Beneath the Flames Page 4

  He wiped the soot from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and limped upstairs holding the book to his chest. He lay down and opened the book to the last page, focusing on the last two words, Love Mom.

  “Is this what you felt like before taking those pills?”

  Chapter 6

  Two days after the fire, Mitch was in the scorched wheat field before daybreak, dragging a twenty-foot disc plow over the ground with the John Deere 8200. He had been getting up early and coming in late to avoid Sid. The stench of burned timber and brush hung over the farm, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

  The sun lifted over the horizon illuminating the bare trunks, limbs, and branches of the blackened woods, the woods where Mitch hunted deer, the woods he loved to explore as a young boy, alive with squirrels, chipmunks, insects, and shrieking blue jays. He had marveled at the endless shades of green among the ferns, leaves, and thick underbrush, and how it all changed through the seasons. Now everything was shades of gray and black, the color of death, the animals gone.

  The tractor’s CD player blared, but he wasn’t listening. His last thread of hope had died in the fire. All he thought about the last forty-eight hours was the plan. He finally had it all worked out. Mitch’s mother had demanded Sid take out life insurance policies on everyone many years ago. Mitch’s policy would help pay bills for a while. And they could sell his truck.

  After chores, he’d go into the woods to cut down some damaged trees for firewood. He’d carefully notch the giant oak with the chainsaw so it would fall slowly at first, giving him time to get under it before it crashed to the ground. Heavy branches would be strewn about the tree for him to trip on, making it look like a terrible accident. No notes and no lingering guilt left behind for Sid and Chris to struggle with. And no more pain.

  The end of the field was in sight. Mitch shut down the tractor. He needed some quiet time to reflect. If the pastor was right, he’d join his mom in heaven and be able to tell Maggie how sorry he was. Mitch never bought into the whole heaven and hell stuff, but what did he know? Lately, he wasn’t sure of anything.

  Well back in the woods stood the towering oak, visible now that the leaves and branches had burned off most of the trees. Steel cables that had supported the tree house shimmered in the early morning sun, appearing to be tears streaming down the tree’s blackened trunk. The metal deer stand ladder used for climbing into the tree house led to, nothing.

  Mitch shook his head hard, put the tractor in gear, and finished plowing the rest of the field.

  * * *

  Chris and Sid were at the kitchen table slurping coffee when Mitch came in from the field. He rushed by them to the front room and clicked on the TV. He stretched out on the old brown couch with threadbare arms that smelled like dirty laundry. The shades in the musty room were drawn for napping between chores. After the noon chores, he’d head out to the woods for the last time. Knowing today was the day gave him a strange sense of peace. It would all be over soon.

  The dingy screen of the electronic relic warmed to life. Smoke billowed from two high-rise buildings.

  “The President has declared this a terrorist attack,” Tom Brokaw announced in a somber voice.

  Mitch stared at the image on the screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Matt Lauer and Katie Couric said something about hijacked airplanes.

  A cloud of gray and white smoke mushroomed from one of the buildings.

  “Holy crap!”

  Sid and Chris burst into the room.

  “What’s going on?” Sid asked.

  “I don’t know, Dad.”

  “What’d they say?”

  “Dad, I don’t know.”

  They huddled around the television, Sid sitting on the edge of the scuffed leather recliner and Chris next to Mitch on the couch.

  The mountain of smoke erupting from the building was replayed in slow motion from several angles. Tom Brokaw told Matt Lauer it looked like a chunk of the building had peeled away.

  Within minutes, Lauer said they just received a report that the South Tower of the World Trade Center had collapsed.

  Mitch sucked in a deep breath.

  “Damn,” Chris said.

  Sid clenched his fists.

  Mitch strained to comprehend the frantic reports streaming in: the Pentagon on fire, all air traffic grounded, more possible attacks, evacuations occurring around the country, and live video of the North Tower burning. His thoughts turned to the firefighters. Did they get everyone out of the other tower before it collapsed? And did they all get out?

  The three of them gasped as the mammoth North Tower collapsed. Their mouths hung open as the tower crumbled to the ground hurling a wall of gray ash through the streets of Manhattan.

  Sid sprang to his feet and stomped around the room, his face beet red. “They know who did this?”

  “Something about a terrorist attack,” Mitch said.

  “Time we put an end to them bastards and nuke the whole goddamn Middle East. Turn those deserts to glass. Goddamn towel heads.”

  Mitch leaned closer to the television. “Dad, we can’t hear.”

  Sid moved in front of him, blocking the television. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, sorry,” Mitch whispered.

  “I’ll be out trying to keep this farm going in case anyone wants to get off their ass and help.”

  Sid’s boots clomped against the hard linoleum of the kitchen floor followed by a loud bang of the screen door.

  “Man, one of these days he’s gonna blow a gasket,” Chris said. “I better go help. You done plowing?”

  Mitch gave him a quick nod. He couldn’t leave. He had to know what happened to the firefighters.

  The afternoon became a blur of videos, endless speeches, and interviews. Images of people jumping to their deaths sickened him.

  * * *

  The smell of beef stew drifted into the musty living room. It was after eight. Mitch had no appetite.

  “Dad cool down?” Mitch asked Chris when he entered the front room, gnawing on a Snickers bar.

  “What do you think? Anything new?”

  “They’re searching for people in the ruins.”

  “How many?”

  “They figure thousands.”

  “The firefighters make it out?”

  Mitch’s stomach knotted.

  Chris stopped chewing. “Jesus, what’s wrong?”

  They sat in silence until Mitch could get the words out. “Those firefighters must have known they might not make it out. They went in anyway.” He stretched his arms wide. “Because that’s their job, Chris, to save people or die trying. You understand?”

  “Yeah, that’s awesome, but why you so worked up?”

  “Because if I had their balls, Maggie’d still be alive.”

  Chris frowned. “Or you’d both be dead.”

  “At least I’d be able to live with myself.”

  “That’s crazy talk. It don’t make sense.”

  “I know, right? Nothing does.” Mitch attempted a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”

  “Okay, just stop that crazy talk.”

  Mitch drifted off watching the news reports well into the night.

  He woke to more reports and videos. Two ghostlike firefighters covered in gray soot were explaining the eerie high-pitched wailing coming from the rubble shortly after the collapse of the buildings. The sound was from the PASS devices, Personal Alert Safety Systems, firefighters wear that give off a piercing wail when a firefighter is motionless for more than thirty seconds or manually triggered by a firefighter in distress. The despair on their ashen faces left no doubt what that meant.

  Another video showed a firefighter carrying a woman from the North Tower just before it collapsed. The reporter said she was in a wheelchair on the twenty-fifth floor and the firefighter carried her all the way down. Had he not found her and taken her out, he’d have perished in the tower along with her and the thousands of others.

  The intenseness
of the firefighter’s face and serenity of the woman’s face blew Mitch away. In that instant, the hopelessness lifted. He knew what he had to do.

  Chapter 7

  The tired drone of the mail truck signaled it was noon. The rural carrier was never more than a few minutes off. Mitch jogged down the drive to the mailbox to check for the letter he’d been waiting on since the first of March. He dug through the ads and found it. The return address read City of Milwaukee Police and Fire Commission.

  After 9/11, the reports of the incredible acts of courage had steeled Mitch’s resolve to join the Milwaukee Fire Department. The hope of becoming a professional firefighter silenced the suicidal thoughts, but he continued to struggle with suffocating guilt. Friends had stopped coming by, and Jennie stopped pushing him to talk when they saw each other, which wasn’t often. They drifted apart. That would all change once he proved himself as a professional firefighter.

  The Milroy Savings and Loan financed their purchase of a used combine that Mitch had to recondition, but warned them the farm was at the limit for future loans. After the fall harvest of corn, the workload on the farm eased over the winter, giving Mitch plenty of time to prepare for the fire department entrance exam. Big Jim supplied him with study materials for the written exam and advice on preparing for the physical agility test and the oral interview. Big Jim had applied to both the Madison and Milwaukee departments but never placed high enough to get hired. He told Mitch that Milwaukee gets thousands of applications for fewer than one hundred openings. Chances of getting on were slim to none. Big Jim was the only one who knew Mitch had applied.

  Mitch was sure he aced the written exam, and the physical agility test was no challenge. But he got flustered during the oral exam and was sure he blew it.

  He swallowed hard before opening the envelope.

  His vision blurred as he read.

  Dear Sir,

  Your name has been certified for appointment as Firefighter in the Milwaukee Fire Department…

  * * *

  Sid came in late from the barn and joined Mitch and Chris at the table. Tonight was Mitch’s turn to make supper. He prepared Sid’s favorite, meatloaf with buttered mashed potatoes.

  “Dad, I got something important to tell you,” Mitch blurted out.

  Through a mouthful of meatloaf, Sid said, “We should start planting end of the month. The planter ready to go?”

  “Dad.”

  “Seed ordered?”

  “I got hired by the Milwaukee Fire Department.”

  “What the hell you talking about?”

  Chris choked.

  “I start training next month.” Mitch talked fast. “Once my wages kick in, I can send money back to help pay bills. And once I get through training, I can come back on my off days and help during planting and harvesting. Dad, I—”

  “Twelve years I been raising you myself. And this is how you thank me? By running off to that cesspool to play fireman with those black bastards.”

  “I have to do this.”

  “You’re only twenty-two. How the hell do you know what you have to do?”

  Mitch’s voice cracked. “I have to do this.”

  “Then pack your goddamn bags and get the hell off my farm. And keep your money. I don’t want it.” Sid rose and flung the heavy oak chair back­ward. “Make sure you’re gone by morning.” He stomped up the stairs muttering, “Goddamn ungrateful son of a bitch.”

  Chris’s mouth gaped open. “So what you gonna do?”

  “Guess I’ll see if Jen will let me stay with her until I move to Milwaukee.”

  “How we gonna run the farm without you?”

  “Talk to the Pulvermachers. I think their oldest kid is looking for work. He’s good with machinery.”

  “My brother, the big-city fireman. Just don’t go getting burnt up.”

  * * *

  Mitch shoved a worn duffle bag full of clothes and toiletries. He sighed when he uncovered the scorched fire helmet and weathered John Deere hat. He didn’t pack them. When he got to the bed stand, he opened A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, read the inscription one more time, and put the book back.

  The flooring on the second floor of the old farmhouse creaked as he headed to the stairs in the dark. Chris’s door rattled. Mitch stopped and dropped the duffle. The brothers embraced silently in the darkness. Chris choked back a sniffle and went back to his room. The door latch clicked. Mitch slung the duffle over his shoulder and moved to the stairs.

  Billy lifted his head off the blanket when Mitch stepped onto the porch. Mitch knelt and hugged the old, plump dog around the neck and buried his face in Billy’s earthy coat. A ball of sadness welled in his chest. “You’re the best dog on the planet, old boy.”

  Billy licked the side of Mitch’s face with his rough tongue and whined.

  Before driving away, Mitch looked back to the porch. Billy tilted his head and wagged his tail.

  * * *

  Jennie greeted him at the door of her flat wearing the oversized Green Bay Packers T-shirt she slept in. “Kinda late, isn’t it?”

  “Got something I have to tell you.”

  She pointed at the green canvas duffle bag. “Going camping?”

  “Got any beer?”

  She frowned. “Okay? This better be good.”

  He threw the duffle next to the brown leather sofa she had inherited from her grandmother. The apartment was tiny and spotless, smelling of lemon-scented Pledge with a trace of cinnamon. An antique cuckoo clock and a painting of black and white Holsteins grazing on the side of a hill hung on the far wall. It was a painting of her grandparent’s farm where she spent summer days helping milk cows and bale hay, painted by her grandmother before cancer took her.

  Mitch settled into the cushy sofa. Jennie wedged herself against him and handed him a bottle of Miller Lite. She took a long drink from hers and leaned back, her T-shirt riding up her bare thighs. She had nothing on underneath. Mitch couldn’t help staring.

  She clenched his chin. “Is that what you came for?”

  “What? No.” He attempted to smile. “I had a craving for your cinnamon buns.”

  “Right.”

  “Jen…”

  “So serious.”

  His hand shook as he lifted the bottle. The cold amber sizzled down his throat. He chugged half before putting it down. “I’m joining the Milwaukee Fire Department.”

  “Umm, okay? When?”

  “Next month. I get sworn in on the eighth and start training on the ninth.”

  “So, you’re leaving in what, three weeks?” Her face reddened. “And you’re just telling me now?” She poked him in the chest. “Christ, you’re a piece of work.”

  She finished her beer and peeled the label off the bottle. “The only time I get your attention is when you’re horny. So, go ahead, leave. See what I care.” She poked him again, harder. “You’re an asshole.” She sank back on the couch with her arms clamped across her chest.

  “Jen, please. I didn’t want to tell anybody until I knew. You saw what I was like after I let—after Maggie died, I was a mess. I almost…”

  “Almost what?”

  “After mom died, the Hillenbrands treated us like family. I got to hold little Maggie the day after she was born. Her and Lydia were like my kid sisters.” Mitch choked back tears. “Why couldn’t I save her?”

  Jennie smoothed his thick black hair and pressed her forehead against his. “You have to stop blaming yourself.”

  “When I saw what those firefighters did on 9/11, it hit me. If I could do that, just maybe, I could feel normal again. I want to be with you more than anything. But I have to do this.”

  “How can you be with me if you’re in Milwaukee?”

  Mitch pulled her close. “Jen, I love you. I do.”

  “It’s been a while since I heard that.” Her voice softened. “How we gonna do this? I still have a year to go in nursing school.”

  She burrowed her head into his chest and sighed. The cuckoo clock chimed
once. “What did you almost do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t look like nothing from that look on your face.” Jennie’s serene brown eyes soothed him. Their lips met. Her mouth tasted of beer and mint toothpaste. He slid his hand under the Green Bay Packers T-shirt. Her small breast responded to his gentle caress. She slipped her hand inside his jeans. Within seconds she had him hard. He pulled her hand away before it was over.

  He lifted her T-shirt over her head. The sight of her bare breasts nearly sent him over the edge. She stretched back on the couch and opened herself to him. He caught the slightest, musky scent of arousal. She gripped his thick hair as he brushed his lips over her breasts. She pulled his face to hers and ran her tongue over his. She leaned back, her eyes glassy. “I want you now.”

  Mitch tore his clothes off and lowered himself onto her, their bodies fitting together like warm, sensuous pieces of a puzzle, every curve fitting perfectly. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him inside, whim­pering. She stared into his eyes, their faces inches apart, her breath hot against his lips. They started slow. He wanted to make it last. But she pushed faster and harder until he couldn’t hold back. They collapsed into one another, sweating, chests heaving.

  They had come a long way from the first time, both sixteen, when he was done before they got started.

  “Let’s go to bed,” Jennie said after they caught their breath. “I have classes in the morning, then clinicals in the afternoon. I’m exhausted.”

  “Got any cinnamon buns?”

  “So that is what you came for.” She headed for the bedroom swinging her slim hips. She glanced back and smirked. “Get me one.”

  They sat naked on her small bed and stuffed their mouths with the sweet, pillowy buns like two kids sneaking candy. Jennie licked the cream cheese frosting from his fingers. “What did your dad think about all this?”

  “He kicked me out.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Soo, you planning on staying here?”

  “I was hoping.”