Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

The sky above Grace Falls was cast over with an eerie orange haze, and the spicy-sweet smell of wood smoke hung thick in the air. The smell was right for October, when the first fires of the season were lit in woodstoves all over town. But this wasn't October. It was late August.

Dasie pushed open the screen door, letting her brother's dog, Tattler, onto the back porch. She followed him, barefoot and still in her nightgown, down the steps and into the yard. It had been almost three hours since the beeping of the pager echoed from the kitchen, rousting them all from bed.

"Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel. There is
a reported fire at the Grace Falls Lumber Company.
Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel . . . ."

Within moments light had shone from the kitchen down the short back hall to Dasie's bedroom. She heard the familiar squawk and pop of the utility closet door followed by two firm clomps as her father shoved his feet into his boots, then a grunt as he hauled up the heavy pants of his turnouts.

Dasie had groped for a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her nightgown. She arrived in the kitchen in time to see her dad take his helmet from her mother's hand, clap it onto his head, and start for the door. The chin strap still dangled as he spoke into his hand-held radio: "Captain six-oh-four responding."

"You be careful, Hank Jenson," Dasie's mom called after him.

He lifted a hand in a backward wave and strode quickly across the lawn to the gate. Seconds later the wheels of his pickupsplattered gravel as he pulled away into the night.

"Anybody seen my keys?"

Dasie turned. Her brother, Sam, eighteen, stood fully dressed in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. He patted his jeans pockets as he scanned the surfaces of the kitchen.

"Now, Sam, you don't need to be going," their mother said.

"Mom, it's the mill." He turned as though to head back through the dining room and the hall to the two front bedrooms.

Dasie lifted a folded copy of the Morgantown Weekly from the kitchen counter and picked up Sam's keys. "They're right here," she said.

Sam grinned and ran a hand upward through Dasie's hair. "Thanks, kid," he said. He paused just long enough to peck their mother on the cheek, then pushed through the back door. His pickup truck whined and stalled before the engine caught a steady beat, and he, too, pulled away, turning north at the corner.

Dasie and her mother stood at the screen door, Tattler between them.

"I wish he'd get that taillight fixed," her mother said. "He said he wouldn't drive at night until he did."

"He'll be okay," Dasie said. She knew her mother wasn't really worried about the taillight. Sam wasn't on the volunteer fire department. The only other time he'd gone on a call was when the Baxter place burned, during last winter's bad storm, and her father thought they might need extra hands for clearing snow.

The mill. Sam had been right. The lumber mill north of town was where their father went to work every day. It was where at least one person from every third house in Grace Falls went to work every day. Grace Falls was a mill town. Even if your family didn't work there, chances were you still depended on the mill for a living. One way or another, almost everyone did.

As Dasie and her mother watched, another set of headlights briefly swept the intersection, headed north. That would be Danny Cabrini from down on First Street. He'd be the last firefighter from their end of town.

Dasie knew them all. She often baby-sat for Chief Raines's three children. Then there was the assistant chief, Polly Ware, who'd grown up next door to her father and whose daughter, Amy, had just graduated from Grace Falls High School with Sam. Even her cousin Warren, one year older than Sam, was in the department. Each of them would be headed toward the mill. Or there already.

CONSOLIDATED TIMBER PRODUCTS. INC. That's how it read in bright blue lettering on the sign in front. "Why did the pager say 'Grace Falls Lumber Company'?" Dasie had asked her mother. "Nobody calls it that anymore."

"Not for the last twenty years," her mother agreed. "But a lot of folks will never think of it as anything else." With a shiver she pulled her light cotton robe close at the neck. "Mother Grace," she murmured.

Dasie had run her fingers through the thick thatch of fur between Tattler's shoulders. "Is it bad?" she asked.

"I don't know, Dasie. I'm standing here telling myself there's sprinklers through every inch of that mill. I can't think how a fire could even start."

It was then they had first smelled smoke.

Her mother sprinted to the dining room and the radio scanner on top of the bookcase. For nearly three hours, she sat as Dasie had so often seen her -- huddled into the corner of the old flowered sofa, her knees drawn up to her chin, listening.

Dasie, restless, wandered about the room. It was home to all of their oldest and most comfortable furniture, and Dasie liked it just as it was; she did not share her mother's yearning for a formal dining table of polished wood. She sat sometimes in the overstuffed chair across from the wood stove, then, as day slowly dawned, stood more often by the window.

All the while, the scanner crackled with familiar voices. But most of what they said was in code. Dasie and her mother knew only that the fire was too large for the Grace Falls department to handle alone.

Chapter One

The sky above Grace Falls was cast over with an eerie orange haze, and the spicy-sweet smell of wood smoke hung thick in the air. The smell was right for October, when the first fires of the season were lit in woodstoves all over town. But this wasn't October. It was late August.

Dasie pushed open the screen door, letting her brother's dog, Tattler, onto the back porch. She followed him, barefoot and still in her nightgown, down the steps and into the yard. It had been almost three hours since the beeping of the pager echoed from the kitchen, rousting them all from bed.

"Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel. There is
a reported fire at the Grace Falls Lumber Company.
Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel . . . ."

Within moments light had shone from the kitchen down the short back hall to Dasie's bedroom. She heard the familiar squawk and pop of the utility closet door followed by two firm clomps as her father shoved his feet into his boots, then a grunt as he hauled up the heavy pants of his turnouts.

Dasie had groped for a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her nightgown. She arrived in the kitchen in time to see her dad take his helmet from her mother's hand, clap it onto his head, and start for the door. The chin strap still dangled as he spoke into his hand-held radio: "Captain six-oh-four responding."

"You be careful, Hank Jenson," Dasie's mom called after him.

He lifted a hand in a backward wave and strode quickly across the lawn to the gate. Seconds later the wheels of his pickup splattered gravel as he pulled away into the night.

"Anybody seen my keys?"

Dasie turned. Her brother, Sam, eighteen, stood fully dressed in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. He patted his jeans pockets as he scanned the surfaces of the kitchen.

"Now, Sam, you don't need to be going," their mother said.

"Mom, it's the mill." He turned as though to head back through the dining room and the hall to the two front bedrooms.

Dasie lifted a folded copy of the Morgantown Weekly from the kitchen counter and picked up Sam's keys. "They're right here," she said.

Sam grinned and ran a hand upward through Dasie's hair. "Thanks, kid," he said. He paused just long enough to peck their mother on the cheek, then pushed through the back door. His pickup truck whined and stalled before the engine caught a steady beat, and he, too, pulled away, turning north at the corner.

Dasie and her mother stood at the screen door, Tattler between them.

"I wish he'd get that taillight fixed," her mother said. "He said he wouldn't drive at night until he did."

"He'll be okay," Dasie said. She knew her mother wasn't really worried about the taillight. Sam wasn't on the volunteer fire department. The only other time he'd gone on a call was when the Baxter place burned, during last winter's bad storm, and her father thought they might need extra hands for clearing snow.

The mill. Sam had been right. The lumber mill north of town was where their father went to work every day. It was where at least one person from every third house in Grace Falls went to work every day. Grace Falls was a mill town. Even if your family didn't work there, chances were you still depended on the mill for a living. One way or another, almost everyone did.

As Dasie and her mother watched, another set of headlights briefly swept the intersection, headed north. That would be Danny Cabrini from down on First Street. He'd be the last firefighter from their end of town.

Dasie knew them all. She often baby-sat for Chief Raines's three children. Then there was the assistant chief, Polly Ware, who'd grown up next door to her father and whose daughter, Amy, had just graduated from Grace Falls High School with Sam. Even her cousin Warren, one year older than Sam, was in the department. Each of them would be headed toward the mill. Or there already.

CONSOLIDATED TIMBER PRODUCTS. INC. That's how it read in bright blue lettering on the sign in front. "Why did the pager say 'Grace Falls Lumber Company'?" Dasie had asked her mother. "Nobody calls it that anymore."

"Not for the last twenty years," her mother agreed. "But a lot of folks will never think of it as anything else." With a shiver she pulled her light cotton robe close at the neck. "Mother Grace," she murmured.

Dasie had run her fingers through the thick thatch of fur between Tattler's shoulders. "Is it bad?" she asked.

"I don't know, Dasie. I'm standing here telling myself there's sprinklers through every inch of that mill. I can't think how a fire could even start."

It was then they had first smelled smoke.

Her mother sprinted to the dining room and the radio scanner on top of the bookcase. For nearly three hours, she sat as Dasie had so often seen her -- huddled into the corner of the old flowered sofa, her knees drawn up to her chin, listening.

Dasie, restless, wandered about the room. It was home to all of their oldest and most comfortable furniture, and Dasie liked it just as it was; she did not share her mother's yearning for a formal dining table of polished wood. She sat sometimes in the overstuffed chair across from the wood stove, then, as day slowly dawned, stood more often by the window.

All the while, the scanner crackled with familiar voices. But most of what they said was in code. Dasie and her mother knew only that the fire was too large for the Grace Falls department to handle alone.

Chapter One

The sky above Grace Falls was cast over with an eerie orange haze, and the spicy-sweet smell of wood smoke hung thick in the air. The smell was right for October, when the first fires of the season were lit in woodstoves all over town. But this wasn't October. It was late August.

Dasie pushed open the screen door, letting her brother's dog, Tattler, onto the back porch. She followed him, barefoot and still in her nightgown, down the steps and into the yard. It had been almost three hours since the beeping of the pager echoed from the kitchen, rousting them all from bed.

"Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel. There is
a reported fire at the Grace Falls Lumber Company.
Attention, Grace Falls fire personnel . . . ."

Within moments light had shone from the kitchen down the short back hall to Dasie's bedroom. She heard the familiar squawk and pop of the utility closet door followed by two firm clomps as her father shoved his feet into his boots, then a grunt as he hauled up the heavy pants of his turnouts.

Dasie had groped for a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her nightgown. She arrived in the kitchen in time to see her dad take his helmet from her mother's hand, clap it onto his head, and start for the door. The chin strap still dangled as he spoke into his hand-held radio: "Captain six-oh-four responding."

"You be careful, Hank Jenson," Dasie's mom called after him.

He lifted a hand in a backward wave and strode quickly across the lawn to the gate. Seconds later the wheels of his pickup splattered gravel as he pulled away into the night.

"Anybody seen my keys?"

Dasie turned. Her brother, Sam, eighteen, stood fully dressed in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. He patted his jeans pockets as he scanned the surfaces of the kitchen.

"Now, Sam, you don't need to be going," their mother said.

"Mom, it's the mill." He turned as though to head back through the dining room and the hall to the two front bedrooms.

Dasie lifted a folded copy of the Morgantown Weekly from the kitchen counter and picked up Sam's keys. "They're right here," she said.

Sam grinned and ran a hand upward through Dasie's hair. "Thanks, kid," he said. He paused just long enough to peck their mother on the cheek, then pushed through the back door. His pickup truck whined and stalled before the engine caught a steady beat, and he, too, pulled away, turning north at the corner.

Dasie and her mother stood at the screen door, Tattler between them.

"I wish he'd get that taillight fixed," her mother said. "He said he wouldn't drive at night until he did."

"He'll be okay," Dasie said. She knew her mother wasn't really worried about the taillight. Sam wasn't on the volunteer fire department. The only other time he'd gone on a call was when the Baxter place burned, during last winter's bad storm, and her father thought they might need extra hands for clearing snow.

The mill. Sam had been right. The lumber mill north of town was where their father went to work every day. It was where at least one person from every third house in Grace Falls went to work every day. Grace Falls was a mill town. Even if your family didn't work there, chances were you still depended on the mill for a living. One way or another, almost everyone did.

As Dasie and her mother watched, another set of headlights briefly swept the intersection, headed north. That would be Danny Cabrini from down on First Street. He'd be the last firefighter from their end of town.

Dasie knew them all. She often baby-sat for Chief Raines's three children. Then there was the assistant chief, Polly Ware, who'd grown up next door to her father and whose daughter, Amy, had just graduated from Grace Falls High School with Sam. Even her cousin Warren, one year older than Sam, was in the department. Each of them would be headed toward the mill. Or there already.

CONSOLIDATED TIMBER PRODUCTS. INC. That's how it read in bright blue lettering on the sign in front. "Why did the pager say 'Grace Falls Lumber Company'?" Dasie had asked her mother. "Nobody calls it that anymore."

"Not for the last twenty years," her mother agreed. "But a lot of folks will never think of it as anything else." With a shiver she pulled her light cotton robe close at the neck. "Mother Grace," she murmured.

Dasie had run her fingers through the thick thatch of fur between Tattler's shoulders. "Is it bad?" she asked.

"I don't know, Dasie. I'm standing here telling myself there's sprinklers through every inch of that mill. I can't think how a fire could even start."

It was then they had first smelled smoke.

Her mother sprinted to the dining room and the radio scanner on top of the bookcase. For nearly three hours, she sat as Dasie had so often seen her -- huddled into the corner of the old flowered sofa, her knees drawn up to her chin, listening.

Dasie, restless, wandered about the room. It was home to all of their oldest and most comfortable furniture, and Dasie liked it just as it was; she did not share her mother's yearning for a formal dining table of polished wood. She sat sometimes in the overstuffed chair across from the wood stove, then, as day slowly dawned, stood more often by the window.

All the while, the scanner crackled with familiar voices. But most of what they said was in code. Dasie and her mother knew only that the fire was too large for the Grace Falls department to handle alone.