Thistle Down

Thirty-seven

DUSTY AND CHASE WANDERED the grounds, holding hands. They nodded to the mayor. Dusty waved to Pamela Shiregrove and her handsome husband.

All of the committees seemed to be doing their jobs without supervision. She giggled a bit. “Mom trained them well. But she’d never believe they could do anything without her hovering over them, driving them crazy.”

The cell phone tucked into her bra vibrated and jingled. Dusty looked down at her scant cleavage in surprise. A call now could only mean something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. “Now what?”

She fished the phone out with her free hand, never letting go of Chase. He inspected the procedure with extreme interest, lingering on her breasts even after she freed the phone.

The international exchange on the caller ID told her all. “Hi, Mom. I’m kind of busy right now.”

“What time is it there? Has the Ball started? Did you make sure the serviettes match the tablecloths and candles? And I just remembered the big slotted serving spoons are in a box in the attic of the gift shop.”

“I know, Mom. We took care of it. And yes, the tablecloths, serviettes, and candles coordinate. We’re doing fine. But I’ve got to get back to my guests.”

“Yes, of course. What are you wearing? I do hope you aren’t in those musty old pioneer dresses you favor. You need something light and colorful…”

“Mom, I’m dressed as a white swallowtail Pixie, complete with tiara. And Chase looks marvelous as the local sheriff.”

“That’s nice. But did Ted call you? Why aren’t you with the date I arranged for you?”

“Ted did call, and we agreed we’d both be happier dating someone else. I’m with Chase tonight. Ted should be coming with his real girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Mom’s voice fell flat.

“Mom, I followed all of your instructions for the Ball to the letter.” Then she’d tossed most of them and started over from scratch with a less redundant and micromanaged schedule.

“But…”

“Not now, Mom.” Dusty closed the phone with a decisive click.

It rang again. She ignored it after a quick glance at the caller ID.

“Good for you, Dusty,” Chase whispered as he leaned in for a quick kiss.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Mom will never let go of me until I cut the umbilical cord myself. Until I define myself and not let her and the dead cancer do it for me.”

Chase just grinned and kissed her again.

“Amazing that the food comes out of the kitchens at regular intervals, the musicians play twenty-minute sets and then retire to the punch bowl, and all the guests are behaving themselves,” Chase mused. “All without your mother telling people what to do, when to do it, why they should do it, and how.”

“I diluted the champagne punch to half usual strength,” Dusty whispered. “No one is getting drunk. Mom would never think of that. She insisted we had to follow the 1857 recipe precisely.”

“You forgot the mayor.” Chase frowned.

“You mean the flask?”

“Yeah.”

“Not to worry. Thistle substituted a different one. He’s drinking heavily watered vodka.”

“Good planning. Good party.” Chase raised her fingers to her lips. “I suppose you’ll want a formal courtship, lots of dates, making out in the back of my pickup before I can ask you to marry me.”

“Oh, I want lots of dates. And lots of making out. But you can ask me before all that happens.” She smiled hugely, leaning closer to him, relishing the strength of his arms and the silly grin on his face.

“Later, when this is all over and we both have time to concentrate on the future, I’ll get down on bended knee and ask you properly. Then Monday morning we go buy a ring. Won’t be very big or flashy, but it will be our promise to each other.” He dropped a kiss on her nose.

Her heart swelled until she thought it would burst, spreading her joy to the entire crowd.

“Have either of you seen Dick?” Thistle ran over to them, a deep frown and worry lines making her almond eyes look sharper, her nose longer, and her ears more pointed.

Dusty jumped away from Chase, embarrassed by their public display. “What’s wrong with Dick?”

“Dick’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Chase reassured her, drawing Dusty back within the circle of his arm.

“I’m not so sure. He’s been gone for hours.” Thistle gnawed on her thumb as she stared at the line of trees festooned with tiny lights that added mystery and romance to their dense shadows.

“Has it been that long?” Now Chase looked a bit worried, his muscles clenched where they held Dusty.

“Dick? Where did he go?” Dusty asked. Panic wanted to claim possession of her mind. Not Dick. Dick was always there, ready to protect her, eager to crack jokes, always coming out on top no matter how much trouble he got into-like when he got set back his sophomore year of high school because he partied too much to do his homework. The next year he’d aced all his classes. Or when he quit medical school halfway through because studying interfered with his party time. Maybe that was the excuse, but he really was better suited as a pharmaceutical representative and volunteer EMT.

“I haven’t seen my brother since just after he got here at five,” she said. A lump formed in her stomach. The same kind of lump that used to send her scurrying to the basement. Now she wanted to range all over the park looking for her errant brother.

“He went into The Ten Acre Wood looking for Phelma Jo,” Chase said. He started walking in that direction with Dusty in tow (as if he didn’t dare let go of her or she’d vanish into the cursed basement) and Thistle following close behind.

“There’s Phelma Jo,” Dusty called. “She looks horrible, all rumpled and dirty. Her hair’s a mess and she’s lost a shoe. That really isn’t like Phelma Jo. What’s she doing with that match?” Her heart climbed to her throat and cut off her breath.

“And that’s Hay right behind her. He’s got a chain saw!” Chase dropped her hand and ran as Hay pointedly pulled the ripcord on the cutting tool. His blade bit into the massive trunk of a cedar.

Phelma Jo dropped her match into the dry undergrowth.

A wall of flame shot upward with a roar. Waves of heat spread outward. Shadows twisted into monstrous orange shapes.

Dusty recoiled, throwing an arm across her face.

She smelled gasoline.

Phelma Jo just stood there, entranced by the all-consuming fire.

“Dick!” Dusty yelled. She darted forward, oblivious to the heat, the glare, and the hungry fire. Behind her, voices raised and sirens wailed in the distance.

“Dick!” She had to find her brother.

Chase caught her by the wings. The fabric straps dug into her shoulders and beneath her breasts as she struggled to go to her brother.

“You can’t go!” Chase said, putting himself protectively between her and the fire.

“But he’s lost in there, possibly hurt.” She struggled some more, knowing her puny strength was useless against his determination.

“Let the professionals do it. The fire department is on its way.”

“But it’s Dick, my brother, your best friend,” she sobbed.

“I know, but I also know that if you go looking for him now, I’ll be mourning you both. I can’t do that.”

Thistle surged forward. “Don’t you dare hurt my trees!” she yelled at Hay.

He turned on her, a sneer turning his once handsome face into an ugly mask. Pointed ears and chin turned him into a gargoyle. He brandished the roaring chain saw like a weapon.

Dusty gasped at the pure evil that seemed to roll off him like the waves of heat rising from the flames.

“Did someone call me?” Dick staggered out of the forest, his heavy western boots trampling and subduing the embers where he stepped. He rubbed his head rhythmically and kept his eyes nearly closed. He’d lost his hat.

Chase’s heart returned to a normal rate. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so relieved in his life.

More embers sprang to fiery life around his friend.

“Dick!” Thistle and Dusty screamed at the same moment.

He looked up and stumbled sideways into Hay, knocking him flat. The chain saw ground to a halt where it dug into the turf.

The fire edged deeper into the woods, ignoring the freshly watered lawn.

Chase pounced on Hay. One foot in the middle of his back, catching his flailing right hand with his own. “Got you now, Haywood Wheatland. I’m placing you under arrest for willful destruction of a city park, threatening an officer of the law, kidnap, arson, and I’ll think of a few other charges along the way.” He slapped handcuffs around the wrist he held and reached for the other hand. “You have the right to remain silent…”

“You can’t hold me! I’ll shrink and fly away,” Hay laughed. Then he closed his eyes and screwed up his face in fierce concentration. The flames cast eerie lights on the planes and angles of his cheeks and pointy ears.

“Aren’t you forgetting your own mythology?” Thistle sneered at him. She placed a foot on his shoulder, keeping him down. “Those are iron handcuffs. They negate your magic. You’re stuck in that body.”

“Huh?”

Chase completed his arrest ritual, making sure the cuffs fit tightly. No chance the tricky con man would find a way to wiggle free.

Dusty grabbed Dick by the arm, leading him away from the spreading flames. She shook him cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“I will be, when I can get some ice. Phelma Jo packs quite a wallop. Where is she, by the way? I think she’s been drugged.”

Chase turned to where she stood staring straight ahead, heedless of the flames that licked at her trouser legs. He threw Hay’s hands down and lunged forward in his best football tackle.

Dusty beat him to it. She crashed into Phelma Jo, knocking them both sideways, rolling onto the lush grass, until the flames gave up their fight for life and fuel.

Chase helped Dusty up, a little roughly, as he bent to inspect Phelma Jo’s injuries. “Medic! ” he yelled when he found second-degree burns on her ankles and hands.

Strangely, she remained silent, staring vacantly into the distance.

Dick joined him.

“Take care of her. You’ve got the EMT training,” Chase ordered.

“The wind has shifted,” Thistle announced. It’s coming from the east.

“Damn. That will spread the fire downhill, toward town.” Chase looked up, taking a tally of where everyone was and how much help they’d be. “We’re gonna need more fire trucks.” He pulled out his walkie-talkie and barked orders into it.

“The cliff is full of poison oak,” Dusty cried. “The smoke is toxic! ”

Chase looked at Hay and Phelma Jo in bewilderment. “I’ve got to get these two locked up. But I need to be on the front lines of this fire.”

“The pioneer jailhouse!” Thistle cried,pointing to the ramshackle shed whose wall planks sank two feet below ground level.

“That place won’t hold a fly,” Chase snorted.

“But it will hold Hay. Between the iron in the cuffs and being half underground, he’ll be powerless.”

“And Phelma Jo is really out of it,” Dusty reminded him, standing up.

Phelma Jo continued to lie on the ground unmoving, humming something. Do dum dee do. Not Thistle’s song, something else.

“She hasn’t moved. Dick, will she be all right?”

“Can’t say for sure. But she’s acting like he gave her flunitrazepam.” He tore Phelma Jo’s pant leg from ankle to knee, exposing more raw skin.

“What’s that?” Thistle asked.

“Commonly called Rohypnol or ruffies. A date rape drug that has hypnotic qualities,” Dick said, not looking up from his work.

“Just looks like a normal magic trance to me,” Thistle shrugged.

“Try explaining that to Judge Pepperidge,” Chase said, hauling a strangely silent and subdued Haywood toward the primitive shed. “Okay, let’s get this guy locked up. Phelma Jo goes in the first ambulance. Dick, find a paramedic among the fire crews for that knot on your head. It’s bleeding. Dusty, start organizing people to head downtown and meet the blaze with hoses and shovels as it comes down the cliff. We need the pumper trucks up here.”

“Will do!” she saluted him and ran off to the mass of people huddling away from the fire, doing a lot of talking but not much else.

“Don’t just stand there. Get out the hoses! Ladies, spray the sides of the buildings and the roof. This is my museum, and I’m not going to let it burn because you can’t make a decision. Gentlemen, into town and start wetting down as many of the buildings backing up to the cliff as you can.”

She sounded calm and determined, like a mother hen.

Bill Tremaine jumped to obey her commands, Pamela Shiregrove not far behind him.

He couldn’t help smiling. The old Dusty, shy and frightened of life was gone for good, because Thistle had taught her to embrace life rather than hide from it.

He heard Thistle call from the distance:

“I’ll get the Pixies to rescue who they can from the woods. The barrier came down with the flames.” She dashed off barefoot, nearly floating over the grass.