“Fate,” Saint managed.
“And so different from me. Now, my love, I want you to relax so I can begin my lessons.”
Jules delighted in the results of her handiwork, and Saint thought he’d die from the pleasure of it. “No,” he gasped, pulling her away, “no more.”
She gave him a slightly dazed, very pleased smile. “I don’t pull you away,” she said in a voice of reproach.
“It’s not quite the same thing,” he said. “Now, my beautiful, greedy, wife, it’s my turn.”
“Oh dear,” she gasped. “Thomas—”
“I’ll put my hand over your mouth,” said Saint. “Just promise not to bite me inadvertently, all right?”
The first explosion rocked the house and the bed. Saint, instantly alert, leapt out of bed and rushed to the window. He could see nothing.
“What was that?” Jules asked, sitting up.
“God only knows. Whatever and wherever it was, I’ll be needed, Thomas too.”
He began to pull on his clothes.
“I’ll come too,” said Jules.
He started to tell her no, but saw that she would argue tooth and nail with him. And there wasn’t time. “All right. Hurry.”
When Saint opened the bedroom door, he saw Thomas in the hallway struggling into his shirt.
“I don’t know,” Saint answered the unasked question. “Jules, wear a cloak! It’ll be chilly.”
They found Thackery downstairs, dressed, and leading two horses. “It’s the Stevensons’ foundry, Dr. Saint,” he said. “Gawd, you can see the flames from here!” Thackery was right. To the south, the sky was streaked with bright crimson and orange.
Damn Bunker, Saint was thinking. Normally at this time of night there shouldn’t be anyone around. But Bunker liked to have night shifts at the foundry. He prayed there were no fatalities.
He lifted Jules in front of him, and Thomas mounted the other horse.
“I’ll follow as soon as I can,” Thackery called.
When they arrived at the foundry, or what remained of it, there were already a good thirty men there, passing buckets of water with incredible speed.
“Anyone hurt?” Saint asked Morley Crocker, the foreman.
“Thank God, Saint! Yeah, we’ve still two men unaccounted for, and a half-dozen wounded over there.”
Jules ran to keep pace with her husband and Thomas. Flames leapt into the air, and cinders flew about them. Her cloak felt suddenly stifling in the intense heat. She heard men yelling, saw the devastation.
“Your foundry,” she said blankly to Thomas.
“I think my decision has just been rendered much simpler,” he said.
Saint was bandaging a burned arm when Dr. Samuel Pickett came. “No fatalities, thank God,” Saint said. “The burns aren’t all that serious, but we’ve got one man unconscious, shock probably. My wife is watching him and keeping him warm.”
Jules stared down at the man’s still face. His clothes were tattered with burn holes and there were black smudges on his face and hands. She took off her own cloak and covered him. She heard Saint telling Thomas what to do, and saw Dr. Pickett hovering over a man who was moaning pitifully. It started to rain, and Jules lifted her face to the cooling water. The drops thickened and soon it was a deluge. Thank God, Jules thought. That should put out the bloody fire. Thackery appeared beside her.
“What happened? Do you know?” she asked.
Thackery shook his head. Suddenly he straightened and yelled, “Dr. Saint, no!”
Jules whirled about to see Michael running toward the still-flaming ruins. She could barely make out the form of a man stumbling out, clutching his stomach.