Falling for Grace

by Robert Farrell Smith

  “There’s some blue sky rolling in,” my mother hollered, fit to burst.

  Instantly the fear fled, and hope eased its way back into the room. I could hear Abel begging my mother to let him swim around the living room, and Margaret asking if we still had the air mattresses up in the attic. Suddenly everyone was all right. Our poor house was ruined, but we were thankful to be alive.

  An hour later the skies were clear, and the water was at about half the level it once had been, allowing us to walk around the bottom floor of the house. I stepped outside and surveyed our street. It was like a mighty river slowly draining away. As I turned to go inside I heard someone holler from off in the distance. I looked to see Bishop Leen and his wife paddling toward us in a rowboat. They paddled up to me and he jumped out of the boat, fastening it to a tree nearby. Bishop Leen was wearing a long yellow coat and had a shortwave radio strapped to his belt.

  “Are you all okay?” he asked.

  “Just fine,” I answered. “Can you believe this?”

  “God can do some mighty works,” the bishop declared. “There’ll be some lush lawns this summer.”

  The Lewis family across the street came out of their house and waded over to us. I could also see the Phillips children two houses down beginning to swim over as well. Grace and Margaret came out, followed by Wendy and my mother. A couple of seconds later, I spotted Abel paddling up to us on an air mattress. I could tell this was a day he would never forget. It wasn’t long before we were surrounded by a nice-sized portion of our ward and neighbors.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” I said, baffled. I put my arm around Grace. “It came on so fast. Those drops were huge.”

  “The ground was pretty dry,” Bishop Leen suggested. “Water stacks up quick when it can’t be absorbed.”

  “I’ll say,” Sister Lewis chirped. “We’ve got a watermark as high as our second floor.”

  Everybody nodded, anxious to let each other know that they too had high marks.

  “So was Noah right?” Brother Lewis asked the bishop. “Is this the end of the world?”

  “We’re still here, aren’t we?” a wet Sister Phillips pointed out. “This has nothing to do with Noah.”

  “Not only that,” Bishop Leen spoke up. “But I just got a radio call a few minutes ago from an employee of mine who lives near the warehouse. I guess Noah hadn’t made sure that old warehouse was secure after all. All this water pushed down the walls. My employee wasn’t sure, but she figures that almost everything that was in there is ruined.”

  “You’re kidding?” I asked in astonishment.

  “I’m not,” he said.

  “He’s not,” Sister Leen confirmed.

  I wanted to laugh out loud at how dumb we all had been.

  “We trusted in the wrong person,” the bishop said sadly.

  I felt “I told you so’s” were in order, but I held my tongue. Grace squeezed my hand, indicating that she was well aware of my restraint.

  “Trust was right?” Sister Lewis asked skeptically.

  “Dead on,” Bishop Leen replied.

  People began slapping my back, and apologizing profusely.

  “What do we do now?” Wendy asked.

  “Luckily this water should be gone soon, and at least it’s not too cold,” the bishop continued. “We’ll have a muddy mess, but we should be able to operate somewhat close to normal. I guess God’s going to give us a chance to do it right.”

  Some final clouds passed and sunlight lit down across the receding waters, lighting the surface like an electric globe. I was just about to comment on the astonishing beauty of it, when I noticed a number of small objects floating toward us all. As they got closer, I realized that they were Ziploc bags full of red licorice.

  “These are Leonard Vastly’s.” I laughed, looking up to see hundreds of other bags drifting down the street. I couldn’t imagine what might have happened to have caused Leonard’s life supply of food storage to now be flooding our street. Fortunately I didn’t have to wonder long.

  As the entire neighborhood began harvesting the bobbing manna, a noisy engine sounded in the distance. It grew louder and louder until it was on our street heading toward us. The source of the sound was a small truck with huge wheels racing through the knee-deep water, creating waves that were at least ten feet tall. The truck slowed as it drove by those people collecting food in their front yards. Eventually, it stopped in front of our house. A number of people from the ward piled out of the back of it. Sister Cravitz, Brother Victor, the Morrises and Brother Clyde Knuckles, who obviously viewed this as enough of an activity to attend. Doran stuck his head out of the driver’s side window.

  “Everyone okay here?” he asked.

  “We’re fine,” the bishop answered.

  “So what do you think?” Doran asked me.

  “About the rain?”

  “No, about the truck.”

  “Very nice.”

  “I know my father warned me about getting into debt,” Doran said. “But I figure he never set his eyes on this beauty.”

  Leonard Vastly climbed down out of the passenger side. The moment people realized it was Leonard and that this was his food floating about, everybody stood silently wondering what he was going to do. The truth was, a lot of the people in this neighborhood needed this food. Most kitchens had been soaked, ruining any immediate supplies anyone had had on hand. Plus, it would take a while for the stores to clean out and get running again after this water. Leonard looked at everyone.

  He held up his hands, silencing an already silent crowd.

  “Just so you know,” he spoke loudly, “all the food you see has already been prayed over. But I don’t suppose God would complain if you thanked Him again before you ate it.”

  Everyone cheered! Then they continued to grab anything floating their way. Cans of food and sealed bags of dried fruit were everywhere, dotting the surface like oil spots on the surface of cold soup. I reached down and pulled up a bag of beef jerky.

  Leonard was about to feed our entire neighborhood.

  Everybody gathered what they could and began trading for what they wanted. Eventually we all figured it would just be easier to all eat together. So as the water lowered to a manageable level we sat anywhere we could find, feasting on not half-bad food.

  Bishop Leen labeled it our “doomsday buffet,” compliments of Leonard Vastly.

  Leonard explained what had happened as we ate. His mobile home had been washed over by the flood, splitting an entire wall and sending all his hard-earned supplies everywhere. He said that he had fought to remain in his dome, but that nature had finally washed him out. He also claimed that because of the flood’s course, Varney Street, one block over, had received all his best food and above-ground pool.

  The water continued to recede and people began to help one another clean up. Men lifted wet couches through doors and out of houses while children scraped mud from out of living rooms with shovels and buckets. Leonard used his newfound popularity to try and sell tea tree oil to anyone who would listen. It didn’t take long for him to realienate himself from everybody. My mother let those who would be interested know about my father’s phone call and even bragged a bit about my engagement to Grace.

  After helping Sister Lewis drag a huge muddy area rug from her family room I stood outside surveying all that was before me. The end of the world had knocked, but then it just walked away. Some major damage had been done, but I felt like more had been repaired.

  It would be a cold wet night.

  No one seemed to be complaining.

  42

  One Last Fling

  Roger Williams cast his line and watched it wiggle through the cold air and snap just above the moving water. He reeled it back in, glancing over at President Heck who was trying to extract yet another fishing fly from his right hand.

  “You got it?” Roger asked.

  President Heck tugged one last time on the bait. It came loose with a minimal amoun
t of blood. “Not a bad day,” he observed, ignoring his small wound.

  “Not at all,” Roger replied. “A little cold, but who’s complaining.”

  Roger stepped across the snow and close to the river. He was packed and ready to leave Thelma’s Way. He was simply taking a couple of hours to fish with a friend. He had recovered nicely from his entanglement with the motorcycle and river. The entire town had helped nurse him back to health. And not since the day he had woken back up had a single person besides Roswell even mentioned the book that he had lied about planning to write.

  People just helped him because they cared.

  Roger had forgotten that that was an option in life.

  “I’ll sure miss this place,” he said.

  “We’ll miss you,” President Heck replied, tightening the homemade scarf around his neck. “That’s the nice thing about Thelma’s Way, though. We’ll always be right here. You can go away, change, get married, lose a loved one, but we’ll still be sitting here. All you got to do is wander back for a spell. Wad will still be cutting hair, and Toby will still be mending breaks.”

  “You’re a lucky man,” Roger said, amazed that those words were coming out of his mouth.

  “We’re all lucky,” President Heck said. “God fills our lungs with air, then lets us wander around till we’re stupid enough to step in front of a bus or eat something that will kill us.”

  “Well, God seems to keep a pretty good eye on you here,” Roger sighed, flinging his line back out across the Girth. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see Him step out from behind the boardinghouse, or rise from the snow in the meadow.”

  “Wheeew,” President Heck whistled. “That would scare the tack out of me. Not that I would mind it, but I just don’t think I would know what to do with such an experience.”

  “Think of how strong your faith would be afterward,” Roger reeled.

  “I s’pose. But you know an angel could come skippin’ down the Girth tossing out gold coins and I wouldn’t be any more impressed or sure about God,” Ricky stated soberly. “People are always looking for stuff to touch, or see. Like Toby after he heard Pete could do that unsettling thing with his ears. I told him, Mavis told him, and Frank told him. But he didn’t believe us until he saw it for himself. Now he won’t stop whining ’bout how he can’t get the image out of his head.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Roger said.

  “I am?” Ricky said, surprised.

  “My life is one giant bag of signs and markers illustrating clearly that I’m being watched over. I had to come here to remember that.”

  “The world loves to help you forget,” President Heck said. “That’s for sure.”

  Roger Williams thought about what was just said. It was almost unbelievable, the amount he had changed within the last month. He couldn’t wait to get home so that he could begin mending everything he had once forgotten about.

  “Had enough?” President Heck asked.

  Roger smiled, patting his friend on the shoulder. “For now,” he replied.

  Six hours later he was at the airport in Knoxville waiting for his flight home.

  43

  Ding

  December 22nd

  We had all just sat down to dinner in our water-worn dining room when the doorbell rang. Thanks to the flood our ringer no longer ding-donged, it just went “Diinggggrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrrrr,” until someone pounded the box on the wall by the stairs. Abel got up from the table and ran to do the pounding. A couple seconds later we could all think straight again.

  We had been expecting Wendy to come over, so there was little thought given to who might be at the door. Grace passed me the pepper and Margaret began to pick the tomatoes out of her salad. After a bite of food I began to wonder what was taking Abel so long to let Wendy in.

  “I think Abel must have gotten lost,” Margaret said, apparently thinking the same thing.

  I took another bite and stood up to quench my curiosity. I walked into the living room and spotted the back of Abel as my father held on to him as if he were life itself.

  “Dad’s home,” I hollered.

  I was practically bowled over by my mother and Margaret as they came bolting out of the dining room. Dad hugged us all as Grace looked on. This was a different man than the one who had left us so many weeks ago. His face was hollow and bearded, and his hair was short and light. He was dressed in casual clothes that reminded me of someone. I just couldn’t place who.

  As we were smothering him, my father noticed Grace standing off a ways. He stood tall and walked over to her. Without saying a word or explaining why, he wrapped his arms around her. She responded in-kind.

  The four of us stared at the two of them. I looked at my mother as she cried, my sister as she beamed, and my brother as he sighed.

  Dad was back.

  44

  When All is Over-Done

  December 24th

  Abel tugged on the plush purple bath towel that he had pinned around his head. He crouched down in front of Grace and me as we hovered over an elongated punch bowl with a small, blanket-wrapped fire extinguisher lying in it. I watched Grace as she knelt beside me. She had a faded quilt draped over her head, looking every bit like Mary of old. Me? I was Joseph.

  My father read from Luke as Abel, the head shepherd, waved his cronies in closer. Mom and Wendy approached the manger.

  “And the angel said . . .”

  Margaret raised her arm as if she were an angel addressing the world. She had on a large white garbage bag with arm- and neck-holes torn out of it. The whole scene was rather authentic looking.

  We had not reenacted the nativity on Christmas Eve for years. It was a family tradition that had been dropped a long time ago. Well, things were changing around the Williams house.

  After my family’s production, Grace and I slipped out into the backyard to be alone for a few minutes. We walked over to the long flat bench that sat behind the big leafless elm tree. Grace sat pretzel-style as I straddled the seat facing her, our knees touching. The wood bench was cold as we sat down, but it soon warmed under the presence of Grace and me. The motion sensor light that we had triggered by stepping out the back door flicked off, no longer able to detect our movement. The clear sky burned black, the lights from the city giving it a glowing base and tinting the canvas of God.

  “I love you, Grace Heck.”

  “I love you back,” she smiled.

  “We’re engaged,” I pointed out.

  “I’m aware of that,” she replied.

  “That means marriage, and . . .”

  I would have finished my rambling statement if it had not been for the presence of Grace upon my lips.

  Once again my life flashed before my eyes, the past speeding up to run headlong into the present. As the ever-alluring now grew nearer, my mind slowed, replaying the events of the last week.

  I had spent days shoveling mud out of all the houses on our street. In all of Southdale only the lower areas and the warehouse district near the river had suffered much damage. Our entire neighborhood had become one in purpose—putting things back together as much as possible before Christmas. Well, tomorrow was Christmas, and even though there were still watermarks and warped walls to contend with, everyone had a home to celebrate in. For the first time in my memory the Thicktwig Ward had banded together and grown. We had collectively discovered that we could not only be wrong, but we could be watered. The flood had been a soggy wakeup call to bring us all to our spiritual senses.

  I had needed to take time off from work to help set things right, but Opal at Ink Tonic refused to make allowance for my cleanup schedule. So I had been forced to quit. Actually, it wasn’t as if I left Opal hanging, seeing how I offered her Leonard to take my place. Amazingly, she agreed. Leonard was loving having steady employment again, and Opal saw him as some sort of odd nonconformist that gave her store character.

  Luckily Leonard’s ruined mobile home had flood insurance. Just yesterday I had gon
e down to “The Real American” mobile home and RV center and helped him order a brand-new double-wide trailer. We had matched carpets with appliances and paint colors with moldings. I felt so domestic. His new home wouldn’t be here for about six weeks. He had already made arrangements to stay at Scott McLaughlin’s apartment until it arrived. I could only imagine the conversations those two would have.

  The ward had come together to mourn the loss of their food storage. The water disaster had completely destroyed the entire warehouse. Unfortunately, Noah had not taken out any flood insurance. Plenty of fire, but no flood.

  The good news was that Noah had not gotten away. He had been apprehended by the law. He was caught making a phone call at a rest area just over the state line. He had on a fake beard and sunglasses. He would probably have been overlooked, but the arresting officer said the sweater gave him away.

  Justice was sweet.

  It was nice to know that he was behind bars. The state of Maine was already making motions to get him back and try him. I felt confident that he wouldn’t bother my city again.

  One nice thing had come out of all this. Thanks to the auction Noah had put together, Brother Victor and Sister Cravitz were seeing one another in the open. Tiny Brother Victor had been taken with the assertive and opinionated Sister Cravitz for quite some time. It had been the auction that had finally given them courage enough to be openly adoring. I would have said that they made a cute couple, but a few days ago I had seen her pick him up and carry him over a big puddle, and, well, that sort of ruined it for me.

  Grace still talked about how foolish she felt about believing in Noah. I would always brush it off, insisting she needn’t worry, and then ask her to tell me more, after which she would go on and on about how cute she just remembered he was. It didn’t bother me—Noah was one competitor I need not worry about. I suppose I could also say the same for Doran. Doran Jorgensen and Lucy Fall appeared to be an item. The blessing he had given her seemed to have made a long-lasting impression.