“Wind blew down part of our cornfields,” Joe said. “Pa thought he saw a twister touch down.”
Malcolm urged the horses faster. “Where’s he now?”
“Hunkering down near the house. Not enough room in the shelter for all of us, so he said to go to town.”
Putting the children into possible danger? Malcolm stared. Thin and wearing patched clothing, Joe and Anna were the oldest of eight children of a sharecropping farmer. If they’d lost corn, the winter could be lean for this family. He frowned. They’d need help.
“You know any songs?” he asked. “I like to sing when I’m afraid.”
“You git scared?” Anna whispered.
Only when a pretty girl holds my heart in her hands, he thought, but answered with a nod. “I like to remember God’s always with me and I can trust Him. Look, the storm is moving east. We’ll be safe in Fairhope.”
“Three times three is nine; three times four is twelve; three times five is fifteen.” Joe shouted into the blowing wind. Malcolm and Anna echoed his chant.
Ewan had taught him that understanding math meant seeing the pattern. Singing the times tables had helped him. He’d learned to cipher real fine, even multiply and divide; his business thrived now that he could figure the invoices himself.
Learning was a matter of turning your mind to solve a problem. Winning Sally could be like learning math.
Malcolm merely had to figure out the solution to make her love someone.
Someone like him.
Sally Martin knew her latest hat was the envy of all the women in church Sunday morning. Oh, no one said anything, of course; they were all too refined to countenance the sin of envy, but she saw it in their eyes.
Up front her dear friend Kate played a reed flute, accompanying her fiddler husband on “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” “The favorite hymn of a seamstress,” Kate had laughed. “You know, tying off the thread?”
Of course she knew. Sally spent her days in front of a newfangled sewing machine or with a needle in hand. She tied knots all day long.
Sally stifled an urge to reach up and knead the base of her neck. After bending over her work all week, she yearned to loosen those muscles, but she couldn’t do so here, not in the plain wooden church that brought such comforting worship each Sunday.
She loved her move to Fairhope in May for many reasons, but being able to go to church made her the happiest. She could worship God in an actual church now that she lived in town. Out on the farm a mile from Sterling, her father read the Scriptures on Sunday mornings; they rarely visited with anyone.
But here in Fairhope—Sally glanced about—were far more interesting possibilities of interaction. Pa had sent her to make a future for herself—and her younger sister. They’d never find husbands on the isolated farm, and he knew it. He was counting on her.
Josiah Finch, the youngest banker in town, tipped his straw hat in her direction.
Sally immediately faced forward. Why wasn’t he paying attention to the music?
She looked out of the corner of her eye across the aisle. Malcolm smiled at her then turned red.
“Our hearts in Christian love,” sang the congregation. Sally dropped her eyes and tried to hide her answering smile.
Afterward, she hurried outside to join the other women setting up the church potluck. A puff of wind tried to lift her hat. She scanned the horizon. The weather had been unsettled the last couple of days; storms this time of year always worried her.
“Appreciate the prayers, Pastor,” said a weathered farmer in his Sunday best. Sally wondered if she should volunteer to let out the straining seams in his cotton shirt.
“Last night’s rain should be the last before harvest,” Reverend Cummings said. “I just hope it doesn’t stir up tornadoes.”
“Bad weather went east.” He pushed back his hat. “Blue sky’s coming our way.”
East. Sally looked in the direction of home. Surely they’d hear if a tornado had set down near Sterling?
“Let me help you.” Josiah Finch took the white bowl from her hands. A tall man with piercing blue eyes, he wore a thin goatee under a sharp mustache. Folks thought he looked down his nose at people, but that was only because of his height. His fingernails were always clean, and he smelled of soap. Even on the hot summer day, Josiah tied a ruby cravat under his gray linen suit.
“I’m looking forward to sharing a meal with you today,” Josiah said.
Sally nodded, flustered as always at his attention.
“Did you make these pickles yourself?”
She found her tongue. “Kate and I put them up last month. They’ve been pickling ever since.”
“Sweet or dill? Not that it matters; anything you’ve made will be sweet on my tongue.”
“Dill,” she said, unsure his remark was proper, especially on Sunday. “Did your mother send a dish?”
His mother seldom left her home, an invalid whom Kate’s mother said needed all the sympathy and social contact she could get.
“I brought sarsaparilla. It’s what they call a ‘soft’ drink in Clarkesville.”
Josiah had recently returned to Fairhope to help his father with the bank, bringing with him a number of new items from the county seat. He’d showed her The Ladies Home Journal and Women’s Home Companion magazines for his mother, and a surprisingly light bar of hand soap that floated on water.
“What’s sarsaparilla taste like?” She stumbled over the name.
He tapped her nose. “You’ll have to try it and tell me.”
Blushing, Sally hurried to help Mrs. MacDougall, the mercantile owner’s wife, with her famous light biscuits. “Have you seen Malcolm?” his mother asked. “I need him to bring the fried chicken from the stove.”
“I’ll get it.” A chore away from Josiah’s intimacy could only be good for her.
She pushed open the door to the MacDougall kitchen, only to hear a muffled, “Oomph!”
Sally’s fingers went to her lips. She had shoved the door into Malcolm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.”
He held the platter of fried chicken. “My mother asked me to help.”
“She asked me, too.” Sally couldn’t contain her worry any longer. “What do you think of the weather?”
“Should be fine here. Not so sure about Sterling. How far out of town do your folks live?”
“My father and sister are on the farm, couple miles this side of town. I’m afraid something might have happened to them.”
If anyone could help, it would be Malcolm. Big, comfortable, slow-talking Malcolm would have an answer. Not quick like his brother-in-law the schoolteacher, but solid and reliable. When Malcolm said something, you knew it was true.
He gazed at her. Malcolm couldn’t always find words, but he danced beautifully. He moved like a hawk in flight, smoothly riding the air currents, but then swooping down at the right moment to spirit away his prey into a heartfelt swing or do-si-do.
Prey? What a silly idea. She felt as safe with Malcolm as she did with his sister Kate. All the MacDougalls were trustworthy folk, willing to help even at inconvenience to themselves. Of course when he looked at her, Sally often felt breathless—and not simply because they danced well together.
“Would you like me to go out and check for you?” Standing there with the chicken platter in hand, Malcolm scarcely looked like a knight in shining armor, but she knew his well-meaning heart, always favorably disposed toward her.
“Thank you, but I expect we’d hear if a tornado touched down.”
Malcolm nodded. “Neighbors would send for us. Most tornadoes happen late in the afternoon or early evening anyway.”
“No one has come since last night? They’re probably fine.”
“Will you open the door for me?”
Relief made her giddy. “I’d do anything for you, you know it.”
Malcolm stumbled. “Maybe you better carry the chicken. I’m likely to drop it given half a chance.”
She la
ughed and waltzed out the door with him trudging after. She’d just reached the tables when a boy rode up on wild-eyed black stallion lathering at the mouth. “Funnel cloud hit outside of Sterling in the middle of the night,” he cried. “We need help. Now!”
Sally turned to Malcolm with stricken eyes.
“I’ll take you.” Malcolm plunked the platter onto the table. “We’ll get Ewan to come, too.”
Chapter 2
Debris littered the road and landscape as far as they could see. Crops had been uprooted, tattered leaves lay everywhere, and halfway to Sterling they came upon a wide swath of cropland gashed to the dirt. Ewan veered his horse off the road to follow the tornado-churned field south.
The petite woman beside him shivered. “What do you think?” he asked.
Sally clutched Sport’s neck so hard, the dog whimpered. “It headed straight toward home. I hope they’re still alive.”
He urged his horses forward. “We’ll find out.”
Bessie and Daisy stepped gingerly off the hard road into the soft field where the wagon wheels turned more slowly. The healthy cornstalks of yesterday were beaten down on either side, the smell of broken corn husks heavy in the air. Sally moaned. “This is the Hulls’ field. The crop is lost. What will they do?”
“They’re farmers. They’ll make do as best they can.”
The tornado had destroyed acres of fields. A windmill spun its flag in the distance and Malcolm spied a pile of rubble. “The barn?”
Tears dripped down Sally’s cheeks, and she nodded. “What about my family?” Sport licked her cheek.
He put his big hand on her small one and squeezed. She shut her eyes and wept. Malcolm didn’t know what to do beyond urge the horses faster and hold her hand. Any other occasion it would have thrilled him, but on that sultry afternoon he meant only comfort.
Folks had already arrived at the Hulls’ place. The house had been knocked sideways and they’d have to replace the barn, but the family survived, shaken but unhurt.
Sally rubbed her hands together. “Thank God.” She blinked rapidly and stared in the direction of home.
Malcolm prayed they’d find no worse at the Martin farm.
Ewan joined them. “Plenty of helpers here.” He met Malcolm’s eyes. “I’ll ride ahead and meet you at Martin’s.” He kneed his horse into a gallop.
Malcolm chirruped Bessie and Daisy through the devastated fields.
When they reached the Martin wheat field everything had been turned to straw. Parts of wagons and random tools stuck out of the ground. A rag doll lay face down in a pile of tree branches. Sally whimpered.
“Looked like a good yield,” Malcolm observed, then bit his lips shut.
“Pa had big hopes for the crop,” Sally said. A windbreak divided the fields from the homestead. Tall trees had been snapped off halfway up with the bark stripped off the north side. When they entered what had been the barnyard, Sally moaned.
The house lay in splintered ruins. A busted wagon rested against the base of the barn—now leaning to its side. Nothing stood upright. Ewan walked among the ruins, scuffing now and then to peer closer at an object.
Bessie and Daisy halted, and Sally jumped from the wagon. Malcolm dismounted and tied off the horses to one of the trees. By the time he turned around, she and Ewan were tossing wood from the house remains.
“We need your strength,” Ewan shouted. “There’s a beam over the door.”
Sally scrubbed at her face but stood back when Malcolm joined them. Sport pawed at the wood. “Storm cellar?” Malcolm asked.
She nodded.
The two men levered the beam off the battered wood cover using a stout branch. They pounded on the door and stood back as it slowly opened out of the earth. The top of a ladder poked up, and Angus Martin followed. He grinned and scrambled out when he saw Sally. “You’re alive!” Sally flung her arms around her father’s neck.
Her younger sister climbed out behind him and the three clung together.
Malcolm heard a whimper and looked into the shallow hole. A yellow mutt barked and leaped. He reached down and pulled out the family dog.
Angus Martin brushed at his eyes as he surveyed his acreage. “It came on at night, a roar like I never heard before. Filled my ears and near stopped my heart. Didn’t think we’d live through it.”
Sixteen year-old Lena wept. “What’ll we do?”
Martin stepped about his yard looking in all directions. He paused and pointed east. “Some corn is still standing. We’re going to be thankful we had stores in the cellar and the land is still here.” He turned a bleak face to Malcolm. “You see much damage on your way over?”
“Crops mostly down, but this is only the second place we’ve come.”
“The Hulls are all right, but their barn was destroyed and their house damaged.” Sally held Lena and rocked. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”
“Yep,” her father agreed. “Now we’ll have to figure out how to rebuild.”
Sally stepped among the scattered remains of the family’s home. The clock Ma had brought from back east was shattered. The curtains made from gunnysacks were shredded and tossed about the yard. Here and there she spied an unexpected item: an English bone china teacup nestled in a soft pillow; one of her father’s boots, Lena’s cross-stitch. Little seemed salvageable. She couldn’t imagine how they’d manage.
Malcolm found a wooden bucket and filled it at the well. Sally dipped the china cup in the cool water and handed it to her sister—who gulped it down. Her father drank straight from the bucket. “I might as well get used to it. Any sign of my cows?”
Ewan pointed south. “I see something moving.”
Ewan climbed onto his horse and with Sport running alongside, trotted off to inspect. Malcolm retrieved the basket of food his mother had pressed on them. He carried blankets and medical supplies in the back, too, along with an ax and other tools. “You hungry?”
They sat in the wagon and munched on the picnic leftovers from Fairhope’s church social. “It was dark,” Mr. Martin said. “Sky looked like trouble all day. I told Lena we needed to sleep down cellar. We took our bedding and candles and lay among the canned food. When the roaring barreled down and things started flying, I closed the hatch. The wind screeched till we were fair deaf. Worst night I’ve lived through. It scared me half to death.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Sally said.
“Weren’t nothing you could have done. I was glad you were safe in Fairhope. You’ll stay there.”
“I’ll come home and help.”
“No. Take Lena back with you. You’ve got a place to stay in town. This farm’ll need rebuilding afore womenfolk can live here again. Lena can sew with you.”
Sally gathered up the food remains while her father and Malcolm unhitched the horses. The two men planned to ride the countryside looking to help. She and Lena would sort through the ruins.
“When will you be back?” she asked.
Malcolm squinted at the sky. “It’ll be nightfall in a couple hours; we’ll be back by then. I figure we’ll spend the night and see what else needs doing.”
“You’ll help?”
“You can count on me.”
Chapter 3
Bessie and Daisy preferred to work as a team, but could be ridden single. Their broad backs without saddles made riding painful, but in the face of the destruction, Malcolm couldn’t complain. They traveled south, following the line of the tornado until they came upon Ewan and Sport staring at the ground.
“Do goats usually give birth in July?” Ewan asked.
Mr. Martin kneeled down. “Old Nanny. Let me help you.”
They’d just gotten the tiny kid on his feet nursing when five horsemen rode up. Reverend Cummings led them, with Malcolm’s father, Josiah Finch, and two other men from church. All the men looked tired and drawn, though Josiah hardly had a speck of dirt on him.
Malcolm passed a grubby palm across his forehead. The same could not be said of him.
>
“What have you got?” Da asked.
Malcolm pointed. “New life springs from the rubble.”
Reverend Cummings grinned. “Glad one good gift has come of this weather. Other than livestock missing here and there, everyone’s accounted for. Plenty of damage, but no loss of life.”
“Thank God,” Malcolm said.
“Always. Folks will need help to rebuild, though.”
“The bank can be of service,” Josiah said. “We can loan money against the land.”
Malcolm looked at his father. They both knew many of the local farmers relied on credit with the mercantile to get through the year until harvest. Storm damage like this could force many off their land.
“More loans aren’t going to help us,” Mr. Martin muttered. “Have you seen all my neighbors, then?”
“Looks like the twister gave up about here,” Da said. “I reckon one more farmstead and we’ll have finished searching this area.”
They rode to another farmhouse destroyed by the winds. Malcolm dismounted and joined the men to lift rubble and wood out of the way. Just as at the Martin house, they found another battered storm cellar with the Hulburt family grateful for their release. As the sky cleared toward sunset, the men turned back to the Martin property.
“You’re a strong one, aren’t you?” Mr. Martin said as he rode Bessie alongside Malcolm on Daisy.
Malcolm shrugged.
“I saw how you got in there and worked. That pretty boy never got his hands dirty.”
Josiah traveled at the front of the group, talking earnestly to Reverend Cummings. When the breeze turned the right way, Malcolm could hear the words: compound interest rates, security. The pastor didn’t seem impressed.
“Malcolm is good with his hands,” Da said. “He can cipher and run his business, valuable skills for Nebraska farmlands.”
“My girl speaks well of you. Take care of ’em both for me. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to make the farm livable.”
The 12 Brides of Summer Novella Collection 1 Page 7
