by Sharon Sala
“Nikki?”
Nikki’s voice was shaking. “You saved my sister’s life tonight. I don’t know what to say to you, other than I love you so much.”
Tears welled all over again. “You found her.”
“Yes. The house where she was staying was hit. They were in their cellar, in the back yard. Debris from the house fell on the cellar door and they couldn’t get out. She started having an asthma attack and her meds had gone up with the storm. If Daddy hadn’t gotten there when he did with her meds and an extra inhaler and helped their neighbors pull the debris off the door, Rachelle wouldn’t have made it. There are no words to thank you enough.”
“Thank God,” Tara whispered.
“Yes, thank God and that wonderful gift He gave you. I gotta go. I just wanted you to know we’re okay.”
“Yeah, okay,” Tara said, then curled up on the sofa, pulled the afghan over her shoulders and cried herself to sleep.
Chapter Four
The rain was over. The sky was already turning a muddy shade of gray in the East as dawn drew near. Tara woke up needing to go to the bathroom and was momentarily disoriented at finding herself on the living room sofa instead of in her bed.
And then she remembered. Stillwater had been hit by a tornado last night. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and combing her fingers through her hair. The power was still off, but at least toilets flushed. She ran a brush through her hair, brushed her teeth, then moved toward the kitchen to find something for breakfast.
Uncle Pat still wasn’t home, but she didn’t think anything of it other than she hoped he was being careful. He was all she had and couldn’t think about ever losing him.
The house was cold. She reached for the thermostat to turn it up and then remembered, without power that wouldn’t be happening either, so she backtracked to her bedroom, pulled a sweatshirt over her t-shirt, put on some heavier socks and some house shoes before going back to the kitchen.
The stuff in the refrigerator was still safe to eat, but if the power was off much longer, they’d be throwing out food. With that in mind, she chose a leftover piece of pizza, poured a glass of milk and carried them to the living room, eating as she went.
It was almost light enough to see everything now. She walked out onto the front porch to check the neighborhood. There were shingles missing on roofs, small storage buildings that had been in peoples’ back yards the night before were scattered about—some in pieces in the streets, while another had been set down without a scratch in a yard four houses down. Trees were down everywhere, but people were already out with chainsaws cutting them away so the residents would have access in and out of their driveways and rescue vehicles could get up and down the streets.
She ate the pizza all the way to the crust and then threw it out into the yard for the birds, downed her milk, and was on her way back inside when she heard the sound of a speeding car. She turned just as an SUV slid sideways then turned up her driveway. As it slid to a stop, her heart skipped a beat. She already knew something was horribly wrong before she recognized the driver as Nate Pierce, the geologist who’d helped her find the body that had been buried in their back yard.
He got out shouting her name. “Tara! Tara!”
He jumped on the porch and grabbed her by the arms and just like that she was sucked into the panic and the fear he was feeling. He was wet and muddy and there was a tear in the knee of his jeans. She could see dried blood on the skin beneath. He was crying, and she knew he didn’t even know it.
“Please, my sister’s house was hit by the storm last night. We’ve looked all night and still can’t find her daughter, Gracie. She’s still a baby, not quite two and—”
She didn’t need to hear anymore. “Give me fifteen seconds. I need to change my shoes.”
She dashed into the house, kicking off her house shoes as she ran, stomped her feet into a pair of old cowboy boots, put on her all-weather coat and headed for the door. With her phone in her pocket and her house keys in her hand, she locked the door behind her and then they were gone.
They didn’t talk again until Nate had backed out of the driveway. He kept trying to control his emotions as he talked, but Tara could tell by the tremble in his voice how distraught he was.
“I know I’m asking a lot but we’re at our wit’s end and I knew we needed a miracle. That’s when I thought of you.”
Tara’s heart sank. “I can’t perform miracles, Nate.”
He shook his head. “I know, I know. I said that wrong. We just need to find her no matter . . . no . . .”
Tara touched his arm. “Stop talking. You don’t need to explain. I know what this means to you. It’s like losing your wife and daughter all over again. I owe you one, but I would still be doing this, okay?”
He stomped the accelerator, driving around storm debris without care for the deep scratches being left on his car, taking alleys instead of streets when the roads were blocked.
“I need to let Uncle Pat know where I’m going,” Tara said.
The phone rang twice before he answered. “Tara, are you alright, honey?”
“I’m okay, Uncle Pat. Are you still with search and rescue?”
“Yes. It’s pretty gruesome. Is the power still off at home?”
“Yes. Listen, Uncle Pat. Nate Pierce just came and got me. His sister and her family live on the north side of Stillwater. The storm hit their house. Their daughter is missing. They’ve been looking for her all night. I’ll be with Nate if you need me.”
“Oh honey, I don’t think—”
“I have to, Uncle Pat, and you know it.”
She heard him sigh. “Yes, I know. Just be careful.”
“I will. You, too.”
She dropped her phone back in her pocket.
“Is he upset with you?” Nate asked.
“No,” Tara said, and then gave Nate a closer look. His thick black hair was matted to his head from a combination of drying mud and rain. His clothes were torn and there was a huge bruise forming on the side of his face. “You were caught in the storm, too, weren’t you?”
He shrugged.
She touched his arm and saw everything. “It’s all gone, isn’t it?”
He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. They are just things. We need to find Gracie. She’s just a baby. Even if she’s . . . if she’s not . . .”
He couldn’t finish the sentence and Tara wouldn’t do it for him. She wasn’t ready to face what was ahead of them. Not yet. She needed to be on-site before she could really connect, and even then it might be too late.
Millicent. Henry. Where are you guys?
There was no answer, which scared Tara even more. She didn’t often walk this path without them, but today it seemed that she would.
Nate drove as fast as he could, but the farther north they drove, the worse the devastation.
“Oh good lord,” Tara whispered.
Nate glanced at her just as she turned to look at him. In that moment, Tara’s panic shifted and she felt a wave of comfort wash through her. Nate Pierce was a very old soul. She didn’t know what that meant to the situation at hand, but it was oddly comforting. She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
We’re coming, Gracie. Can you hear my voice? Hold on, baby girl, help is on the way.
When Nate turned into what had once been a housing subdivision, it was obvious it had been in the direct path of the storm. It was less than ten minutes from her house to this side of town, yet it looked like another planet. There were holes in the ground where trees had once stood, an occasional fireplace rising up on a bare foundation like a stake marking the spot where the house used to be. The trees that were still standing were denuded of leaves, their skeletal branches stripped of bark and reaching toward heaven, as if begging for help.
The backend of the occasional vehicle could be seen beneath piles of debris that had been houses, but it was the people who broke her heart. Some were walking up and down the streets calling out names.
Others were digging through what was left of their homes.
She saw her first dead man standing beside the upturned roof of a house. She knew he was waiting for someone to find his body before he moved on. She saw the shock on his face when he realized she could see him.
I’ll be back, she promised silently, and then looked away as Nate turned a corner and drove down yet another street before coming to an abrupt stop.
“We’re here,” he said.
Tara got out, her legs shaking, her heart pounding. The place was still filled with energy from the storm. She could hear screams and feel pain and fear from when it had actually happened.
When Nate grabbed her hand, it grounded the vibes, which helped her focus.
“Careful,” he said, guiding her around a sodden mattress lying on the ground.
They stopped in front of a half-dozen people who were sitting on a curb. The three women were crying. When the little boy with them saw Tara, he hid his face in his mother’s lap. The two men were in the same shape that Nate was. They all looked like they’d been to hell and got lost on the way back.
“Tara, this is my family. My father and mother, Martin and Naomi Pierce, my sister, Sally Washoe, and this is my sister, Delia Littlehorse, her son, Mico, and her husband John. It’s their daughter Gracie who’s missing.”
Delia stood.
Tara felt the devastation of them all as surely as if she’d lived it. “Tell me what happened,” she said.
“She was in my arms . . . and then she wasn’t,” Delia said, and then collapsed, sobbing.
Tara knelt in front of her. “I need to touch you. It helps me lock into the right vibe.”
Delia grabbed Tara’s arms. “Find her. Find my baby. Wherever . . . however . . . I beg you.”
But Tara didn’t hear a word Delia Littlehorse was saying. She was already in Gracie’s head, too scared to cry. When Delia turned loose, Tara fell backward onto her backside then scrambled to her feet, staggered a couple of times as she turned in a circle, then felt the pull and started walking.
“Tara, do you—”
She held up a hand for silence and the people behind her went quiet. Her steps were long and strong, while theirs were stumbling and weary as they followed her.
Within moments she was far ahead of them, but she could hear something they could not. She could hear Gracie’s voice. She was calling for her mama. What scared her most was that she couldn’t tell if Gracie was still in this world, or if she’d already crossed into the next. All she could do was follow the sound.
Mama.
She began to run, past one block where men with chainsaws were clearing paths in the street, then past a second where a church van was distributing bottles of water.
Mama. Mama.
She stopped in the middle of an intersection strewn with debris then turned left, bearing northeast to the swiftly rising sun. She ran past search crews and a passing ambulance, past a crew of firemen trying to put out a fire.
Mama.
The voice was louder now, which meant she was getting closer. Tara ran another block and then into what appeared to be a park, but the swing sets and teeter-totters had been upended and twisted into each other until there was nothing but a lot full of shattered plastic and twisted metal.
Mama. Mama.
She stopped to catch her breath and then closed her eyes. I hear you, Gracie. Keep talking to me.
When she started walking again, she went all the way through the park to the other side into what was left of a large stand of shade trees. Just as she entered the woods, the worst happened.
Gracie’s voice was suddenly silent.
“No!” Tara screamed, and began running from one pile of debris to another, tearing through limbs, pulling aside pieces of corrugated iron and insulation from houses, but there was no child, alive or dead.
All of a sudden a chill ran through her body. She stopped, took a deep cleansing breath and made herself focus, and just like that the answer came.
Look up.
And she did, straight up into the branches of an old spreading Oak tree recently denuded of leaves, to the fork high above her head and the tattered blanket waving in the wind that had caught among the limbs.
The branches were thick and forked in such a way that from where Tara stood, the blanket almost looked like a hammock.
Suddenly the hair on the back of her neck began to crawl. She could hear whimpering. And when she saw a tiny hand appear over the edge of the blanket, she gasped.
She spun to look behind her. Nate was a good block away, maybe farther, and the family even farther away than that. She didn’t dare yell at Nate for fear the sound of her voice would make the baby move and fall. She heard the whimper again and knew there were no seconds to spare.
There was a moment when she wished she was wearing tennis shoes instead of boots, but that was her only hesitation. She shed her raincoat, reached for the lowest limb and pulled herself up. Then little by little she began climbing, using the spreading limbs as her pathway to Gracie.
It felt like forever, but she finally reached the fork in the branches where the blanket was caught. She pulled herself up, then peered over, straight into the face of Gracie Littlehorse.
The toddler was covered in mud. Her rain-soaked clothes were bloodstained and beginning to dry, but when she saw Tara, she lifted her arms as if begging to be picked up.
Tara hesitated for fear she’d make matters worse in case the baby had broken bones, but Gracie was moving her arms, trying to kick the blanket off her legs and she was moving her head from side to side, as if trying to see where she was at. It was all the proof Tara needed that her neck and back were not broken.
Tara lifted her up into her arms. Gracie wrapped her arms around Tara’s neck so hard Tara could feel her trembling from shock.
“I’ve got you, Gracie. Don’t be scared. You’re okay now,” Tara said, patting the toddler’s frail, muddy back.
From this high up, Tara had a bird’s-eye view of the storm’s path. She couldn’t believe Gracie had been carried this far by the storm and be alive, and yet here she was.
She looked off in the distance and waved. Nate saw her and waved back, but he was running—his aches forgotten—his exhaustion a thing of the past. She leaned back against the limbs and began patting Gracie’s back.
“You must be a very special girl, Gracie Littlehorse. You flew with the storm last night and lit in this tree just like a bird to roost.”
Gracie whimpered.
Tara kept patting her back. “I know, honey, I know. Uncle Nate is coming. Your mama is coming and your daddy, too. It’s going to be okay, little girl. You’ll see.”
Minutes later, Gracie Littlehorse’s family surrounded the tree, all of them talking and crying at once. It was Nate who silenced them.
“Hush,” he said. “The louder you are, the more Gracie will struggle. She’s alive by the grace of God. Let’s keep her that way.”
Gracie still had a death grip on Tara’s neck. There was no way she could hold onto the child and climb down at the same time.
“I don’t think I can get down with her,” Tara said.
Nate looked up. “Don’t move. We’ll come up to you.”
The family was so focused on getting Gracie down they didn’t notice the rescue was being filmed by a news crew from an Oklahoma City television station that had come down to cover the damage.
Nate went up the tree first. John Littlehorse started up the tree behind Nate, with Nate’s father, Martin, going up behind John. They kept climbing until they were spaced up in the branches like members of a bucket brigade.
When Nate reached Tara he was so elated his heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest. He kept touching Gracie’s muddy little body, just to reassure himself this wasn’t a dream, then looked at Tara, in awe of what she’d done.
Tara sighed. “I told her she flew with the storm last night and came to roost like a little bird. She won’t let go.” Tears b
egan to roll down Tara’s face. “Oh Nate . . . she’s so scared. I can feel her little heart beating all the way to my bones.”
He swallowed past the lump in his throat and looked down. John was just a couple of branches below him, and his father, Martin, was standing on the lowest branch, about six feet above the ground, ready to hand the baby off to Delia, who waited below.
He looked off in the distance. His Mother and his nephew, Mico, were still over two blocks away, but it was time to get this done.
He put his hand on Gracie’s back. “Gracie . . . it’s Uncle Nate. Wanna go see Mama?”
Gracie was still holding onto Tara, but the familiar voice and the word Mama got her attention. “Mama?”
“Yes, baby girl. Come to me.”
In the end, he had to tear her arms from around Tara’s neck, and when he did, she began to scream. There was no soothing her—no talking to calm her. She cried all the way down, from Tara to Nate—from Nate to John—from John to Martin—and finally from Martin to Delia. The moment she was on the ground and in Delia’s arms, a cheer went up from the news crew.
That’s when the family realized the rescue had been filmed. The news crew had already alerted an ambulance that a baby had just been found alive up in a tree and it was enroute to the scene to transport her
Tara was the last to climb down, and when her feet touched ground, she was shaking.
Nate threw his arms around her and hugged her fiercely. His body was trembling as much as his voice. “I will never be able to repay you,” he said, as he reluctantly turned her loose.
Tara combed her fingers through her hair, her voice shaking from emotion. “Payback isn’t how this works.”
“I know, but you know what I mean. Come on. I’ll take you home.”
“I can’t go home.”
Nate frowned. “But—”
Tara picked up her raincoat and put it back on, shivering as the coat sheltered her from the chill wind.
“Someone else is lost. I made a promise to help the searchers find him.”
