The Stars Are Fire(59)

“I didn’t know who I was until a week after I woke up. For that week, I didn’t want to be alive.”

She waits.

“The arm, but mostly the pain.”

“Why did they take your arm?” she asks, unable to look away from the pinned sleeve.

“Gangrene.”

“Oh, Gene. Tell me what I need to know in order to take care of you.”

He closes his eye. “You won’t want to do it. I’m going to need some things.”

“Such as.”

“Gauze, Vaseline, iodine, a bedpan.” He studies her. “Lots of towels. The sheets will need to be cleaned every day. A rubber sheet.”

Grace takes in a sharp breath.

“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”

“We’ll do whatever has to be done.”

“And aspirins. I get terrible headaches. Where are you sleeping?”

“On the second floor.”

“In my mother’s bed?”

Grace nods.

He glances at Grace’s skirt. “And if I’m not mistaken, you’re wearing her clothes.”

“We had nothing when we got here.”

Fluid leaks from inside Gene’s shirt. She leaves the room, finds a clean towel, returns, and lays it with care over his left side. “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you,” she says.

“Please don’t pity me.”

“I don’t.” But she does.

“You lost the baby,” he says.

“I did.”

“Was it bad?”

“It happened the night of the fire.”

He rolls his head to the side. For a moment Grace wonders if he will cry. But, no, he’s angry. “If only they’d let us go home, I’d have got you out of there!”

“Can you lie here for half an hour?” she asks.

“You’re leaving me?”

“Just to get a doctor.”

“Old Man Franklin?”

“He’s gone. His house burned down, so he retired. We have a new one now. His name is Dr. Lighthart.”

For a few seconds Gene is silent. Then he snaps his fingers. “Injun!” he says.

“What?”

“Injun. You can always tell from the name. Two names put together. Whiteman. Yellowhair. Manygoats. Watchman. I knew some of them in the war and later working on the Pike.”

The prominent cheekbones. The high color of his skin. The straight black hair. Indian and something else. Maybe a lot of something else. What difference does it make?

“He’s a good doctor,” Grace says.


Grace’s hands shake so much she can barely shift the gears. Backing down the hill, she veers into snow-covered bushes at the end. I’ll kill myself this way, she thinks.

When she turns onto the rural street on which the farmhouse is located and pulls to the top of the drive, John Lighthart is pacing. She’s a half hour late for their appointment.

“Hello,” he says with a grin as he swings open the passenger door and gets in.

Grace turns to him and holds up a hand. “John.” She pauses, gathers herself. “My husband, Gene, came back this morning. He’s badly burned and not yet healed. He can’t sit. If you’re willing, I need you to come to the house and examine him and tell me what to do.”

The doctor searches her eyes. “Are you all right? Your face is white.”

“It’s just the shock.”

“You shouldn’t be driving, but I’d better take my car. You go on, and I’ll catch up. I have to put a few things in my bag.”

“Thank you,” says Grace. “Please don’t mention that I work for you. I haven’t told him yet, and…I’m not sure I’ll be able to continue at the clinic.”

“That would be a shame.”

“He’s crude. He’s not himself.”

“You go back to him. I’ll be right behind you.”


Grace parks the car and reluctantly walks into Merle’s house. Her mother, with a yellow apron on, stands in the center of the kitchen. “I don’t know what to make for him to eat!” she sputters.

“The doctor is coming.”

“I nearly fainted when the police showed up. It’s dreadful, isn’t it.”


The sharp light from the window etches every defect in Gene’s face. Grace partially draws the maroon drapes.

“Where did you get that schmancy Buick?” he asks.

“A friend lent it to me.”

“Rosie?”

“Another friend. Rosie and Tim have moved to Nova Scotia. Can you walk with me to the library? There’s a bed in there.”

“Why?” he asks.

“We had a power outage that lasted four days. We all slept in there with the fire going.”

She watches as he reverses the agonizing process that enabled him to lie down. She moves toward him to help.

But he limps ahead of her, indicating that he’s master of the house now.


Grace greets Dr. Lighthart at the back door without a word. She remembers how Dr. Franklin used to walk in unannounced and take the stairs to the bedroom where the patient lay. Another world. Another country.

“Gene, this is Dr. Lighthart,” she says, introducing her husband.