James nodded, but his eyes dropped back down staring at the floor.
“You are the father of my first grand-kid. I need you to not dwell on this. I need you to move on, help Maria. Help me.”
James eyes met his with strength. “I’ll work on that, Mr. Herman.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Samuel smiled at him. “You’re gonna be a great father, James.”
“Thanks.”
“Ria said you’ve finished clearing away the tree?”
“Yeah. Nearly done.”
“Thanks.”
“Grandpa and Holly fixed the roof.”
“Yeah, I heard.” Samuel made a hammering motion.
“Right.” James face relaxed into a smile. “I’d like to split the wood. I’ve done that before.”
“There ought to be an ax, a sledge, and some wedges somewhere in the garage downstairs.”
“I’ll look after you eat.”
“Deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE DAYS DRAGGED BY FOR Maria. Everyone kept going through their routines. Maria, James, Grandpa, and Holly kept food on the table, kept the house warm. It took the four of them to make Anna take it easy.
Anna refused to completely give up caring for her kids, but spent a good part of her day at her husband’s bedside.
Abi’s cough and fever had gradually faded, but she still slept a lot. She didn’t seem to have any desire to talk or do much of anything else. Maria managed to get her and Noah outside, but once outside, Abi would stay wherever Maria helped her sit.
James finished sawing the vengeful tree into short rounds. When he needed a break from nursing, he went out and split wood.
Maria needed to get out by herself, too. So, after her morning shift at her father’s bedside, she went for a walk. The cool afternoon air, moist and quiet, left her calm and thoughtful as she meandered down to the creek. Its rushing water kept an accompaniment to her thoughts. How long had it been since she’d had some quiet alone time? James hadn’t been asking her to marry him, but he, too, had been quiet, overwhelmed. To her, it seemed like the least important thing to be thinking about. Most important was the health of the family.
How long since the Bat Flu had hit? She wasn’t even sure what day it was. They’d left Portland on Halloween, arrived here on the second of November. The big storm was on the third. Dad got hurt on the fourth and then Grandpa and Holly on the sixth? Everything else was a blur. She pulled out her cell phone to check the date, but it was dead. How long had she been carrying around a dead cell phone? She hurried back to the house.
The digital clock in the kitchen with the thermometer said it was November 30th. She grabbed the calendar off the wall and slid into Grandma’s writing desk. Anna was sitting in Grandpa’s recliner, staring at her bemusedly.
“Thanksgiving was two days ago,” Maria said.
Anna sighed and stared out over the lake.
If the pandemic was contagious 28 days, how long until they were safe? Her fingers were shaking as she picked up a marker and started making Xs through each of the dates since they’d found Grandpa and Holly. Or rather since Grandpa and Holly had found them. If Abi was infected and contagious, anybody who was going to get sick should have already done so. She counted to 25.
James and Grandpa hustled in. Grandpa slammed the door behind him; rubbing his hands together, he backed up toward the fireplace’s flames. James followed him in and came over to Maria.
“Three more days and we’re in the clear.” Maria glanced from one to another, excited for the first time in a month. “If Abi had the Bat Flu and anyone else was going to get infected, they already would have.”
Anna’s tired face lit up. “Well, we’ll just have to have a late Thanksgiving.”
Grandpa slapped his hand on the table. “I know where a turkey is languishing in a freezer. Maria, you want to take a trip? James? You want to join us?”
“We should do it on Thursday.” Maria stood. “Thanksgiving should be on a Thursday.”
“What does it matter?” James asked.
“Anna, we should wait until you’re up and around,” Maria said. “And give us time to plan a feast.”
“Okay. And Sam, too. And Abi.” Anna’s face blanked. Like she shut herself down. In a small voice she continued, “Maybe we should do it now.”
Maria’s brain filled in Anna’s unspoken words. While we’re all still here. “Okay. We’ll plan it for Thursday, December fifth. Let’s go get a turkey.”
~
Maria helped Abi set the table for Thanksgiving dinner. Grandpa and James had extended the table with two extra leaves inserted to make room for the crowd. Maria remembered the old green table cloth and watching Grandma grab it in the middle and flip flip it was folded neatly. She hadn’t learned that one yet.
Maria recited all the rules Grandma had taught her while showing them to her little sister. Abi still hadn’t spoken, but the white clamminess of her skin had been replaced by her more normal pinkish hue. Her eyes glowed brighter, still hazy, but not lethargic. The strangeness of her silence stilled some of the joy of her survival, but not much.
“Thanks, Sissy.”
Abi rewarded Maria with a big smile. Her mouth moved like she wanted to speak, but all that came out was air. “Can you make any sounds, Abi?”
Again her mouth moved, her tongue clicking against her teeth. Abi’s eyes showed frustration.
“Does it hurt?”
Abi shook her head, her hands gripped into little fists. And a sound came out. Squeaky, but clear. The volume rose, and Abi’s smile grew.
Maria’s face cracked. The joy flowing from Abi’s triumph warmed Maria. She had an idea. “Can you finish, Abi?”
Abi nodded, plunking down the silverware mostly where Maria had shown her.
Maria tousled her hair and went in search of something to write with. In Grandma’s writing desk, she found scratch paper and crayons Grandma had gotten Maria long before Abi came. She hurried back. Abi had finished the table settings.
Maria wrote her own name on the paper in broad strokes and handed it to Abi. “Here. Can you write your name?”
Abi pursed her lips, took the crayon and placed it to paper. The long shaky strokes were jagged, resembling the M-A-R-I-A.
“No. Your name.” Maria watched her sister struggle. “Abi. A-B-I.” But it looked the same as before. Her sister was copying to please her. She gave Abi a big hug from behind. “I love you, little sis.” Abi’s arms did not return the embrace.
Maria’s thoughts twisted and fell. Abi, her eyes looking glazed, handed her the paper. “It’s wonderful.” She hugged the little girl again and felt her hands wrapped around to participate this time. “What’s wrong, Abigail?”
Abigail’s smooth brow contracted like she was thinking, but no words came out. Her face twisted up. Another squeak came out.
“It’s okay, Abigirl. You’re getting better.”
Abi gave a her a glare worthy of her mother’s daughter and sat down with a pout.
Maria tousled her hair and returned to the kitchen to help. The kitchen was a hubbub. Maria escaped with the stuffing as Grandpa brought the potatoes and gravy in.
“Holly’s making the turkey presentable,” he said.
In minutes they were all sitting around the giant table. All the food spread out. Other than her father in the wheelchair, it seemed a perfect Thanksgiving. And they had a lot to be thankful for.
“This looks great,” James said. “And it smells delicious.”
“It’s been a while since we’ve had a feast here,” Grandpa piped up. “And the first time in a long time we’ve had a Native American guest. You’re family now. What tribe are you from, James?” Grandpa asked as he handed James the gravy boat.
“Numu,” James answered, shooting a glance at Maria.
Grandpa’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t know that name.”
“The Spaniards called us Payuchi,” James explained. “Paiute was what white men called
us. Numu are the northern tribes.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, James, Grandpa always wanted to be Native. Built a dugout canoe when he was younger.”
“Damn thing hardly floats,” Grandpa grumbled as Holly brought in the turkey.
“My people lived in the desert,” James said, turning back to his plate. “No canoes.”
Maria stared from one to the other, feeling awkward.
“No canoes in the desert,” Grandpa said. “Right.”
“I’m hungry. Tukanna means food,” James said.
“Tukanna,” Grandpa said tentatively. “Let’s eat.”
James smile twitched at the edges. How badly had Grandpa butchered the language? “Yeah. Let’s eat.”
Grandpa stood up and turned on the weird electric slicer. “The turkey might be a bit freezer burnt,” he warned as he cut into it. “Gotta get ourselves some poults. Wild turkey, and I don’t mean the whiskey, is something so much better than this raised in a box.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “And where are you going to find baby turkeys, Grandpa?”
Grandpa stared at her as if she had questioned his manhood. “You just wait and see, little mama. This time next year, I’ll have you some turkey that will melt your taste buds.”
“We better get vegetables to go along with it,” Anna said.
“Gotta clear the field first,” Grandpa said. “Been thinking about doing that for quite a spell. Hey, it’ll keep us in shape. Samuel? You think you’ll be up to giving a hand by spring?”
Maria’s father nodded. “Sure as hell hope so.”
Anna’s face spun, trying to look angry, but Maria saw her anger melt. All Anna said was, “Watch your language, Sam.”
A knock at the door froze everyone. Maria’s heart pounded. Everyone she knew was here.
“Well, who the hell is that? The Park Ranger?” Grandpa shoved his chair back. “Pretty piss-poor timing, if you ask me.”
Maria’s father grimaced as he tried to unlock the stops on the wheelchair.
“I’ll come with you,” Anna said, grabbing the rifle leaning against the wall next to the cabinet.
Grandpa’s nod to her was appreciative. He pulled on his belt with the revolver attached.
Maria glanced at the other faces at the table. She saw her own fears reflected. She’d accepted the fact that they were alone.
“Get ready to run,” her father barked quietly. “Out the side door.”
Maria’s feet hit the floor, and she helped her father with the brake. He rolled the wheelchair back and forth, jockeying to get out from behind the table.
The doorbell rang as Anna and Grandpa disappeared around the hall.
“Didn’t think the damn doorbell still worked,” Grandpa said.
Maria heard the door open, and a sharp intake of breath.
Then Anna’s voice. “Oh, my God.”
“Somebody help me move this God-damned chair,” Samuel ordered. “James? Help.”
The young man pushed him toward the front door. Maria’s feet flew as she ran ahead.
Anna was hugging someone, a gray-headed, gray-bearded man with a bandage on his neck. He turned to Maria and she stopped breathing.
“Holy shit,” Maria blurted. Uncle Brad turned toward her; she saw pain held in check. “Dad!” Maria hollered. “It’s Uncle Brad!”
When Brad saw her father, he nodded an acknowledgment, but still didn’t speak. He pointed his throat and rasped slowly, “Hurts to talk.”
“Welcome to our Thanksgiving feast.”
Brad’s smile eclipsed the pain in his eyes. “Congratulations,” he whispered with a grimace.
~
Maria finished rinsing the last serving dish and handed it to Grandpa who fit it expertly in the dishwasher.
“That it?” he asked. “Let’s go join the others.”
The joy in the living room was as warming as the popping fire. Abi stared at the flames and Noah played with the cat on the floor. As Maria sank into Grandma’s recliner, James came through the doorway with another armload of dry firewood.
Uncle Brad sat next to her father, writing notes on a tablet for him to read.
Samuel stopped Brad’s hand on the tablet. “It’s okay, Brad. Tell me later. I’m so glad you’re here.” His face glowed in the warmth of the fire and the friendship. “Really is Thanksgiving.” He lifted a glass of Grandpa’s brandy. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“Whoa,” Grandpa crowed, “then I need a glass.”
In a minute everyone had a glass. Grandpa poured Maria’s half full with a twinkle in his eye. “Glad you thought of Thanksgiving.”
“To friends and family,” her father said, raising his glass again. He drank. Then coughed. And then drank. And coughed. Brandy spewed from his lips as his coughing grew out of control.
Maria rushed to him, but Anna shoved her aside. “Sam. Breathe. Somebody get some water. NOW.”
Maria gritted her teeth. She heard Anna say please as she ran to the kitchen for a glass.
When she returned, her father had quit coughing, but tears ran from his closed eyes.
“Water?” Maria offered.
His eyes opened. Anna took the glass and held it to his lips. He sipped. “Well. That hurt. Sorry to be a downer.”
“Next time,” Grandpa said gruffly, “take some more cough medicine instead of wasting my brandy.”
Maria could see the same twinkle for her father, who smiled back weakly. It was nice to see the two of them enjoying each other’s company.
“You want to lie down, Samuel?” Anna asked. He nodded and rolled the wheelchair toward the bedroom.
Uncle Brad watched the kids, his mouth locked tight.
Maria walked to him and set her hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Uncle Brad?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his brandy and patted her hand.
“Grandpa? Can we set up a place for Uncle Brad to sleep?”
“Makes sense to use my old bedroom. Holly and I can head home tonight.”
Uncle Brad looked like he would complain, but then it was like all the tension fell out of him and he slumped and shrugged.
Grandpa looked thoughtful. “Maybe set him up in the old Moir place in a few days. Getting kind of crowded here.”
Maria sat down next to a sleepy James. She snuggled against his comfortable warmth. Her eyes were quickly drooping. Turkey as a sleep aid. She let them fall closed as she listened to the low rumblings of conversation interrupted occasionally by silence and the snap and crackle of the fire.
Another knock resounded on the door. Maria jerked up, fully alert.
“What the hell is this, Grand Central Station?” Grandpa picked up the ancient double-barreled shotgun leaning against the pile of firewood. “Haven’t had this many visitors since I had the party to compare my Apple Brandy batches in 97.” He pointed at the gun rack by the main door.
Everyone except Holly moved toward the hall. She scooted the children toward the bedrooms as Anna came out and pulled them into the far bedroom. James grabbed the rifle by the fire as Brad pulled out a deadly looking pistol. Even Maria had grabbed Grandma’s old 22 single-shot rifle.
They moved to where they could see the door, but could also duck for cover.
Grandpa glanced through the peephole and motioned for Maria to open the door while he held his shotgun at shoulder height. She swung it open.
“What can I do to help you fellows?” Grandpa asked.
Brad stepped into firing stance behind him with some sort of pistol. It looked big and dangerous to Maria. She pushed the rifle in her hands through the gap between the door and the frame.
It was the boys from the panel truck, no guns visible. The short blond swallowed and glanced at the taller one. Their eyes were big as saucers.
The shorter one talked like he had before. “Uh, we were thinking we might be able to offer a hand. Looks like you got some folk not up to prepping for winter. I’m Dave. He’s Rafe.” He hooked his head at his partner.
>
Maria saw a couple dogs bouncing around in the seats of the truck parked at the top of the driveway. She shook her head at Grandpa. No. She glanced as Anna wheeled her father toward them.
“Thanks, Dave. I think we’ve got it all under control here. Why don’t you run along?”
Maria stepped out from behind the door. Both young men smiled really nice, but Maria thought their hygiene choices needed improvement. A chill came over her when she met eyes with the taller, quiet one.
“Well,” Dave said directly to Maria. “If you need a hand around the place, we’re over at the lodge.” They walked back to the truck and climbed in, waving as the engine turned over and the truck backed up the driveway.
As the truck turned back onto the road with a little spit of gravel, Grandpa shut the door. “Well, what do you think? Trouble?”
Her father nodded as did Brad. “I don’t know. I think they were expecting some womenfolk and maybe one able-bodied adult male. Means they’ve been watching us. Maybe we ought to keep an eye on them.”
Brad nodded again. He pointed at himself. Then held up his rifle with the scope.
“So far,” Samuel offered, “no harm, no foul. But something about them doesn’t seem right.”
“I don’t like them,” Maria said in a low voice. “Especially the tall one. Rafe. Can’t tell you why.”
Grandpa returned the shotgun to its place. “Those are the kind of hunches you don’t want to ignore.”
Brad wrote something on his notepad and handed it to her father.
“Going for a walk?” Her father chuckled. “Dress warm. We could use some fresh meat. But something less stringy than those boys would be preferable.”
When Brad left the house, Maria saw her father slump. Like he had to show himself tough for Brad’s sake. She understood that. She was trying to be tough for his sake.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE NEXT EVENING SAMUEL SAT up and sipped at a mix of Grandpa’s apple brandy with honey and lemon juice. Holly pulled the stethoscope away from his chest as Maria looked on.
“Can I have some time to talk to Holly alone?” Samuel asked. Maria’s face showed fear as she glanced from him to Holly. She didn’t want to leave. He smiled at her. “A few minutes, please?”
Deserted Lands (Novel): Toils and Snares Page 11
