Simple Gifts

by Lori Copeland

  A piece of tin—maybe a highway sign—slammed the passenger side. Debris poured through the shattered windshield. I quit trying to hold on to the steering wheel. Grit and bits of rubble stung my exposed flesh. My hands flew to my face, a shielding defense. A female’s frantic screams rang in my ears. Mine?

  Something large and heavy hit the hood of my car. My hands dropped, and I saw a commercial trash bin sail off into the churning blackness.

  God, help me! I was in a funnel cloud. A whirling sheet of tin roofing flew past, missing the car by centimeters.

  A fragment of a verse in Hebrews flashed through my mind: “Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment…”

  This was my appointed hour. Something slammed through the windshield and exited the back window. Screaming, I slid down as far as the seat belt would allow. Not far enough.

  Joe’s earlier warning flashed through my brain: Make your amends today, Marlene. Tomorrow isn’t promised to us.

  Falling, falling. Vic! The car plunged end-over-end before slamming down, hard. It bounced twice, landed on its side, and slid infinite feet before stopping.

  Pain shot through my right shoulder. Streaks of light blinded me. I slumped against the wheel, hurting as if someone had used me for a punching bag.

  A second later a mangled motorcycle hit the ground beside the car. No sign of the rider. I struggled to sit upright, took one look at the carnage around me, and passed out.

  I opened my eyes again when a couple of farmers began to pull me out of the wreckage. Rain came down intermittently, cold and pitiless. An elderly man towered above me. He had to stop and catch his breath every few moments, but he was doing his best.

  “Hold on little lady, we’ve about got you clear.”

  I could barely hear above the whine, some sort of a saw, and I realized there must be firemen and EMTs present.

  “Am I alive?” I was still groggy, having trouble focusing.

  “You’re one lucky lady.” Strong arms lifted me from twisted metal. Rain sluiced down in buckets, wind gusting. An immediate chill wracked me. Someone wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and led me to a waiting car. Pain shot up my left leg when I tried to put my weight down. White-hot needles stabbed my ankle. My rescuer had an arm around my waist, supporting my weight to the car. The moment I was seated, I took inventory. I couldn’t feel my right arm, my front teeth seemed to be intact, my left ankle felt swollen to twice its size, and when I licked my lips, I tasted salty blood.

  “How many injured?” I asked.

  A medic shook his head. “It’s bad.” Outside power lines were spitting sparks in the dark.

  Vic. Joe. Ingrid…I struggled to sit up, but firm hands held me down. An IV went into a vein. “Woodland Health Care facility?”

  “No damage assessment yet—”

  Darkness claimed me before I heard the rest of the answer.

  Hours later, I walked out of Boone County Hospital’s emergency room doors, wondering what to do next. The hospital staff released me on my assurance that I’d go straight home and see my doctor; I was in no shape to leave, but bed space was limited to the severely injured. With a broken right arm, sprained left ankle, numerous cuts and lacerations, I was one of the luckier ones. I was nicked and bruised, particularly across my stomach and chest where the seatbelt had cut into me. I would be a colorful character tomorrow, but I was alive.

  I’m not complaining, Lord, just grateful.

  A quick inventory confirmed I was missing my purse and cell phone.

  According to news reports, the tornado had cut a wide swath. Phone lines were down for fifty miles. So far, twelve had died in the storm, and damages were estimated to be in the millions.

  Cabs were nonexistent. My rental car was a twisted heap lying in a farmer’s field, but one thought filled my mind. I had to find Vic.

  Dear God, don’t let it be too late.

  I struck off, hobbling toward the busy highway with enough Vicodin in me to fight bulls.

  I limped along the roadside, blubbering as the realization of how close I’d come to checking out sank in. How easily I could be lying in the car wreckage, leaving behind so many unsaid thoughts, so many messes I should have cleaned up.

  Thank you, God. I don’t deserve what you’ve done for me, but I’m grateful. You know that.

  Hitchhiking was foreign to me, but that was the good thing about tragedy: the sap of human kindness oozes out of mankind when there is a real need. I’d barely thrown my hand in the air when a brightly lit semi braked and the driver asked if I needed help. Sporting a head bandage, a cast on one arm, numerous facial stitches, and a crutch (that I insisted I didn’t need but the hospital said I did) I conceded that yes, I could use a little help. “I need a ride to Parnass Springs.”

  “Climb aboard!”

  I focused on the high step. No way could I climb that. Seconds later the driver bounded out of the cab, and with a gentleness that surprised me, lifted me onto the seat, then handed me the crutch.

  We edged down the road, dodging downed trees and power lines. Carnage was everywhere. Flattened farms, houses, and barns. Businesses destroyed, building roofs blown off, animal carcasses, pieces of clothing, shoes, lawn chairs. Pink house insulation draped downed fences and severed lines. My hands were shaking so hard that I stuffed my uninjured one into my Windbreaker pocket. I’d never witnessed anything like this.

  It looked like a bomb had gone off.

  My trucker was a burly young man with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a tattoo of an eagle clutching an American flag on his right forearm. He grinned over at me. “Name’s Chuck.”

  “Marlene.”

  “So what happened to you?”

  There wasn’t an inch of flesh on me that didn’t feel battered and bruised. The seatbelt on the compact had almost cut me in two. “I got caught in a funnel cloud. Lifted my car off the highway and whirled it around in the air like cotton candy.” I shuddered, realizing what a narrow escape I’d had. My poor rental car. The second one I’d demolished. Avis would blacklist me forever.

  Chuck whistled. “That right? You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Lucky? I suppose so, but I believe God gets the credit.” I shivered, recalling the last harrowing half hour.

  He shrugged. “God, huh? If he exists, it doesn’t seem like he’s doing much good, considering the mess the world is in.” Chuck shot me a skeptical glance. “You one of those Biblethumpin’ women?”

  “Can’t remember the last Bible I thumped.” It was hard to carry on a coherent conversation with my head pounding like a jackhammer. Where was my migraine medicine? In my purse. Where was my purse?

  Chuck waved a beefy hand at the devastation lining both sides of the road. “You telling me a fair God would let something like this happen?”

  I closed my eyes. “Look, I don’t pretend to have answers—-even an answer. I’m not a theologian. I’m just an ordinary woman who believes in God.”

  “Rose-colored glasses.”

  “Faith.”

  He fell silent, then changed the subject. “Parnass Springs your home?”

  “For the time being. My aunt lives there and I’m here to settle an estate. My home’s in Glen Ellyn, Illinois.”

  “Near Chicago, huh? You’re a long way from home.”

  “So where are you from?”

  “Oklahoma City. Drive a rig out of there, hauling canned goods and produce for Clemons Wholesale Grocery. You ever hear of them?”

  Who hadn’t heard of Clemons? They were one of our biggest grocery chains. At my nod, he continued. “They’ve got a big warehouse in Oklahoma City. I come this way twice a month.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you came this way tonight.”

  He braked to avoid a couple of cows crossing the road. They eyed us placidly before stepping off the blacktop. Chuck eased past them and they scampered away.

  He shifted gears. “Got any kids?”

  “One, a daughter. Two
grandkids and another on the way.”

  “Nice. I’ve got two girls and a boy. They’re something else.” He grinned and pride dripped from his expression.

  I laughed. “They always are when they’re ours.”

  He shook his head. “Amazing, isn’t it? I was kind of wild, you know, and then I met Kelly and we got married and started having kids. Now I look back and see how little I used to have and how much I’ve got now.” His cell phone rang, and from his end of the conversation, I realized it was his wife.

  He ended the call and grinned. “That was Kelly. She works in a convenience store—some customer came in and told her about the tornadoes. She was worried.”

  The destruction hadn’t gotten any lighter the closer we got to Parnass. I had people I loved out here. Were they all right?

  The hour drive took twice as long as normal. I stared out the truck window watching for something familiar, but the tornado had changed the area into an alien landscape. “How could one storm do so much damage? It’s destroyed everything.”

  “Forecaster said there was a line of them. Seventeen funnels have touched down, worst outbreak in years.”

  “Seventeen!”

  “We’re almost to Parnass. Maybe it won’t be so bad in your neighborhood.” I clenched my teeth to keep from crying. The devastation was so complete, I couldn’t see how anything could survive. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, praying to see something still standing. A heap of rubble marked the place where a truck stop used to be. A couple of big rigs were lying on their side, tossed like toys in a child’s fury. Fence posts were ripped from the ground and left in a splintered heap. A sheet of tin roofing wrapped around the lone tree left standing.

  Large round hay bales littered the road. Chuck slowed, weaving his truck through them. We should have been in Parnass before now. Part of me didn’t want to arrive; afraid of what I would find, but another part of me was frustrated about how long it was taking. Aunt Ingrid. Vic and Joe.

  Oh, Lord, let them be all right.

  When the big truck pulled into town, my heart dropped. Not much was left standing. The café had half its roof blown off. A dozen or so houses, the gas station—all were destroyed. Homes left standing had extensive damage. Chuck stopped the truck and turned a worried countenance in my direction.

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t know.” I was numb, incapable of thought.

  “I’d take you to your house, but I don’t think I can get this rig through the mess.” He released the air brakes and climbed out of the cab. Moments later he lifted me down and handed me the crutch. We stood for a moment, watching dazed residents sift through debris.

  “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Chuck. I’d offer you something for gas, but I haven’t seen my purse in hours.”

  Chuck grinned. “I wouldn’t take it anyway.” He sobered. “I hope your family made it through all right.”

  I nodded, biting back tears. Joe and Ingrid would be in the cellar. You didn’t live in these parts and not take a storm seriously. But what about Vic? Where was he when the storm hit? In a farmer’s field, delivering a calf? Doctoring a sick horse? Where was he at this moment? Lying hurt and alone in a pile of rubble…I couldn’t bear the thought.

  I reached out with my one good hand and Chuck grasped it. “I hope you meet God one of these days.”

  He grinned. “You never know.”

  No, you never knew when God would show up.

  He climbed back into his rig. There wasn’t a lot of room to turn around, but he kept maneuvering until he finally got back on the road. He lifted a hand in farewell. I waved back.

  I took off hobbling down the street toward Ingrid’s house, terrified of what I’d find when I got there. It must be after midnight—or early Sunday morning. I’d lost all track of time.

  A large tree lay across the road, ripped out by the roots. I worked my way around it, trying to protect my injured ankle. This was an endurance test and I was losing. Downed power lines littered the ground; I trod warily, knowing I was in dangerous territory, one wrong step and instant electrocution.

  When I approached our street, I saw that the front porch and part of the roof had been torn off Aunt Beth’s house. Aunt Ingrid’s house looked to have fared better. The old oak was uprooted near the cellar door. She’d complained about that tree earlier, that the roots were penetrating the cellar. I’d promised to have it removed. Another thing I’d not gotten around to. It looked like nature had taken care of it for me. Half the shingles were gone off her roof, but the structure looked intact.

  A pile of broken boards and rubble blocked my way. I inched around it, taking me off the road and through the Brewsters’ front yard. I paused in front of Joe’s house. The back cottage was gone; the garage was sitting in the lane at the back of the lot. Half of Joe’s house remained. The kitchen was mostly rubble. I spotted the coffeemaker, the odd looking contrivance with all the hoses running from it, sitting on the kitchen counter untouched.

  Neither Joe nor Vic were anywhere around.

  I picked my way to Ingrid’s ground cellar and pounded on the door, yelling her name.

  Her voice came back. “Here! In here!”

  “Are you all right?”

  Please, God, let her be. She sounded scared. With good reason, considering what she’d been through. I should have been here with her, instead of at Woodlands with Lexy. My heart lurched. Lexy! The mother I’d only just met. Had she survived the storm?

  “We’re fine. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay.” Except for a few bruised and broken areas that were giving me a lot more trouble than I appreciated. I felt like I’d been beaten with a clu—

  Wait! She said we. We’re fine. Of course! Joe and Vic would have taken shelter with her. “Is Vic in there with you?”

  “No. Joe is—and Mrs. Potts.”

  “Where’s Vic?” I held my breath. Please, God, let the news be good.

  Joe’s voice came through the heavy door. “He went to immunize Pete Chaffee’s herd around one o’clock. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Marlene?” Ingrid again.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve got to get us out of here. There’s something across the door, and we’re trapped.”

  The old oak was blocking the door. It was practically sitting in the middle of it. “It’s going to take awhile before I can get someone to cut the tree away from the cellar door.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The town is destroyed. I don’t know where to find help, but I’ll try.”

  “You’ve got to get us out! These walls are closing in on me. I’m likely to get the paralysis again.”

  “No, you won’t! Don’t you pull that on me, Ingrid. I’ve been picked up by a tornado and dropped, been in the hospital, and hitched a ride home with a trucker who had more tattoos than a circus act. I’ll get you out of there; I don’t know how, but I will, but you pull that paralysis thing on me again and I’ll leave you in there. I mean it!”

  I shut up. Leaning close to the cellar door, I listened. Real quiet. I realized I’d been screaming earlier. Not a sound came from the cellar. Had I shocked Ingrid into cardiac arrest?

  A meek voice filtered through the wooden door. “Whatever you say, honey. Just do the best you can and we’ll be satisfied.”

  My shoulder slumped as I stared at the door. I must have sounded deranged. I took a deep breath and held my aching side. “I’m leaving now to get help, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

  The same meek little voice replied, “You do that honey, but don’t rush; we’ll be here when you get back.”

  I could not believe it. I’d finally gotten her to back off. Favoring my bad ankle, I clumped down the street looking for a Good Samaritan with a chainsaw. Eons later, the sound of saws drew me. A group of men was trying to remove a tangle of tree limbs and broken lumber.

  I snagged one of them. “I need help.”

 
He glanced at my bandages. “Looks like you do. Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

  I pointed back the way I had come. “My elderly aunt and two neighbors are trapped in a cellar. A tree has fallen across the door.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t help, we’re trying to clear the road.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks, as if someone had opened the floodgates. He frowned. “Here! Don’t do that! Let me talk to Frank.”

  Apparently Frank was the broad-shouldered redhead wielding a saw like a weapon. The man was flat-out clearing brush. After a few minutes the first man returned.

  “Okay. Where’s that cellar?”

  I pointed back the way I’d come. “Over that direction.”

  “Can we drive there?”

  “Most of the way.” I was so tired and battered, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. We got in a pickup, and he drove in the direction I indicated. After a few minutes he said, “This looks like Joe Brewster’s neighborhood.”

  “It is. He’s in the cellar with my aunt.”

  He turned and squinted at me. “You’re Ingrid Moss’s niece?”

  “Yes. Marlene.”

  His features softened, as if by not introducing himself he’d committed a breach of conduct. “Dave Anderson. Joe’s my pastor, or he was. He’s retired now.”

  “I know. I was at his retirement party.”

  “That’s right, you were. You look different.”

  “My car was picked up by a funnel and…oh, never mind.” I was too exhausted to repeat the scenario.

  We braked in front of the house and he opened the pickup door and got out. “Where’s the cellar?”

  Now that help had arrived, Ingrid wanted out! She screeched and pounded on the door. I assured her I was doing all I could, but my mind was on Vic. He was hurt, I was sure of it. I couldn’t say why, but I was. I knew he was lying somewhere injured and alone, and I had to find him. But where did I start?

  “Aunt Ingrid?”

  “Yes—are they working?”

  “They’re working. They should have the tree cleared in another half hour. I’m going to look for Vic. Where is the Chaffee farm?”

  “Oh, three, four miles out.”