Magnolia Storms

by Janet W. Ferguson

“Can you make waffles into animals, Miss Maggie?”

  “Not unless your dad has a special griddle to cook them on. Has he ever made them?”

  “Just Nana.” Disappointment laced his words.

  “If there’s pancake mix, I bet I can make a fun-shaped pancake in a skillet. My dad used to do that.” She hadn’t eaten pancakes in a long time, and a sudden memory returned of her father holding a spatula on Sunday mornings. The image brought a smile and a tender ache. It had been his routine for the weekends when he wasn’t on duty.

  “Okay. I want that.” He halted in his tracks and squeezed her fingers. “Can you hold me? My legs are swimming.”

  “Aww.” Heart squeezing, Maggie pocketed her phone and held out her arms. “Poor pumpkin, come here.” She bent down to lift him, and her vision spotted black-and-white as though her brain hit the backs of her eyeballs. Teetering, she managed to get him to her hip. Squatting might be a better tactic next time. “We’ll give your dad a grocery list. Let me take a quick peek in the fridge.”

  “Like peek-a-boo with the fridgerator?” He giggled at his own joke.

  She tweaked his nose and twisted her lips into a lopsided smile. “You play that, too, don’t you?”

  His nose scrunched. “No, silly. Daddy has a safety on it.”

  Blinking, Maggie rounded her mouth. “Oh.” Right. The refrigerator could be dangerous. “I hadn’t thought of that one. I hope I can get it open.” After making her way into the kitchen, she spied out the Velcro latch near the top of the appliance and breathed a sigh. “Not a problem.” Velcro strap she could do, especially after her skirmish with his car seat.

  Now for pen and paper, or, if she could manage to be coordinated enough, she’d text a list. Shifting J.D.’s weight, she dug her phone from her pocket. She sent a grocery list to Josh and another list to Aunt Ruth’s phone containing the things to pack in an overnight bag for her. Maybe Dahlia would hear the text. No way was she letting Josh sort through her unmentionables, as Aunt Ruth had called them. Josh could bring everything over at one time, though.

  “I’m thirsty.” J.D. let his head nuzzle next to her neck.

  “You probably need Tylenol or something, too.” But how much? And what should he drink? There were so many things to learn about children. She may as well step out back and ask Josh. The texting was requiring too much concentration. “Let me set you in your chair and ask Daddy.”

  Once she had him safely settled, she crossed the kitchen. The door creaked when she pulled it open, and the porch lights flickered. “Hey, Josh. I need the dosage for Tylenol.”

  “I wrote it on the prescription bag. Give him a bowl of chicken noodle soup, crackers, and apple juice before the next dose of antibiotics, too.” He twisted one more screw into the window cover and headed their way. “I got your text. I’ll hurry to the store. I have plenty of MREs and canned food in my emergency pantry, but it’s not much in the way of culinary fair. Mostly ravioli, canned meats, and canned fruit. Stuff to get by on, if needed.”

  Her stomach churned. “Oh man, I was sick of ravioli after Katrina. We cooked so many cans of the stuff on the grill or over a fire while the power was off.” A shudder ran through her. “Although we were fortunate we had it, the taste still reminds me of those days.”

  His gaze dropped. “Sorry.” He toed at the earth. “Maggie, I should’ve come back...been at the memorial—helped you all. I see that now. I could’ve still become a pilot through a route other than Kings Point.”

  His eyes rose to meet hers, with a pitiful stare.

  Not that it made up for much, but the apology was nice enough—until he got to the still being a pilot part. “You can leave our things on the front porch and text me. No sense getting too close with germs and all.” She rotated away from Josh and the hurt his words stirred up, but paused. She turned back. “On second thought, bring my stuff over before you go to the store. I want to check my laptop to see if there are any evacuation orders planned.” One could hope.

  “Okay, but my sources say only a curfew Tuesday night and Wednesday.”

  His sources. Huh. Doubtful they were meteorologists. Probably other stubborn pilots.

  “You know, Josh, you could take Aunt Ruth and the kids and get out of here.”

  “Angie said they aren’t evacuating the hospital, so I think we should all stay together.”

  Fire lit in her midsection. He sounded exactly like her father had during Katrina. She turned and stomped back into the house without responding.

  In the kitchen, she prepared J.D.’s food and dosed him with the appropriate meds. When Josh texted, she waited five minutes to make sure he was gone before she went out to retrieve her computer. Soon, she had J.D. set up in the king-sized bed to watch a cartoon like the doctor suggested, and she opened her laptop. A look at a few of the forecasts indicated that there would be no mandatory evacuation. Her heart thrashed in her chest. She’d promised herself she’d never ride out a hurricane, no matter the category. Not even a tropical storm. At that moment, J.D. nestled in closer beside her, and his fingers made circles around a piece of her hair.

  If Josh wouldn’t leave, that meant J.D. was stuck down here, and it wasn’t like she could steal J.D. away if she left with Dahlia and Aunt Ruth. She wouldn’t want to leave that baby. And what would Cammie want her to do?

  Her stomach plummeted a few fathoms. But she knew. Cammie would want her to keep the store open as long as possible and stay put if there were no evacuation orders.

  With a deep sigh, Maggie soaked in the view of the little boy at her side.

  Looked like she’d be breaking her promise about riding out storms.

  JOSH SET THE ITEMS Maggie needed on the porch and sent her the requested text. Her avoiding him was more than just to keep the germs inside, no doubt. He’d blurted out that apology at an inopportune time, like an idiot. He hadn’t planned to say any of it. The realization of what he’d done had smacked him, and he’d spilled it out.

  He should go, but his feet stayed glued to his porch. Everything he ever wanted was inside that house, just beyond—that door. Pretending the life he longed for was possible bordered on insanity, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts pounding in like rough surf. Him and Maggie and J.D.—a family, maybe with a little curly-headed daughter, too, someday, one with big brown eyes. Maggie would be chiding him about something, and he’d tease her, like they’d always done, a dance they both had known and loved in the past.

  The woman would run a tight ship at home, he’d wager, but she’d give those children a love that ran deep and strong and wide. A small chuckle made its way out. Long as the Mississippi River and as wide as the Gulf of Mexico. He hated not saying goodnight to his boy, but Maggie would take care of him. Already, she’d shown a strong maternal instinct, even to a child that had been born to him by another woman.

  A clatter sounded near the door, and regret razed through him. He’d better go. Maggie didn’t want him here, and he kept stirring up more trouble and pain for her. After Thanksgiving, Mrs. Daigle had said she could help with the store. As soon as the storm passed, he needed to start that search for a nanny and a new place to live. Maybe he’d go ahead and email his real estate agent tonight and scan a few websites. It wasn’t like he had much else to do.

  Chapter 21

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, the phone’s chime broke into Maggie’s nap, and she scrambled across the bed to grab the thing before the sound woke the little man. She’d given up trying to get him to sleep in his own bed. After punching the Accept button, she tiptoed out of Josh’s bedroom before speaking. The number read Angie, and a knife of anxiety plunged into Maggie’s gut.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Maggie?”

  “Yeah, sorry. J.D. is asleep. I wanted to get to the kitchen so I wouldn’t wake him.” The evidence of their morning pancake fest still covered the table. She’d been too tired to clean it up once they’d finished.

  “How is he?”

  “We both hacked al
l night. Those cough syrups don’t do much for this.”

  “Sorry. It’s hard when the mo...caretaker is sick and the child, too. I’m bringing supper for y’all tonight.”

  “You don’t need to.” And Angie’s slip hadn’t escaped her.

  “Everything’s already in motion. Graham is making gumbo. Mrs. Daigle’s cooking homemade chicken soup and cornbread for you tomorrow.”

  A sigh slipped passed Maggie’s lips. “I hate for everyone to bother, and I thought you said only a few nights a week?”

  “This is what a Christian family does. We care for each other.”

  Their situation had swirled into such a challenging predicament, she’d allow herself to be taken care of, if only for a short while. She lifted the dirty skillet with her free hand and set it in the sink.

  “You haven’t said how Cammie is. You saw her today, right?” Keeping her voice steady required patience she didn’t have right now.

  Angie’s quick inhale sounded through the phone. There was something the nurse didn’t want to say.

  “Angie, I need to know.”

  “She’s very weak. On oxygen. But fighting. Dr. Castro is staying with her almost around the clock, except for when he checks other patients.”

  Maggie’s throat tightened. “I should be there.”

  “She’s in good hands, and I asked her if I could put her on the prayer list at church. She said yes. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.” Anything was worth a try. But she knew better than to hope.

  “Both Dr. Castro and I will be on duty when the storm rolls in, so please rest until it passes.”

  Like that was possible.

  AIR HUNG HEAVY AND foreboding while Josh double-checked all the windows one more time at both houses. The generator was ready, and he’d pulled his boat out of storage and parked it in the driveway, in case they needed it if the situation went south.

  Lord, please let this one weaken. For Maggie. Her family needs a break right now. We’d be thankful for no storm surge. No tornadoes.

  Maggie wouldn’t like seeing the vessel here. Plus the name. Would it be dumb to pray that Maggie didn’t notice? Cajun Princess II. What had he been thinking when he’d named the thing eight years ago? Three gallons of crazy in a two-gallon bucket.

  But he didn’t have to question his reasoning. He’d been thinking of her. Thinking he’d figure out how to win her back. Thinking she’d eventually forgive him.

  A 4Runner slowed then stopped on the street in front of Ruth’s place. Looked like Angie arriving with their dinner. Josh’s stomach rumbled at the thought of his partner Graham’s gumbo. The man could cook a mean batch, and it would be chock full of all the best seafood. They’d spent plenty of days fishing together. A little toasted French bread, and they’d dine like kings while the storm passed.

  A gust of wind whipped up as he made his way through the yards to the SUV. They’d be fine. He’d been watching the same models from the National Hurricane Center that Maggie had. Some high winds maybe, but these houses had endured that before.

  “Hey. Let me help you.” He stepped close to the front door where Angie struggled to get out with a large stock pot.

  “Sure. Take this.” She held out the gumbo. “I’ve got the soup from Mrs. Daigle, too. She didn’t think she’d be able to get over tomorrow because of the curfew. You can freeze the leftovers if it’s too much.” Angie opened the back door of her car and heaved up another large plastic container and a bag of pistolettes.

  “Never too much gumbo.” The aroma of the bread and spices swirled in another gust of wind, and Josh breathed in the succulence. If this didn’t make Maggie feel better for a second, nothing would. “How’s Cammie?”

  Angie’s lips twisted and twitched. “I’m not going to lie. It’s serious. Pneumonia in her already precarious position is dangerous.”

  Suddenly not hungry, Josh mashed his eyes closed. “I don’t even know what to do.”

  “Pray. Be supportive. Listen when they want to talk.” She stepped closer and nudged him with her elbow. “Being here helps.”

  “I’m not so sure. My presence keeps splitting open old scars.”

  “It can’t be that bad having an extra set of hands to help.”

  But he had an extra little one to watch. “I—”

  “Hey, Daddy!” J.D. clung to Maggie’s hip outside his front door, where she stared up at the sky, likely assessing the atmospheric conditions.

  “Hey, mate! We’re gonna eat good tonight.” He raised his brows and shot a smile at his son. “Mr. Graham’s gumbo.”

  “Is it spicy?”

  Chuckling, Josh nodded. “Oh, yeah.” He sobered when another burst of wind blasted past. “Maggie, don’t you think you two can come back over to Ruth’s? We’ve been on the antibiotics twenty-four hours already. I’d feel better if we were all under one roof tonight.”

  Her dark eyes scanned the horizon. “I just hope we have a roof.”

  THE HOT, SPICY LIQUID of the gumbo warmed Maggie from the inside out but did little to calm the flutter of her heart. The wind thrashed small branches against the roof. Or maybe it was hail. Josh had insisted they come over, but she and J.D. were staying back in the bedroom. While J.D. worked on a puzzle on the floor beside her, she refreshed her computer screen over and over in some vain hope of staying in control of the situation. They’d been blessed to have dryer, cooler temperatures move in, along with a good bit of wind shear. The combination was breaking the storm apart, but still, they were in for high winds, possible tornadoes, flooding. And who knew about the storm surge?

  After an hour or so of games and more puzzles, J.D.’s eyes grew heavy. Unfortunately, the clatter outside wasn’t conducive to sleeping. At least not for her. The child wobbled up and climbed on the bed. “Can you read me a story now?”

  How blissful it must be to sleep in the midst of a storm.

  Like Jesus had. Oh ye of little faith.

  The verses about Jesus calming the storm popped front and center in her mind.

  “Lord, I know you can...but will you? Please?”

  “Miss Maggie, we can say our prayers together.” The sweetness in J.D.’s voice curled around her heart, calming the wild beating a bit. Had the wind actually quieted, too?

  “Okay, pumpkin.” She stood, crept onto the covers, and snuggled close to him, sweeping his hair from his forehead. “You want to say something to God?”

  “Uh huh.” Eyes closed, he bobbed his head. “Dear God, thank you for Miss Maggie coming to take care of me. Thank you for her curly hair. Thank you for her calling me pumpkin.”

  Tears pressed hot behind Maggie’s eyes.

  “Thank you for the roof still being on our house.”

  She never should’ve made that stupid comment earlier. Boy, she needed to be more careful.

  “Thank you for spicy gumbo when I’m sick. Thank you for Dahlia and Aunt Ruth and Daddy being well. Please, help Miss Cammie get well. Keep all the animals safe in the storm. And the people.”

  From the mouth of babes.

  “Amen.” He rolled to his side and let out a long breath. “Oh, and could I have a puppy, God?”

  Aww, she wished he could. Maggie pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Do you want me to pray, too?”

  “If I forgot something.”

  He’d covered the bulk of it, so she sat quietly beside him, debating whether she could sleep at all tonight. Oh, to have the trust of a child.

  Maybe she’d tiptoe to the kitchen for some hot tea. Cammie kept chamomile in the canister beside the coffee. It was supposed to be calming. What she really needed might be a sedative. But J.D.’s prayer had been soothing.

  As she crept down the hall, light shone on Josh and Dahlia’s faces from the TV in the den. She waved as she passed and kept going. The germ-thing still worried her. When she turned the corner, Aunt Ruth stood inches away, drinking her own cup of hot tea.

  “We had the same idea.” Maggie neared and grabbed a mug fr
om the cabinet.

  “Heavens.” Her great aunt dribbled tea and wiped her mouth. “You scared me again.”

  “Sorry.” That hearing-aid appointment would need to be soon.

  “No apologies needed, child.” Aunt Ruth handed her a tea bag. “You’re likely terrified of this storm. Are you making it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” What else could she do but make it? Although curling into the fetal position had crossed her mind a couple of times. “How do you handle life so well?”

  “In the eye of the storm, He is my anchor.”

  “Yeah, but sometimes ships sink. People die.”

  “In the Bible, Job said, ‘Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him.’ Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego facing a fiery furnace said that the God they served could save them, but even if He didn’t, they would not serve another god. When Wilbourn and I married, we wanted a big family. We prayed earnestly for children. Time after time, I miscarried. It was hard. Then he got sick, so young, too. I became a widow.”

  “I’m really sorry.” How did she not know about her aunt’s life?

  “I had to wake up every day and decide whom I would serve. Did I trust that the Lord loved me and had a plan for me? Your mother and father always treated me so well. And there was you and Cammie. I loved babysitting you girls, watching you grow up. Then more storms hit this fallen world we live in. I needed you girls, and you needed me. Turns out God gave me the children I’d asked for.”

  “I’m glad you’re a part of our lives.”

  “Me, too.” Her aunt cocked her head and gave Maggie a pointed look. “But there’s more you want to question, right?”

  How wise the elderly could be. “Where was God in Katrina? Why would he allow that kind of devastation to our homes, our lives?”

  “This is only our temporary home. And God was here during that storm. I saw Him in the faces of the volunteers from all over the country who removed debris and hung sheetrock. I felt Him in the hugs and prayers of strangers. He fed us through the churches that set up food tents for months on months as the Coast began to rebuild.”