Loaded Guns and Broken Fences [On Hold]

Chapter 56

A thin veil of fog still clung to the earth in the early blue haze of morning as the loggers made their way down the road towards the lumber yard. But they knew something was wrong. The smell of burning timber carried towards them on the wind. Next, they spotted a thin, white trail of smoke rising from between the trees. And the first few to rush ahead were met with a gut-dropping sight.

Where the tool and wagon shed had been, now there was nothing but the burnt-out black skeleton of the collapsed building, and the office that had been adjoined to it was gone as well. In the mule pin, the animals were lying lifeless, with flies already starting to collect around their motionless forms.

Tears sprung to Albert's eyes, and he removed his hat, wicking them away with his sleeve while his jaw quivered with rage. This was too damned much... The smell, and smoke, and ash, was too much like that awful fire that claimed his sister-in-law's life. And it was too damned soon.

It had to have been the McGraths, but Albert knew as he paced, what he had to do. Someone had to put an end to this hellish cycle. Someone had to take the whoopin' and not lash back.

"Gather up over here, boys," he hollered, beckoning the few that'd gone over for a closer inspection of the charred remains. "Go home today, an tomorrow I'll have ya get to cleaning this up while I see about replacing our animals and tools."

"But, Mr. Shield–"

"And not a word of this to no one that don't need to know nothin'," Albert added as he began a slow trudge over towards the embers still glittering red among the hot rubble, replacing his hat on his head and wiping the back of his hand across his brow. "Last thing we need is for this to be on the tongues of the whole damned town..."

Allen followed him. "We should tell Atwell."

"No," Albert snapped, shaking his head before sniffling and bending down to pick up a stick to snuff out the coal bed with. "Was an accident. That's all."

"It's plain as day it wasn't! It had to have been–"

"I said it was a goddamned accident!" Albert roared, guilt immediately twisting his stomach for having yelled at his boy. "Please, trust me on this, Son. Nothin' good will come from reporting it. Only more trouble," he said softly, gripping Allen's shoulder for a moment before raising his voice to be heard again by his crew. "An if a single one of you says otherwise to anyone, and I find out it got back to Andrew or Clarence, then you'll have hell an' a half to pay!"

"Yessir," Allen and a few of the men muttered, before trickling away dejectedly to head back to town.

The sun was a fair piece higher in the sky than it had been when Tom had walked from the cabin to the main house—washing the purplish blue out of the early morning to reveal bright yellow hues. He hadn't spoken much at all during breakfast aside from a few, 'yes, Ma'am's, and 'thank you's.

In his opinion, the scent of lamp oil and pine smoke still clung to his hands and shirt. So as soon as he'd finished eating, he'd excused himself to go wash up again at the well behind the house. Tom wished he'd been able to sleep after they'd returned from Albert's land. Guilt hadn't allowed him more than a brief doze, though. Guilt and doubt.