Page 70 of Taming Lady Temperance

James ran down Second Street, past the courthouse, then cut the corner to Main, thankful that the fearsome glow led him away from Noreen’s boardinghouse. A man ran down the street in the opposite direction shouting news that choked James as much as the thickening smoke.

“The Salt Fork’s on fire! Save the saloon, save the town!”

James couldn’t claim any particular fondness for Milton Taggert, but the man had certainly had more than his share of trouble lately. Praying that there would be no loss of life this night, and minimal loss of property, James charged toward the fiery furnace.

A pounding on the boardinghouse door awakened Noreen from a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she pushed back the covers and rose to a sitting position. The pounding came again, and Noreen’s heart adopted the thundering cadence.

“The Salt Fork’s on fire! Save the saloon, save the town!”

Fire. Noreen’s stomach clenched as the deadly announcement swiped the cobwebs from her mind. She had to help. It didn’t matter that she wished the saloon gone. Fire was no respecter of persons. Sparks could jump from building to building, taking out homes, churches, or schools. The Albany Hotel where she worked stood only a few buildings away from the Salt Fork. If the fire reached the hotel, she could lose her livelihood. And what of the people staying there? She prayed they were being roused from their sleep as well. That no lives would be endangered by the fire.

Noreen hurried to the armoire, grabbed her oldest work dress, and pulled it on over the top of her nightgown. After snatching a pair of stockings from a drawer and her shoes from the end of her bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and attired her feet. Once shod, she hurried to the dresser, where she shoved the items she always kept with her into her pocket. Her key, coin purse, and handkerchief. She flinched a bit when she grabbed the plain white cotton square. She still couldn’t believe that she’d misplaced her spinster society handkerchief sometime over the last few days. She kept hoping it would turn up, but even after a thorough search of all her drawers, pockets, and handbags, it remained missing. Probably a casualty of her longer work hours combined with the mental stress of trying to discourage James’s attention when, in truth, she craved his company.

James. He was probably already out there, organizing a water line and making sure everyone was safe. He’d need help, and she intended to see that he had it.

Leaving her sleeping braid to flop against her back, Noreen exited her room and ran down the stairs.

“Somehow I knew you’d be fool enough to charge into the fray.” Her landlady met her by the door, a white sleeping cap covering her hair. She clutched a robe closed beneath her chin with one hand.

Noreen bit back a groan. She didn’t have time for a lecture on propriety or the unsuitability of women in firefighting endeavors. James needed her. The town needed her. And she’d not let a stuffy old busybody like Mrs. Barker stop her from—

“Here.” Mrs. Barker extended her arm toward Noreen, a milk pail dangling from her fingers. “Can’t have ya showin’ up empty-handed.”

“Thanks.” Noreen clasped the pail’s handle, though it took a moment to get past the shock of her landlady’s unaccustomed charity.

“Just don’t lose it, or I’m adding the cost to next month’s rent.”

And just like that, the world tilted back onto its normal axis. Noreen smiled. “I won’t.”

“Go on with ya, now.” Mrs. Barker opened the front door, and the chill of the night air sent a shiver coursing down Noreen’s nape. “Just mind yer skirt,” Mrs. Barker called as Noreen hurried down the porch steps. “Don’t let a stray spark catch hold of ya.”

It was almost as if her landlady cared.

Now that she thought about it, Mrs. Barker had made no protest when Noreen returned to the boardinghouse after her stint in jail, either. She’d fussed at her about not letting her rent payments slip now that she had additional bills to pay, but she’d not made good on her oft-made threat to toss Noreen out if she ever ran afoul of the law. Could it be that the woman’s starchy manner hid a kind heart?

Noreen paused at the street and turned to lift a hand in parting. “I’ll be careful.”

“See that ya are” came the crotchety response.

The faint smell of smoke in the air urged Noreen not to linger. Turning in the direction of the saloon, she set off at a trot, her bucket swinging at her side. The air thickened as she passed the hotel, and shouting voices drew her closer to the building that seemed to glow from within. She’d often thought of the saloon as an evil place, but tonight it looked truly demonic. Fiery eyes taunted from broken-out windows. Undulating creatures locked inside hissed and snapped as they demanded release.

God help us.

Dozens of people swarmed the road in front of the saloon. Men in lines passed water-filled buckets both into the saloon and over to the blacksmith shop next door in an attempt to keep the blaze from spreading. She spotted James at the front of one of the bucket lines, a blue bandanna pulled up over his mouth and nose. Once he had a full bucket in his hands, he ran inside the burning building, doused something, then exited with the empty bucket. He took a moment to catch his breath while a second man took a turn running inside, then reclaimed his place at the head of the line, accepting the next bucket and dashing back inside. He’d not be able to keep that up for long before the smoke overcame him.

Noreen glanced around, trying to figure out how best to help without interrupting the rhythm of the bucket lines. Picking her way to the source, the water pump and trough at the side of the carpentry shop across the street, Noreen called out to Mr. Freeman, the blacksmith who manned the pump.

“How can I help?”

He didn’t even bother to look at her, just jerked his head toward the front of the carpentry shop, where a group of women huddled together, watching the goings on. “Stay out of the way.”

He stopped pumping long enough to fill two buckets at the trough and heave them up to the start of the line. A young boy ran up with four empty pails clanging in his hands. He dropped them at the trough, then ran back out to join the other school-age boys in charge of retrieving the empties.

“Freeman!” Connor Reed, soot streaking his face, ran down the line, not stopping until he stood before the blacksmith. “I got word from Paxton. Fire’s spreadin’ to the back side. If sparks catch the field behind the saloon, we might not be able to contain it. We need to wet down the rear.”

Mr. Freeman swiped his forearm over his brow as he scrutinized the line in front of him. “Take a few of the boys. Give ’em wet blankets and put ’em on ember snuffing duty. I can’t spare any of the men.”

“But you have plenty of able-bodied women,” Noreen said, chin jutting forward as she stepped around the back of the trough. “There’s a cistern behind the hotel. I can form a line of women to bring water to the rear of the saloon from there.”