Chapter 33

33

Sullivan stood back from the wreckage and wiped a hand across his stinging eyes. The light of dawn was breaking through the haze of smoke that hung low around him, revealing the extent of the damage.

"Holy thundering mother." Kiernan's gaze swept over the decimated block. As far as they could see, building after building lay in ruins, blackened and smoldering as if bombed by cannons.

Smaller fires still burned here and there among the ruins, but the worst was finally over ... at least they hoped so.

With more than a thousand men joining the fire departments to battle the fire, they'd done the best they could to extinguish flames. But at some point during the long hours, the city's water system gave out, so the fireplugs ran dry, likely having been overextended by all the fire departments tapping into the system.

Everyone had been left without water. Those departments closest to the river had been able to run their hoses down to the water and pump directly from the Mississippi onto the flames.

But Sullivan and Kiernan hadn't been among those groups. Instead, they'd joined Fire Captain Targee and the Missouri Company in getting barrels of gunpowder from the St. Louis Arsenal where the stores were kept.

They'd realized along with everyone else that the only way to stop the fire from consuming more of the city was to make a physical barrier to slow the progression. And to create that barrier, they'd needed to blow up a block of businesses, essentially eliminating the fire's fuel.

For a couple of hours, they'd hauled the barrels of gunpowder, covering them with wet tarps to protect them from any flying cinders. Since one spark could ignite the gunpowder and cause a deadly explosion, they'd operated meticulously, blowing up one building after another, finally bringing the conflagration to a halt.

They'd all faced death again and again through the harrowing hours. And they'd survived, except for Captain Targee, who'd been killed when one of the kegs exploded too early. Every one of the men had been devastated at the death of the captain, but he'd died a hero for his plan.

Sullivan's whole body ached with weariness from the long night, including his battle on the steamboat and the hours afterward. After walking for many miles with Silas, Sullivan had connected him with the rowboat that had still been waiting in the shadows of the eastern bank. Then, after borrowing a horse, Sullivan had crossed over the bridge to St. Louis.

All the while he'd traveled, he'd watched the fire spreading and wreaking more devastation, and his thoughts had turned to Enya and the need to make sure she was safe. He'd bypassed the fire district and had been nearing the street where his house was located when Kiernan had ridden up, also intending to visit the house to check on Enya.

Sullivan had been angry to see her still there so close to the danger, but his relief had made him weak with a need so pervasive that he hadn't been able to stop from kissing her in front of everyone, especially when she'd looked at him the way she had, with adoration brimming from her eyes, and told him that she loved him.

He still couldn't believe that she'd told him that she loved him not once but twice. "I love you so much." Her declaration had played through his head dozens of times as he'd battled death again. It had kept him going with the need to see her and be with her. And even now, he longed for her more than anything else.

"It seems like everything is under control here." With another glance to the eastern sky and the sunlight glinting through the haze, Sullivan rubbed a hand over the scruff on his chin and jaw, more than ready for a bath. "I'm heading out to see my wife."

With his face nearly blackened with soot, Kiernan nodded, his attention fixed upon the men, women, and even children still in their nightclothes wandering about, their sooty faces haunted and stricken. They poked through the remnants and ash heaps, searching for possessions that might have survived the heat.

"I'll stay," Kiernan said quietly. "I need to ride over and see if the family home is left standing."

They'd already walked past Sullivan's home to find that most of the neighborhood had remained unscathed. He wasn't sure if the wet blankets on the rooftops had helped keep sparks from landing or if the wind had blown the flames a different direction. Either way, he was relieved the home had survived. "Do you need my help?"

Kiernan gave him a ghost of a smile. "No. You go on. I can tell you're dying to be with Enya. And she needs you too."

Sullivan didn't care that he'd made it plain to everyone how much he craved Enya. He didn't even care that she knew. He supposed that was progress in developing more confidence.

Within minutes, he was mounted and riding west through the city, Kiernan's directions to Oakland at the forefront of his mind. As the outer edges of the city soon turned into woodland and pastures, he pushed his horse faster.

All the while he rode, he plotted out the different possibilities for how he could be with Enya more often and yet still maintain his work as a steamboat captain. Could he do shorter trips? One thing was certain, he didn't want to be away from her for so long ever again.

Finally the two-storied Italianate-style home that belonged to the Shanahans came into view. Just as Kiernan had described, it was a sprawling L-shape with a square tower and a bracketed cornice rising from the roof. Painted white with black trim, the home sat back from the road among towering oak trees.

Even though Sullivan had left the smoke behind, he still reeked of it—and of the Mississippi mud that had dried in every crevice of his body. He didn't want to go to Enya in such a state, so he detoured to a nearby pond, stripped out of his garments and washed up, then changed into the clean garments he'd packed before leaving the city.

With the sun now fully risen in the morning sky, he started down the lane, hoping the sound of his approach would bring Enya running out the front door. But only James Shanahan and two of his youngest sons stepped outside to greet him and get the latest news of the fire.

Of course, when Enya had arrived in the early hours of the morning, she'd shared with them all that she'd known at the time about the devastation throughout St. Louis. But they hadn't heard the final harrowing details and were relieved to learn the fire was over.

Sullivan was afraid that James would keep him occupied for overlong, but as they entered into the front hallway, James confided that he planned to leave for the city shortly to see what had become of not only his house but also the ironworks.

Sullivan was relieved when Mrs. Christy came down the stairs and assured him that Enya was doing well, that she was still sleeping since she'd been awake until only a little while ago.

He followed Mrs. Christy up to the second floor and down a long corridor. As she stopped in front of a closed door, he almost hung back. Past doubts crowded into his thoughts to tell him he couldn't go to her, that he ought to wait, that maybe he'd only imagined her love and kisses earlier in the night. Or what if she'd only made her declaration of love in the hysteria of the moment? What if now that the danger was passed, she pulled away from him again?

Even as all the uncertainties crashed through his mind and threatened to swamp him, he forced himself to remain rooted to the spot outside the door instead of striding away. And as Mrs. Christy placed a hand on the knob, he didn't turn away when she paused and smiled at him. "She'll be happy to see you, Captain. She missed you terribly while you were away these past weeks."

She'd missed him? Terribly?

Mrs. Christy opened the door and waved him through into the bedroom. With the draperies drawn, allowing in only a sliver of sunlight, the room was mostly dark. He expected Mrs. Christy to trail him inside and attend to Enya. But at the click of the door behind him, leaving him alone, Sullivan's muscles tensed.

What would Enya say when she saw him standing there?

He swept his gaze over the room—one tastefully decorated. As he reached the bed and caught sight of her on top of the covers, wearing the same clothes as the previous night but covered with a blanket, his pulse slowed, and he expelled a breath.

Her eyes were closed in slumber, her long lashes resting against her cheeks, the dimple in her chin a delicate dip, her lips rosy and full. Even in sleep, she was the most beautiful woman in the world, her red hair cascading loosely around her. Why would she care about a man like him?

He reached to tug up his collar but stopped. No, he wouldn't disparage himself, not anymore. He intended to climb into bed with his wife, and he didn't plan to let anything stop him.

He started quietly toward the bed, not wanting to wake her. He bypassed the chair that called out to him to sit by her side and simply wait for her to awaken. Instead, he walked around to the opposite side of the bed, carefully lowered himself to the mattress, and then held himself still for a heartbeat.

When she didn't move, he inched closer and situated himself behind her. Resting his head on the pillow beside hers, he leaned in and brushed his nose into her hair. The silky strands soothed him, and her warm body seemed to welcome him closer.

He moved in until his chest brushed against her back. Gently, he draped his arm across hers. Then he closed his eyes as pure contentment flowed through him. This was where he wanted to be. Nestled by her side, holding her. No other place could ever compare.