Chapter One: The North Field
My love: thank you for sitting through the cringe while I get this story straightened out. I hope you enjoy the VERY rough draft ❤️
Harold was getting ready for bed when he saw his field catch fire. He had been in the bathroom, washing his face free of the last bits of shaving cream that his razor had left behind, when he happened to glance out the window through the mirror above the sink. At first, he thought it was the light of his lamp that he had lit reflecting on the surface of the window. At a second, more focused look, he saw the sparks and smoke rising up into the air above. He swore loudly, startling his wife, Charlotte, who was sitting up in bed in the next room reading her book.
Bolting out of the bathroom and into the hallway frantically, he shouted to Charlotte, "Lottie! Call the fire department! The damn field is on fire! Goddamn it, it's been so dry the past month, the whole thing is gonna be gone in less than fifteen minutes!"
Harold hustled down the stairs fumbling for his boots and jacket in the dark. Charlotte was close behind him, having jumped out of bed when he had mentioned a fire. "Harold, where the hell are you going?" she shouted after him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs so that she too could pull on her boots and jacket.
"Gonna grab a shovel, go fill some buckets with water, I have to smother it with dirt or somethin to stop it spreading." Harold shouted over his shoulder as he ran to the tool shed in the dark.
"And if it does spread? You think a little dirt is going to stop that blaze?" Charlotte said as she ran out the door behind him, her braided hair flying out behind her, coming undone slightly.
"It's going to be a minute before the fire department gets here to help out, even longer if you don't get back inside and call them! I have to at least try to stop it from spreading out of the field!"
Harold and Charlotte lived in southern Indiana, near Clarksville, on a small plot of land given to Harold by his late father. He and Charlotte worked hard here to earn a living here, but most of the time they struggled to make ends meet. If this fire spread, that would be the end of their livelihood.
Charlotte huffed after her husband, frustrated with his headstrong attitude. She spun from her spot on the back porch and stomped back inside to the phone on the wall next to their refrigerator. Dialing the local fire department, which was ten minutes away from their small farm, she knew even before receiving assurance that a truck was on the way that she and Harold would have to try to contain the fire on their own. Grabbing a bucket beside the back door at the porch, Charlotte filled it with water and hurried after the outline of her husband in the distance.
Harold had already reached the edge of the field and began to shoulder his way through the wheat, using the smell of smoke and the ominous glow of the fire in the distance as his guide.
Quicker than he had anticipated, he came across the bright clearing. Smoke burned his eyes and lungs as he pulled his night shirt up over his nose and mouth. Pushing his shovel into the charred earth with his boot, he turned and began to try to smother the base of the flames at the edge of the fire.
But before he could turn around and grab more dirt, something amazing happened. The clearing had suddenly gone dark. The smell of smoke remained, and a cluster of embers sat in the middle of a charred circle where the fire had been not two seconds ago, but the sparks and heat of the roaring blaze that Harold had been so sure would take his farm was completely gone.
Charlotte caught up with him at that moment. "Jesus Harold, how'd you manage to put it all out? I was only a minute or two behind you," she said out of breath. The residual smoke started to burn in her lungs too.
Coughing and hacking up spit in an attempt to get the taste of smoke out of his mouth, Harold turned to shrug at his wife, "I don' know Lottie, one second I was throwin dirt and the next it was gone! Maybe the fire wasn't as bad as we thought it wa-"
"Shit Harold, look!" Lottie exclaimed, turning Harold by the shoulders and pointing into the flickering embers. There, lying in the middle of the clearing where the fire had been the hottest, was a dark bundle.
It was a strange thing to see. One wouldn’t expect to see a cloth bundle where there had just been flames moments ago. What was even stranger were the sounds that were coming from the bundle, which had started to move, as if there were someone inside it.
Dread ran through both Harold and Charlotte's blood like ice. A baby had been in that fire. A baby which was sure to be either severely injured, or worse. Behind him, Lottie gagged. She didn't know what burn victims looked like, and she had no intention in finding out. The thought of that baby, and what it had just been through, was enough to bring her to her knees, staining her nightgown with soot and ash. A sob wracked through her body, the bucket of water forgotten on the ground beside her where she had dropped it when she noticed the baby.
Harold moved forward on shaking legs. Crouching down slowly, he reached out and grabbed the fabric of the bundle. He recoiled a little. The fabric was cool, Harold had expected it to be hot at the very least, and crumble at his fingertips. He marveled at the texture for a second. It was thick, like a wool sweater, but it moved and shimmered like it was made out of silk.
Even though the material appeared to be undamaged, Harold peeled it back carefully. He knew that clothes could stick to burn victims, and if the bundle was met with resistance then he would have to cut away the unaffected areas to better see the baby underneath. He was met with nothing, which did not entirely surprise him. He had figured that the material was fireproof or something given that it was practically untouched by the flames. This gave him hope for the little one buried in the cloth. Now he supposed they would just have to worry about smoke inhalation or the cloth smothering the kid.
Hurrying now, he dug around in the bundle until he felt the alarmingly warm, puffy cheek of the baby's face. Charlotte moved to kneel beside her husband, helping him now to unwrap the baby. When they had gotten the bundle completely unwrapped, they both started in surprise. Charlotte actually fell backwards with a hysterical, short laugh. Clapping his hand to his forehead, Harold exclaimed, "Amazing! Oh thank the lord, the little thing is ok!"
The "little thing" gazed up at them. They both realized the child was a girl, maybe two or three years old. Her chubby cheeks were puffed up around lips that were slightly parted, her breath coming out in warm puffs of air in the chilly evening air. Her forehead furrowed as she stared up at the pair of strangers with clear distrust and confusion on her face. Her stubby fingers, which were curled into fists against her chest, were covered in ash. She had short, light brown hair which curled wildly around her ears and the base of her neck.
Warm brown eyes scrutinized Harold's outstretched hand as he leaned forward to brush back her curls to check for any hidden burn marks. Her eyes, which reflected the glow from the embers she sat on, flashed brightly when Harold's fingers moved over two lines that seemed to be burned into the flesh at the base of her ear. The lines were slightly wavy and were tilted towards each other to be joined at the end in the shape of a V.
Before Harold could pull his hand back, the little girl's face screwed up and she let out an earth shattering scream. Flames erupted all around Harold and Charlotte. Harold fell back into Charlotte, who caught him before he fell flat on his back. While falling back, his sleeve had brushed against the flames and caught fire. The flames licked up and down his arm rapidly. Harold swore loudly and started slapping at his arm, trying to stifle the flames.
The little girl stopped screaming when she saw the man before her dancing around and making funny movements with his arms. She had forgotten the pain that had flared up when he had touched the freshly burned marks on her head. She began to giggle slightly.
Charlotte thought the laughter sounded slightly lyrical. The flames on Harold's arm died down as soon as the girl at his feet started to laugh at him. However the flames still raged around them, starting to spread into the surrounding area a little bit. When Harold stopped batting at his jacket, the little girl stopped giggling and peered up at them. Realizing what was happening before her husband did, Charlotte turned to Harold.
"Harold, do that again, she was laughing at you and the fire went out. Maybe if she laughs some more the rest of it will go out." she said gesturing to the on-fire field around them. It was a long shot but Charlotte had the nagging feeling that the blaze might have been caused by the little one in front of them.
Harold continued with the crazy dance, overplaying it a bit, and to their combined amazement the little girl was now shrieking with laughter. Her little hands touched the ground below her to stop herself from falling over. As soon as her fingers made contact with the charred earth, the flames rushed back towards her, moving around Harold and Charlotte. Both of the adults watched in concern and shock as the flames became small and skittered across the ground towards the girl, circled around her fingers like a loving pet snake and vanished up into her hands.
"Ok," Charlotte said with a heaving breath. "Ok, alright, hmm."
Harold was just as confused as his wife. But concern for the child overruled his instincts. He and Charlotte both knew now that this little girl was dangerous. There was no doubt in either of their minds now that she had caused and controlled the fire to some extent. Smiling at the kid in what he hoped was a friendly expression, and not as fearful as he was feeling inside, he reached forward and grabbed the fabric that was now bunched under the little girl. Pulling it up over her shoulders and wrapping it around her front, Harold said as sweetly as he could muster in that moment, "Ok honey, Lottie and I here are gonna get you inside. We'll get ya cleaned up in a nice bath and see if you want some food. Does that sound good?"
The little girl simply blinked at him, but made no other indication that this did not sound nice to her. So, with the little girl wrapped in her strange blanket and carried against his shoulder, Harold walked with his wife's arm around his lower back towards their farmhouse.
The little girl was tired. Unbeknownst to the two adults, she had been through a very long and traumatic day. Although, come morning she would no longer remember why she had burned away a spot in that field. She would not remember waving a stubby hand at the smoke that curled up into the air off of the earth. It formed the same mark that still stung on the side of her neck, and then in the next second it was carried away on the night wind.
In the distance on the main road, lights from the fire truck finally lit up Harold and Charlotte's driveway. Looking at each other nervously, they both voiced the same thought out loud. "How the hell are we going to explain this?".
