Mack stepped in for a moment, said hello, then excused himself when he had to take a call.
STR thought about the conversation he’d had earlier with Pastor Foster. Hugh was a good man. Funny, devout, and not afraid to tell the truth. Truth was a hard commodity to come by lately. Nobody wanted to tell the president what he didn’t want to hear. Of course, he heard bad news every day; it came part and parcel with holding the highest office in the country. But national and international bad news was one thing. Hearing something about yourself you’d rather not think about was quite another.
Something had moved in him today as Hugh spoke of things STR didn’t want to hear. He’d felt the faint stirrings of something familiar, comforting and yet vaguely trying, although he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. Or more likely, didn’t want to. He tried to tell himself he had enough things to worry about without adding something not quite fully formed to the list. But it wouldn’t leave him, and he knew it wouldn’t until he’d taken it out and examined it in the cold, hard light of truth.
He squirmed in the wooden chair, propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head to his hands. He rubbed his temples and recalled the neck rubs Caroline used to give him when life got the best of him which, while on the campaign trail, happened every other minute. Just beyond the walls of the inn, the wind and rain continued their rampage against the small town, ruthlessly pounding the old wooden siding and historic windows. He wondered vaguely how many other storms this old house had witnessed. According to Hugh, it had lived through so many seasons of war, violence, and upheaval in its past that one more storm probably wouldn’t make that much difference. It had weathered worse.
STR sighed and gave up pushing the offending problem out of his mind. It was his lapse in faith. There. He’d admitted it. Maybe it would go away and leave him alone now that he’d acknowledged its presence. But just as he’d known it wouldn’t go away without careful examination, he also knew it wouldn’t disappear just because he wanted it to. No, Hugh Foster had hit a nerve and Stuart Thomas Rogers had to face something of even graver consequences than the death of his beloved wife.
Would he, or would he not, put aside his anger toward God and do what he promised the American people he would do three years ago? And even if he did, would they put him back into the office when he had done so little to inspire their confidence?
No doubt about it, President Stuart Thomas Rogers had a lot to think about and some very important decisions to make.
Chapter 39
Drenched and exhausted, Bristol, Jonathan, and I went our separate ways for a few minutes to shed our soggy clothes, towel off, and regroup. In the meantime, the storm above us raged unabated. On my way upstairs, Mack waylaid me long enough to tell me the worst was yet to come—Thanks, Mack—and that he’d keep me informed. Apparently, he had a direct line to the weather service because of his proximity to and responsibility for the most important man in the world. Go figure.
Mandy, Mel, my mother, and Irene had each, at different times, checked in on Tanner. I’m surprised the poor kid could sleep through the racket outdoors in addition to all the kisses and pats on his head indoors. Thank goodness, he did. At least he was spared the agony of waiting for the next lightning strike or thunderclap. I vividly remember my nights of terror whenever a thunderstorm rolled into our area, despite the reassurances of my mom and dad that all would be well. Because I had no way of knowing that thousands of other locations in the world were also visited by thunderstorms on a somewhat regular basis, I assumed that each one was centered directly over our house. I often wondered at our poor luck. When I finally learned the truth, I was at once relieved and dismayed. Thank goodness, I wasn’t the only one who shivered under their blanket when the sky lit up and the thunder rolled.
But that also meant I’d never be free of the possibility of a storm finding me. I remember asking my dad, “You mean these things will follow me wherever I go?” His answer hadn’t instilled as much comfort as I’d have liked. “Pretty much, son,” he said. “Maybe the North or South Poles would be okay. If you don’t mind the sub-freezing temps, that is.” Ha ha, Dad.
Chapter 40
Jonathan Sterling was a happy man. Married to the gorgeous woman beside him and father to the best little boy in the world. What more could a man ask of life? After Jillian’s death, he’d resigned himself to the life of a single parent bringing up a little boy in a society seemingly determined to destroy itself from within. But he’d done what was necessary, loved every minute of parenthood, and devoted himself to his son and his journalism career.
He was stunned nearly beyond belief when Amanda Foster walked into his life.
He never imagined he could find happiness again, let alone love, and if asked, he’d have admitted it bothered him somewhat that he’d have to raise a child alone. On occasion, he felt overwhelmed and barely up to the task. While his trust in God had waned after Jillian’s death, Jonathan wasn’t immune to the moral decay and destruction of family values all around him; he feared the kind of problems his child and other kids of Jonathan’s generation would inherit from their parents. There were times, although he hated to admit it, even to himself, that he missed having God to lean on, pray to, and look to for all things.
But that was behind him now. He and Mandy stood beside Tanner’s bed in her parents’ bedroom. Their little boy was fast asleep and apparently oblivious to the commotion going on above his head. He could tell by the way Mandy kept looking at the ceiling and jumping whenever she heard a crack of thunder that she was uneasy.
“Nervous, Mrs. Sterling?”
“You mean about being Mrs. Sterling,” she said with a grin, “or about the horrendous weather?”
Jonathan shrugged. “Both, I guess, although I didn’t even think about you being nervous about getting married. Is it the married part or just me?”
Mandy gave him a light punch on the arm before putting her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. “You silly, silly man. It’s neither—well, the being married to you part, at least. I’m plenty nervous about this weather, though. Dad said it’s not going to get better for a while. Do you think we should take Tanner downstairs?”
He considered that for a moment then gave her a squeeze. “Naw, let’s let him sleep. He’s had a big day, helping to make a ‘fambly’ and all. He’s tuckered out. If it gets any worse, we’ll take him downstairs to be closer to the basement. No sense making him hear all that wind and rain if he doesn’t have to.”
The rain beat at the bedroom window like drumsticks on a snare drum, creating a constant stream of water running down the outside of the panes that parted only when a gigantic fist of wind slammed the side of the house. The candle on the dresser closest to Tanner’s bed flickered, and Mandy shivered in his arms. At least their wedding night would be unforgettable.
Mandy reached over to run her fingers through Tanner’s soft hair and ran her thumb over his little ear. “Such a sweetheart.”
Jonathan looked first at his sleeping son then his wife, still in her wedding gown, which was stunning even by his limited women’s wear standards, and said, “You can say that again.”
She glanced upward and smiled, her face lit only by the glow of the candles. She started to say something when a thunderous crash above their heads interrupted her.
It might have been a new record. The President of the United States got himself tackled by the same man twice in one night, in the space of two hours, no less. In the twinkling of a second, after we heard the deafening boom overhead, I watched Artie soar through the air to land squarely atop STR. I could actually hear the air being expelled from the president’s lungs as the zealous agent compressed the POTUS to about half his usual depth—amazing timing, considering the house was still shuddering from whatever had either crash landed or attacked it.
Bristol and I, who along with Mack stood talking about our next move regarding the intensifying storm, froze and stared at one another wit
h wide eyes. Mack, on the other hand, added to the president’s dismay by throwing his considerable heft onto the pile of arms and legs on the floor. A short while later, amidst much huffing and puffing, the men untangled themselves and a flatter, seriously air-deprived Commander-in-Chief emerged.
“What on earth was that?”
Mack gave him a hand up and said, “Not sure, sir. Hugh? Any ideas?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid to think about it. Tree, maybe? I guess Bristol and I should get out there and take a look.”
Mel walked in. She took my hand. I thought she looked a little pale. I didn’t blame her. I’m surprised my bones hadn’t disintegrated and liquefied just from my shaking. “I just looked out the window at the trees near the house and they’re all standing,” she said. “Moving around a lot in that wind, but none of them are tipped over.”
“Well,” I said, helpfully, “that’s settled.”
Mack scowled in my general direction and said, “What’s settled? Far as I’m concerned, that just makes matters worse. At least a tree falling over would explain what happened. Now we’ve got a mystery on our hands. And I hate mysteries.” He clenched hands as big as most cats, and I found myself feeling sorry for mysteries all over the world.
And speaking of cats, in walked Pewter, eyes wide, fur raised, and her tail standing up like a large, fluffy mast. Right behind her, stood a sleepy-eyed Tanner. The little, stuffed dog that Uncle Pwesident had given him after arriving in Road’s End, now known as Puppy One, dangled by one ear from Tanner’s little fist. Mandy and Jonathan walked in right behind him.
“Mom, Dad, what was that?”
“Just talking about that, hon,” I said. “Bristol and I are on our way outside right now to check it out. You guys all okay?”
Jonathan nodded. Tanner staggered, and Mandy took his hand and led him to a couch. He lay down, and she tucked an afghan around him and Puppy One. Pewter jumped up and joined him, curling herself into a little ball near his head.
Mel reached for my kitten-sized hand and said, “Is that safe, Hugh? Can’t you just wait until the storm is over? It’s not as if you can do anything about it now, anyway.” She had a point and any point that could keep me from going outdoors in the thunderstorm of the century was valid indeed.
But Bristol had other ideas. “No way, Melanie. Sorry, but we have to make sure of the roof’s integrity.”
I couldn’t help but wonder at the irony of checking on our roof’s integrity when we had Senator Gilbert Austin, Mr. Lack of Integrity himself, under that same roof. Why weren’t we checking on him? But I immediately recognized that for the dumb, not to mention, un-Christian thought it was and asked for forgiveness. I got a flash of lightning in return. I didn’t know if that signified I forgive you or Try again. I made a mental note to mention my transgression again to God later on that night in my prayers.
Assuming I lived through the night, that is. And at the moment, that wasn’t looking too good.
Sadie Simms was soaked, windblown, and fearing for her life. Even on the best of days in a warm, dry, and safe environment, she had a hard time maintaining a disposition better than that of an enraged bull elephant. This night was trying her patience, and she had greasy politicians to thank for it. As far as Sadie was concerned, she’d die a happy woman if she never saw another one as long as she lived. As it was, she was afraid she’d blow down to the southern hemisphere before she had a chance to give Senator Gilbert Austin and that two-timing President of the United States a piece of her mind. And that didn’t even take into consideration the partially written manifesto she had sitting on her kitchen table—the one that outlined the Constitutional amendment she intended to cram down STR’s throat.
About the only thing keeping Sadie from flying off into space was orneriness and whatever authority gravity had over her. She willed herself to be heavy and plodded forward, bent over at the waist to avoid giving the wind a bigger target than necessary. The rain slashed without mercy at her face; she’d be lucky to escape without cuts from the prickly drops hurled, a million at a time, at her face and arms by the sixty mile-per-hour winds. This was not going to be a good night for anyone who got on Sadie’s bad side.
During their planning session in the basement, she and the other members of the Gray Ops had debated the best way to go about accomplishing their goal. As usual, George and Dewey took opposite opinions on any suggestion made. When George agreed with Sadie that they should circle the inn and try to get a handle on just where all the players were at any given moment in this game, Dewey staunchly and immediately opposed it. His idea was to walk over to the inn, go inside where they’d be safe from the wind, rain, thunder, lightning, and miscellaneous debris tossed about in their vicinity, and make themselves comfortable. There, he reasoned, they could keep watch on everyone while also eating leftovers.
Much to Sadie’s relief, none of the other men agreed with Dewey, choosing instead to risk life and limb to accomplish the very same thing Dewey’s plan would accomplish while they kept out of harm’s way. She would live to regret that decision.
Now here she was, smack-dab in the middle of the worst thunderstorm Road’s End had seen in decades. George and Dewey, if they didn’t stray from the plan, should be working their way around the back of the house to get to the east side of the inn. There, if all went well, which it couldn’t possibly do, they’d eventually meet up with Leo, who was assigned to the front yard, to determine if they could locate the two men George and Dewey overheard earlier in the evening.
Sadie was having serious second thoughts about her plan. Yes, no one would expect senior citizens to be wandering around in the dark in a vicious storm, which would give them the element of surprise. But they wouldn’t be able to hear a thing even if they did manage to locate the two men, who would also have to be dumb enough to stand outside in this tempest and use bullhorns to communicate.
As if all that weren’t unlikely enough, it was doubtful any of them would live long enough to make it to the front of the house. The wind alone was creating a maelstrom of debris that could end her life at any moment, and that didn’t even take into account the flashes of lightning that posed an imminent threat to the house, trees, or wandering senior citizens.
Yes, Sadie Simms had no choice but admit she’d made a mistake. Granted, it was the only one she could remember ever having made, but still, it was a big one.
George wasn’t doing much better. By hanging on to Dewey for dear life, they both managed to stay upright long enough to reach the back of the inn and seek shelter crouched down next to the back porch.
“I give up, Dewey,” George yelled. The wind blew his words into southern Canada. “Did you hear me, Dewey?” No response. He punched him in the arm. “Hey! Dewey!”
Dewey turned, scowled, and rubbed his arm. “Hey, whatcha doin’, George? That hurt. Don’t I have enough things to worry ’bout smackin’ me out here without you doin’ it, too?”
George tried again, this time louder. “I give up!” Folks in Nova Scotia heard him, but sadly, the man sitting six inches away didn’t.
“Up? You want up? Well, git yerself up, George Washington, ’cause I’m not takin’ a chance on some tree branch crashin’ down on me just ’cause you don’t wanna sit no more.”
“No! I said I give up! I give up! Let’s go inside.” He pointed to the back door. George knew full well he’d pay for giving up, but Dewey’s inevitable taunts would have to wait until they lived through the night. If they did, that is.
George was shocked to find half the town inside the inn. Dewey told him later that Leo hadn’t even pretended to do what Sadie suggested, preferring instead to plunge through the nasty wind and rain to the warmth of the inn’s living room where the two men found him with a cookie in one hand and his pipe in the other. Joe, Rudy, Sherman, Dodge, Frank, and Perry admitted to doing the same thing. Rudy was preparing to go after Winnie, Emma, Ruby Mae, Grace, and Martha—who, along with George, was spending the night in town
with Winnie and Dewey—when they walked in the front door. Dewey elbowed George and they both stepped over to help their wives with their sodden coats. Water poured from the ladies’ outerwear to the towels Mel had spread about the floor, each one of the ladies fussing about their soggy hairdos.
Sadie would really chew them out for this one. George glanced over the dripping heads. Where was that woman?
Agent Reynolds paced the dining room floor, not an easy task considering the sea of wrinkles and water that confronted him at every turn. His hopes dimmed. The storm itself might easily have worked to his advantage, but now all these old folks were here.
The only thing going his way was that the target was just now coming into the room, and Reynolds’ partner happened to be standing next to the man they hoped to take down before the evening was over.
Sadie was in trouble, and she knew it. Few things could claim victory over Sadie Simms’ indomitable spirit, but right then, a super cell thunderstorm sat at the very top of the list. Her heavy, water-soaked clothing was probably the only thing that kept her from sailing away in the gusts of wind that swirled around her from all directions. She held her spindly arms over her head, but they offered little protection against the wind, almost nothing against the driving rain, and had no effect whatsoever against the constant barrage of sticks and other debris that assailed her from every direction.
Faux Pas (A Road's End Mishap Book 2) Page 23
