Gosh, she was tired, the kind of tired she felt after splashing and swimming in the lake all afternoon. Brittle leaves rustling outside her window put her in the mood for hot chocolate, but she didn’t even have the punch to ask her mother to fix her one. She threw her clothes on the dresser, slipped into her nightgown, and collapsed into bed.
✭
“Barbara, wake up.” Her father’s voice sounded far off like it was coming through a wall. She felt her covers whooshing off. Arms pushed under her shoulders and thighs.
Through the haze of sleep, a question welled up. “What’s wrong?”
Her father scooped her up. “Fire, the place is on fire.”
His feet thumped against the wood floor and, as he ran, he jostled her in his arms.
She asked, “Where? Where’s the fire?”
“In the kitchen.” He dashed through the sitting room, out the front door.
“Ouch.” Barbara’s elbow banged against the door jamb. Fire, the apartment was burning. Oh, no. “Daddy, I have to get my story.”
Her father yelled to her mother, “Get away from the building.”
Barbara twisted her head around. Her mother bounded up to them on the front edge of the lawn, clasping a bundled-up Sabra.
“Put me down.” Barbara struggled against her father’s grip.
He loosened his hold.
Barbara sprang out of his arms and headed for the house. Her father grabbed her arm and yanked, jolting her shoulder. Pain shot down her arm.
“Let me go,” she said.
He sunk his fingers into her arm. “Stay with your mother.”
Barbara thrashed her arms. “But Eepersip’s in there.”
“You’ll do as I say.” Her father shook her. “Is that understood?”
She didn’t want to say yes. She scowled at him.
Her father reeled around. “I’ll get the Baxters.”
He raced past the burning side of the building to the stairs leading to the upstairs apartment.
The wood slats on the kitchen end of the house glowed orange. Flames from the kitchen window cast a fiery glare on the hedge and grass.
Barbara looked at her mother. “Can we get my story?”
“Let your father help the Baxters first.”
Sabra whimpered in her mother’s arms, and her tiny hands and feet punched at her blanket.
Barbara heard her father banging on the door and hollering, “Jack, Harriet, get out. The place is on fire.”
Pop. The kitchen window exploded, shooting a spray of glass.
“Oh, Lord.” Her mother pulled Barbara close to her.
The acrid scents of burning wood and rubber filled her nostrils. “I can’t stand it, Mother. My novel could burn up.”
Her father appeared from around the house's unburned side, leading the stout Mrs. Baxter, who held old Mr. Baxter’s hand. Her father tugged them along as they tottered over the bumpy lawn.
Her mother said, “Thank goodness you got out.”
Mrs. Baxter patted Sabra’s head. “And you and your darlings, too.”
“I’ll ask Howard to call the fire department,” said Mr. Baxter, shuffling off toward the neighbor’s house.
“Oh, God,” her mother said. “All our clothes. Everything’s in there.”
Barbara tugged her father’s arm. “Please, can we get my manuscript?”
Fire flared through the kitchen wall and lapped at the side of the building. The undersides of the tree limbs and leaves flickered with orange. Barbara could see ripples of heat wafting from the wall.
“You stay here,” her father said. “I’ll see if I can get in through a window.”
Barbara called, “It’s on my desk.”
Her father dashed to the side of the building untouched by flames and disappeared around the back.
“Oh, Goodness,” said Mrs. Baxter. “All our family keepsakes are in there.”
“It started in our kitchen,” her mother said. “Maybe your apartment can be spared.”
“We’re all safe,” said Mrs. Baxter. “That’s what matters most.”
Barbara heard a slam, like a window thrown open. She closed her eyes. “Please, Daddy,” she said, “please save Eepersip.”
Her father rounded the side of the building carrying a cardboard box.
He plunked it down, and Barbara looked inside. “Did you get it?”
“I had to get the manuscripts I’m working on. I’ll try now.” He tore off around the side of the house.
From the back of the building, another glass explosion sounded.
“Oh, no,” her mother said, handing Sabra to Mrs. Baxter. “Hold her and keep Barbara here.”
Her mother darted to the side of the building, her dress fluttering wildly.
Barbara couldn’t stand it. She broke into a run, following her mother.
“Barbara, no,” Mrs. Baxter yelled.
Barbara didn’t stop. She raced past her parent’s bedroom to the window beneath her father’s study. She peeked around the corner. Her father stood under her bedroom window, brushing his head and shoulders.
Her mother ran to him. “What happened?”
“Glass. All over me,” he said. “Her bedroom’s on fire.”
Her father grabbed her mother’s hand, and they headed toward the house corner. Before her parents caught sight of her, she rushed back to the front of the house and crossed the front lawn.
Mrs. Baxter hollered, “Barbara, come here.”
Barbara ignored her and ran to the other side of the house, past the flaming kitchen wall, all the way to her bedroom window. She jumped up, trying to see. It was too high. She couldn’t reach it. The front door: That was the only way in. She sprinted back around the other side.
She collided with her father and lost her balance.
“What in God’s name are you doing?”
“I have to get Eepersip.” Righting herself, she tried to dodge him.
He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the ground, and clutched her to his side.
Suspended, she flailed her arms, struggling to find the ground with her feet.
“Stop it.” He wrapped his other arm around her waist and gripped her tightly against himself, trudging to the front lawn, to where her mother stood waiting.
Barbara tried to twist out of his grip. “I have to get Eepersip.”
His wiry arms dug into her stomach. With a forceful thrust, he lifted her and flung her to the ground, hard, on her back.
Dazed with pain, she struggled to rise.
He dropped down
