhead lights vibrated. Captain Mitch Andrews froze, held his breath and braced himself with both palms on his desktop.
“What in the world was that?” someone shouted down the hallway.
Mitch figured every telephone in Serenity was already tied up by folks asking each other the same question. Their dispatcher would be fortunate to receive information giving a halfway accurate location of the problem, let alone a clear report of conditions at the scene.
A firefighter stuck his head through Mitch’s office doorway. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. But it must be bad. Get ready to roll.”
What he desperately wanted to do was grab a phone and call Jill; at least hear her sweet voice and make sure she was far from the current danger before he left the station. Duty didn’t allow him that luxury. Not this time.
Sprinting for the hangar, he slammed his fist into the buttons that raised the bay doors. The siren mounted on the roof was starting to scream, rising and falling in pitch until he could barely hear his own voice over the wail.
“Jake, you round up the volunteers and get them moving as soon as you can,” Mitch yelled, hailing the first man to clear the door. “I have a feeling we’re going to need every piece of equipment we own on this one.”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer shouted. “What blew up?”
“Don’t know yet.”
Mitch listened to the details coming in over his handheld radio, then answered with, “Copy. All units responding to the vicinity of the county airport. ETA five minutes or less. Are ambulances started?”
The affirmative response gave him little comfort. Their small, local landing strip was located several miles outside town. If anyone had been in close proximity to an explosion violent enough to be felt this strongly at his fire station, they were going to need the coroner, not ambulances and EMTs.
Running, he grabbed his turnout coat, squashed his red captain’s helmet over tousled, sandy-blond hair and jumped aboard the first engine out the door.
There was a bright, shimmering glow in the night sky as the driver headed west. Something had not simply blown up, it was also burning. Mitch gritted his teeth. There was only so much they could do to preserve life and property, no matter how state-of-the-art their equipment might be, and Serenity Fire Department was always struggling to keep up with new technology for both firefighting and medical aid calls.
“Was it a plane crash?” the driver shouted.
“Don’t know.” Mitch’s heart was in his throat. “If it was, I sure hope they missed the industrial buildings out that way.”
“I wonder. Looks like a lot of fire for one small plane.”
“Yeah,” Mitch replied, releasing his breath in a whoosh. “It sure does.”
Siren blaring, lights flashing, the engine slued around the last corner that brought them face to face with the conflagration.
Mitch’s spirits sank like a stone in a bottomless lake. He could see the unscathed, white-enameled roof of the Pearson Products warehouse. However, part of the manufacturing building next to it was engulfed in flames and it looked as if that fire was about to spread to the attached, single-family dwelling—if it hadn’t already breached the common wall.
Acting from years of training and experience, he shoved his personal dread aside and raised his radio. “Engine three on scene. One industrial building on fire. Other structures threatened.”
As the first officer to arrive, Mitch was automatically in charge. “Engine two, follow me in. Engine one, lay a hose line and cover the rear.”
“Engine two, copy.”
“One copy.”
“Chief,” Mitch added, hoping and praying he’d get a quick answer, “are you responding?”
“Affirmative,” Jim Longstreet replied. “I’m right behind you. ETA less than one.”
“Be advised, we’ve got a rescue operation. Will you assume command?”
“Just pulling in now. I’ll take over.”
Tamping down the fear of what they might find if they were already too late, Mitch broadcast, “Thanks. A family of five lives here. We’ll lay a safety line and make access.”
“They got kids in there?” the engineer beside him shouted above the howling of the engine’s siren.
“Yes,” Mitch replied. “Three.”
Jill Kirkpatrick had formed the habit of monitoring local police and fire calls. It gave her more peace of mind when she knew what was going on in the country surrounding her isolated farmhouse, especially after dark.
Besides, she admitted to herself with a smile, she often listened in order to keep close tabs on Mitch Andrews. He was a very special person, the first and best friend she’d made in Serenity. They’d met when his fire department rescue squad had responded to the call for medical assistance after her husband’s fatal accident, and Mitch had remained her anchor in the stormy days that had followed.
Being new in town and widowed so suddenly, Jill didn’t know how she would have coped without his compassionate support and that of his fellow church members.
As she leaned closer to listen to the scanner, her long, blond hair swung against her cheeks and she tucked it behind her ears. She’d felt a strange shaking and heard a boom right before the radio had come alive. Something terrible must have happened. Not only was there a scary description being given of a fire, she could hear anxiety and dread coloring Mitch’s voice as he broadcast to his crew. No matter how much he might deny it, he was definitely worried. Therefore, so was she.
Her initial response was to grab a jacket and her car keys and head for the door. Pausing, she almost changed her mind before peering out the window. Her blue eyes widened. The whole northern horizon was painted orange, yellow and red. Billowing clouds of smoke were lit from below as they formed a plume that blotted out the stars and rising moon.
One hand fluttered at her throat. “Oh, dear.” That settled it. She had to go.
Quickly crossing the yard she climbed into her battered, well-loved red Jeep and started toward the glow in the sky.
Soon, acrid smoke was filtering in through the air vents. It carried pungent, unidentifiable odors that reminded her of melting plastic combined with household chemical cleaners.
“Lord, be with Mitch and whoever else is in danger,” Jill prayed softly, fervently, her hands clenching the steering wheel. “Please, please, please.”
She saw official vehicles converging at the far end of the one-runway airport so she pulled off the main road, parked where she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, then proceeded on foot.
The closer she got, the worse the inferno looked. It had never occurred to her that any blaze could generate such a frightening roar. The noise reminded her of a crackling, pulsing jet engine and drowned out every other sound. Her eyes smarted. Her throat felt raw.
Knots of bystanders had gathered at the perimeter of the airfield. Men in yellow turnouts were busy shooting streams of water onto a house, apparently in an effort to save it from the encroaching flames.
Several of the closest casual observers were familiar to her from church so she greeted them with a somber look and a nod.
“Anybody seen Mitch Andrews tonight?” she asked, working to control her tone so no one would suspect how concerned she was. “I heard his voice on my scanner.”
One of the elderly men hooked a thumb toward the burning home. “Yeah. He came outta there with two little kids, then handed ‘em to the preacher’s wife and went back inside.”
Jill’s heart leaped. Raced. Fluttered. There were children in that fiery death trap? And Mitch was in there rescuing them?
The urge to do something, anything, was so strong she nearly forgot herself and ran toward the fire. Only her respect for Mitch and his work kept her rooted to the more distant spot where she could safely observe.
Where was he? Could he be in trouble? Flames were licking up under the eaves in spite of the deluge from the hoses and it looked as if the entire house would soon burst into flames.
Jill’s hands were fisted, her breathing shallow. “Come on, come on.” It was barely a whisper, yet it carried the intensity of a shout, the passion of a prayer.
Suddenly, a familiar figure came hurrying out the front door. She instinctively knew it was Mitch in spite of the black-edged breathing mask covering his face and the shadows cast by the brim of his dripping helmet.
Arms laden, he raced off the porch, through the cascading waterfall from the fire hoses and out onto the sparse, wet grass. Using his body to shelter the child he was carrying he whipped off his mask while the rescued victim in his arms kicked, screamed and fought him.
Mitch looked up, made eye contact with Jill as if he’d sensed her presence and gestured frantically.
She whirled to check behind her, assuming he’d been signaling a fellow firefighter. There were none close by. Pointing to herself, she shouted, “Me?”
His nod was quick. His meaning clear.
She reached him in mere seconds. “What can I do to help?”
“Take him.” Mitch’s voice was a hoarse shout. If she hadn’t noticed the moisture in the fireman’s hazel eyes when he’d shoved a squirming, pajama-clad boy of about seven at her, she might have believed he was angry.
“Are there others? Should I wait?” Jill asked, holding tight to the thin, wriggling body of her new responsibility.
“No. I already gave Paul and Megan to Becky Malloy.” He raised his radio. “Chief, we got all three kids out. No sign of the parents.”
Jill waited until he was done speaking to ask, “What happened?”
“Don’t know,” Mitch said brusquely. “Just get Timmy out of here.” His gaze softened and lingered on her face for mere moments, yet she could sense his special concern even before he said, “Take care of yourself, too, Jill. Watch your step. It’s dangerous around here.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
Seeing Mitch slip his mask and helmet on and turn, she blurted, “Wait! Where are you going?”
“Back inside. There are two more people to find.”
“No!”
One look at the leaping, licking flames and she could hardly catch her breath. Mitch was going back into that?
Her first instinct was to grab his arm and hold tight to stop him, yet she knew that would be foolish. This was what he did, what he’d trained for. Interfering was very wrong, no matter how scared she was for his well-being.
“I have to. I’ll be all right.” His gaze rested for an instant on the child in her arms. “Just take good care of Timmy for me.”
“I—I will.”
As Mitch jogged away, Jill felt a burgeoning concern that left her weak in the knees. It wasn’t only the firefighters she was worried about. She’d realized belatedly whose house this was. The Pearsons were members of Serenity Chapel as well as close friends of Mitch, so the adults he was still searching for must be the children’s parents, Rob and Ellen. How hard this must be for poor Mitch—for all the local firefighters and police.
Her arms ached from holding on to the struggling boy, but she persevered. Right now, the most important thing was getting him away from the scene, keeping him safe and reuniting him with his younger siblings.
“Let me go!” the boy shouted. “Let me go.”
“No. Sorry. I can’t.”
Jill knew there would be no reasoning with the child while he was so agitated. Keeping her replies calm and consistent was the best—the only—thing she could do.
It was trials such as this that her own childhood had prepared her for. That was why she’d volunteered as a foster parent in the first place, why she never said she was too busy or too financially strapped to take in another homeless, helpless waif.
It was her duty.
She’d trained for it by merely living the life she’d been handed.
Forced by the heat and flames to retreat or die, Mitch finally ordered his men to back off. Other teams had made access from the rear of the building so there was a chance one of them had successfully located the Pearsons. If not, there was nothing else anyone could do.
“Chief?” he radioed. “Any report on the adults from the house?”
“Negative. They thought they had one around back but it was just a nosy bystander getting too close.”
“Copy.”
As the fire continued to gobble up everything in its path, Mitch tried hard to keep from thinking about the people who might still be inside. There was nothing anyone could do for them at this point and he had a job to finish. A job he counted as a God-given assignment.
Suddenly, a wild-eyed woman in her thirties lurched toward him out of the haze and confusion. Her reddish hair was mussed, her short, white jacket sooty.
Under the circumstances, Mitch didn’t pause to consider who she might be, he simply held out his arms to block her access to the disaster. “You can’t go any closer, ma’am. It’s too dangerous.”
“Where is she?” the newcomer screeched, leaning to peer past him at the ongoing destruction of the office and home. “Where’s my sister?”
Mitch gritted his teeth. Now he understood. “You’re Ellen’s sister, Natalie, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. Get out of my way.”
Ignoring the rolling of her eyes and her look of disdain, he shook his head slowly, sadly. “I’m sorry. We haven’t been able to locate Ellen or Rob.”
Instead of swooning or weeping as he’d expected, the woman began to scream, curse and pound him with her fists. “Well go find her! Don’t just stand there, you idiot! Do something! Go back and look again!”
He did his best to fend off the blows without harming his attacker. A female sheriff’s deputy noticed the one-sided altercation and quickly came to his rescue.
“This is the sister of the property owner,” Mitch explained as the deputy restrained the panic-stricken woman. “Maybe she can wait in your car? Try to get control of herself?”
“Sure. No sweat. Sheriff Allgood’s wife rode along with him. She can look after this lady for us.”
Nodding, Mitch paused for only an instant before returning to the tasks at hand. His heart was heavy. He could certainly identify with the hysterical woman but he didn’t dare give in to his personal feelings.
What he needed to do right now was concentrate on his job so he’d have less time to dwell on the loss of his friends. Or on the fact that there were probably three new orphans in town, he thought, clenching his teeth. How could a loving God have let any of this happen?
“Forgive me, Lord,” he whispered as he gazed at the scene of destruction through stinging eyes. “And while You’re at it, help us all accept life without Rob and Ellen if they are truly gone. It’s not going to be easy. Especially not for those kids.”
TWO
Dozens of people continued to mill around the disaster scene, speaking mostly in whispers—awed, curious and yet horrified.
After wrapping Timmy in a gray blanket one of the bystanders had given her, Jill crouched, held the boy’s hands, spoke softly and continued to try to comfort him. It seemed he either didn’t hear her or had no intention of paying the slightest attention. Perhaps a little of both.
Pastor’s wife, Becky Malloy, was perched on the open tailgate of a nearby pickup, cradling sleepy, eighteen-month-old Megan. Elderly Miss Violet Hanford, another member of both the fire department auxiliary and Serenity Chapel, rocked and soothed five-year-old Paul inside the cab of the same vehicle.
Timmy was most likely in shock rather than ill, Jill kept assuring herself. Nevertheless, as soon as one of the EMTs was available she intended to ask for professional advice.
In the meantime, there was nothing to do but keep an eye—and a hand—on him to make sure he didn’t bolt. She figured she could have caught him if he’d tried to run under normal circumstances, but as emotionally overwrought as he was tonight, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be able to elude her if he wanted to.
Suddenly, his brown eyes widened. She felt his thin fingers tighten around hers. There was so much smoke in the air she wasn’t sure if she was seeing tears of sorrow or if his eyes were watering because of the constant irritation.
She returned the squeeze and chanced a smile. “What is it, honey? Would you like to go sit in the truck with your brother? I’m sure it’s much warmer in there.”
Tim moved his head back and forth so rapidly his shaggy, uncombed brown hair swung like her little lapdog Mugsy’s fur did when he shook himself after a bath.
Concerned, Jill leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Tell me how I can help you.”
Instead of answering, the boy tore his hand from hers and threw the coarse blanket off his shoulders. For an instant she was afraid he intended to flee. Then, he launched himself at her and wrapped both arms around her neck. The force of the unexpected tackle knocked her onto her back pockets in the dirt.
Timmy immediately scrambled aside, grabbed her wrist with both hands and tried to haul her to her feet. Although he wasn’t speaking, she could hear whining, shuddery noises coming from deep in his small chest.
“It’s okay,” Jill said. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.” She got up and began to dust off her jeans with her free hand. “See? No problem.”
Still, the little boy wasn’t pacified. Instead of continuing to face her, however, he ducked behind her legs. That was what finally made her realize someone else was approaching. She recognized the puffy-eyed, disheveled woman as the one who had attacked Mitch earlier in the evening and braced herself to counter the same kind of irrational behavior.
It was the lost expression on the woman’s tear-streaked face that softened Jill’s attitude and caused her to offer proper condolences. “I’m so sorry. You’re Natalie Stevens, aren’t you? I’m Jill. We met in church. Your sister introduced us.”
“What have they told you?” Natalie rasped. “They won’t let me go closer to see for myself and they won’t look for Ellen either. I’ve been all over the airport. Nobody’s seen any sign of her.”
“I don’t think it’s wise to discuss things like that in front of the children, do you?” Jill continued to soothe Timmy by slowly, gently stroking his hair.
“What? Oh. No, I suppose not.” She began to pace and rub her hands together, never straying far before turning and repeating the tight circuit. “I can’t understand what happened. Ellen almost never set foot in the office at all, and she certainly wouldn’t think of working on a weekend. She can’t have been in the office when it caught fire. She simply can’t have.”
“All I know is that they found the children in the main part of the house,” Jill said. “The firemen got them out safely before that started burning, too.”
Although the other woman didn’t seem to be paying attention, Jill continued, “Don’t you worry. We’ll take good care of your niece and nephews until the proper authorities get here.”
“Fine, fine.” Natalie sent a distracted glance toward the pile of bent, scorched tin and ashes that had been the Pearson Products business office and began mumbling to herself as she wandered away. “Ellen can’t be dead. I won’t believe it. It’s a mistake, that’s all. A big mistake.”
Timmy was still clinging to Jill’s knees and trembling. She bent and wrapped him again for warmth before lifting and balancing his light weight on one hip.
Hugging her neck, he took a shuddering breath, buried his face in the folds of the blanket lying against her shoulder and began to weep.
Tears were a good sign, Jill realized, because that meant he was probably moving beyond his initial anger and shock. Instead of trying to get him to stop crying, she held him close and let him grieve, praying for the right words to eventually help soothe his pain and the wisdom to know when to speak.
She ached for this little one. For all of them. At times like this, when her heart was open and most empathetic, she was even better at relating to emotionally needy children.
Jill knew for a fact that Ellen Pearson had been a sweet person, a loving wife, a dedicated mother. Assuming everyone’s sad assumptions were correct, Ellen had not meant to leave her dear ones. She had merely been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Jill’s own mother, however, had made a conscious choice. Mama had turned her back on her only child and had walked away—forever—without so much as a wave goodbye.
By the time several hours had passed, Mitch was mentally and physically exhausted. The engine crews had managed to preserve most of the factory and all of the separate warehouse but had lost the fight to save the home and business office. That was considered a good result under such difficult circumstances. As far as Mitch was concerned though, they had failed.
He’d grown close to the Pearsons when they’d moved to town a few years back and had started attending Serenity Chapel. He’d coached Timmy and Paul on the church T-ball team and had often envied the family’s closeness.
Standing at the edge of the ruins, he was wiping his sweaty, gritty brow and remembering happier times when a hand clapped him firmly on the shoulder.
“We did all we could,” Chief Longstreet said. “Even with the extra units from all over the county and everything we had in town, it was a tough fight.”
“There’s no chance Rob and Ellen managed to get out?” Mitch asked, unwilling to let himself believe his friends were really gone.
“Don’t think so. Looks like the initial explosion blocked the office exit. If they were in there, they probably never knew what hit ‘em.”
“When we first got the call, I thought a plane had crashed. It’s clear that didn’t happen. So, did a gas leak start all this?”
“Could be. I’ve asked for investigators from Little Rock to come and look things over, just in case.”
Shivers shot up Mitch’s spine. “In case of what?”
Jim Longstreet gestured at the ground in the distance. “You’ve probably been too busy to notice but I spotted a few odd things. See the way some of the rubble is fanned way out from a central area? That doesn’t look right to me.”
“We all heard a blast.”
The chief nodded. “True. And if this turns out to be an accident, I’ll be happy to put that in my report. But until we can pin down a cause I’m going to keep needling the sheriff and anybody else who can give us some answers.”
He concentrated on Mitch. “Look, I know these folks were good friends of yours. Why don’t you go on back to the station and let the fresh crews finish mopping up? Things like this are tough enough when the victims are strangers.”
“I can still do my job.”
“I know you can. But we have plenty of extra help here now. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”
“I want to stay and see for myself first.”
“Sorry. I’m not letting anybody except the coroner poke around in there until there’s been an official investigation. Sheriff Allgood is gonna leave deputies to guard the site 24/7.”
Mitch removed his helmet and raked his fingers through his damp hair. “This has to be accidental. Everybody loved Rob and his family.”
The chief snorted. “I sure hope you’re right.”
Jill was waiting with Becky and the children when she saw a familiar figure approaching. She asked the pastor’s wife to mind Timmy while she stepped away to speak privately with Mitch.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said.
“We’re waiting for someone from Children and Family Services to take custody of the kids.” Reaching toward his hand, she stopped herself before they actually touched. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Any sign of other survivors?”
He shook his head slowly, sadly, his sober expression accentuated by the smudges of black ash on his face and the aura of loss that hung over him like a storm cloud.
“I’m so sorry. I talked to Natalie Stevens after she tried to beat up on you. She’s a basket case.”
Mitch huffed. “Yeah. A lot of us are.”
He started coughing so Jill waited for him to quiet before she asked, “Why aren’t you still working?”
“The chief is sending me back to the station early. It wasn’t my idea. I just wanted to check that you were okay before I left.”
How typical of him, she mused, touched by his concern. “I’m fine. I am looking forward to getting home and washing some of this smoke out of my hair, though.” To her delight, that comment made Mitch chuckle cynically.
“Yeah. Right. Me, too,” he said, raising his hand to swipe at the grime on his cheeks. “I guess I got a little dirty, huh?”
“A little?” Jill chanced a smile. “You look like an urchin and smell like a smoked ham.”
“Thanks. You look nice, too, lady.”
She sobered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that. Not now.”
“It’s okay. Cops and firefighters have ways of coping that seem strange to civilians. So do E.R. doctors and nurses. We’re always kidding around, even in really bad times. If we didn’t, I don’t know how we’d stay sane.” He turned away as more coughing racked his body.
Jill took the chance he wouldn’t mind and patted him lightly on the back. “Are you okay?”
“I will be. I always am.” She saw him look past her and zero in on the truck where Becky and the children waited. “Call me later and let me know how it goes with the kids, will you? I’ll be at the station.”
“Sure.”
She yearned to give him a hug of consolation the way she had the boy but subdued the inappropriate urge. She and Mitch were merely good friends. He’d made his position clear at the outset of their relationship and she was in total agreement. She’d lost her mother at a young age and, just when she finally thought she’d gotten her life back on track, the love of her life had been killed in a freak accident. Twice was enough. Given Mitch’s dedication to his dangerous profession, she was not about to open her heart to him and chance losing another loved one. As far as she was concerned, remaining alone was far better than risking a broken heart.
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