“Me either.” Sheila watched with interest. “The history in this house is amazing. Everything has a story. It’s like a museum.”
“It is.” Natalie and Sheila joined in on the second part of the song.
Orene shouted out to the room, “Trivia time! Who knows how old the song ‘Jingle Bells’ is?”
“A hundred years old,” said one of the kids on the piano bench.
“Written in 1857. It’s over a hundred and fifty years old. Let’s sing that one!” Orene switched out the song roll on the pianola and then grabbed a set of jingle bells from the mantel and shook them while the kids went to work again, pumping the piano until the unmistakable song began to play. Orene led with “‘Dashing through the snow…’”
And everyone joined in, bouncing to the upbeat tempo. Sheila imagined what it might have been like to have lived in a time where a suitor would bring his horse and sleigh over to take his sweetie for a ride through the snowy drifts under the stars. It must have been a romantic time.
The singing continued.
Sheila excused herself. “I’m going to get some air.” She edged herself through the caroling crowd and made her slow way out to the front porch, where she could still hear the words to the song clear as day. Until all of a sudden, alarms were sounding, and the singing stopped.
Tucker swept past her. “Let’s go!”
Confused, she swung around and jumped out of the way asmen and women rushed past her out the door and down the sidewalk.
Randy and Natalie came outside.
“What’s going on?” Sheila asked.
“You don’t hear the wail of the siren?” Randy asked.
Sheila listened intently. Yes, just above the volume of everyone scampering and frantic conversations, she could hear the rise and fall of the alarm. “I do now.”
A moment later, the fire truck came down Main Street, diesel engine rumbling, siren blaring, and lights flashing, followed by a line of pickup trucks.
Sheila noticed lettering across the front windshield of the hook and ladder truck. “What’s that say?” she asked Natalie.
“Bull Mountain Boys.”
They walked out into the yard, watching the fire truck rumble down the street.
Randy pointed over Orene’s house into the distance. “You can see the smoke back that way.”
Thick black smoke lifted into the air. Even in the evening sky, it was a dark billowing cloud.
Orene walked outside with a dish towel over her apron strings. “Not exactly how I had this party ending.” She followed everyone else’s gaze toward the sky. “I sure hope it’s not someone’s home.” She pulled her arms tighter. “Doesn’t look good.”
Sheila could smell the smoke in the air already. “Is everyone in this town in the fire department?” It sounded like a stupid statement when she said it out loud, but that fire alarm really emptied the place.
“Just about,” Orene said. “There aren’t too many people who are still capable that don’t volunteer in some way.”
Paul walked outside. “Anyone have any news on what’s up yet?”
“No. We were just talking about that,” said Natalie.
“That being said,” Randy injected, “I’m going to check in with the sheriff to see if he needs my help and see if I can get some details.”
Natalie reached up and pecked him on the cheek. “Let us know.”
He jogged down the sidewalk toward the spot where he’d parked earlier.
“I didn’t realize Tucker was the fire chief until he mentioned it,” Sheila said.
“I never mentioned that?” Natalie shrugged.
