Another explosion rocked the Wake Up Jake, and I looked up and watched in horror as flaming window curtains billowed silently towards me before wrapping themselves around my head. Needles of pain sliced my skin. I swiped desperately at my face as I lost my balance and slipped from the ladder, falling backwards, and everything went black.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a makeshift hospital tent. Both my left arm and right leg were in a brace, and there was some sort of heavy bandage on one side of my face. I became aware of dulled pain, and my entire body ached. There was a gurgling noise to my right, and I slowly shifted my head. It was Jacob, laughing and giggling in Sarah’s arms, holding out his fingers to me. Sarah touched my hand lightly, and I heard her sniff.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Jacob was safe. I smiled and let myself drift away.
Chapter Forty-five
Six weeks after the fire, Barkerville looked a little more like itself. Over ninety buildings had been rebuilt, including the Wake Up Jake, which Mr. Roy had worked tirelessly for four weeks to erect, taking the opportunity to modernize the restaurant with running water and gas lights. The town was bigger and better, and the main street was wider and straighter. St. Saviour’s Church replaced the old church and was a much more elegant place of worship, with a steepled roof, lancet windows, and board-and-batten walls. It was the perfect place for Sarah and Louis’s wedding, which had been postponed until after the reconstruction.
“Hold still,” I said to Sarah as I pinned a wreath of white silk roses in her long gleaming hair. Sarah and I were getting ready in a small room at the back of the church.
“I’m trying to, but I’m just so nervous.” Sarah was shivering with pent-up emotion.
The fire and its aftermath had left me emotionally fragile, but today I felt nothing but joy at Sarah’s happiness. A warm glow pulsed from my heart like gentle waves lapping a shoreline. “You are the most beautiful bride this town has ever seen,” I said.
“Oh go on, and you are the most beautiful maid of honour.”
I knew it was meant as a compliment, but my hand automatically went to the angry red scar on my cheek. I wished there was some powder or hair arrangement that could cover it. All I could do was hope it would fade in time. The worst of my injuries had healed fairly well. The broken arm had set perfectly, but the leg had not yet, leaving me with a limp. The emotional scars would take longer.
I had told no one of Jack’s death and my role in it. It was a secret I would take to the grave. The Colonist reported that a Mr. Jack Harris of San Francisco was missing and presumed to have been caught up in the Barkerville firestorm. No body had been found in the wreckage, though. I wondered what George thought happened to Jack, but I would never know. According to the Colonist, he returned to England with Lady Persephone and Sir Richard a week after the fire.
I’d also read that the long-discussed merger between the colony of Vancouver Island and the colony of British Columbia had been announced, solidifying British rule. What that would lead to, I had no notion, but what did delight me was the news that Governor James Douglas was stepping down and Queen Victoria was to knight him. I thought of Miss Hardcastle in the tearoom, obliged to drop a curtsey to the new Lady Douglas, and I smiled.
I turned my attention back to Sarah, sweeping my hand over her silk dress. Kwong Lee had received a wonderful shipment of fabrics from China and offered Sarah first choice for her wedding.
“This is such a perfect dress for you, white like Queen Victoria’s wedding gown,” I said. “The silk makes it so special.”
Sarah’s smile was radiant as she admired herself in the mirror.
There was a knock on the door, and Florence poked her head in. “Everyone decent?” She was carrying a bouquet of dried roses. The real ones were long gone at this time of year.
“Oh, Sarah, you are stunning,” she said, handing her the flowers.
“Thank you.” Admiring the roses, Sarah said, “This is kind of you. I know the rebuilding has kept you very busy.”
“Thanks to your father and his dear friends, the theatre is largely finished. We’ll be opening with Dickens’s A Christmas Carol on December first.”
“How lovely,” I said, remembering my run-in with that very author. “I’ll look forward to seeing it.”
When we heard the first stirrings of the wedding march—played on the only two musical instruments left in town after the fire, a pair of fiddles—Florence excused herself and joined the rest of the wedding guests. Sarah and I took a moment and stood facing each other.
“Thank you for being my maid of honour. You’re the best friend I could have ever hoped for,” she said.
“And you, mine,” I answered. I thought over the events of the past year and all that Sarah had meant to me. I didn’t think I would have survived those first days after Hari’s death without her. She had been there for me with gentle encouragement and understanding. Then she had welcomed me into the bosom of her family here in Barkerville and had helped me build a new life. I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes and saw Sarah’s well up too.
“Charlotte, I can never thank you enough for saving Jacob, not once but twice. I would be lost without him. I owe you so much.
