The widow sat in a small, windowless room just off the chapel where her husband's body lay. The room was reserved for family of the departed who needed respite from well-wishers or a moment to grieve in private. Her hands trembled as she stared at the envelope the fire chief held out to her.
"Roy left this in case he didn't come back from a call." Chief Lundquist laid the envelope in her lap when she failed to reach out for it. "Callie, you know the whole department is here for you. If you need anything, anything at all, call me."
She nodded listlessly, silently. There weren't any tears left. Her only reaction was to fidget with the straps of the purse sitting beside her chair. The Chief gently squeezed her shoulder and returned to the chapel. When he opened the door, a murmur of voices washed over her and then ceased as it closed behind him.
It was the silence that she sought in this family room as the funeral director called it; silence and solitude. It was her guilty conscience that drove her away from her station by his casket. She felt as if every person could see her shame, a shame that was made worse by the sheer number of mourners. Until this moment, she never knew just how much her husband was liked and respected. She would regret for the rest of her life how little respect she had shown him.
It was humbling to see the chapel filled to capacity. Every member of the fire department including retirees was there of course, but so were most of the city's police officers, the city staff and elected officials. Even firefighters from other departments near and far had come to pay their respects while others filled the city's fire stations, covering any calls until the funeral concluded. A steady stream of citizens whose lives had been touched in some way by her husband formed a line that snaked its way around the main room, through the vestibule and out the entryway.
Outside the chapel, a pumper, draped in black, sat with its diesel engine idling. The casket would be placed on the hose bed for the trip to the cemetery. A long line of fire apparatus and police cars trailed away behind it, waiting for the procession.
The widow looked at the envelope as if touching it would sear her flesh. Finally, with a shuddering breath, she picked it up, tore it open and withdrew the single sheet of paper inside.
My dearest Callie,
If you are reading this, the thing that every spouse of a firefighter dreads has come to pass. I have died in the line of duty. I am so sorry this has happened to you. You deserve so much more out of life; things that I am no longer there to give you. Being married to someone whose job requires putting their life on the line has to be one of the hardest thing anyone has to do. I'm so grateful for your unwavering support and for your steadfast love despite my shortcomings. I hope you know that my love for you is absolute and unconditional. You have been the light of my life.
Please take comfort in knowing that I died doing the work I love. I only hope that my sacrifice mattered.
You probably don't want to hear this right now, but it's my only chance to say goodbye. Don't give up on life. You are a wonderful woman. You deserve happiness, children, a home full of love and a partner who makes the rest of your life as incredible as you have made mine. Until we meet again, my love.
Roy
The words were knives being thrust again and again into her heart, the heart she thought numbed with grief. She was not a good woman. She was a horrible woman and the worst kind of partner; one which her husband did not deserve. If only she'd had the courage to clear the air before he left for training, but she wasn't ready.
Roy had been hurt and angry at the way she was treating him. He had put her on notice that they were going to have a long talk when he got back. She was frightened and confused and so wrapped up in herself that she failed to notice him standing at the door, waiting for the goodbye hug and kiss. It was the defeated sigh that woke her up, but too late. All she saw was his back, shoulders slumped, as he trudged toward the Assistant Chief's car parked at the curb. If only...if only.
*****
As Roy drove toward Champaign, he continued to wrestle with what to do about Callie's attitude. Things had been strained for several months. He had tried repeatedly to get her to talk but all she did was make cryptic comments, as if he was the one with some deep dark secret she was waiting for him to reveal. Thinking back, it startled him to realize this had all begun shortly after his promotion.
Things should have gotten better, not worse. As a white shirt, he was on a straight eight to four- thirty, forty hour week. Aside from call-outs, he was usually home by supper time every night; no 24 on 48 off. He'd even given up his side job to spend more time at home with her. Despite that, Callie seemed unhappy and had grown more distant with each passing day.
What really hurt was that he had done everything he could think of to keep this from happening. He knew how hard public safety work was on marriages. They had always talked out their problems before. What was different this time?
Roy shook his head in frustration. He just couldn't make sense of her behavior. When he got back, he'd have it out with her. No excuses this time. The distraction was affecting his performance and that was not a good thing in his profession.
The training was challenging with a good mix of classroom and hands-on. For three days, he could focus on the tasks at hand and put his own problems on a back shelf. It wasn't until the last day when he got back to his room that those thoughts once again occupied his mind.
The sun was just rising as Roy pulled out of the motel parking lot and headed north. It took longer, but he found taking the back roads relaxing when he had to think. He grew up on a farm and never lost his love for wide open spaces and growing things. Fields that had been barren all winter were starting to green up. Just looking at the buds sprouting recalled the carefree days of his youth. He rolled down the windows and took a deep breath. The air was clean and held the scent of freshly turned earth.
At first, the smudge of smoke on the horizon didn't raise any alarms. Roy remembered all the times he had to stand guard over a burning brush pile or the controlled burns to clear weeds out of ditches at this time of year. His dad had been a fanatic about fire safety on the farm which had no small part in Roy's ultimate choice of careers. Still, something nagged at him. He tried to focus on his problems with Callie, but kept glancing at the plume of smoke as he approached its point of origin. He'd almost driven past the lane leading to a distant farmstead when it percolated out of his subconscious. The smoke was the wrong color. A brush pile or ditch full of weeds had plenty of oxygen and produced grey smoke. This smoke was dense and black. Without thinking, he turned onto the lane.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe they were burning down an old outbuilding. He was half way to the cluster of buildings - a farmhouse, barn, toolshed, a couple of silos and a pole building - when he spotted the flames shooting from the farmhouse roof. Stepping on the gas, he sped up the lane spewing gravel as he went. Pulling into the yard, he did a quick fireground assessment and parked his car where it wouldn't interfere with next in units.
A woman was trying to protect the west exposure with a garden hose while a man tried to wrestle a ladder up to a second story window. Flames were not only through the roof but brown smoke was billowing out from the eaves. The structural members were burning. Fishing his cell phone out, Roy dialed 911 and stuck his Bluetooth in his ear.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"There's a farmhouse on fire north of Stattler Road about half a mile east of French Road." Roy spotted the placard nailed to a light pole in the middle of the barnyard. "There's a Fenton Township Fire Protection placard number 47N as in Nora 603."
"We'll have the fire department on the way."
"Tell them there appear to be people trapped on the second floor. Flame is coming through the roof. It looks like the attic is fully involved. Brown smoke is showing. Do you have an ETA?"
"You talk like a firefighter."
"I'm with the City of Rockcreek Fire Department. How long till they get here?"
"Hold on one."
