Rescued By The Firefighter. Catherine Lanigan

the front porch did a good job of keeping the mosquitoes and flies away, but unfortuntely gave little illumination. She leaned over the wide log railing that extended down the four steps to the gravel path that served as her sidewalk.

      The camp consisted of ten sturdy small log cabins, with five on either side of the main dining hall and activities center. Up the hill at the end of the five cabins was a larger cabin that housed the male counselors, though right now there was only the one. Beatrice’s cabin was on the left side after the five girls’ cabins and a larger cabin for the female counselors.

      Her eyes scoured the little cabins and the main hall. She saw nothing amiss.

      Walking farther down the path, she stopped abruptly as a crimson glow illuminated the side of her face. She turned toward the forest that stretched for acres across the country road. “Oh, no!”

       Forest fire.

      The summer had been hot and dry with barely a sprinkle of rain in the past month. The Weather Channel had said it was the driest summer in Indian Lake history. This was Southern California weather, not northern Indiana weather. July was known for heat in Indiana, and even soared over one hundred degrees, but seldom did the region get this dry. In recent weeks, the corn was withering on the stalks. The leaves of the soybean crops were already turning golden six weeks ahead of normal.

      She punched in 911 on her phone.

      “What is your emergency?” the dispatcher asked.

      “Fire! I’m at Indian Lake Youth Camp. Up Highway Thirty-Five. There’s fire in the woods across the road. It’s been so dry, I’m afraid the fire could move fast and head right for us.”

      She looked around and saw the light in Maisie and Cindy’s cabin switch on. Cindy had just turned twenty-two, and though a year younger than Maisie, she possessed a child’s boundless energy. She was pulling a light sweatshirt over her head as she rushed out onto her porch.

      Beatrice beckoned to Cindy, who started running toward her, her sneakers digging into the gravel with purpose.

      Cindy’s streaked blond hair was clipped up on her head into a thick spike, making her look just like Cindy Lou Who from the Grinch cartoon. There was nothing comical about the fear in Cindy’s face, however. She pointed to the fire. “This is a nightmare.”

      “It is,” Beatrice replied, still listening to the dispatcher.

      “The units have been sent. They’re on their way,” the dispatcher said.

      “Thank you,” Beatrice said and hung up while simultaneously grabbing Cindy’s arm. Cindy was shaking.

      “Cindy, look at me. This is no time to panic. We have to get the kids up and dressed. Then you and Bruce need to take them to St. Mark’s.”

      “St. Mark’s?” Cindy’s voice cracked.

      “Yes. You remember, right?” Beatrice asked firmly. Beatrice knew she could do this.

      But Beatrice was their leader. She was responsible for these children. Their lives might depend on her tonight.

      More than the danger the fire posed to her beloved camp, it was the children she cared about. Each child was a gift to her. She took special care to learn their needs and idiosyncrasies, their fears and their delights.

      When misgivings about money turned to dark moments, when she wondered why she’d placed all her dreams into this black hole of continual and costly restoration, she reminded herself it was for the kids, whom she cared about as if they were family.

      “Cindy...”

      “St. Mark’s! I remember. Father Michael offered his activity hall in case of any emergency.” Cindy brushed a lock of her hair away from her cheek. “This definitely qualifies.”

      “Yes, it does, Cindy. Wake up Bruce. Believe me, it takes a bomb to get that guy up. You and Bruce wake up the boys. Maisie and I will take the girls’ cabins. Get everyone to the dining hall first, then hustle them into the SUVs and drive them into town.”

      “What about you?”

      “I have to stay here. It’s my camp. Now, go!”

      As Cindy raced off to Bruce’s cabin, Beatrice waved to Maisie.

      Maisie had put on jeans, sneakers and a light hooded pullover. She held up her cell phone as she ran toward Beatrice. “I’ll get the girls.”

      While Cindy was all emotion, hugging the kids, giving them encouragement, Maisie was the organized, Excel-sheet-minded counselor who kept the kids in line. She also helped order the food and had their consumption quantities down to the number of tiny boxes of raisins and bars of soap they would need each month.

      “Yes. Good thing I filled up the SUVs’ gas tanks yesterday. We are good to go,” Beatrice replied as they went to the first girls’ cabin.

      Jessica and Susan Kettering were two sisters from Chicago whose parents were in Europe for work. The girls were living at the camp for a month, and Beatrice had gotten to know them well.

      The girls, ages six and eight, both had amblyopia, or lazy eye. They refused to wear their eye patches on corresponding eyes at the same time. Thus, Jessica’s patch was on her right eye for six months, and Susan’s patch was on her left eye. In addition, they both had myopia and couldn’t read or see objects up close. Their glasses were thick and cumbersome for many of the sports, but their lighthearted attitudes overcame their personal struggles. Beatrice admired their closeness; they were always holding hands and helping each other.

      Jessica awoke first. “What is it, Miss Beatrice?” She rubbed her eyes.

      Jessica was thin and short, and had cropped auburn hair. She looked like a little ladybug to Beatrice, because she had a smattering of freckles across her nose. “Bruce and Cindy are going to drive you kids into town.”

      “But why?” Susan asked, putting her glasses on before she sat up in bed. She lifted her little arms to Maisie.

      Maisie leaned down to the girl. Beatrice didn’t know what it was about Susan, but she had a way of melting Maisie’s analytical heart.

      As Maisie whisked the child out of bed and to the floor, Beatrice pulled a long-sleeved T-shirt over Jessica’s head. She held out a pair of pull-on pants.

      “Once these two are dressed, Maisie, take them to the SUVs. I’m going to the next cabin. Belinda and Sherry are older. They can meet you at the SUVs. Then I’ll get Aubrey and Anna.”

      “Got it,” Maisie said, tying Susan’s shoes. “In fact, you should go now. I’ll help Jessica with her shoes.”

      “I can tie my own,” Jessica said proudly. “It’s okay, Miss Beatrice. I can help Maisie with Susan,” Jessica insisted. “She’s my sister.”

      Beatrice felt her eyes sting with tears and a lump invade her throat. Jessica was so precious to her—if those flames came anywhere near...

      “You’re such a help, Jessica.” Beatrice leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

      Maisie stood upright, her eyes darting to Beatrice. “You did call Father Michael, right?”

      Sucking in a deep breath, Beatrice halted. She’d been so concerned about getting the kids out of danger, that she’d skipped a step. “I—I...”

      “It’s understandable,” Maisie said, her eyes going to Beatrice’s back pocket, where she kept her phone.

      Beatrice yanked the cell out of her pocket and found Father Michael’s number.

      He picked up on the first ring.

      “Bless you for answering so quickly, Father Michael. It’s Beatrice Wilcox at the youth camp. I need your help.”

      “Name it,” he replied.

      Beatrice had only just started her explanation when Father Michael stopped