by Austin Boyd
“We’re headed to the Par-Mar for a taxi. We’re fine.”
“Shouldn’t pass this up.” He waved a hand in Sophia’s direction, his eyes evaluating her head to toe. “Hey, who’s the pink and pregnant lady?”
Sophia kept her gaze set straight ahead, matching Laura Ann’s stride.
“A friend, Tommy. And we don’t need a lift.”
“Suit yourself.” The young man hit the brake, stomped the diesel into drive, and roared away.
Laura Ann frowned and kept moving. “I liked him—a few years ago,” she said. “But he had a problem controlling his hands. He has a nasty temper when he’s denied.”
Passing the bank for the third time that day, Sophia slowed, out of breath. “I need to stop a minute,” she said, panting. Her face red with exertion and wet with sweat, she set her bags down and plopped on a mud-covered bench at Bridgeway Road. The bridge behind them — the half of it still intact—stood resolute against a frothing torrent. Sitting on this bench thirty-six hours ago, she’d have been ten feet under water.
“I need to make one more call.” Sophia panted. She fished out the phone and leaned back into the mud-caked bench. Laura Ann set her bags aside, and then wandered over to a road barrier at the washed-out crossing, providing a little privacy.
Sophia’s hands described something during an animated call that Laura Ann couldn’t hear. She waited at the edge of the bridge, rebuilt not long ago, marveling at the power of the water that severed it for the third time in her twenty years.
To her left, Route 18 resembled a two-mile-long mud pie. As far as she could see, everything at eye level was a reddish shade of taupe. A coat of mud—earth paint — covered grass, road, and homes. The pastel red-brown of drying mud caked phone poles, trees, and barns at a constant level. Chalky brown desolation.
Sophia waved at her and Laura Ann headed back to the bench.
“I’ve found a dear friend,” she heard when she got closer. “I’ll need another week here, but I’m fine.” Sophia touched the screen and dropped the phone into her purse.
Laura Ann cocked her head to one side as she approached. “Everything okay?” Laura Ann asked. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but …”
“Fine. My employees can manage without me.” She took a long breath, sweat dripping from her forehead. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“I don’t understand. I thought — “
Sophia shrugged. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have put you through this, Laura Ann. But when I met that rude banker, it got me thinking. You’re up against some stiff opposition if the bank wants to recode your loan. I can’t leave you hanging. The least I can do is to stay and help you get those stools ready.” She smiled. “I mean — if you don’t mind. Who knows? I might even get my car out.”
Laura Ann felt her face go flush, aggravations over the dangerous canoe trip mixing with the memory of the miraculous bailout at the bank. How could she refuse?
Sophia pointed up the road. “We’ve got company.”
A pickup rolled in their direction, a familiar face leaning out the window.
“Word travels fast,” Laura Ann replied. “I guess he got your voice mail.”
The truck came to a stop and Ian threw open the door. A beige coat of wet mud caked the sides of the vehicle. When Ian stepped out of the pickup, Laura Ann threw her arms around his neck. He stood tall, a stalk of corn.
“You couldn’t wait.” He chided her with a squeeze. “Just had to climb in that stupid canoe and come to town.”
She let go of his neck. Unshaven, he had a salty line about his brow where sweat gathered under the game warden ball cap. His eyes were red, like he’d been up long hours, and she caught a familiar whiff of hair tonic. “I heard you were in town when I dropped in at Auggie’s for a bite. That’s when I checked the voice mail. Sorry I didn’t find you earlier.”
“Did you manage to get some lunch?” she asked, pinching his side.
“Are you kidding? I jumped in the truck and headed this way soon as I listened to your message.” He pinched her in return. “Had to hurry. I saw Tommy’s truck over at the Exxon. Thought he might get to you first.”
Ian waved toward Sophia. “Forget the taxi. I’d be glad to take you over to New Martinsville myself.” He patted the hood of the truck. “Boss said it’s okay, what with the flood and all.”
Sophia stood and picked up the grocery bags. “I’d love a lift, but — “
“She’s staying with me a while longer, Ian,” Laura Ann said, cutting her off. “But a ride back to The Jug would be super.”
Ian glanced at Sophia, then back at Laura Ann, and shrugged. “You’re sure you don’t need a ride to the rental place? Really. It’s not a bother.”
“No,” Sophia said in unison with Laura Ann. They both laughed.
“We’re headed back to the canoe.” Laura Ann let go of Ian to take the sacks from Sophia. She set them in the bed of the truck. “And for the record,” she declared with a playful pinch at Ian’s bony ribs, “Tommy Sovine never had a chance.”
Half an hour later, Ian held the bow of the canoe above the logjam, bracing the craft against the high water that rushed past. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, wagging his head.
Laura Ann tapped his cap with a paddle. “I was born in a canoe,” she replied, determined not to show her concern.
“That’s a stretch,” he replied. “I don’t know … two women? On their own?” he asked, wagging his head, his smile broad. “Better get across fast and hug that far bank. Hold on to the trees if you need to while you round the bend. I don’t want to have to pry you out of that log jam.”
“Yes sir, Officer Ian. Now, let us go. Gotta get home and get started on a meal. You’ll come for dinner. Promise?”
Ian nodded. “Gonna have to sleep on the couch, though. I’m not canoeing out of The Jug at night during a flood.”
“That’s the way I want it,” Laura Ann responded, then reached forward to touch his hand. “We’ll be fine. Pork chops, beans and potatoes, fried okra, and a cobbler. Don’t be late.” With that, she put her oar in the water and pushed out of his grip.
The Middle Island Creek raced to its doom, swollen muddy torrents overflowing their banks, but not the ravaging liquid monster that tore through the valley three days ago. Laura Ann called out directions to Sophia but didn’t need to watch her. They were a team now. The canoe shot across the creek and Laura Ann guided them along the brushy edge, pointed downstream toward the logjam.
She raised her oar in a wave goodbye, and Ian signaled back. Tall like a tree, shoulders and arms his branches, he stood anchored on the far bank, his eyes locked with hers. Warm tingles rippled down her back. She waved once more, and then set her eyes on the deadly dam.
“Hug the left bank,” Laura Ann hollered, making herself heard above the water’s roar. No longer the wicked waterfall that she’d witnessed below, water sliced through the logjam, a wooden strainer sifting a brown torrent. A canoe would stand no chance once smashed up against the jumble of trees, cars, and houses. A minute later, Laura Ann cut sharp left only twenty feet from the dam to join the natural flow of the creek in its seven-mile loop about their jug-shaped spit of land.
Three miles downstream, Laura Ann guided the boat to a rest, pointed into a broad bank. Every trip when she glided to a stop below the farmhouse, she wondered in amazement at a waterway that enabled her to canoe with the current yet always find her way back home.
“If you’d told me we could do this, I’d have never believed it,” Sophia said, helping to pull the canoe and its load of food through sticky mud into clean grass. “It’s like an Escher painting. You finish where you start.”
“A what?” Laura Ann asked.
“An artist named Escher. He did a lithograph of stairs that spiraled back on themselves. Like this creek.”
“That’s why my relatives settled here,” Laura Ann replied, grabbing a handful of plastic sacks. “Imagine how they appreciated it, before there were any roads.”
“Let me have some,” Sophia said, taking two sacks from Laura Ann. “I’m not as fast—but I’ll get there.” She motioned with a loaded hand in the direction of the house. “I know it was a lot of trouble, but thanks for taking me to town. And for your hospitality. I think the stay will do me good.”
“It’s the least I can do.” Laura Ann toted her load alongside Sophia, starting the quarter mile uphill slog to the house through verdant fields lush with timothy and clover. “Thank you for that help at the bank.”
“You’re welcome. I got the best end of the deal, by the way. Now I have Christmas presents for everyone at the office.”
Together they waded upslope through deep soggy grass. Like a green sauna, the air above the pasture lay thick with humidity. Sophia stopped frequently to wipe at her brow, pushing back matted black hair. Laura Ann’s T-shirt clung to her chest and back, soaked through by the time she’d walked halfway to the house.
“Whew!” Sophia exclaimed, setting her bags down for the fourth time. “Out of shape.”
“Maybe not,” Laura Ann said, waiting at her side, yet anxious to be on her way. The cool of the woodshop beckoned her. “Remember, you’re expecting, Sophia. Take it slow.”
“Perhaps. But this shouldn’t be so hard.”
“The humidity makes it worse. Let me take two of those.” Laura Ann reached over and took the sacks. Sophia did not resist.
“How did they cut this grass before tractors?” Sophia asked once they were underway again.
“By hand. They used a big blade. A scythe.”
“This entire field?” Sophia wheezed. “Cut by hand?”
“They had all summer,” Laura Ann replied, smiling. She remembered Daddy’s favorite joke. “If we’re not working,” he’d asked with a laugh, “what else is there to do?” Hard work, the essence of a good life.
Breaking a path through tall grass, two-thirds the way up the slope, Laura Ann looked back at Sophia.
She’d disappeared.
Laura Ann dropped the sacks and dashed back down the trail of bent grass. Thirty feet back, she found her friend, lying on her side in the pasture, motionless. “Sophia!” she cried out, dropping to her knees. No response.
Laura Ann put a hand to Sophia’s face. Sweat sheeted off her skin, yet she felt cool. The arteries in her temples flared, throbbing in a rapid beat. Laura Ann could barely feel a pulse at her throat. She panted in shallow rapid breaths.
“Sophia!” Laura Ann cried again.
She had little time. Sophia needed to cool off fast. Laura Ann pulled her T-shirt off and raced back down their path toward the creek. Clad in a sports bra and jeans, she plunged headlong through the hayfield, headed for water. Half a minute later she bounded up the grassy trail, clutching a soaked shirt.
“Can you hear me?” Laura Ann asked as she squeezed a pint of mud-tinged water on Sophia’s throat, and then draped the damp T-shirt on her forehead. She patted her on the cheek, then took Sophia’s cool clammy hands in her own and massaged them, desperate for some response.
Sophia didn’t move.
CHAPTER 17
Relaxing on the front porch in the late evening, Laura Ann slowed her rocker to match Sophia’s cadence. “I don’t remember any of it,” Sophia said. “We were talking about cutting the field by hand, and the idea of all that manual labor in this heat made me sick. I went from nauseous to dizzy in a heartbeat, then lost my balance. I woke up here, lying on the porch.”
Ian sat on the front steps, his back to one of the white posts, whittling on a stick while the women talked. “Sounds just like heat exhaustion. You don’t remember the tractor ride?” he asked, holding up the point on the stick to get a better view of his handiwork.
“No. How did you get me up on the porch, Laura Ann?”
“After you woke, I ran to the barn and got the big tractor. It has a front-end loader. I sort of rolled you into the bucket and drove you up here, then rolled you back out at the steps.” She pointed to tractor tracks in the front lawn.
“Just like that?” Sophia asked with a laugh. “Cooled me down with a bunch of sweaty flood water, scooped me up in a dirty tractor bucket, and dumped me on the porch?”
“It worked,” Ian said. Then he added, with a chuckle, “By the way, I used that loader to move manure last week.”
Sophia’s jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “Cow manure?” she asked, dusting off the back of her arms like there might still be some on her.
“Don’t worry,” Laura Ann said. “It was dry.”
The three sat in a comfortable silence, watching the sun set in a clear summer sky. Ian reached across the porch with his stick to tap Laura Ann’s sandal.
“Great dinner. Loved those pork chops.”
“You outdid yourself,” Sophia said. “I adore your kitchen, by the way. It’s been years since I cooked with gas.”
“Don’t need much electricity out here,” Laura Ann replied. “Gas stove, gas heat, gas refrigerator, gas freezer, gas hot water, gas generator. And all the natural gas is free. The oil well’s on our property — up there,” she said, pointing toward the ridge.
“That, and some batteries for the radio,” Ian interjected. “By the way, I brought you one of my walkie talkies, Laura Ann. If you two ever need to reach me.” He picked up another piece of wood and began to whittle again. “The radio is in my bag.”
“I appreciate that,” Sophia said, her tone more somber than it had been all night. “We might need it.”
Sophia bit her upper lip, and then folded her hands, fingers interlaced. She looked down at her stomach. “Something’s not right. With me.”
“What do you mean?” Ian asked. He dropped his new piece of wood and turned to face her.
“Ian’s an EMT, Sophia. He carries his medical bag with him everywhere.”
“Always,” he replied. “So what’s the problem? Besides the heat stress, I mean.”
Sophia took a long deep breath, and then continued. “I’ve never been this dizzy before, even on hot days. Today when I stopped to sit on that bench and call my office, I couldn’t stand up a moment longer.”
“How often does this happen?” Ian asked.
“It hasn’t. At least, never like this. I’d get a little woozy once in a while, and I chalked it up to the pregnancy. I walk about a mile every day back home — but never on a day like today.”
“I’m guessing it’s the heat and the humidity, but let’s see what we can find out,” Ian said, springing up to go in the house. A minute later, he emerged with a long gray tote bag lined with red piping, red handles, and a large red cross.
“You weren’t kidding,” Sophia said, her mouth agape.
“Game wardens draw gunfire sometimes,” Ian remarked. “It pays to be prepared. And I enjoy it.”
“You’re one handy man to have around,” Sophia said.
A few minutes later, after poring through a medical manual in his bag, Ian stood next to Sophia and spoke in a serious tone. “Your blood pressure’s pretty high. One fifty over a hundred. That puts you at a greater risk of heat exhaustion.”
“I’ve never had high blood pressure. Always low. Could it be the pregnancy?”
“That’s possible. You might have gestational hypertension. It’s not uncommon in some pregnant women … although you don’t fit the profile. You’re young and thin, with no previous history of high blood pressure. Or, it could be something a little more complicated, a problem your doctor would need to evaluate.” He put the blood pressure cuff back in his bag. “You could see a doctor in Sistersville. We have a hospital here.”
“Could this affect the baby?” Laura Ann asked.
Ian picked up his EMT manual, thumbing through it. “Perhaps. The book says to watch for toxemia or preeclampsia. Those can affect the child, and might result in a premature birth or a low birth weight. Worst case? They can lead to seizures.”
Everyone grew quiet with his last word.
After a long pause, Sophia drew in another
long breath, then asked, “What other symptoms does it talk about?”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Persistent headaches, blurred vision, sensitivity to light. And pain in your abdomen.” He paused. “Any of those bothering you?”
She nodded, lowering her head to massage her temples. “Not before. But now? A splitting headache. I thought it might be from dehydration.” She lifted up a half-finished glass of water.
“Might be.” Ian looked at Laura Ann for a long moment, then back at Sophia. “But if it’s not, we could leave right now. It’s getting dark, but I could have you at the hospital in ninety minutes.”
“On the canoe?” Laura Ann exclaimed. Sophia waved him off. “No. That’s okay. I mean, it’s just a headache.”
Laura Ann left her chair and sat at the foot of Sophia’s rocker, her hand on her friend’s forearm. “Falling out in the field might be more than a headache, Sophia. We don’t have to wait. Ian can get you out this minute.”
She patted Laura Ann on the hand and shook her head. “I’m too stubborn,” she said with a smile. “Let’s sleep on it. I’ll probably feel lots better after some rest. Besides, if we do have to make that trip again, I’d rather cross the whirlpool in daylight.”
Ian nodded and repacked his bag.
“I’ll be up early,” Laura Ann said. “First light.”
“Not me,” Sophia replied, standing up. She wobbled a bit once erect. “But don’t eat right away. I want to cook breakfast. My gift to you both.”
Ian beamed. “You’re on!”
Yellow shafts of light danced with the flicker of a kerosene lamp, a gentle golden glow illuminating the living room and the world beyond it. Another lantern in Laura Ann’s bedroom cast a yellow pool of light on the end of the porch.
“He’s snoring.” Laura Ann pointed through the window at Ian, stretched out on the sofa, too long to fit, but too tired to notice. “He stayed up all last night to help people dig out in Middlebourne. No wonder he’s exhausted.”
The flicker of flames made the pickets of the porch railing appear to move in the dim golden light, and faint shadows shifted on the grass beyond. Laura Ann stood with Sophia at the rail and gazed out into a humid June evening. The end of day gathered both women in its arms as beetles buzzed in dark air, alighting on the screens.
