Breathe Again

Chapter 1

Early summer, 1867

Dense forest surrounded Sterling Hawkins as a thick mist crept along the mountain valley. It was a strange sight to behold because it slithered over the ground and moved almost like it was a living breathing thing, caressing each tree it swirled around before flowing to the next.

Billowing gray clouds rolled overhead, blotting out the midday sun until it became nothing more than a hazy circle of light. For the better part of the day, Sterling had been trailing a bull elk and finally had a clear shot. The overcast sky seemed oddly bright as he sighted along his rifle, preparing to shoot.

It became a memorable scene quickly emblazoned within his memory because when he moved to squeeze the trigger, there came the unmistakably pungent and acrid smell of burning wood.

The elk picked up the scent and bolted through the trees, further into the forest and out of Sterling's view. Grumbling under his breath at losing the meat the elk would have provided, he whistled for Fancy his chestnut mare, fastened his rifle to the saddle, and mounted.

After watching the mist a few moments longer, he realized it was not mist at all. It was smoke. In growing concern, he noted the direction it was creeping from and spurred Fancy in search of the source.

Exiting the valley, he scanned the area. A column of thick, black smoke poured into the sky from the direction of the Griggs' home a quarter-mile away. Gasping a curse, he kicked Fancy into a gallop. Terror gripped him. Please don't let them be the source of the fire, he silently pleaded.

His heart pounded, matching the rapid staccato of Fancy's hoofs as she galloped across the dirt road. When the trees thinned enough for him to catch sight of the flicker of bright orange flames, he cursed louder and spurred Fancy to a faster gait.

Within the next few minutes, it became clear he wouldn't make it in time. The smoke billowed from most of the lower windows and a few of the upper story. Fire licked hungrily at the white two-story clapboard home, burning the most intensely at the back where he knew the kitchen was. Had Dottie and Louisa made it to safety? What if they were trapped inside?

Reining Fancy to a halt, he threw himself from the saddle, yelling, "Dottie! Louisa!"

His stomach clenched, nearly doubling him over from the panic pumping through his veins. Dottie had to be all right. He could not lose her, not when he hadn't been able to gain her forgiveness.

Sterling pulled his shirt up and over his mouth, running to the West side of the house in search of Dottie and her mother. The smoke choked him the closer he drew to what used to be the kitchen window, but which now resembled a portal to hell.

"Dottie!" His voice broke; the howling of the fire grew so intense he could hardly hear himself. He coughed and gasped for air before yelling, "Louisa!"

Only the roar of the fire answered him.

Swearing under his breath, he ran to the other side of the house and found Louisa, Dottie's mother, covered in soot and doubled over on her hands and knees, gasping for breath.

Her auburn hair hung down around her shoulders in disarray, muted by a thick layer of ash. Her dark violet dress, singed along the entire right side, also bore streaks of black soot.

Sterling raced to her, sliding to his knees beside her as he grasped her shoulders, "Where's Dottie?"

Tears poured down her grime-streaked face. "Sterling," she choked. She looked at him with terrified pale blue eyes, reddened and irritated from the smoke, "She and Elliot are still upstairs in her room. I-I tried—I couldn't get to them, Sterling. They're trapped!"

His eyes widened, and a low growl escaped his raw throat. A desperate urgency seized him. Nothing mattered except saving Dottie and her baby.

He raced to the main door and gripped the handle, jumping back when heat scorched his palm. Gritting his teeth, he removed his brown calico shirt and ran to the water pump a few feet away. After dousing the material, Sterling soaked his faded navy-blue pants.

Sprinting back to the door, he wrapped his wet shirt around his head and mouth, leaving only a slit wide enough for him to see through before he broke the door down.

Flames exploded out of the opening, forcing him back for several nerve-wracking seconds before he charged his way into the sweltering inferno. Fire greedily consumed the walls all around him and the curtains adorning the windows, blazing its way over anything in its path.

Jumping over a burning section of fallen ceiling in his way, he sprinted up the stairs and dodged several more engulfed planks of wood littering the area around him.

Near the top of the second floor, the staircase groaned and shuddered beneath his weight before the damaged supporting beams gave way from under him. A loud wailing-scream split the air like a banshee as a rafter swung toward him from above, knocking him backward and off-balance just as he leaped up the last three stairs.

The scorching wood and cinders of the landing burned his exposed shoulders and chest. He struggled to pull himself over the demolished edge, crying out in pain and choking when smoke filled his lungs. Once on his feet, Sterling hurried toward Dottie's room.

Wrapping his hand around the brass knob, he cursed. Locked. He shouted, "DOTTIE, OPEN UP, IT'S ME."

No answer. Knowing there wasn't time to mess around, Sterling hurled himself against the door. At six foot four and over two-hundred-sixty pounds of pure muscle, the locked bedroom door had little choice but to give way.

He stumbled inside amidst the broken wood and rubbed his sore shoulder. Smoke spilled in after him, further clouding his vision as he searched for Dottie and her baby.

Tears fell from stinging eyes as he choked out, "Dottie!"

Unable to see anything clearly, he dropped to his knees and continued to yell her name and search for her body. The floorboards were painfully hot to the touch and had him worried they were weakening and would give out at any moment from the flames in the rooms below.

He had to find her! The crackling roar of the fire in the hall grew louder as it made its way closer to the room, signaling the time for escape was dwindling.

Sterling shouted her name again, terrified when a mewling sound came from six feet away. Crawling around the bed, he found Dottie unconscious and curled protectively around her three-month-old son.