“Oh, she’s still working. The few grocery stores that are still open have guards. Marie is safe,” he replied. “I really don’t know how to thank you for what you did that day. I still can’t believe those guys would have attacked in broad daylight! You might have saved our lives, you know.”
“I only did what anyone else would have done,” I said and shrugged again to ease my discomfort.
“Here’s a copy of your receipt for five thousand gallons of diesel fuel,” he said, handing some papers to Anna.
Diesel. How did Liz know?
After James left, and just before leaving for the day, I gave Anna a pack of D cells for the battery lamp that now sits proudly on her desk. In the short time I was at the office, there was a fresh four inches of snow on my car. I went back into the building and into Anna’s office.
“Say, if this snow keeps up you might not see me for a few days,” I warned her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll send the plow trucks after you,” she threatened jokingly.
* * *
Back home, I re-stoked the fire, leaving the damper wide open. There would be no grilling tonight because I couldn’t even see the grill from the back door. It’s been years since we’ve had a blizzard like this. Don had apparently been over after I left since the wood supply behind the stove was full again. I really despise depending on others like this, yet I’m grateful I had those I could depend on when necessary.
A half hour later the kitchen was nicely warmed and I could finally take my coat off. I hadn’t eaten all day, so I limped to the back pantry and selected a quart jar of chicken soup, and a pint of mixed veggies. I added a handful of rice and pushed the soup pot to the back of the stove to heat and cook the rice, and made myself a cup of tea. What a day!
I sat in the rocker with my tea in hand and briefly closed my eyes. I wasn’t asleep long when I was woken by a knock on the door. I bolted out of the chair, my sprained ankle causing me to stumble, spilling my tea. Had I locked that door? Was the bar in place? A vision of Bill Harris flared in my mind and I reached for the shotgun, fear creeping up my throat. I looked out at a snow covered figure.
He looked up, his clear, sad blue eyes peering through a veil of snowflakes. “You said to find you,” said a voice with a soft North Carolina accent that kept whipping away with the wind.
My heart lurched in my chest! John! He had made his way to me. I tried and failed to open the sliding door. I had left the bar in place. I yanked it free and opened the door for him to come in. He smiled. His beard was snow packed and frozen. I began brushing the snow off of him while he stood there.
“It’s so nice and warm in here,” he mumbled, or sighed, I don’t know which. Still, he was here and that’s all that mattered right now.
“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” I said tugging his coat off, draping it over one of the other chairs. He was shivering. I dropped his hat and gloves on the floor and guided him to sit in the chair that I had just vacated. I limped into the other room and grabbed the comforter off of the couch and draped it around him. He shivered again as I knelt down to pull his soggy boots off and grabbed a towel for him to wipe the snow and wet off of his face.
“Did you walk all this way, John?” I asked. It was slightly over seven miles to that house on Eagle Beach, not really far, but too far to walk in a snowstorm.
“Yeah, I left this morning before it snowed so heavily. It was hard walking in all that wind. I wasn’t sure I could make it. I stopped a couple of times to rest out of the wind, so that’s what took me so long,” he said, looking over at the stove.
“Are you hungry? There’s some soup, would you like some?”
With the jacket off and knit cap on the floor, I could see how thin his face had gotten. It had only been two weeks since I had last seen him. Why didn’t he come here sooner?
I ladled some chicken soup into a mug and gave it to him. He held the bowl in his hands and shivered again, almost spilling it. I placed my hands over his to steady him. His skin was so cold! He finished that bowl quickly. I refilled it but knew he had to slow down. His eyes began to droop as the exhaustion set in.
I left him there by the warm stove and began making up the futon couch for him to sleep on.
I pulled up one of the other chairs beside him, added more wood to the fire, and made tea for both of us. I wanted to know what had happened at the house on Eagle Beach.
“John, where are the others?” I questioned softly. There was anywhere from twelve to eighteen men staying at that house on alternating shifts. Though some had left, there were still a few remaining the last time I had visited.
“A lot of them got out early and went home,” he explained while staring down into his tea. “You got anything stronger than this?”
I smiled. “I might. What do you want?”
“A beer would be good.”
“You’re in luck. I’ve got two left.” I got one from the cold pantry, popped the cap and handed it to him.
He looked at me, then the beer, and drank half of it in one tip. He smiled. “Thank you. I’ve really missed beer. For the last few weeks I thought I’d never have another one.”
“Do you want the other one?” I asked after he finished it in a second long gulp.
“No, but thanks,” he replied while briefly closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the chair.
“You look really tired. I’ve made up the couch for you. Would you like to rest?”
“If you don’t mind,” his soft voice was apologetic.
I had some toiletry kits already made up, and set one in the bathroom for him and put a towel on the sink. The kit included a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, a comb, razor, soap, deodorant, shampoo.
“I’ll get you a pitcher of warm water if you want to wash up. There’s a zip-lock bag on the sink with a few things you might need.”
* * *
Ten minutes later he came out of the bathroom, smiling. “Just brushing my teeth makes me feel human again. Thank you!”
I walked up to him and put my arms around him for a hug. He sighed and hugged me back. Another time of not letting go. I stepped away.
“I’m really glad you’re here, John, but you need some sleep. In the morning, I’ll fix you a big breakfast. What would you like?”
He laughed. “Anything?”
I nodded.
“Biscuits with sausage gravy, eggs, bacon— and coffee, real coffee!” he said wistfully.
“I’ll see what I can do.” I led him into the other room where I had set up the futon. I turned on the battery lamp for him and left him to sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I made sure that I was up at 6:12A.M. to light my bayberry candle and welcome in the Winter Solstice. I was very quiet. Knowing that John was sleeping in the computer room on the futon made me smile. I have this content feeling that everything will be all right now.
I opened the stove to drop the ash, and stumbled back to the warmth of my blankets.
I surfaced from my cozy cocoon of dreams an hour later, dreams of radiating heat, only to find Tufts on my chest pawing at the covers. I shooed him away after the requisite scratch behind the ears and pulled my robe on again. I had left my sweatpants on, so all I had to do was slide into my slippers and hobble to the kitchen. I quietly set the water to boil and pulled out the French press, put two scoops of coffee into the bottom of the pot and filled it with boiling water to brew. I peeked around the corner to see that John was still sleeping with the thick blanket covering his bald head. I smiled. Snapping out of my reverie, I brushed the last of the ashes into the lower pan, shut the grate, and began to rebuild the fire.
John was up shortly afterward and heading for the bathroom. I added more wood to the fire as he came back into the kitchen. He smiled shyly.
The boiling water had effectively brewed the coffee in the bottom of the French press, and when he appeared, I pressed it, plunging the filter down to trap the coffee grounds. “Are you ready for some coff
ee?”
“You really have coffee?” he asked in disbelief.
“I don’t drink it much, so there was some left over.” I know I lied. I’m so used to not talking about what I have stocked up before the Event that it came natural. There was enough coffee in storage to last John a long time. He smiled when he took the cup from me, and sipped. Was that a tear I saw???
“Have a seat, John.” I pulled another chair next to the stove. “I’m betting you would really like a hot shower.” He peered at me over his coffee cup like I was teasing him with a pot of gold and would snatch it away when he reached for it.
“Yeah, me too,” I said, “however, the generator is buried in snow. We need to do some shoveling. I don’t expect you to exert yourself without some food, so I made you some toast and jam,” I said knowing the carbohydrates and sugar would help him a lot. His eyes widened when I lifted the cover off the griddle to expose three slices of nicely toasted bread.
“You’re limping,” he said, smothering a slice of homemade bread with my wild blueberry jam.
“I twisted my ankle a few days ago. It’s fine, only a little sore,” I lied.
Soon after, we both had shovels in hand and dug a path to free the generator of its snow-dome. I started it up and plugged in. Right after I moved in here, I had Jason wire the circuit panel to divert to a single plug if need be, for our frequent power outages. That plug fits the 5000 watt generator and it runs the entire house if used conservatively. My biggest concern then and always has been water. It’s a good well, although the pump needs electricity.
* * *
I retrieved another package from the back storeroom and set it on the dryer in the bathroom.
“It’s kind of generic, but you might want some clean clothes after you shower. There are sweat pants, t-shirts and socks. I’ll get you a sweat shirt. Just put your clothes in the washer, I’ll start it later,” I said before I left him alone. Soon I heard the shower running and over the sound of the rushing water, I caught a definite groan of contentment. I don’t think he meant for me to hear.
While John was showering, I got a jar of sausage patties from the back storage to break up for his sausage gravy, plus one of the few cans of milk. The chickens had slowed down laying, nonetheless, I was still getting four eggs a day and there was bacon already thawed. I added more wood to the stove to bring up the oven temp for the biscuits.
“John, what’s the matter?” I asked when he returned. He looked so sad.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “That felt so good. I can’t understand why I waited so long to come here,” he said.
I can’t understand that either, still, it was his choice. The clothes fit him fine, though a little loosely.
“I don’t want to run the generator too long. While I take a quick shower, would you please fill these three buckets from the kitchen sink? You can leave them on the floor. Then I’ll shut the gennie off and finish fixing our breakfast.”
I’ve found that having something to do is often the best tonic and John needed something to do.
I showered in record time and while toweling off, I started the washer filling so the clothes John put in there could soak. The room was chilly and prompted me to dress quickly. I combed my wet hair then fluffed it so it would dry quicker.
John was sitting in front of the stove when I came out.
“If you show me what you do with the generator, I can do that for you,” he offered.
Oh, my, if he wants to help like this, maybe he plans on staying. I smiled gratefully and put a knit hat over my wet hair to go back on the deck to show him what to do.
* * *
“Is that…?” John asked wide-eyed, looking at the biscuits in a basket, sausage gravy with eggs and bacon on his plate.
“That’s what you said you wanted,” I said, knowing that he was impressed. Shame on me, I was trying to impress him. “Don’t get used to it though. I did this for a special reason. It’s your first day here and you need food. If you decide to stay, it won’t always be like this, it can’t be. As a rule, I only have two meals a day. No real breakfast, just toast, with soup for lunch and a more hearty dinner. I hope you can adapt.”
“One meal a day will be more than I’ve had in the last two weeks,” he admitted as he dug into his food. I chuckled over the ecstatic expression on his face while he ate, his comment haunting me.
After he’d finished eating, I poured him the last of the coffee.
“Oh, that was wonderful. Thank you. I really should have come here sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?” That question had been plaguing me.
“I dunno, Allex, pride maybe, and I didn’t want to be a burden to you.” He looked away. “We all kept waiting for things to go back to normal. Then the generator quit and with it went our heat. We were burning logs in the fireplace but it wasn’t enough. When Steve and Sandy stopped coming, I knew it was bad, and I didn’t want to abandon the others. We ate what was left in the refrigerator and when that was gone, several of them piled into the big van and went to Marquette. There were only three of us left,” he explained, a sad cloud passing across the back of his eyes. He took a sip of coffee. “There wasn’t much left this past week, except cheese puffs. When I woke up two days ago, the guys were gone and so was the last truck. I waited a while thinking that they went in search of food, but they never came back. That’s when I remembered what you had said to me the last time you were there, to find you. It’s okay, isn’t it?”
I took his hands in mine. “Of course it is, John, absolutely! I meant it. In a way, waiting like this has made it easier, I couldn’t feed all of those men. I can feed you.”
* * *
We talked for another hour or two about the different things that were going on in the country. The guys on Eagle Beach never knew about the Stone Soup Kitchen. Perhaps it might have made a difference.
Awhile later, we went out to the barn with a pail of water for the chickens and the basket to collect eggs. Once in the barn, I remembered to grab the mattress pads, and since my ankle was still sore I had John climb the ladder to get one off the top shelf. I also grabbed the blow-up mattress and foot pump. We struggled to get those bulky things back to the house in the high winds.
My inner doubts were fading. John and I seemed to work well together, at least so far. It was only changing his bedding around, yet it was a start. He didn’t question what I was doing or why, like so many men do, he mimicked what I did and we were done in no time. When he offered to bring in wood, I assured that him there was plenty for now. He could do that tomorrow. He seems anxious to earn his keep.
While he was re-shoveling the deck and all the steps, I started on dinner. Remembering a comment from what seems like so very long ago, I know that he likes pasta. A jar of homemade sauce from home grown tomatoes, plus a jar of meatballs from when I emptied the freezer back in October. We would have spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. Everything was from storage except the bread. I had made two loaves of Italian bread last time and froze one in the cooler outside. All I had to do was heat everything through and cook the pasta. I hope he likes spaghetti pasta. Pasta stores so well that I have lots of every shape that’s made.
* * *
Dinner was a big hit. I even opened a bottle of wine. I felt I deserved it and John would appreciate it. There’s tension building between us, in just this short time. I know I have felt this attraction for many months, though I’m not sure I’m ready to change our relationship. My emotions are too much in flux, too much pressure, everyone wants something from me. I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. I know I can’t shut down; I also can’t open up. Not just yet.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: December 22
After such a heavy snowstorm we’ve been graced with incredible blue skies and blinding sunshine this morning. I can’t see any clouds except for the ever-present blackness over Lake Superior. The trees are bent in a cloak of icy white. Some have already cracked and are broken
from the weight of so much snow. Those trees will make for good firewood for next winter.
* * *
John and I finished our morning coffee and toast. He emptied the last of the blueberry jam on a single piece of toast. I retrieved a jar of strawberry jam from the back pantry and set it in front of him.
“I don’t see you eating much of this, yet you seem to have a lot of it,” he said, spreading the second slice with a scoop from the fresh jar.
“I know it might seem odd, John. I love to can, to cook, to make things, even if I don’t always like to eat it,” I laughed. “I’ve got pickles from three years ago. I had an abundance of cucumbers that summer and I just can’t let good food go to waste. I made seven quarts of pickles, though I rarely eat more than one jar a year. And the jam? My friend Kathy and I love to pick wild blueberries. It’s a wonderful way for us to spend some time together during the hectic summer when I’m always working and she’s entertaining houseguests. It’s peaceful, quiet and productive.” I smiled at the memories. “Our favorite place to pick is up on the Plains, near the mine. Usually I freeze the blueberries so I can put a handful on my oatmeal in the winter, and a few years back I had so much that I made a lot of jam too. It’s a good thing that I did. The next two years were a bust for any wild fruit.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked, when he noticed that sad thoughts were on my mind.
The Journal: Cracked Earth Page 13
