by Lucy Evanson
A shower of debris began to fall to earth, replacing the rain. In a flash, the yard was littered with the remains of lives the storm had already torn apart. There were books skidding across the wet grass. A china plate exploded as it hit the side of the house. Sheets of newspaper whipped past them like hawks after mice. Ears of corn and green apples thudded like mortars in wartime. A brick fell to ground not five feet in front of her, bouncing like a child’s ball. There were leaves and paper and clothing ripped from a line, all dumped around them, then swept up again by the strengthening wind. Above the noise of the wind, nails squealed as they were torn from wood, and she watched as the roof of the barn begin to peel away. The boards whistled in the air when they passed overhead. She felt her ears pop.
When the men finally reached the root cellar, David shoved Barney inside. Melanie turned her head to look around. She could no longer turn her body. The six of them already there were pressed as tightly as could be, like pickles in an overstuffed barrel. There was no room left for David. But then he knew that when he went for Barney.
Her head whipped around toward the doorway. David was outside. Alone in the storm.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Bar the door!” David shouted, as he grabbed the heavy door and pushed, struggling against the wind.
“No!” Polly screamed. She had one arm around Barney and one around Lee, but she reached for David as though she could still protect him.
“Stay with us!” Melanie cried, but her words were lost in the roaring wind. The last thing she saw was David framed by a hellish sky as he put his shoulder against the door and closed them in.
Darkness fell.
~ ~ ~
In her whole life, she’d never been as terrified as she was there in the root cellar. They barred the door from the inside, but the storm clawed at the door, tearing at it, hammering it with every rock, every brick, every branch it could find, and the wind screamed like a beast starved for blood. Melanie tried to block out the noise, clapping her hands over her ears, but it was useless. She could only pray for it to end.
Her prayer was answered sooner than she expected. The jet of dust that had been blowing under the door died away, and the roaring wind faded. The rumble of debris pounding on the door ceased, and was replaced after a minute by the soft patter of rain. Not a downpour, not a storm, just soft, gentle rain.
“Is it over?” Lee asked. His voice sounded as shaky as Melanie felt, and she took his hand in hers.
“I think so,” she said. She leaned forward and pressed her ear against the door. It was entirely quiet aside from the rain. There was no birdsong, no cattle lowing in the fields, no buzz of cicadas in the trees. It was like the whole ranch was waiting for her to take the first step. “Let’s open up.”
Two of the men squeezed past her to remove the bar and open the door, though it was only with difficulty. A tree branch, thick around as Lee, was resting against it, and they made their way out of the root cellar only by fighting through the leaves.
The tornado was gone. The clouds still raced overhead, chasing the storm’s fury across the prairie, but the darkness was receding and the thunder was now soft and distant. The air was still full of dust, feathers, and scraps of paper that drifted slowly down to litter the fields, but the air was cool and calm.
“You men spread out,” Polly said to the ranch hands. “See if you can find David.”
Melanie had heard stories growing up about how capricious tornadoes could be. They could strip the bark from one tree yet not disturb the most tender leaves on another tree only feet away. They could mercilessly pummel some people, but gingerly carry others on cushions of air, depositing them scared but safe miles away. She’d even heard one story about a woman who emerged from her shelter to find her home entirely destroyed, except for a bowl of eggs still sitting on her kitchen table where she’d left it. They were entirely unpredictable, and now she had the chance to see it firsthand.
The house had made it through the storm with only minor damage, and much of that looked to be cosmetic: the paint had been scratched and scoured by the flying debris. Two windows were broken. The weathervane was missing, probably still airborne but well east of the ranch by now. Overall, it would take some cleaning up, but it looked like they’d be sleeping in their beds tonight.
The barn, on the other hand, was gone. Not a board stood now where the hulking building had been; it was only fifty yards from the house, give or take, and all that remained were the foundation stones. Polly’s garden, which had been alongside, was picked clean of practically every living plant, leaving a nearly pristine patch of earth as if ready for planting.
The ranch bore a scar where the earth had been whipped. Where the funnel had touched down, the grass had been cut to stubble, and she could see its path all the way up the hill, directly to where she had planned to hide. There had been perhaps a dozen oak trees standing tall atop the hill this morning. Three remained.
David saved my life. Lord, let him be all right. She called his name and slowly turned around, trying to find him among all of the scrap that had been dumped on the property. It was stunning to see how much stuff had been lifted from neighboring farms and deposited on the ranch. Shredded fabric was everywhere. There were dead chickens sprinkled here and there. A wagon wheel, still attached to half of a busted axle. Enough boards to build a brand new barn, if they hadn’t been splintered and cracked. A rusty bucket and a corncob doll with a blue dress. A family Bible with the cover torn off. Out in the field, a hulking carcass, too distant and dirty to tell whether it was a cow or a horse. A hand mirror, the glass nowhere to be seen, was stuck handle-first in the ground like somebody had planted it there. So many things that had been somebody’s property only minutes ago, and which were now only junk. All of this, largely covered with a blanket of hay and straw, paper and mud.
“David!” Lee called.
Nothing—and nobody—was moving. Melanie tried to tamp down the fear that was welling up inside of her. “Come with me, Lee,” she said, taking the boy by the hand. “We’ll go find him.” They waded through the trash together, finding nothing.
“Miss Polly!”
Melanie turned. It was Barney, staring at the ground and waving Polly over, his eyes wide with alarm. At his feet was something small. Too small to be a body, she thought. A whole body, anyway. God, no. She gathered up her skirts and ran with Lee as quickly as she could, taking care not to trip over anything, and reached Barney just as Polly did.
“Oh, God,” Polly whispered, and she clutched Barney’s arm to keep from falling over. At his feet was a leather boot.
“That could be anybody’s,” Melanie said. “That might belong to somebody the next farm over.”
“It’s David’s,” Polly said. She reached down and picked it, then wiped the mud from the side. There, high up on the pull strap, the letters DT were tooled into the leather. “He’s worn boots with his initials ever since...since he was a boy.” Her voice crumbled as she reached the end of the sentence, and she collapsed into Barney’s arms as she began to weep.
“That can’t be,” Melanie whispered. “He’s still alive somewhere. He must be.” As she looked around, however, it was like she was seeing the aftermath with fresh eyes. When surrounded by so much destruction, survival was perhaps too much to hope for.
“Maybe he ran the other way,” Lee said. He was crying too, but he was trying hard to hide it. “Maybe he ran and hid.”
Melanie pulled the boy to her and hugged him tight. “Maybe so,” she lied. They held each other there for a long while, crying and hugging, praying that things were different than they all knew them to be. Melanie could feel the sunlight warm her shoulders as it broke through the clouds, and high overhead a hawk called out as it circled the fields. If she tried very hard and kept her eyes shut tight, she could almost imagine that none of this had happened, and that all was right on the ranch. Almost.
“Hey, you guys found my boot!”
&
nbsp; ~ ~ ~
David could have stayed there in the root cellar, dug in his heels and tried to hold the door closed as the tornado passed directly over them. Or he could have done his best to protect them. Melanie may have called them just his employees, but they were the only people he had, and sometimes to protect your people you had to let them go. He stepped outside.
The wind had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, and he had watched the barn disintegrate before his eyes. This was upsetting for a couple of reasons: number one, his father had built that barn, so he took its destruction as a family affront; and two, he had been planning to take shelter there.
Time for plan B, he thought as he spun and made for the house. Gotta get under the porch. He was buffeted by the wind and the debris it carried, but even as he felt himself cut and pounded by every scrap the storm could throw at him, he only had one thought in mind: Survive.
Something hard hit him in the temple—it looked like it was a horseshoe spinning away, but then his vision went blurry immediately—and he fell to one knee for a moment before he was able to stumble ahead. Two steps closer and he fell again, but this time he was unable to get to his feet.
Guess that hit me harder than I thought. Everything was out of balance. Tilted to the side. Or is that just me? He tried crawling, and nearly made it to the porch when things started to go black. A little closer, he urged himself, but his body refused to listen. David had the oddest sensation of being cradled in midair, and then he drifted off.
He woke up under the porch. He was scratched, banged up, and missing a boot, but he was alive. Can’t complain about that. He wriggled out on his hands and knees, elbowing aside the junk that clogged the way, and emerged into the slowly brightening afternoon.
David tried not to immediately react to anything in life. He had seen, time and time again, that a little thought went a long way, whether you were facing good news or bad. Nevertheless, his nature leaned toward reacting, so it was frequently a difficult struggle. Like today.
His heart ached to see what had been done to his ranch. It was one giant trash bin now. The only good thing—and it was a hell of a silver lining for a hell of a storm—was that he saw his people immediately, safe and sound.
It was like he’d had to hold his breath and was now finally free to breathe. There they are. He could see four of them—Polly and Barney, Melanie and Lee—huddled together in the middle of the yard. Two of the guys were walking out to the field, no doubt going to check on the herd. Good men. Another was following the path of the tornado, probably to check the east fences. That makes seven, all present and accounted for. Thank God. The barn I can replace, but you can’t replace people.
David started toward Melanie and the others. It was slow going, what with one boot and a yard full of junk, and as he neared them he saw that they were hugging and crying. Though he couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, it was easy to imagine. Hell, I’d be babbling with relief too, he thought as he headed for them. When he was a bit closer, he saw that Polly held his boot in her hand. Well, all right. Today’s getting better already.
After he called to them, Polly stared like she was seeing him rise from the grave. Barney’s eyes were just as wide, and Lee broke into a huge smile.
David grinned. It was good to see them after having gone through what they had. But when Melanie turned her face to his, he suddenly felt as if another horseshoe had come flying out of nowhere and hit him again. He was stunned by how beautiful she was. Her hair was wildly distraught, her face was streaked with tear trails through the dust, and her dress was torn and dirty. But that day, at that moment, she was the most alluring woman he’d ever seen, past or present.
She moved toward him as soon as their eyes met, and he swept her into his arms like she belonged there. “I thought you were gone,” she said, taking his face in her hands.
He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. It had been hiding those gorgeous eyes, and there was nothing he wanted to see more just then. “A little rainstorm like that’s not going to get rid of me,” he murmured, then slipped his hands to her hips and pulled her close. He had passed on his first chance to kiss her, and it nearly turned out to be his only chance. He wasn’t going to risk that again.
Her lips were soft and full, and he felt them part slightly, letting his tongue brush against hers. David could feel his blood pulsing in his veins, and his grip on her tightened. In an instant, he had nearly forgotten about the destruction that surrounded them, nearly forgotten about Polly and the others looking on. He could feel the warmth of her body under his fingertips, and he would have given anything to let that kiss go on forever.
Finally, however, Melanie broke away gently and placed her cheek against his. “What you said before...nothing has changed,” she said. He could feel her breath, warm against his skin.
“No, I guess not,” he said.
“Then you’re not the kind of man I need.” She kissed him again, briefly, on the side of his neck, then turned and reached for Lee’s hand. “Let’s go get started cleaning up,” she said, as they walked toward the house.
David unconsciously raised a hand to his lips. He could almost still feel her kiss. He didn’t know it yet, but years later, when he would think of this day, he would first remember not the tornado touching down on his land, but the touch of her lips on his.
Chapter 12
“Why don’t you sit down and rest for a spell?”
Melanie glanced over at the table. There wasn’t a spare inch of space. Platters and bowls were laden with so much food that even if she poured herself a cup of coffee, there would be nowhere to set it down. “I’ll wait until after lunch,” she said. “If I take a seat now, I’ll never be able to get up again.”
Polly nodded and turned back to the pot, where she fished a boiled potato out of the water and poked at it with a fork. It flaked apart nicely. Polly dropped it back in, then moved the pot from the fire.
The mashed potatoes were just about the last thing Melanie could think of that they were going to prepare. They had been cooking for two days straight, and they had used up so many supplies that if another tornado came along, there would be plenty of room for David in the root cellar this time, along with a steer or two.
“I thought it was a lot of work just feeding fifteen men,” Melanie said. “Eighty is something else entirely.”
Polly poured out the potato water, closing her eyes as the steam rose to bathe her face. “Ain’t that the truth? Good thing we don’t need barns put up too often,” she said. “Can you hand me that bowl?”
Melanie steadied it while Polly dumped out the potatoes. “I’ll start bringing out some of these things so you have room to work,” she said, nodding toward the table. “I know it’s not quite noon yet, but—”
Polly laughed. “You ever know a man to complain about eating earlier than he expected?”
Melanie had to laugh at herself. “Not that I can recall.” She grabbed a platter piled high with fried chicken and backed out onto the porch.
In the four days since the tornado had laid waste to the ranch, the men had been working nonstop to clean things up. Their efforts, however, perhaps best illustrated just how much was left to do: four days of work from sunup to sundown, and there was still trash strewn everywhere she looked. Much of their time, of course, had been on clearing and preparing the barn’s foundation, which was as important as it was invisible from where she stood.
She stepped down from the porch and looked over to the barn site. Melanie couldn’t exactly describe the feeling that filled her as she watched the men swarming over the area. And swarming is the right word, she thought. Except instead of tearing down, they’re building up. Just seeing so many people here to help, all giving their sweat and toil in exchange for nothing more than friendship and a free lunch, almost made her well up. In spite of all the terrible things that happened in the world, there were days like this when she was sure that the good outweighed the bad.
The men started arriving this morning around seven and got right to work laying out the framework on the ground, fueled by coffee and buttermilk biscuits, both fresh and hot. By now, hours later, they had already raised the end walls and most of the interior trusses. The sides and roof would follow after lunch.
A few other women—neighbors that Melanie did not know—were on fly duty, shooing away the insects that were intent on sampling the dishes that they had brought to pass. They had mocked up long tables with sawbucks and boards, both of which would be used for the afternoon’s work as soon as the meal was over, and it looked like there would be plenty of food in spite of the scores of hungry men that would soon break for lunch. Melanie placed the chicken on the nearest table and examined the spread. There were fried steaks and sausages. A basket of boiled eggs and a huge pot of baked beans. Cornbread. Sourdough. Some of the morning’s leftover buttermilk biscuits. Pies and puddings, corn on the cob, watermelons waiting to be cracked open. Plus her chicken and all of the food that was waiting in the kitchen. It would be more than enough, but just as no man had ever complained about eating too early, none would complain about too much.
She turned to watch the progress on the barn. Men were everywhere, hammering, sawing, lifting boards into place. Some laughed and joked with each other, some were silent and serious as they made their measurements. Some sang, some whistled, some simply nodded quietly as they walked around the site, apparently supervising the others. It was a noisy, busy scene, and she could have watched it all day. Except that there’s work to do.
