The pantry where I keep Tufts’ litter box is also my dry goods storage, plus bins filled with medical stuff. I hobbled over and got the one marked “bandages”. After retrieving an Ace bandage, I sat back down, took off my sock, surveyed the bruising and wrapped the elastic bandage around semi-tightly. The two gel packs I usually use for my wrists in the summer were still in the freezer, and are now warm. I took them and two large baggies and once again hobbled to the door. On the deck, I set the ice packs on the hot tub cover, and then scooped snow into the baggies. Back in the kitchen, I put one baggie into the fridge, and sat down once more. Propping my foot up on a kitchen chair I draped the snow filled baggie over the bandages. Tears of anger and frustration were building while the ankle started to throb badly. This was a stupid and preventable accident. Now what am I going to do?
* * *
Don stopped over around 4:00 to invite me over for dinner and his birthday. I had taken the second snow pack off and was feeling a bit numb. I really wanted to go. I doubted I could walk that far, so I had to decline. At 5:30 I saw flashlights bobbing in the dark and the two of them brought the party to me! Nancy had even thoughtfully brought me a slice of the rib-roast she had saved for Don’s dinner, knowing that I might not get up to fix something for myself. She was right. I had contemplated warming up some soup later, now I didn’t have to. They brought over two beers for Don, a bottle of white wine for her, and Don opened a bottle of my favorite red wine from the pantry. I had already lit one of the brighter lamps to read by, and Don got two more off the shelf and lit those, setting one on the island and the other on the second table. The lamps gave a nice glow to the room and chased the shadows out of the corners.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: December 16
When I woke up this morning, I felt great. Then I stretched, and the pain in my foot shot up to my knee and made my eyes water. Tufts jumped off the bed and hid under the table in the kitchen when he heard me cry out. I lay still for a few moments, remembered what had happened.
The other two times I had injured this ankle, I don’t remember it hurting this bad, and I am wondering if maybe it is broken.
* * *
My foot really, really hurts. I used the wall to support myself until I got to the kitchen where I could lean on the counters. This was so not good. I paused at the gas stove and saw that I had set a kettle of water out last night. The stove burners will light with a match so I pulled the grill lighter out of the drawer and lit the burner to heat the water for my tea. I really needed that tea, it was cold in here! Leaning against anything in my way, I hobbled toward the woodstove, when I noticed Mom’s walking staff leaning in the corner. It sure helped to take the pressure off my foot. I opened the ash door and the grate, the first steps to starting a new fire. Then I noticed Jacob’s favorite chair.
One of my clients at the resort had given me a “bungee” office chair which was super comfortable to sit in, and had the awesome high-tech rolling casters. Jacob loves “getting a ride” on the chair, where I would spin him around and around. My heart clenched and I wondered how they were doing. I pulled that chair up the single step from the computer room and sat down. Relief! I scooted myself over to check the water for tea, and pushed off for a glide across the room to reset the stove fire. If my foot didn’t hurt so much, I might have fun with this. It certainly will make it easier for me to stay off my feet.
After starting the stove, which is hard to do from a sitting position, I hobbled over to the computer room. Two things were on my agenda, retrieving a cane and my computer chair. Mom’s walking staff feels awkward and I want to try using one of her canes instead. There were two in the crock stand next to the TV; a thin one with a standard curved handle; and a ball headed one that was sturdy. After testing them out, I settled on the ball headed one because it’s shorter and was a better height for me, despite it being harder on my wrist. Hopefully I won’t have to use it for long.
My computer chair is on casters like the bungee chair which I can use to move around in that room, and then move to the other chair for the rest of the house. I’ll have to move the rug-runners out of the hall and out of the bathroom. The dining room and kitchen are both tile and unobstructed.
I took a couple of Ibuprofen and washed them down with my tea. I moved the pot over to the stove to stay warm, and quietly sipped while I went over in my head what I needed to do today. First was to get dressed, then pull something out of the cooler for dinner tonight and tomorrow, maybe the next day, too. Next was to start up the generator so I could take a shower, draw off some water for the next few days and wash dishes—the usual things that don’t wait just because I was clumsy. There was no guarantee that I wouldn’t feel worse tomorrow.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Monday is my usual day for going to town, to check on things in the office, see what’s happening with the town folk. Not today. My ankle is still swollen and it hurts. I think it would best to stay off my feet and keep that foot packed in snow. Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off. During the twenty minutes off, I try to get something done like fill the woodstove to stay warm. Wood supply is good for another day or two, before I need to do something about it. My biggest problem at this point is clearing the driveway to get out. A foot of snow is a bit much to drive through. If I rest and ice today, maybe I’ll be able to run the snow-blower tomorrow. I have to get the car out since five miles is a bit much to walk into town, and impossible with an injured foot. So far the plow trucks haven’t been by to clear the road though, so it might be a moot point. I might be stuck here.
I noticed a few days ago that the smoke diverter on my stove was hard to move and then it wouldn’t move at all. There are two ways the smoke goes up the chimney. The first is directly out and the second forces the smoke around the oven box before going out the chimney. Since it was stuck in the “out the chimney” position, I wasn’t too concerned, but in the “around the oven box” position, it was easier to maintain the temperature for baking. You can’t set the oven for 350 degrees and walk away with a wood fired stove. Before I built the morning fire I pulled the wheeled-table closer to the stove and spread it with newspapers. The stove had cooled off enough during the night so I could handle the top plates to get at the diverter in the back section near the chimney. It was really chilly in here so I wanted to assess what needed to be done quickly. Fortunately it’s a simple mechanism, and the grooves it slides in had built up soot, ash and general debris. After eighteen years I suppose that’s to be expected. I wire brushed and swept, wire brushed and swept again, manually moving the diverter plate back and forth to loosen up even more. Finally it moved smoothly, and I put the stove back together. I used the papers to start up a fire. It took less than fifteen minutes to fix it. There is really not much that can go wrong that a good cleaning won’t fix. Had this situation been different, I would have called Jason over to check it out, but in many ways I’m on my own, just like the town is. Maybe I should insist he and Jacob move in. On the other hand, I did fix it myself.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: December 18
The wind died down to a light breeze today so I decided to chance clearing the driveway. There are a lot of advantages to living alone but being injured isn’t one of them. Sure, I’d rather sit in the house next to the stove with my foot up, book in hand, sipping on tea, yet there aren’t any cobbler’s elves in Moose Creek to shovel my driveway. I re-wrapped the elastic bandage around my foot a bit tighter than I was doing before, put on thick socks and my high-top insulated boots. I decided against my coveralls since it was a real chore getting into them. Then again I’ve lost weight so it might be easier now. With my jacket, knit hat and heavy mittens on I was ready to tackle the driveway. I’m glad I waited… the plow trucks came by earlier and left extra in my drive entrance.
* * *
Snow blowing is slow work, and easier than shoveling. I limped slowly behind the machine, redirecting the chute when needed. When I got to the spot where Bill had f
allen, I seemed to freeze up. All the memories of shooting him came flooding back, and so did the memories of him trying to force his way into my house. I feel worse than bad that the situation ended like it did, yet I can’t let it run my life. I pushed the thoughts away.
When I turned back to finish the back portion and start on the leg that goes to the street, there was Don, with his monster of a machine, clearing the rest in half the time. When he was done, I thanked him. He mumbled something about being clumsy and I dutifully ignored him. I love my brother. I parked my machine back in its spot in the barn, feeling confident I could get out now if I had to. Right now, there was a cup of tea and a chair calling to me.
I’m really glad I took extra food out of the cooler two days ago. I was exhausted from all the work. I put the turkey leg in a roasting pan, sprinkled it with some seasonings and tucked it in the oven.
* * *
I finally had a chance to ask Anna what was going to be done about trash now that the dump compactors didn’t work.
“Pete came up with a really good idea,” she said. “He set up bins inside the school for separating the recyclables. With everyone burning anything paper or cardboard, that’s not something that we have to worry about. People are feeding their pets what little table scraps there are, and he thinks that will leave very little actual garbage. He will take the remaining trash out to the old dump once a week.”
“Excellent! What about those bins filled with glass, metal and plastic?” I asked.
“Well, there’s an idea that came from the Lady’s Knitting group. They are going to recycle what they can into useable crafts by making pin-cushions from tuna cans and such. Pete has already circled the word that anything put into the bins must be fully washed first. I’m really proud of all of them,” Anna said.
“You should be, Anna. This is great, really great. Maybe I should put a bid in for some of the plastic bottles for next year’s garden.”
“What will you do with those?” she asked, obviously unfamiliar with drought gardening.
“When I lived in the deep woods, the only water that I had for the garden, other than rain, was from a cistern. All I had was three hundred gallons for a 100’ x 150’ garden. I couldn’t afford to waste a single drop of water.” I had her attention. “I took the caps off and cut the bottoms off of plastic bottles and then buried them, neck down, one-third of the way deep next to a plant. Then I’d fill the bottle, which took the water right to the roots where it was needed and did the most good. None of it was wasted on surface evaporation.”
“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed.
“It worked very well,” I said. “I still use that method, but considering that next year I think it wise to expand my garden, I’ll need more bottles. I need to talk to Pete about that. He should save all of the bottles. Others might want to do the same.”
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: December 19
In the past, the school Christmas pageant always started at 7:00 P.M.. Now, without lights, that’s no longer an option. At 3:00 P.M., when school let out, the children stayed to give their performance before heading home for the Christmas break. Many in the audience brought flashlights or lanterns to light up the dim gymnasium, and several were placed on the stage for the children. Carolyn took her place at the aging piano, and began by playing Christmas tunes. The children came out in groups by grades and sang songs. It was charming, and I even teared up a little.
At first I didn’t see Jason, then when I saw Jacob on stage with his fourth grade class, I knew his daddy was close by. I scanned the front rows, knowing that Jason always sat where Jacob could see him. He was there – with Amanda!
* * *
I am so relieved that Amanda is back. I’m also very angry with her for putting her family through such torment. I know that I can’t say anything to her, at least not until I find out the details when they come over for Christmas. Not saying anything is an additional source of torment for me.
It’s only been six weeks since the event, and during that time I’ve seen my community suffer and there’s nothing that I can do. I’ve watched my son suffer and I can’t help him. I’ve seen friends die and cannot grieve for them. I’ve shot and killed a man, and I cannot grieve for myself. I’m suppressing everything that I feel so I can function at my best, and keep the promise that I made when I was sworn in. It’s tearing me apart. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to help all those desperate people. I want to stop clearing the driveway, no more shoveling and no more going to the office. No more! No more anything except taking care of myself instead of everyone else. However, I did take that oath, and I did make that promise, so I went to the office even though I feel so helpless.
* * *
The sky was exceptionally dark this morning, even at 9:00 A.M. There was an ominous gloom hanging over the office as I settled into my seat. I laid the cane across the counter next to me since it was constantly falling over if I stood it upright. My “office” is only a corner of Anna’s bigger office, and my desk actually looks out the only window at a perfect angle to watch Fram’s store, which is why I was one of the first to see the gas tanker pull into his lot. Liz came through for us. This would go a long way to alleviate the tensions of the town folk wanting gas for their cars and their generators.
“Anna! We are getting an early Christmas present. Come look,” I called to her over my shoulder.
“Gas? How did that happen?” she asked.
I told her of my conversation with Liz, well most of the conversation. I haven’t told anyone about Amanda and now that she’s back, I won’t have to. Gray, our head EMS, walked into the office and saw my foot up on the wastebasket.
“What did you do?!” he asked, not sounding happy. He’s had to be the doctor in town, all minor stuff of course, and didn’t need one more patient.
“Hey, I didn’t fall on purpose and it’s only a strain,” I reassured him.
“Let me check.” He removed the Ace bandage and then poked at my foot and moved it around.
“Ouch! Careful there,” I said, not appreciating him making it feel worse.
“Strain, huh? This is a sprain, Allexa, and a bad one at that. You need to stay completely off this foot,” he ordered.
“I promise to stay off it as much as I can, Gray, but completely is impossible. You know that,” I said glaring at him over my glasses, wanting him to go away. He noticed the tanker across the street.
“Gas? I sure hope its diesel.” His comment took me by surprise.
“Diesel? Why?”
“Well, all the county trucks run on diesel. You know, the plow trucks, my EMS truck, and the new fire engine. They all run on diesel. Only the older pumper runs on regular gas,” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Why didn’t I know this? I had wrongly assumed that all of the trucks took regular gas. “Well, we’ll take anything they’ve brought us.”
Gray rewrapped my ankle, patted my knee and went back to his own office.
I picked up a stack of gas requests that were still sitting on my desk that I was getting ready to approve, though I needed to ask Joe how much regular gas was left. If all the essential vehicles took diesel, we might not have to ration so strongly. While I contemplated this, someone came walking across the street from Fram’s, carrying a small box. He looked vaguely familiar, but he wasn’t a local. I turned my attention back to my paperwork.
“I was told to ask for Anna,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say to Joe, the zoning guy whose desk is in the lobby.
“In there,” Joe said pointing with his thumb toward this office.
“Are you Anna? My name is James, I’ve got a package to deliver to someone named Allexa,” the strange voice said. I turned in my seat at the mention of my name. Anna looked at me, and James followed her eyes.
“It’s you!” he said.
That’s when I recognized him. The young father in the parking lot at Ma
ck’s grocery store!
“Oh, my God! I never thought I would see you again to thank you!” he said, taking several long strides in my direction. I smiled and we shook hands.
“How’s your little boy?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s doing fine. So you do remember me?”
“Of course! Situations like that don’t happen every day!” I said with a shrug and looked at the box in his hands.
“You know Marie at Mack’s? She’s my cousin. I told her that I had been assigned to make a delivery to Moose Creek. That’s what I do, deliver gas around the U.P. Anyway, she said she knew someone in Moose Creek that she owed a big favor, but all she knew was your first name. To make sure I gave this to the right person, she said that you would know what you told her.”
I reflected for a moment. “I told her to buy a bunch of pet food before she left work, the day of the first quake.” He smiled and handed me the heavy box. I opened it and laughed. Marie had sent me a box of batteries! A, AA, C, D and one 9V - all of the types that I had picked up on the day of the parking lot incident. “Tell Marie I said thank you. And I hope she’s staying at home! I hear town is very dangerous right now,” I said.
The Journal: Cracked Earth Page 12
