Love Comes to Paradise

by Mary Ellis

  “Stubbornness has nothing to do with it.” Nora opened the wheelchair and hung the cooler on one handle.

  “Okay, too chicken then.” Violet climbed down from the buggy and ambled to the chair under her own steam.

  “You sound like Emily, and we are not discussing this. Either you change the subject and don’t bring it up again, or I’m taking lunch down to the river alone. You can sit here twiddling your thumbs for a couple hours.”

  “Okay, I promise, but I never thought a best friend could be so heartless.” Violet pretended to pout, while Nora concentrated on finding the smoothest part of the hard-packed path. “Tell me what the ocean is like,” Violet asked after a few minutes.

  “Don’t know. I’ve never seen it.”

  “You lived that close in Maine and you never drove an hour east? I can’t understand that. If I had your legs, I would have walked if necessary.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Twice a year when we see my doctor in St. Louis, mamm pushes me to a park along the Mississippi River. I love to watch the small boats, big ships, and huge freighters heading in one direction or the other. I would give anything to jump on one of them and travel to the Gulf of Mexico. I can’t imagine so much water.”

  Nora thought before answering. “You’re still on rumschpringe, Violet. Maybe you can go before you claim your rocking chair on the porch.”

  She snorted in unladylike fashion. “You know my daed. He would never permit it. He insists I take the classes for baptism and join the church this fall. That doesn’t leave much time. Pictures in Coastal Living magazine will be as close as I ever get to the sea.”

  While Nora pushed her friend, working up a sweat and an appetite, her mind concocted possibilities. She also was still in rumschpringe. Could she and Violet take a trip down to New Orleans or maybe Grand Isle? She’d talked about this once with Elam, but that seemed like ages ago. “Maybe you and I can save our money and find a passenger boat, so no matter where we end up in life, we can tell our kinskinner about our trip down the river.”

  “My father wouldn’t let me go to Columbia with you, let alone to the ocean. I’m shocked he permitted our buggy ride today.”

  Though she was sure Violet had not meant the pronouncement to sound so harsh, her words stung nevertheless. “Perhaps you’ll go on your honeymoon then,” said Nora in a shaky voice. She should have known Minister Trask would take her new reputation seriously.

  Once at their destination, she slung the cooler over her shoulder and helped Violet down to water’s edge. A fallen log provided a perfect perch over the stream. They scooted across on the smooth, worn surface until they were able to dangle their feet in the stream. “Nobody I know would call this a river, but the water sure feels good.” Nora pulled out their lunch without changing her comfortable position. “We have ham-and-cheese, chips, fruit, and Pepsi.”

  “Sounds divine. Isn’t this the good life?” Violet took a sandwich and kicked up a froth with her legs.

  “Won’t your leg braces rust?” asked Nora, biting into a sandwich.

  “Nope. They’re stainless steel, built to last.”

  For half an hour, they splashed in the stream and ate in companionable silence. Then Violet dropped her sandwich onto her lap and screwed up her face.

  “What’s wrong? Too much mustard?”

  “Don’t you hear that?” Violet sounded terrified.

  Nora listened and shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “That’s just it. Ten minutes ago the birds were chirping away. I could barely hear myself think. Now it’s dead silent. This isn’t good, Nora. I had a bad feeling when I looked out my window this morning. Let’s get out of here.” She began scooting herself along the log.

  Nora jumped down to the creek bed and helped Violet up the slope. “Maybe something scared the birds. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when we got here.”

  “We’ve been under the trees. Cyclones come up fast in Missouri, without warning. Get me back to my chair.”

  “A cyclone?” she asked, picturing the storybook version of The Wizard of Oz she’d seen as a child.

  “You’re in Tornado Alley. Take my word for it and start pushing.” The panic in Violet’s voice was unmistakable.

  Nora did as instructed, but before she could so much as release the brake on the wheelchair, dust in the lane began to eddy around their feet, while the wind picked up and sent their kapp strings flying. “It can’t be a tornado,” said Nora. “There’s been no rain or thunderstorms today.” Nevertheless, she put her head down and began to push with all her strength.

  “It doesn’t have to be stormy. Twisters can sneak up when you’re least expecting them, usually when it’s calm and not windy. Hurry, Nora. Oh, how I wish I had good legs.” Violet tried to prod them along with her feet but only slowed their progress.

  “Please lift your legs onto the footrests.” Nora spoke calmly despite the fact twigs and debris had joined the swirl of dust on the road. Within another twenty feet something struck the top of Nora’s head, while chunks of ice clanged against the metal chair.

  “Hail!” cried Violet. “This is bad. Let’s pray, Nora, for God to save us.”

  For a moment, Nora stopped pushing. Never in her twenty-one years had she seen hail in summer. Sleet and freezing rain, yes, but not golf ball-sized hail that stung the backs of her hands and shoulders. Ice balls already littered the surrounding pasture, bouncing around like a children’s amusement park attraction.

  Fearing the unknown, Nora pushed Violet’s chair as fast as she could. Then the skies opened with a torrent of rain, soaking them both to the skin within moments. The hard-packed surface of the lane softened into mud with puddles of standing water and rivulets of run-off. Violet added sobs to her litany of prayers. The wheelchair hit a muddy low spot and stalled, throwing Nora on top of Violet.

  “Please, God, help us!” cried Nora. But the rain and wind drowned out her words. In the middle of crops and pastureland, Nora heard the odd sound of an approaching train, yet they had crossed no railroad tracks on the way here.

  “Stop, Nora!” demanded Violet. “There’s not enough time. Look,” she shouted and pointed at a wall of clouds, dark and menacing, filled with flashes of lightning. It appeared to grow and separate from the storm front stretching across the horizon. Before their eyes a funnel began at the base of the cloud and swirled ever closer to the earth.

  Nora stared for a few seconds, mesmerized, and then galvanized into action. “We must get back to the buggy. There’s a culvert pipe where the stream crosses under the road. We can crawl inside.” She had read that tidbit of safety advice in a magazine in the bus station. But how she planned to get Violet down an embankment and inside the pipe was beyond her. A maelstrom of rain, hail, and flying debris surrounded them, while the funnel cloud was headed straight down the lane. It is the end of the world, she thought even as she continued to force the wheelchair through the mud.

  “Please stop. It’s hopeless.” Violet put her feet down, halting their abysmal forward progress. She grabbed Nora’s arm. “You must leave me and save yourself. The road is too far away!” screamed Violet above the roar. “There’s no sense in both of us dying!”

  Nora wiped wet hair from her eyes. Her bun had come loose, and their kapps were long gone. “Nein, I won’t leave you. You’re my friend.”

  Violet tightened her grip on Nora’s wrist. “You’re my friend too. That’s why I want you to run.”

  Nora shook her arm free and looked around, ignoring her heart slamming against her ribcage while horizontal rain stung any exposed skin. Frantic, she spotted a deep furrow where a plow probably had gotten stuck last spring. “Get up,” she demanded. “We need to reach that ditch.”

  “That’s not much of a ditch,” answered Violet. But she rose from the chair and pulled free from the mire, one leg at a time. Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way to the trough and dropped to the ground just as Josh’s fence broke apart like a row of matchsticks.


  “Danki for staying with me,” said Violet. Then she sprawled headlong into the muddy water.

  “Lord, forgive me my grievous sins,” shouted Nora. She threw herself down and rolled on top of her friend. It was the last thing she remembered before a hard projectile hit the back of her head, knocking her unconscious.

  “Ugggh. Please, get off me. I’m not a fish.”

  Something poked at Nora’s belly and then her shoulder. She shifted her body to the right and opened her eyes. She found herself flat on her back, staring up at a patch of clear blue sky. The cloud wall, the entire storm, had gone. Even the rain had dwindled to a drizzle.

  Violet bolted upright and glanced around their frightful surroundings. “The twister’s moved off to the northeast.”

  “And we’re alive,” said Nora, still lying in cold water.

  Violet struggled first to her knees and then slowly to her feet. She wobbled on the wet ground but didn’t fall. “You look a mess,” she declared after assessing her friend.

  “That makes two of us. You’re not exactly looking Sunday best yourself.” Nora rose to her elbows. “Should we stay here? Will the tornado come back?” Her head throbbed worse than any migraine.

  “Not likely. It must have turned directions at the last minute. God saved us,” Violet whispered.

  Nora labored to her feet. In her long, sodden dress, she wasn’t much steadier on her feet than Violet. “I can’t imagine any other explanation. I thought for sure we were goners.” Holding each other up, the women surveyed the landscape. Hail was rapidly melting. All around lay ruined crops, metal chunks of who-knew-what, remnants of the pasture fence, and smashed pieces of everything common in rural America. Nora picked up the terracotta head of a lamb from a garden planter, the sweet smile on the lamb’s face a sad irony.

  “My wheelchair has disappeared,” said Violet with little enthusiasm.

  “I wouldn’t be able to push it through this mess anyway. You can wait here while I bring help.”

  “Nothing doing. I’m walking to the road with you.” Violet stepped gingerly over a broken tree branch. “What do you think all those therapy treatments have been for—my exceptional good looks?” She stretched out her hand to Nora.

  Nora snaked an arm around her waist. “Good to hear, because we need to get you home fast and into a bathtub. You smell a little funny.” Nora pinched her nostrils shut with two fingers.

  “Nora King, I’ve rubbed off on you. You have finally developed a sense of humor.”

  And with that, the two best friends began the longest walk, through the sloppiest terrain, of their lives.

  EIGHTEEN

  Lies silent in the grave

  Solomon pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. He and his sons had been raking and baling hay since dawn. They had cut the hay days ago and allowed it to dry under the hot summer sun. Irvin pulled an implement that raked and loaded hay into wagons, while Sol drove one of the wagons carrying hay back to the barn. Mark would feed it through a stationary baler and then load bales into the loft. They had been working hard since dawn with only a short lunch break. The minister was exhausted. Even his boys looked haggard as they swigged from plastic water bottles.

  “Daed, look at that sky,” hollered Irvin from the lead team of draft horses. “A storm’s coming. Let’s get the horses back to their stalls.”

  Sol didn’t argue. He’d been a farmer long enough to know you could always pick up in the field where you left off, but only a fool took chances in a flat, open space in a thunderstorm. Lightning could kill man and beast many yards from the strike. Or lightning could touch off brush fires, trapping you on the wrong side of safety. As he turned the team and followed his sons, a dark cloud appeared in the southwest, bringing with it bright flashes and rumbles of thunder. The ominous sounds grew closer by the minute.

  “We’re gonna get wet,” hollered his younger son. Mark waved his hat through the air as though at a barrel race, not remotely worried.

  His older brother didn’t share the casual mood. “That doesn’t look good.” Irvin pointed at a huge bulge beneath the moving wall of clouds. It resembled the belly of a heifer, pregnant with twins. “Unhitch the teams,” shouted Irvin to Mark and Sol. “Leave the wagons and equipment. Let’s just get the horses and ourselves to shelter.” Irvin issued an order instead of making a suggestion to his father.

  For a moment, Solomon felt a surge of annoyance. I haven’t fully retired from farming yet. The boy should show respect for his elders. Nevertheless, he climbed down and unharnessed the Belgians from the wagon as the wind blew dust into his mouth and eyes. His irritation vanished when the first piece of hail hit his hat brim. Ahead his sons were running toward the barn, leading the other two teams. The sometimes-balky horses needed no special encouragement to leave the fields today. With speed he hadn’t known in years, Sol also ran, arriving inside the double doors within moments of his boys.

  Irvin had already unbridled his pair and closed them inside a stall. But Mark’s Percheron mare stomped her feet and reared, nostrils flaring. Irvin took the reins to calm the horse, while Mark led her mate into a stall. Sol waited his turn, standing in the rain that quickly turned into a full-fledged deluge. It was as though broad daylight became nighttime within minutes.

  “Go to Ann and your new boppli,” hollered Irvin to his brother. “My wife knows what to do in a storm. I’ll take care of your horse.”

  Mark hurried past Sol into the blinding downpour. Irvin managed to calm the prancing mare and herd her through the stall door. He then turned to his father, grabbing the reins from his fingers. “See to mamm. I’ll confine these two and take cover.”

  “I’ll do this myself,” insisted Sol. “Go to your wife and children. Your house is a quarter mile away.” He had to shout to be heard over the wind.

  “Please, daed, go. Mamm might need your help getting Violet to the cellar.” Irvin’s pale face pleaded better than his words.

  With the mention of his fraa and dochder, Sol stopped arguing. “May God protect you.” He locked eyes with his son and then ran from the barn. Gusts nearly knocked him off his feet. On his way to the house Sol was pelted with rain, hail, gravel, sticks, and a piece of plastic tarp which wrapped around his head, temporarily blinding him. He felt something warm and sticky run into his eyes and knew he’d been cut. He reached the steps just as the swing broke from the chains and hurtled across the yard. As he traversed the porch, bent low by the opposing gale, his black shutters pulled loose and took flight. Any one of them could have severed his head from his neck. When Sol opened the screen door, it broke from the hinges, knocking him back. He threw it to the side and entered his kitchen, treading over shards of window glass and broken dishes on his way to the basement stairs.

  “Rosanna, Violet, are you down there?” he yelled at the top of his burning lungs. Breathing had become difficult from the wind.

  “Jah, come down, Solomon.” Blessedly, the voice of his beloved wife carried up.

  “Praise the Lord!” he shouted, unlike his silent prayers before a meal.

  At the foot of the stairs stood Rosanna, frightened but otherwise unharmed. She lifted her arms to embrace him. Solomon hugged her with every ounce of energy he had left. “There, there, we’re safe down here. Soon the storm will pass.” He stroked her head where her hair had come loose into a thick tangle. Rosanna sobbed in his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you injured?” Then in that instant he knew. They were alone in the cellar. “Where’s Violet? Where’s our girl?”

  “Don’t you remember? She went on a picnic today because Nora was sick yesterday. Violet fears Nora will move back to Maine.” Her words dissolved into wrenching sobs.

  Sol sat on the bottom step, dropping his face in his hands. “On, no, not my Violet. She can’t be out there in this.”

  “Don’t blame Nora. It was Violet’s idea—”

  Sol interrupted her with a gentle tug on her arm. Rosanna dropped down beside him. “I
don’t blame anyone else. This is my fault. The wrath of God has come to Paradise because of me. Violet is in danger because of my lack of compassion and mercy. Oh, Rosanna, what have I done?”

  She took his hand in hers, but had no answer.

  And there they sat for what seemed like hours, lost in wretched sobbing. But in fact, within fifteen minutes the storm with its accompanying tornado moved from Paradise, leaving behind a swath of destruction Randolph and Audrain Counties hadn’t seen in many years.

  Jonas Byler stared at the flickering computer screen with a scowl. “Now what?” he muttered under his breath. The computer program had been giving him problems all afternoon. Why couldn’t they simply maintain the lumberyard accounts and inventories the old-fashioned way—on long ledgers of yellow paper? Suddenly his monitor whined and then went dark. He checked to make sure he hadn’t unplugged the power cord by accident, a frequent occurrence. He hadn’t. If I weren’t a pacifist, I might track down the man who invented the computer and…

  He curtailed his uncharitable thoughts when he noticed lights were out in the showroom and hallway. So much natural illumination poured through the office windows that Jonas seldom turned on the electric lights. With a commotion of exclamations, several men ran into the building from the garden area, shouting words he couldn’t discern.

  One female customer dropped her sacks of potting soil in the main aisle and ran for the exit, dragging her child behind her.

  With a sinking sensation in his gut, Jonas jumped from his swivel chair to see what had happened. Ken met him in the doorway, almost knocking him down. “Bob at the outdoor checkout heard a bulletin on his radio. The National Weather Service broke into the ball game to issue a warning. A tornado has been spotted outside of Paradise, moving east, last sighted on L Road and headed this way.” Not a drop of blood remained in his pale face.

  In that instant two thoughts and one question came to Jonas’s mind: We have no basement. The lawn and garden implements could quickly become lethal weapons. And where are Emily and Nora today? Grain of Life bakery was a small frame building smack in the middle of flatland. He took a shuddering breath. “Have everyone take cover between the long counter and the interior office walls, away from glass. Flying debris shouldn’t reach anybody there. Have them crouch down and cover their heads with their arms. I’m going outside to make sure customers don’t get in their cars and drive straight into the tornado’s path.”