Natasha's Hope

by Heather Greenis

  “Where are they?” Adam cried. “Where’s my son? Where’s my baby boy? Dear God, bring him back to me. I’ll be a better poppa. A better husband.”

  A gust of wind smacked into Stewart. Falling forward, he stumbled to remain upright. Looking at Adam, his son-in-law gripped a tree.

  “I fear George doesn’t have the strength for this wind. Alex most certainly does not,” Stewart admitted.

  “A-l-e-x,” Adam yelled, the name sounding like four syllables.

  Stewart heard something. A voice. A young voice. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Adam raising his hands to cup them around his mouth, preparing to call out. He touched Adam’s shoulder. “I heard him. Listen, Adam. I’m certain I heard Alex’s voice.”

  Cautious about entering the woods with the loose debris falling around them, they stepped farther in. A strong gust of wind pushed them. Stewart fell forward. Extending his hands, he shielded his head and body from hitting a tree trunk. He looked back. Adam was upright, barely. If the boys had been walking, they would have been airborne. Panicked, neither spoke, but listened. The howling wind deafened them.

  “Natasha! Guide me to him,” Stewart yelled angrily.

  He listened. Did I hear Alex’s voice, or am I simply willing myself to believe it? His grandson had to be alive. Natasha’s grandson. He cupped his hands around his mouth and cried out, “A-lex. Al-ex-an-der. Where Are You?”

  There wasn’t a human sound. Nothing. “Damn it,” Stewart cursed angrily. “Natasha. You have our granddaughters in heaven. Assist Adam and me,” he pleaded in frustration, eager for any help he could get, human or spiritual. Stewart took a step and stopped, placing his hand over his heart.

  “I believe I heard him,” he announced.

  The two men scanned the area for the boys.

  “A-lex, It’s Pop-pa,” Adam bellowed.

  “Poppa.”

  Adam shifted looking at Stewart. “You heard that, didn’t you?” Adam questioned.

  “It was weak and the tone was frightened, but it was Alex,” Stewart confirmed.

  “He’s terrified.” Adam cringed. “A-lex. I hear you,” he screamed. “He could be anywhere,” Adam muttered.

  “Keep him talking.”

  “Where are you?” Adam yelled.

  One again there wasn’t a sound.

  “He believes he’s in trouble,” Adam reminded himself. “Terrified of the storm, yet afraid of being taken to task.” He took a deep breath, placing his hands on his head. Stewart knew Adam well enough to know he was clearing his mind.

  “You’re a good boy, Alex. I love you. I’m not upset. Poppa needs your help. Are you in the trees?” he screamed slowly, hoping Alex heard his words.

  “Yes.” The sound carried faintly in the wind.

  George hadn’t spoken. The orphanage boy was well-mannered and intelligent, but he wasn’t shy. If George would speak, he would be more helpful than Alex. Being older, he had a stronger voice.

  “Call George,” Stewart suggested.

  Adam called for the boy. They listened, but there was no response.

  “Alex,” Adam hollered.

  “Poppa.”

  “Is George with you? I wish to speak with him.”

  “Won’t speak … me.”

  Stewart looked at Adam, shrugging his shoulders. “George. It’s Adam. Speak to me.”

  There was no response. Not from George or from Alex. Stewart heard Adam moan in frustration. Adam covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath. They needed to locate the boys and get the back to the safety of the orphanage.

  “I’m not upset, but I need to find you. Speak to me, George.” Nothing. “Why won’t he talk to me?” Adam cried. “Dear God, don’t let him be hurt … Alex,” he yelled.

  “Poppa.”

  “Is George by your side?”

  “On top of me.”

  Bile rose from Stewart’s gut and choked him. He almost gagged. The words echoed repeatedly in his mind. George was a big boy. He was older, taller, and overweight. George would have a good reason for lying over Alex, perhaps to protect the smaller boy. But why was he refusing to speak? Alex was, and that was positive.

  The large trees swayed madly in the wind. Creaking. Twigs and branches continued to fly through the air. They needed to locate Alex and George before the storm worsened.

  They had to remain calm. Keep Alex calm. Sensing Adam’s anxiety, Stewart touched his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

  “Child psychology. Your area of expertise. Calm yourself and think rationally. Do not allow Alex to hear fear in your voice,” Stewart warned. “He’s petrified and needs his poppa’s strength. We’re close. You must keep him speaking so we can follow the sound of his voice.”

  “Alex,” Adam yelled. “Speak to me.”

  “Poppa,” Alex sobbed.

  “I love you, Alex. You’re a good boy. A brave boy. I’m proud of you, Alex. Tell George to speak to me,” he begged.

  “Won’t speak. Won’t move. Help Poppa. Please. Scared.”

  “We’re coming for you, Alex. Papa and I will help you.”

  “Remain with him, Natasha. Guide me toward our grandson,” Stewart pleaded.

  They walked deeper into the woods, the wind gusting at their backs, pushing them, encouraging them. Seeing something in the distance, he abruptly stopped. Adam bumped into him. He focused on the object, convinced it was the sole of a child’s shoe.

  “I see them,” Stewart screeched with excitement.

  He rushed toward the boys with Adam so close behind, Stewart could feel the man’s breath on his neck. George was lying face down, his head on Alex’s back. The boy’s chest was covering most of Alex’s lower body. A large limb was diagonally across George’s back. It was at least twelve inches in diameter and twenty feet long. Lying face down in the dirt, Alex could move one arm and his head. Looking at his face, there was a large red abrasion on his cheek and a deep wound by the corner of his eye. Blood trickled slowly across his nose, down his cheek, and into a puddle on the dirt. He is hurt. Adam moved into Alex’s view.

  “Poppa is here, Alex. Papa and I will help you.” He turned his attention to the older boy. “George?”

  The young orphanage boy didn’t move or speak.

  Alex sobbed. Adam squatted, and placed his hand on the back of his son’s head.

  “Shh,” he whispered in a soothing tone. “We shall assist both you and George.”

  The men took their place on either side of the boys, squatted and gripped the trunk. Pulling with all their might, the log didn’t budge. Stewart took a step back and glared at it. It’s too damn slippery and I lack the strength for this. Where is Greg? We need help. We don’t have time to wait. He had no idea how much time had passed since seeing Greg. Five minutes, ten, a half hour? It felt like a lifetime.

  “We need some leverage,” Stewart admitted angrily.

  “Poppa,” Alex screeched, wide eyed. “Don’t leave me.”

  The scream was heart-wrenching. Stewart turned and looked at his grandson. Tears streamed from his young eyes. Blood dripped from his wound into his mouth. Adam squatted, placing his hand on the back of Alex’s head.

  “I will never leave you, Alex,” Adam assured him.

  “Stay by Alex’s side and call for Greg while I search for something.” Stewart hurried off, scanning the ground. Behind him, Adam shouted Greg’s name. Then twice more. Did Greg respond? A few seconds later, Adam’s voice repeatedly called Greg’s, as if in a chant. Stewart focused, searching frantically for a suitable branch to use as leverage. He squatted beside a stump to catch his breath.

  “Ste-wart?”

  Relieved he would have help, he looked into the direction of Adam and Alex. “Greg, Greg, Greg.” He repeated the name in the same repetitive chant Adam had used. It only took seconds for Greg to come into view.

  “I’ve never been as happy to see you—”

  Creaking, followed by a loud slow crack broke his sentence. Stewart would never for
get that sound as long as he lived. Looking up, most of the trees were swaying in the wind, but one was at a seventy degree angle, tipping to ninety degrees. A third of the tree was coming down, falling in their direction.

  “Run,” Greg screamed.

  Stewart jumped and ran after Greg seconds before the large limb came crashing down.

  “A-a-a-gh!”

  Alex’s terrified shriek echoed above the scream of the wind. The tree landed only a few feet from where Stewart and Greg had been standing. They heard a second crack.

  “No-o-o,” Adam bellowed in desperation.

  “No-o-o,” Stewart screeched. “No-o-o.”

  Stewart stood frozen in denial. He couldn’t look, but he must. He needed to know. His gaze met Greg’s horrified face. His brother-in-law covered his nose and mouth.

  “Adam,” Stewart screamed.

  “Hurry.”

  Adam’s voice came from under the leafy branches. Knowing Adam as well as he did, Adam would be silent, too numb to speak if Alex were dead. Time was of the essence. They couldn’t risk another falling tree.

  Stewart and Greg rushed back to the loose stump Stewart had been kneeling by. Together, they lifted the chunk of wood and carried it toward the boys and Adam. They set the stump by the boys’ waists, and then Stewart and Greg fetched a large branch and positioned it under the limb that was trapping the boys. His son-in-law hadn’t moved.

  “Adam.” He didn’t respond. “Adam.”

  Adam finally looked up, his eyes glassy.

  “It had to feel as if the earth was crumbling beneath them. I felt it under my feet. It would have been a horrifying feeling for them,” he whispered.

  Stewart placed his hand on his son-in-law’s head.

  “Yes, terrified, but not hurt, Adam. Greg and I require assistance. Stay within Alex’s view.”

  Adam stood and took his place beside his father-in-law. Under Stewart’s guidance, all three men heaved on the log jammed under the branch. The wet limb trapping George and Alex slowly began to rise, inch by inch. They pushed harder. The limb rolled. Greg lunged for it, his fingers slipping on the wet bark. It fell back to its original position over the boys. Dead silence overtook them. Dear God, No. Why aren’t the boys screaming? Stewart’s stomach flipped. Nauseated, he’d never forgive himself if his actions had killed his grandson. Adam fell to his knees, placing his hand on Alex’s head.

  “Dear God, no,” Adam cried. “I cannot lose my little boy, my baby.”

  Alex’s eyes remained closed as he lay motionless. Adam’s shoulders heaved with silent sobs.

  “Alex, speak to me. It’s Papa,” Stewart pleaded.

  “Poppa,” Alex cried, his voice weak.

  Adam sobbed. He bent over and kissed Alex’s dirty head. “Alex, I’m here. Poppa is here.”

  Stewart turned his attention to the limb and glared at it, frustrated, infuriated by his own stupidity. Their haste could have cost Alex and George their lives. He must slow down and think it through. This didn’t require an engineer, but common sense. He should have considered the possibility the wet wood would slip.

  “I worried about this,” Greg grumbled. “Why didn’t I speak up? Never again will I stay silent.”

  Knowing both men were accustomed to some physical labour, Stewart stepped back and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll stand by the log to ensure it does not roll again while you and Greg leverage the branch,” Stewart informed Adam. “Once we get the log parallel, we should be out of danger of it falling.”

  Stewart positioned himself, prepared to use his body weight to stop any movement. Adam and Greg repositioned their hands on the branch. On Stewart’s command, they began to push on the log. Lips pursed, scowling, the exertion showed on Adam and Greg’s faces. The log slowly rose.

  “Poppa?” Alex whimpered.

  It wasn’t possible for Adam to respond. “I can see your poppa, Alex,” Stewart assured his grandson.

  Stewart watched for movement from the orphanage boy. “George.”

  The young boy never moved.

  “Move the boys,” Greg gasped. “Adam, help Stewart.”

  Adam knelt by George’s head and chest. Stewart took his place by his legs. Moving as quickly as they were able, they lifted his limp body a few feet from the fallen limb. Leaving Stewart with George, Adam jumped up and ran to Alex. His son had curled tightly into the fetal position, frightened, cold, and sobbing hard. His eyes were tightly clenched. Adam placed his hands on Alex’s side to lift him.

  “A-a-a-gh.”

  The gut-wrenching shriek rose above the rage of the storm.

  “I have to move you,” Adam winced. Adam placed his arm under Alex’s body, supported his back and head the best he could, and lifted his cold, wet, dirty son out of the mud. Alex never uttered a sound, but placed his arms around Adam’s neck and held on for dear life. Intense sobbing echoed in Stewart’s ears.

  “Thank God he’s not seriously hurt, but he is so scared,” Stewart mumbled.

  Adam managed to shuffle away from the danger. Greg released his grip of the log and took a breath. The log fell to the ground with an earth shaking thud. Both men went to Stewart’s side. Adam shifted Alex to his hip, squatted, and placed his free hand on George’s hand.

  “It’s Adam. Squeeze my hand, George,” he pleaded.

  Alex tightened his grip around Adam and clenched his eyes.

  “I love you, Alex.” Adam kissed his son’s forehead.

  Adam turned his attention back to George, released his grip of the young boy’s hand, and felt for a pulse. A weak smiled curled his lips.

  “Squeeze my hand, George,” Adam pleaded, placing his fingers in the boy’s palm.

  Adam closed his eyes and shook his head. “We have to carry George back to the orphanage.”

  “I struggled with Matt and Sammy,” Greg confessed. “With the intensity of the wind, I don’t know if I can keep myself balanced if I carry him. If only he could put his arms around my neck and tuck his head into my chest.”

  A gust of wind brought Stewart and Adam into the trees.

  “I must devise something to keep George safe.” Stewart looked toward Alex. “Something Greg and I can manage while Adam carries Alex.” All three men were wearing coats. They would be useful. He visioned an apparatus in his mind.

  “Using two branches, our coats and suspenders, we will construct a stretcher to support him,” Stewart announced.

  While gathering measurements in his head, Stewart removed his suspenders and coat. Walking over to Adam, he placed his hands on his grandson’s waist, planning to hold him while Adam removed his coat.

  “No-o-o,” Alex cried. “Poppa.” He squirmed until his chest was tight against his father’s.

  “Shh,” Adam whispered. “You’re safe. I’m not going to let you go.”

  With Stewart’s help, Adam struggled, but maneuvered his upper body out of his coat and suspenders, supporting Alex the best he could. Greg returned with two suitable branches. Greg secured his suspenders to support the boy’s head. Stewart took the second pair and attached them to support his upper back and bottom. The third was used for the boy’s bottom and thighs. His feet would rest on their arms. The coats were tied into position, over the suspenders. If George woke and wiggled, he would be secure without falling. Within a few minutes, the stretcher was ready.

  “Comfort your son,” Stewart instructed Adam. “I’m capable of assisting Greg.”

  Taking his place behind George’s head, Greg’s hands slid under George’s shoulders while Stewart lifted his bottom and legs. The boy was placed on the stretcher. Adam turned George’s head slightly to the side and placed the third coat over his face to shield him from the elements. Greg took a firm grip of the branches as Stewart adjusted his own hands. They lifted the stretcher and began walking. Adam reached into his pocket, removed his damp hanky, and placed it over Alex’s head and face, trying to protect his injuries from the storm’s fury.

  “Close your eyes
, Alex. Keep your face against Poppa’s chest or shoulder,” he instructed.

  Stewart and Greg struggled to keep the stretcher balanced with the gale force wind and pounding rain. Stewart took a quick glance to his side. Unable to see Adam, he turned his head and looked to the other side. Nothing. Terror gripped him. Did Adam slip? They could have been hit by flying debris. Hurt, or… No-o-o.

  “Adam!”

  “Papa!”

  Alex’s squeal deafened Stewart.

  “We’re behind you,” Adam responded.

  Relieved, but angered he had upset Alex, Stewart gave his head a wee shake. Stupid, stupid. Trust Adam. He continued walking, his gaze focused on Greg’s back before him. The long, agonizing walk continued. The stretcher became heavier and heavier by the second. His arms felt like rubber. Greg is carrying more weight. Keep moving. Stewart kept placing one foot ahead of the other, walking into oblivion. Adam and Alex were out of sight. He could see Greg, but only because he remained within five feet ahead of him. Where is that orphanage? He had walked the distance between the pond and the orphanage many, many times over the years. It wasn’t that far. But now it seemed to take hours.

  “I see the orphanage,” Greg announced.

  Those heavenly words. Adam rushed past them with Alex snuggled tight against his chest. Using his foot, Adam pounded on the cellar door.

  “Tom,” he yelled.

  The three men waited impatiently for a response.

  * * *

  Time passed slowly for Hope as they waited for the men to return. Matthew fell asleep, snuggled into Vicki. Grateful Tom’s wife came, she read stories to help keep the children’s minds off the storm. Tessa sat quietly on Izabella’s lap, listening. It amazed Hope there were over twenty children in the room. Everyone seemed to be quietly listening for the sound of a single voice. The storm door creaked from the wind gusts, unnerving her. Attempting to remain positive, Hope closed her eyes, focusing her attention on Grace’s voice.

  It felt like hours had passed. Stomping reverberated through the room. They heard the same sound when Greg returned with Matthew and Sammy. Hearing Adam’s voice, tears of joy filled her eyes. Her family was safe. Tom jumped from his position, ran to the steps leading to the door.