He stormed out the door. Nothing he could do about Duane right now, but maybe if the sheriff looked at the paper later, he’d come to his senses.

Yeah…right!

12

Silverware clinked against the ceramic plate as James cut into his meat. He glanced up at his father and shook his head. A few hours had passed since his encounter with Duane, and he still hadn’t seen his heart rate return to normal. Each time he tried to let it go, something would remind him that time was running out for Travis. He couldn’t even think about Travis’s mother. Her acceptance of his fate was heartbreaking.

“It’s good to finally hear some resolve in your voice,” his father said. He took a drag off the cigarette and then slowly blew it out. “So, why do you suppose Travis would make up story like that?”

“I don’t know.” James chewed on a steamed carrot.

“OK, well, if not Travis, who did it?” His father’s voice remained even and calm, a perfect opposite to the storm raging in James’s gut.

“Maybe it was an accident. From what I understand, it was pretty dry.”

“I thought they determined it was started with a cigarette. That’s what the paper said anyway. Isn’t that how Travis said he started it?”

James nodded and swallowed a bite of food. “Yes sir. That part all adds up.”

“Well then, the way I see it, you need to spend less time on the why and how and start focusing on the who.”

James chewed on that while he finished the meal Mary had dropped off for him and his father. Who besides Travis could and would have set the fire? That was definitely the rub. As far as James could figure, he’d ruled out everyone else he knew. But he also knew Travis. And the man was protecting someone. It was his nature. His love of helping others was well-known. Had someone taken advantage of that and asked Travis to take the fall?

Again the idea of a conspiracy floated through James’s mind. Maybe it sounded crazy, but Travis was so kindhearted that anyone with a good enough sob story might convince him to confess. The entire town thought Travis was weird, so it wouldn’t take much convincing to get everyone to jump on the let’s-blame-Travis bandwagon.

James helped his father clear the table and get the dishes set in the dishwasher, and then he headed back out to the Pearce place. Maybe if he stared at the charred remains one more time, an answer would come. Please, Lord. Your Word was right there in the ashes, God. I know You meant me to find it. Beauty from ashes, beauty from ashes…what kind of beauty could possibly come from an entire family dying in a fire? Shards his own shattered life stabbed his being, his lost Lord, his lost friend, his lost family. James thought about his mother, what she would have done in the face of such loss. How would she feel if the tables were turned, if his father had died instead of his mother?