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There were so many more questions she wanted answered, but Miss Pearce had been right about one thing. Now was not the time.

chapter fifty-five ADELE

October 1907

Adele lifted her head, cringing at the pain in her neck from leaning against the side of the wicker chair. She put her hand to her cheek, feeling the pattern of the basket weave pressed into her skin. A blanket slipped off her as she shifted and rose wearily to her feet.

She looked about in the darkness of the night and found she was alone. Macalister’s chair was empty, his lantern gone.

She picked up her lamp and went inside to the kitchen to make some coffee.

The stiffness in her back and neck eased a little bit as she moved around the kitchen, but she could not shake the tiredness from her arms and her shoulders. Still, when the kettle whistled at her, she used a cloth to guard her hands as she lifted it off the stove and poured water over the grounds in the coffeepot.

When the coffee was brewed, she poured out a cup. Leaving a second cup behind, she took up her lamp and went in search of Macalister.

She found him by the pile of brush in the orchard near the edge of the property, bucket in hand as he slung more water on it.

“Hello,” she called.

He stopped and looked back at her. “Adele? I thought you were asleep.”

“I thought you were supposed to wake me when it was my turn to keep watch.”

“Seemed like you could use the sleep.”

She suspected she could say the same for him, but instead of saying anything she held up the cup of coffee. “I cannot pretend that it will be the best you’ve ever tasted, but I thought it might help.”

He put the bucket down. “Where is your cup?”

“Waiting for me in the kitchen.”

She stretched out her hand, and he reached out with both of his to take the cup. For a moment, their fingers brushed, and she felt a jolt through her entire body.

As he stood before her, sleep-deprived and trying to keep her home safe, she could not help but feel the pull toward him.

“You called me Adele,” she said.

There was just enough light that she could see him swallow. “I meant no offense.”

“I took none, although you have me at a disadvantage. And you’re Alexander?”

He looked down at her, his light brown eyes unreadable. “Alex. I never thought Alexander fit.”

“Tell me everything will be fine, Alex.”

Instead of responding, he opened his arms and she walked right into them.

She fit perfectly, his chin resting just above her head, his heart beating in tandem with hers, a comfort as the minutes ticked by.

chapter sifty-six THERESA

July 2, 1960

The entire day, Theresa vacillated between focus and fear. She ran relays back and forth between the Rosewood House telephone and the neighborhood, where people armed with garden hoses watched and waited and did what they could to save their properties in case the wind changed. When one of the new firefighting air tankers flew overhead, everyone stopped and looked to the heavens to watch it make its way to the fire line.

As she worked, Theresa gathered story after story. There was the World War I veteran who remembered getting a letter from his sister telling him the house his father had built had burned down. When he came home from the trenches of Europe to California, he’d cleared the lot and rebuilt, never questioning that he might live anywhere else.

There was the young family who had only just bought their first house, a Craftsman bungalow that stood surrounded by beautiful scrub oak trees their twin boys loved playing under.