Breathlessly, Strong Heart and Four Winds dismounted close to Elizabeth, their eyes on the fire.
Strong Heart went to Elizabeth and swept an arm around her waist. Together they witnessed Morris Murdoch ride up, and dismount close to Earl.
* * *
Morris squinted his eyes as he gazed at the roaring flames and the falling walls of the house as it swayed in the brisk wind that blew across the Sound.
“I saw the smoke in the sky from my home,” Morris said thickly. “Somehow I knew it was your house—and our fishery. I notified the firehouse. The fire wagon should be arriving soon.” He turned wondering eyes to Earl. “Earl, what happened?”
“All I know is that the screams and shouts of my servants awakened me and then I smelled the smoke and saw flames leaping up to the second floor of the house,” Earl said, nervously raking his hands through his hair. “I barely got out alive. If not for the rope bolted to the floor in my room, to be used as a fire escape, I . . . I . . . wouldn’t be here to tell about it.”
“You didn’t see anybody?” Morris prodded. “You don’t know how it got started?”
“The house is old,” Earl said, his voice thin. “We’ve had a few problems with our fireplaces. Faulty flues. I guess that’s how it started.” He gazed down at the flaming fishery, his heart sinking as he watched the building collapse into a pile of burning rubble. His whole world was falling apart before his very eyes. “I . . . I . . . guess the wind carried sparks from the house to the fishery. It’s gone, as well.”
* * *
Elizabeth’s head jerked as she saw a movement in the forest behind her out of the corner of her eye. She turne
d and grabbed Strong Heart’s arm. “Darling, I just saw the elderly Indian again,” she said in a rush of words. “Your grandfather. I saw him over there.”
Her words trailed off when the old Indian stepped into full view, leaning on his staff, his faded old eyes gleaming happily as he watched the flames eating away at the house. At close range, Elizabeth saw that the man was short, thin, and bowlegged. His gray, unbraided hair was worn to his shoulders, and he had a benevolent face. He looked like an aging philosopher whose strength had waned, yet whose mind was still active.
Stunned by the sight of his grandfather, Strong Heart stared at him for a moment. But when Proud Beaver’s eyes turned to him in recognition, the spell was broken and Strong Heart could not get to his grandfather quickly enough. He went to him and embraced him.
“My grandson, my deed is done,” Proud Beaver said in a gravelly voice. “Please take me home—take me back to our people.”
Strong Heart parted from his grandfather, an eyebrow lifted. “Deed?” he said, his eyes locked with his grandfather’s. “What deed, Grandfather?”
As his grandfather’s gaze shifted and stopped again on the raging flames that lit the night like daylight, he smiled triumphantly. Strong Heart followed his stare, and without being told, understood that it had not been the braves who had set the fire.
“The fire,” Proud Beaver said, nodding. “It is my doing, not our braves who came shortly after I had set it, bearing their own lit torches. When they saw the burning house, they fled quickly. I did not allow them to see me. I did not yet want to leave. It pleasured me too much to see that which desecrated our hallowed ground for so long finally destroyed.”
He smiled at Strong Heart. “I also destroyed the fishery,” he said happily. “It was easy. The fires burned swiftly. My heart sang while watching it.”
Fearing for his grandfather’s life, Strong Heart whisked him away into the shelter of the forest. Elizabeth and Four Winds followed, leading the horses behind them.
Strong Heart turned his grandfather to face him again. He placed a gentle hand on his frail shoulder. “Grandfather, I have been searching for you for so long,” he said. “Only recently did my search become a desperate one.” Strong Heart lowered his eyes, hating to be the bearer of sad tidings.
But knowing that he had to do it, he began speaking again, but this time in a low, almost apologetic tone.
“Grandfather, in your absence there has been a raid causing much bloodshed and devastation at our village. But your daughter and Chief Moon Elk lived through the raid. I was not there at the time of the attack because I was searching for you. I then returned to find you and to take you back so that you could mourn the deaths of those you loved. Again, I did not find you. Yet here you are. How is it that you were so elusive, and now you are here, allowing yourself to be seen?”
“There is a cave that tunnels down through the earth, and stops at the far end beneath the house that I have set fire to tonight,” Proud Beaver said softly. “I have been living there, finding the relics of the Suquamish dead, and burying them where they belong, in the earth of our people. Now our ancestors can finally rest in peace.”
“Ah-hah, that is so,” Strong Heart said, drawing his grandfather into his arms, hugging him tightly.
Feeling the tears welling against her lower lids, Elizabeth placed a hand to her mouth, and stifled a sob that this tender scene between grandfather and grandson had evoked.
She then looked through a break in the trees at her father, glad that he was at least alive. She wondered what he was going to do now, now that his dream had died in flames.
But she didn’t have much more time to think about it. Strong Heart was lifting his grandfather into his saddle. Then he helped her into her saddle and swung himself in front of her.
Strong Heart reached a hand out for Four Winds, their hands clasped tightly. “My friend, come soon to our village,” Strong Heart invited. “Come and join the potlatch that precedes my marriage to my la-daila. Bring your woman. Let us be married together!”
Four Winds smiled over at Strong Heart. Elizabeth thought it a bashful sort of smile. Then Four Winds rode away toward Seattle without a word.
Elizabeth clung to Strong Heart’s waist as he nudged his heels into the flanks of his horse, and they were quickly riding through the forest.