“I don’t know how these horses do in lightning,” Melanie said. Just as she finished speaking, a low rumble sounded in the distance. A stiff breeze had picked up, rustling the tent. The horses already appeared to be getting a little antsy. She talked softly to the horse, stroked his nose, and then stripped him of his fancy dress. She turned to me. “Make sure all the horse stalls have food and water. And let’s try to confine those chickens.” She looked around, hands on her hips. “That’s all we really can do for them.”
When I left the barn, a few droplets of rain were beginning to fall and residents were scurrying to their tents. Even more were snaking down the path toward Larry’s. I couldn’t blame them. I was debating doing that or trying to wait it out in one of the more permanent structures, like the little cottage Carol and Melanie shared. Only there was no guarantee that the storm would let up before nightfall, meaning I could be stuck overnight in a century without running water, working toilets, or microwave popcorn.
I scanned the crowd and spotted Nick’s tall head above many of the others. I called to him, and he came over, squinting in the growing raindrops. When he got closer, I could see that Liv was with him.
“Audrey,” he said. “We have a problem.”
“We sure do. What are you still doing here?” I asked, ready to give my cousin a piece of my mind. “Now we have to walk back in the rain. What’s Eric going to say when he sees you?”
“Audrey, that’s not exactly the most pressing problem.” Nick pointed at Liv’s belly.
Liv looked up at me, wide-eyed and contrite. “Sorry, Audrey, but I think my water just broke.”
Chapter 18
“It’s Murphy’s Law,” Liv ranted. “Has to be. I’ve done everything by the book for almost nine months. I found the best obstetrician and birthing center in the whole county. I took those monster prenatal horse pills. I aced all my Lamaze classes, was poked and pricked and prodded through all those tests, and I even ate all my veggies, including broccoli. And you know what I feel about broccoli.”
“I do,” I said.
“I even gave up coffee. And then that one time I sneak off, color a little outside of the lines, and this happens. What am I going to tell Eric?”
“Any contractions?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Then let’s get you back to town.”
The path wasn’t wide enough for more than two to walk together at a time, so I walked with Liv. Ahead of us were Nick and my father, acting a little chummier than I cared for and talking just a little too softly for me to understand. Brad took up the rear.
“Wait a second,” Liv said. “I need to catch my breath. You’re all too tall. You have a much longer stride than I do.” She leaned against a tree and several men in armor pushed past us.
“You might not want to do that,” my father said. “Lightning could hit the tree.”
She moved away as the sky flashed and the rain grew in intensity. “Audrey, I swear, next time . . .”
“I hope there’s not a next time. Not like this. We have to keep going,” I said. “We’ll go slower for you.”
She nodded and brushed rain out of her eyes.
The path was beginning to grow muddy, making the going more difficult. Occasionally the wind would blow sheets of cold rain, slapping them into our faces. And the tree branches were waving wildly, as if saying, “Get out of here, you idiots.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” Liv said, gripping the fence when we got to Larry’s.
The man wasn’t in sight and people exiting were, for the most part, ignoring the honor box with a slot in the top.
“Do you think Larry would mind if we step out of the rain into the greenhouses for a bit?” Liv said. “I need a breather.”
I was considering this—surely Larry wouldn’t mind—when the sky lit up again, and several spots on the ground around the greenhouse reflected its glow. Several panes of glass had already blown out and shattered on the ground.
“Not safe. It’s not far to the car now.”
We struggled down the long, steep driveway. I tried to keep a slower pace for Liv, but every time the sky lit up or the thunder crashed—and the gap between the two was growing shorter—it was like something inside me stepped on the accelerator. I fumbled in my bag for the keys before we even reached the road. Fortunately, Brad and I had arrived at the camp early enough to grab a good parking spot. And soon Liv was in the passenger seat of the CR-V. Nick snatched my keys, so Brad, my father, and I climbed in the back.
Liv panted. “I guess it’s as good a time as any to tell you. You know those contractions you were asking me about earlier?” And she continued that heavy breathing that I’d mistaken for exertion, but appeared to be her attempt at Lamaze.
“Just relax and buckle up.” If Liv’s contractions were just starting, we’d have plenty of time to get her to the birthing center where she’d decided to have her baby.
Nick started up the engine, turned on the headlights and defogger, and flipped the windshield wipers on high speed. It would be a slow drive, but we were moving. For a little while.
We passed my cottage and had gone maybe half a mile farther when red brake lights shone ahead of us through the eerie blackness of the storm. Then traffic came to a halt altogether.
I pulled out my cell phone and wiped it off on my car upholstery. Fortunately it lit up, and I dialed the one person who would know exactly what was happening with the road: Mrs. June.
“Oh, honey! That’s the worst place to—” Her sentence was interrupted by a series of crackles and pops. I’d have to remember to put my phone in a bag of rice overnight, to help dry it out. “—road is completely closed due to a downed tree.”
“But traffic is coming the other way,” I said as I squinted into the headlights of an oncoming car.
“Probably people just turning around,” she said, followed by more crackles.
“How long until it’s cleared?” I asked.
“No . . . of the tree is resting on the power lines, and the highway crews won’t even touch the tree until the power company . . . to tell them it’s safe.”
“So we need to turn around,” I said. “That means we’d have to pick up county route—”
“Closed because of the wildfires. And according to the weather service, there’s still lots of this storm left to come. We’re now under a tornado watch. Nope, just upgraded to a warning. Get to shelter.”
“We can make it back to my cottage, I think.”
Nick waited for another car to pass and did a three-point turn.
“Can you get an ambulance to us?” I shouted into the phone while the rain beat down against the top of the CR-V.
But the phone crackled and went dead.
* * *
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Liv wailed as we helped her up the front walkway.
Most of the plants were matted down in the yard, and the blue tarp on my roof bubbled and slapped and tugged on the ropes that held it in place. That it was still there was a testament to Eric’s attention to detail.
The door had swelled with the humidity, but Nick managed to force it open and he hustled Liv inside.
Before I could join them, I noticed that more headlights had followed ours as two other vehicles pulled into the driveway. I ducked into the shelter of the doorway and watched as the doors open and people climbed out. The first vehicle, a van, held a family. The two children were the same ones who’d visited the stables wanting to feed the horses. They ran to the house and I flung open the door to let them in out of the rain. Yes, I’m a softy.
They were followed by the occupants of the second vehicle, and I did a double take to see Mel and Andrea Brooks, along with the two men who had been guarding the box at the tournament.
“More’s the merrier,” I said, which was one of Grandma Mae’s favorite expre
ssions. If the floorboards would hold them, they’d be welcomed in this house.
“Audrey, I need to lie down,” Liv said. She started heading toward the bedroom.
“Sorry, Liv. Tornado warning. Everybody in the basement.”
She gave me one incredulous look. “Audrey, I can’t have my baby down there.”
But then hail began to pelt the windows and the power flickered. Liv swallowed hard, then grabbed the railing and started making her way slowly down the crude wood steps that led to the basement.
The whole group crept down after her into the musty cellar. Nick and Brad managed to carry my mattress downstairs, where we set it up in a corner. After I got Liv settled, I sent them back up for blankets, pillows, and towels, and then, when they were halfway up the stairs, I asked them to also bring my new toolbox. Brad looked at me funny when I’d asked for the toolbox, but Nick went straight up to get it.
“Audrey,” Liv wailed, “why do you need the toolbox? Please, tell me you’re not going to cut me open with a saw.”
“Shh. It’s just to keep them busy,” I said.
They were still upstairs when the lights flickered again, and then went out.
In the dark, conversation suddenly hushed. The only sounds were the creaking of the floorboards from the men upstairs and the louder, more irregular creaking of the house as it flexed and groaned in the wind.
I pulled out my cell phone. It was useless for making calls, but I could still use the light from it to look into Liv’s face. “It’s okay.” I also noticed that my mother had called three more times. Ugh. Then that light died, too.
“Cell phones!” I called. “Give ’em up. Flashlight app, if you have one.”
No one moved, so I said, “It’s my house, and that’s the price of admission. You can’t call for help anyway, and Angry Birds can wait. You want to stay, I need your cell phones. I need the light.” I’d had one flashlight in the house, but I hadn’t seen it since the move.
One by one, even the staunchest medievalist coughed up his contraband cell phone. I placed them around the room to give light where I needed it, then I used one to scan the motley crew now inhabiting my basement. The family was huddled in the corner, the little girl sitting on her mother’s lap. Mel and Andrea stood nearby. He was giving her a consoling hug. Or vice versa. And my father stood by Liv’s head.
The two guards took up residence sitting on the stairs. And the light from the cell just caught the reflection from the eyes of both cats, who were resting on the tops of the cement walls, just out of sight. They must have instinctively sought shelter down here when the wind started blowing.
The old guards had to get up when Nick and Brad came back downstairs with mounds of linens and my toolbox. But they weren’t alone. Bixby and Lafferty followed them.
“I got a call that you needed help—” Bixby started.
Liv took that moment to start her panting again. Or maybe she was hyperventilating. Either way I could hardly blame her. I clicked the stopwatch on my cell to time the contraction.
Bixby stopped in his tracks. “Good grief. She’s not doing what I think she’s doing, is she?”
“If you mean is she in labor,” I said, “the answer is yes.”
“She can’t have a baby down here,” Bixby said.
“You heard the man. I’m not having my baby down here,” Liv echoed.
“I’m open to suggestions,” I said.
Bixby raked his hand through his hair.
Liv whimpered. “Please, Audrey. Not down here. Not in front of all these people.”
“We can fix that,” Nick said. “I think there was a box of tacks in this kit.” He grabbed one of the cell phones and used the light from it to rummage through the tool kit and pulled out a small box and a hammer. Then he started hammering my new blanket to the rafters to make a curtain for her.
My father took the pillows from a frozen Brad and propped them up behind Liv.
I squeezed her hand. “Better?”
“Not much. Audrey, I’m so sorry. You were right. You were right. You were right.” When the pressure on my hand increased and she kept repeating her sentence like a mantra, I clicked the stopwatch again.
“It won’t be long,” I said.
“But first babies are supposed to take forever. Hours or days, they told me.”
“Not all of them. And not this one.”
“But we never even decided on names yet,” she whined. “I need to talk to Eric.”
“Okay, fine.” I picked up the driest of all the cell phones and dialed Liv’s husband. “If this phone works, you can talk with him, but I need to check you.”
She nodded.
“Hey, Audrey,” Eric said when he picked up. “I hope you’re safe in this storm.”
“We’re safe. Liv wants to talk to you.” I handed her the phone and shooed everyone else out of Liv’s curtained area. I picked up the stack of towels and took one last look over the castaways in my basement.
The two guards were keeping their vigil on the stairs. I caught a snippet of their conversation. “. . . a lot stronger in the Middle Ages. No big deal.”
“Plop,” the other said, “and then back to work. None of this namby-pamby coddling.”
I gave him a dirty look, but I doubted he could see me in the dark.
Meanwhile, the young boy had overheard him. “Plop,” he said, obviously enjoying the sound of the word, because he then repeated it about twenty-seven more times, giggling each time he said it.
The mother was singing a lullaby to her daughter. Mel and Andrea were caught frozen in that same embrace. And Lafferty was in a wide-eyed panic. Not knowing where he should put his hands or feet, he fidgeted and paced. Bixby was standing, calmly searching on his cell phone.
“I got it,” he said. “How to deliver a baby. It’s on Wikipedia. Want me to read it to you?”
“Sure,” I said. “Nice and loud.” And then I closed the curtain leaving Liv and me alone.
* * *
Liv had been farther along than even I had imagined. So an hour later, accompanied by a lot of yelling on both their parts, Baby Girl Meyer was wrapped in a clean towel and lying in her mother’s arms.
I picked up the phone that Liv had let drop onto the mattress so she could concentrate on her daughter. “Eric? Did you hear that? It’s a girl. Not only healthy but beautiful, like her mom. I’ll send you a picture.”
Okay, I might have been stretching the truth a little there. Her eyes were swollen, her head was lopsided, and she was completely bald.
No, I was right the first time. She was beautiful.
Chapter 19
The power remained off in the morning, but I managed to pull Mrs. June’s propane grill into my yard and boil the tea kettle on the side burner to make a cup of instant coffee. I left a few mugs, spoons, powdered creamer, sugar, and the coffee jar there for anyone else as they woke up.
We’d moved upstairs when the storm abated, all exhausted from the sleepless night, but I couldn’t say we’d become a chummy group. It became obvious that Mel and Andrea were clinging to each other not only out of love or fear of the storm, but also as a way to avoid Nick, probably mindful of future litigation. I managed to put my cell into a bag of rice, hoping it would dry out and function again, but I was too tired to worry about it. Eventually I found an empty corner and caught a couple hours of sleep.
The old house was now filled with the various sounds of sleep: sniffing, snoring, and rustling of blankets as someone turned to find a more comfortable sleeping position.
Only baby Violet—as Liv had named her last night—had her blue eyes open as she lay next to her mother. In the wee hours of the morning Liv had grown nostalgic in the basement, a place where we’d often escaped to on some of the hottest afternoons of the summer. There’d been an old table down there, and we’d color or do jigsaw
puzzles. Once we’d convinced Grandma Mae that we could paint a mural, and we’d started painting a garden on the concrete wall, using only old, leftover house paint from her shed.
Last night, in the dim light of the cell phones, Liv had run her finger along the outline of one of the flowers she had painted. “I do understand why you wanted this place,” she said. “I hope my little one can be just as happy as I remember us being here with Grandma Mae. Is there a flower for remembering?”
“Violets can stand for remembrance. Or you occupy my thoughts.”
Liv immediately tried the name “Violet” out on the baby. I hoped she wouldn’t change her mind before the official birth certificate could be filed, because I was already thinking about her as Violet.
I picked up the baby as I headed out to the porch, avoiding the squeaky floorboards, to allow the new mother a little more sleep.
I swaddled Violet more tightly in her towel and laid her in my lap with her head cradled near my knees. In the light of dawn her eyes were even bluer than I could see in the dim basement. And I did her discredit when I’d said she was bald, because very fine blond hair crowned her head.
“Well, good morning, Violet. Yes, you occupy my thoughts, but that’s only purple violets.”
She made a noise.
“That’s right. Now, blue violets stand for faithfulness, but you don’t need to worry about that quite yet. Sweet violets stand for modesty. I don’t know whether they meant no short skirts or the absence of pride, but I’m sure your mommy will work on both of those with you. White violets stand for innocence. When you get married someday—a long time from now—I’d love to make you a bouquet of white violets to match your pretty white dress. And yellow violets mean rural happiness, so you’re going to have to spend lots of time out here with your . . . I guess we would be cousins of some sort.” I wasn’t sure if Violet would be my first cousin once removed or my second cousin. “But that’s too confusing. So you can call me Aunt Audrey.”
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