1965

"Jack, wake up."

Slowly he opened his eyes. Above him stood his wife, her brown hair cascading around her face as she leaned over him. She smelled of soap, and her hair was slightly damp. She looked warm and cozy in her white, terry cloth robe.

Jack Woods lifted his head from the throw pillow and glanced around the familiar living room. He was still fully dressed, his six-foot frame sprawled on the couch, one last soft snore escaped his lips. The eleven o'clock news was just ending.

"Again?" he asked. He yawned widely and took Jessica’s hands, feigning her assistance in getting to his feet. It had become their nightly ritual.

Jessica nodded. "Again," she echoed, but there was no anger in her voice. Jessica loved her husband very much and knew he worked hard at keeping his wife and young daughter clothed and fed, a roof over their head even though Jessica admitted that it wasn't much of a shelter at the moment.

"Sorry, Darling." he apologized. "I guess I have been deserting you both a lot this month."

"You haven't deserted us, Jack," she smiled. "I know you're tired when you get home. That’s why I just let you rest. See, that way you'll have a little energy left for me when we get in bed."

Jack's smile matched hers. "Ah, so that's all I'm good for."

She laughed, then suddenly grew serious. "That and gathering wood. I think you'd better build a fire in the stove, Jack. The weatherman said we're in for a bad storm tonight. Rain mixed with snow and the temperature is supposed to drop. The wind is already picking up, and it's getting a little too chilly in here."

Jack sighed heavily and ran a hand through his thick mass of ivory blonde hair. "I swear, Jess, this winter is the last. I will have this place converted to electric heat this summer. No matter what."

"I know, Darling," she said. The only reason she knew was because this speech was a Jack Wood's special ever since they bought the old farmhouse for a song seven years before. It wasn't anyone’s fault. It just seemed when the money was there, the time was not. And when the time was available, the money never was. They couldn't seem to coincide the two to make the electric heat a reality.

Maybe Jack was right, though. Perhaps by the summer, they would have the money saved again, and he could use his vacation time to make the conversion. Jessica knew they had to have it done soon since there would be a new addition to the family that she still needed to tell Jack about.

She followed him into the kitchen and took his heavy winter coat from its peg on the wall and helped him slip into it. Then she handed him his hat.

"Jackie in bed?" he asked, pulling the red wool scarf tighter around his collar to keep out the chill of the wind.

"Hours ago. Poor baby got tired of waiting for Daddy to wake up and tuck her in. I promised her you would give her a goodnight kiss before you went to bed."

"I'll do just that," he whispered, pulling her close. "Right before I give her mother one."

There was a light in her green eyes that he hadn't noticed until just now as she smiled up at him. She stood five feet, three inches to his towering frame. "I have something to tell you, Jack," she whispered. "So I'll be waiting for you."

He stared after her as she disappeared back into the darkened living room. He already knew what she was going to tell him. She had been acting very secretive all week after her last doctor's appointment. And now there was that light in her eyes. The last time she looked at him like that was eight years ago when she had told him he would be a father.

Jack stepped out into the windy night. He stood for a moment before the woodpile, his breath visible against the darkness. His eyes searched the cloudy sky, and he thought that maybe the weather prediction might be accurate. Currents of cold air were already forcing him to put his head down against the gusts.

Cursing softly under his breath, he turned back to the pile of logs that he had chopped and stacked neatly against the side of the house just after Christmas. Resigned to the fact that he had to get the old home warm for the night, he started pulling logs from the pile and loading his arms with as much wood as he could carry. Juggling the logs, he used his foot to push the back door closed. Bracing the stack of wood with his chin, he turned the lock and headed for the basement.

He held the flickering match to the kindling impatiently, waiting for it to take hold. If he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch, there would still be hot embers in the stove. As it was, it took some time and more newspapers to get the fire to start and burn hot enough. When he was confident the fire would not snuff itself out, he piled the heavier logs into the stove and closed the rusty old door. Satisfied they would stay warm for a while, he bounded up the steps to his wife. He completely forgot about giving little Jackie her good night kiss.

Hours later, the first streak of lightning split the sky, followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder. The clouds opened up, and the deluge of rain beat at the roof of the house. In the basement, a small spark jumped from the old wood stove. It landed on old newspapers stacked beneath the cellar steps. The spark ignited quickly on the dry paper, the flames rising up, licking hungrily at the wooden steps of the basement. One by one, they were consumed, leaving hot red ashes mixed with splinters dripping to the dirt floor below.

The flames devoured the thin cellar door and snaked across the kitchen floor, the tile popping and blistering as the red and white checkered squares melted together. Heat and smoke quickly engulfed the small kitchen, the fire now attacking the curtains Jessica had just bought and hung over the sink. A slight breeze from the lack of insulation around the window only fed the flames the oxygen needed to grow even more in intensity.

On the second floor, little Jackie tossed and turned in her sleep. She grew too warm under the pink comforter that covered her bed and, kicking out, knocked it to the floor. The sheet twisted around her ankles.

She was dreaming. It was a horrible dream. A monster grabbed at her ankles, the eyes flashed lightning, and the laughter boomed like thunder. She struggled frantically against the beast that held her tightly to her bed.

The sudden cry from her lips woke her, and she bolted upright in the bed. Beads of sweat sprang out on her forehead. Her hair clung to her face and neck. She coughed and gagged against the smoke that crawled its way up the steps.

Jackie sprang from her bed, her fear of the monster lurking beneath, making her steps quick. She fled the room and hurried down the hall, her bare feet thumping on the hardwood floor. When she reached the top of the stairs, her heart started to beat faster, and suddenly the monster was gone from her thoughts. Something was down there. Something worse than any monster she ever imagined.

She cautiously descended the stairs, one after the other. The steps themselves were hot, almost hot on the bottoms of her bare feet. She spied the flames as she reached the last step, and her heart skipped several beats.

Her parent's bedroom was on the main floor of the house. Jackie knew she had to find a way to them. She had to wake them up so they could all get out of the house. But her feet remained frozen to the spot, her eyes wide with terror, stinging with tears from the smoke.

The sound of shattering glass from the kitchen startled her. Her legs unfroze. Suddenly she found her voice. She opened her mouth and called out for her parents. She kept calling as she evaded the flames by blazing a trail behind the sofa and matching chairs that the fire had not yet reached. She didn't go far before she saw that the fire already blocked her way to her parents.

She stopped as her mind whirled. She had no idea what to do next.

Automatically, she moved to the front door, grasped the knob, and flung it open. The crisp night air smacked her in the face, took her breath for a moment, then her lungs filled with fresh oxygen, and she coughed violently.

Jackie stood a moment on the lawn, her feet bare and cold. She shivered in her flannel nightgown. The hem of her nightgown brushed across the wet grass as she went to the side of the house and stepped into the flower bed. Her mother had planned to grow fresh flowers in the spring. But now the ground was hard and cold from winter.

She cupped her hands to peer into the window but as soon as she did the scorching glass stung her hands. She cried out and pulled them quickly away. Her hands blistered immediately. Pieces of her skin clung to the glass. Ignoring the acute pain, she beat on the glass with her knuckles. She could see nothing inside—the entire room was filled with smoke.

Jackie fought against the pain in her hands, fresh burns and bruises ripening as she continued to beat on the window, crying out for her parents. Her breath became ragged gasps and her voice a small, raspy cry.

The shrill scream of the siren split the night. The rotating red lights pulsed against the starless sky. The last thing she remembered was the loud rumbling of the ground. Then the window glass bowed out to meet her, and in a single blast, Jackie was hurled through the night.

Four

1965

Stephen Crawford waved goodbye to Springfield in his rearview mirror and pointed the Ford station wagon west.

The semi they had been following veered off the road and onto the berm.

Stephen's heart jumped the first time he saw the truck's massive tires leave the pavement. His foot automatically left the accelerator, and his fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Finally, the driver gained control of the vehicle and brought it back between the never-ending white lines.

Stephen breathed a sigh of relief and pressed his foot back on the gas.

His eyes left the road long enough to glance over at his wife of twenty years.

Gloria's dark chestnut hair hung loosely to her shoulders and covered half of her face as her head lolled against the window. The jerky motion of the car did not wake her. Her soft mouth curved into a gentle smile as she slept.

Stephen sighed in contentment, turned his gaze back to the road for a moment, then managed a quick look in the rearview mirror at his three sleeping children snuggled in their blankets in the back of the wagon.

The family had just spent the past two weeks on the road.

Stephen wanted his children to learn something of the world thein which they lived and not just handed down history books to a classroom each new school year. He had managed to accomplish this amidst their complaints of hunger, thirst, bathroom needs, and cramped legs. Now they were on their way back to Tucson, and Stephen was glad to get back to his dental practice and routine.

Stephen glanced again at his children. Thirteen-year-old Brenda slept soundly between her twin brothers. Most likely to keep them from fighting.

Brenda had grown on this trip, blossoming into a very pretty young lady. Stephen grinned, despite the anxiety he felt over his only daughter. The boys were already after her. Dogs after a bitch in heat, Stephen's old man would have said.

"Well,” Stephen thought to himself as he brushed the strand of loose hair out of his eyes. "I used to be one of those dogs, Dad, in my younger days." Now the shoe was on the other foot, another of his dad's cliches, and Stephen was not looking forward to wearing that shoe.

The eleven-year-old twins were identical in their matching pajamas. There was no telling them apart when they were babies. That came later when they started maturing. Their personalities were different as night and day. Brad was the calm one, the happy one. Barry could be smooth when he needed something and spiteful when he didn’t get it.

Stephen turned his eyes to the road again, his chest filling with pride and a deep love for his family. He grew anxious to get home. He knew he was pushing it, but he enjoyed traveling at night. Traffic was lighter, and the cooler roads were easier on the tires.

Up ahead, the semi swerved again.

It caught Stephen unaware. In the dark, he witnessed the bright lights of the truck's brakes swerving off the road and onto the shoulder. The tires spun in the gravel, and dust and stones rained heavily on the Crawford's car.

Stephen's hands gripped the steering wheel. He fought in vain to clear the semi-truck, but the heavy wagon refused to cooperate.

Suddenly, the brakes locked.

Stephen let go of the spinning steering wheel, threw himself across his wife, and braced for the crash.

The car spun sickeningly around, and, for a brief second, Stephen thought they had avoided the semi. But the screeching of metal never reached his ears as the wagon plunged under the body of the trailer.

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