The Journal: Ash Fall

by Moore, Deborah D.

  It was a sad day for me, knowing John was leaving, however, at least I knew what was coming this time. Until then we had the day to ourselves. After that, even though, I would be alone again, knowing he would be back lightened my heart. I drove him back to the Eagle Beach house around 5:00 P.M., just before the other guys from his team were due to show up after their long flights back to Marquette.

  CHAPTER 6

  May 15

  “I know this doesn’t exactly fall into emergency management, Allexa, however, I was hoping you might give me some ideas,” Anna said from behind her desk.

  “About what?”

  “The school, more specifically, the teachers.”

  “I know we only have ten students left and just the two teachers now. Is there a problem?” I asked. I thought I would have heard about it before now from Eric or Emilee. Emi loves the smaller classes and has taken a real liking to her teacher, Joelle Maki.

  “Not really a problem, Allexa. I want to make sure they get paid somehow. Only, a check won’t cover what they’re doing, and besides, most of the school funding is from the state and that’s been stopped.” Anna frowned, wrinkling her forehead.

  “Emi really likes Joelle to the point of sharing her lunch every day she’s there.” When Anna gave me a quizzical look, I continued, “I pack Emilee a sandwich and two cookies every day she goes to school. She’s been giving half of her sandwich to Joelle. She said her teacher is always hungry and that she can ‘hear her tummy rumble’.” I thought a moment about that. “What if each child brings in some food, once a week, for the teachers as a payment? Or maybe we could suggest the teachers get invited to dinner, like the ministers of old?” I suggested. “When the gardens and orchards are full, I’m sure fresh veggies and fruits would be appreciated.”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Allexa. If just once a week, each child brought in two lunches, both teachers would be fed every day.” Anna smiled. “I have a meeting with Joelle and with Sheila Lehman this afternoon. I’ll get their view on it. You know some of the kids won’t be able to do this. I know all the families are having a rough go of it.”

  “It’s worth asking opinions on. Maybe Joelle and Sheila will have a suggestion of their own to offer.”

  JOURNAL ENTRY: May 16

  Early this morning I went to the ramp patch for some greens to go with dinner, and it occurred to me I could be canning this stuff for a delicious addition to a winter meal. I cut for only a few minutes when I was attacked by a swarm of hungry mosquitos. It must have been a new hatching since they were very small. I dropped my bag and bolted to the car for the head-net I keep in the car box. Thankfully I was wearing long sleeves and always wear gloves to protect my hands. Those vicious little devils were angry they couldn’t get to my face or neck, and were about to drive me nuts with the buzzing around my head. I kept cutting the greens until the bag was full even though the bulbs are still a bit too small to dig up.

  I soaked the ramps, then I lined the pint jars up on the work island and started chopping, picking out any stray bits of grass or twigs that I missed during the washing process and started filling the jars. After the first one I remembered I would need boiling water for filling the jars and set the big kettle on the stove, filled with fresh spring water. With the jars full, I had ten pints, not quite a full canner, and it was a good start. It’s seventy minutes once the canner comes up to pressure, and I decided as soon as I could turn the heat off for it to cool down, I would go back for another, fuller batch. Besides, I had packed my dinner greens in the jars and needed more for tonight. Today would be a very productive day, and I smiled to myself at the surprise everyone will get when I add these luscious greens to a rice pilaf at Thanksgiving or Christmas this winter. That’s part of prepping: doing, gathering, preserving in season for a later time.

  * * *

  May 17

  I was just finishing a third batch of canning ramps this morning, when Jason showed up carrying a scroll, which turned out to be blueprints he had drawn on what appeared to be art paper from the school. I remember the huge rolls on paper cutters in our class when I was young, and doing a six foot long mural of exotic birds. It’s odd what can trigger a memory. When the boys were in high school, the curriculum was very lax. They could take anything they wanted, with parental approval that is. I insisted they each take four classes: Shop, Home Economics/Cooking, Drafting and Typing. After that they had free choice. They have both thanked me for those classes. Each of those four classes are practical, useful and functional, and both Eric and Jason still use the skills they learned. Jason had the knack and could have been an architect, instead choosing to use his talents for hands-on building.

  He unrolled the wide paper across the picnic table, anchoring the edges with a few rocks from the driveway. I looked over his shoulder at the drawings. He did a really nice job of laying out an ‘L’ shaped room.

  “What do you think, Mom?”

  “What is it?”

  “Your new greenhouse,” he said proudly. I was dumbfounded. “John asked me to draw up some plans for your approval. I guess he figured I would know what you wanted.”

  “You better start with some explaining, because I don’t know what this is about, Jason.” My eyes roamed over the sketches, admiring the sharp angles and the steep pitch of glass that would easily shed snow.

  “Mom, John has contracted me to build you a greenhouse. It’s going to be so much more. Look,” he said, pointing to a spot on the sheet, “this is the basic growing area, which faces south and wraps around the end of the house, here is the fish pond at the apex of the ‘L’ where it’s more accessible to both growing areas, and over here is the window herb garden … right next to the summer kitchen and the second wood cook stove.”

  Summer kitchen?

  “And mounted on this side will be the solar panels and a battery bank that will run the lights and pumps for the fish.” He straightened up and smiled, like I had known this all along. “Oh, I almost forgot. This side runs far enough along the front of the house to encompass the door in the back pantry, so you have access to the greenhouse without going outside.”

  I was stunned. What had John done now?

  “And when did all this sneaking around behind my back take place?” As soon as I asked, I knew. John had hours of free time when I went shopping that second day, enough time to involve my son in his spending plans. No wonder he was so quick to hang onto his higher pay rate. This was going to cost a bundle!

  Jason pulled me along by the arm until we were standing at the proposed corner of the house. He paced out one direction, then the other. It looked huge to me. It was only eight feet wide, and wouldn’t seem so large once closed in. He stopped by the exit door near the pantry.

  “I had forgotten your well is so close…” He frowned in thought. “Say… I can do a small addition, like a mud room, to enclose the well head. We need an airlock room anyway for bringing wood for the cook stove.” He smiled broadly. “And I can even hook up the hand pump to operate alongside the electric pump. That way, if we lose power again in the winter, you don’t have to run the generator for water unless you want to.”

  I was more than stunned now, I was on the verge of believing I was getting a greenhouse, a summer kitchen and a well house, all rolled into one.

  “When do you plan on starting?” I murmured breathlessly.

  “As soon as I make up a parts and lumber list and can dig the footings.” I know Jason was just as excited about doing this as I was. He has always loved a challenge and this certainly will put him to the test.

  I sat down in the kitchen with a cup of fresh raspberry leaf tea, mulling over this new development. It would have been so much easier on us this past winter if we had had this greenhouse.

  May 18

  Jason was back this morning with the power auger to start the footings. He sure isn’t wasting any time.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention it yesterday. We’re also doing something about the deck.”
>
  “What’s wrong with my deck? I like it just the way it is.”

  “Mom, you’ve mentioned enclosing it a number of times. I thought you might at least like a roof over it. I thought a slanted roof to match what’s there, and to do it all in light panels. That way it’s sheltered, and you still get 90% of the sun effect. Besides, this was an important part of the project to John. He said he got tired of shoveling out the generator last winter.” Jason grinned. He knew I would cave if it was for John. “The roof will only be a two day project and …” he looked sheepish, “I’ve already ordered the new trusses and the panels, so you’re stuck with it.” Sheltering the generator did make sense.

  * * *

  While Jason was working on the footings for the greenhouse, I got started on splitting and stacking the rest of the wood. I worked my usual hour on it, and then took an hour break to do something in the garden. It was a beautiful day, and the sun beating down on my back felt wonderfully comforting as I weeded around the new seedlings. Digging up the rich soil, I made the decision to put in some of the plants. I felt confident there wouldn’t be a frost again until fall. The rest of the afternoon, I divided my time between stacking wood and planting tomatoes. By the time dinner came around, I was exhausted. I made a quick quiche of ramp greens and fresh oyster mushrooms, and sat down to watch the news. I almost wish I hadn’t. I guess it’s better to know then to hide from the world.

  There was a 6.4 quake in the Baja and a 7.8 further south on the coast of Mexico in a sleepy little village that is now gone. It was leveled. Two hours after those quakes, one hit in Puget Sound, sending a mini-tsunami over the break wall and flooding Pike Street.

  Just before I went to bed at 11:00P.M., the power went out.

  CHAPTER 7

  May 19

  Except for making my tea on the gas stove, I really hadn’t noticed that the power was still out until it came back on around noon. It’s so easy to get used to it being on and almost as easy when it goes out. This was short lived and overnight, many were likely unaffected by the outage. It made me wonder if this was going to be a regular thing.

  Jason stopped by to take a few measurements, then headed to town for supplies, saying he’d be back in a day or two when the footings had set.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when I heard unfamiliar voices out in the yard, and stepped outside to investigate. What I saw surprised me: A family walking down the road, the woman pushing a stroller and a tall man pulling a small wagon. When the man saw me, he stopped, said something to the woman, and then approached halfway up my gravel drive.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am. My name is Max Johnson, and this is my wife Lydia and our three kids,” he said, pointing back to the family behind him. “We’re from Harvey and trying to get to our hunting camp on the Mulligan. My car broke down in Marquette a week ago and we’ve been on foot ever since. I’ve been doing odd jobs for food and water along the way. I know once we get to camp everything will be fine. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. It’s just that it’s been two days since we’ve eaten and it’s been a very long, hot morning.” Max paused, looking down and embarrassed. “Is there any work I can help you with for even a little food?”

  Anyone who was familiar with the Mulligan Truck Trail referred to it just as the Mulligan, so I felt certain this man’s story was true. He stayed a respectful distance away, and his family stayed even further. They understood there were boundaries to uphold.

  I ventured down the drive to where he stood.

  “I’m Allexa, and I could use a hand stacking wood. First I’ll get you and your family something to eat. It won’t be much though. Why don’t you all come under the shade of the tree where it’s a little cooler? You can use the picnic table.”

  I went inside, calculating how much I wanted to help. I set a large pot of water on the stove to heat, and measured in three cups of regular grain rice, adding a couple of seasoning packets for flavor.

  “If you’re thirsty, there’s a water faucet next to the garden,” I said once I stepped back outside. “I’m sure you understand that I can’t invite you inside for security reasons. The world is different now, so please don’t be offended.”

  “We’re not offended at all! I really appreciate just being able to sit in the shade without someone running us off,” Max said. I was sure that had happened more than once to them. Their clothes were a bit old, and worn and dirty from days on the road.

  Not wanting to use my personal glass bowls outside for people I didn’t know, I went searching in the barn for disposable ware from my catering days. I came out with a large black plastic bowl with a thin clear lid, and some plastic forks and spoons. It would have to do.

  The three cups of rice once cooked, expanded enough to fill the bowl, with some extra broth sinking to the bottom. I set it on the wooden picnic table along with the plastic spoons and forks. Lydia had the two older children washed their hands in the cold water of the faucet before eating while the infant in the yellow and white stroller slept quietly on.

  They all crowded around the bowl and spooned the warm rice into their mouths with gusto, making me wonder if it had really been only two days since they’d eaten or whether it had been longer.

  The bowl wasn’t empty, but it looked like they were done eating. Lydia started talking first. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, with dull blue eyes and natural blond hair now matted and uncombed. She wore sensible walking shoes, jeans and a printed V-necked t-shirt covered by a gray sweater. I noticed that the sweater was buttoned wrong.

  “This little angel is Jessica and she turned six last week,” Lydia stoked her daughter’s dirty brown hair. “This little guy is Aaron. He’s two.” Aaron promptly sneezed, and then coughed a very lung-y, raspy wheeze. I backed up further toward the tree I was standing near.

  “The baby is Sara. She’s been such a good little girl, not complaining or crying, but then she’s only six months old and they usually sleep all day anyway.” Lydia pulled the soiled pink blanket down so I could see the child. The baby’s skin was a darkening mottled gray, and it was immediately obvious to me that she was dead, and had been for days. My stomach twisted. The mother was either in deep denial, ignorant or crazy. Perhaps all three, which made her dangerous.

  I looked at this wayward family more carefully. They hadn’t looked sick at first, but now I spotted how listless and lethargic they all were.

  “Cute baby,” I said. “Excuse me,” and I retreated into the house. In the bathroom, I washed my hands with the hottest water I could stand, then doused them with peroxide, thankful I hadn’t touched anyone, but wondering if the distance was enough.

  From the kitchen window, I saw Emilee bounding down the well-worn grass path on the way here, and moved quickly to intercept her.

  “I’m sorry, Emi, this is not a good time for you to visit.”

  “Why not, Nahna? There’s new people here,” she protested.

  “Don’t argue with me!” I know I was too harsh with her. “I’ll be over tomorrow to explain. For right now, you and your dad stay home, you understand?” She nodded and sullenly went back to their house.

  * * *

  “You’re welcome to stay the night on the lawn,” I said as the sun was setting. I placed the plastic lid to the bowl on the table for Lydia to put on.

  “I promised to help with the wood,” Max protested weakly.

  “And I do appreciate that. I really don’t need the help. Consider the meal a gift, my Christian gift to a family in need in a world gone crazy.” I smiled and returned to the house, after locking the barn up.

  What was I going to do??

  May 20

  I slept fitfully, knowing I might have been exposed to whatever sickness this hapless family carried with them.

  When I looked outside the next morning, they were gone. It was as if they’d never been there.

  I took the remaining half gallon of bleach from the pantry, and doused the water faucet and the garden hose. Then I poured t
he rest of it over the picnic table and the seats, any place I could think they may have touched. I didn’t know if it would help, but it sure wouldn’t hurt.

  Then I called our law enforcement, Ken and Karen.

  * * *

  “We didn’t see anyone on the road coming here,” Ken stated.

  “They probably left at first light, or during the night,” I replied through the face mask.

  “Well, we’ll take a cruise along the route to the Mulligan and see if we can spot them. I’m not sure what we can do, Allexa,” Karen said.

  “You can warn others along the way not to get near them!”

  After they left, I called Tom White in Marquette.

  “Well, hi, Allexa,” he answered. “You might not believe this, but I was going to call you today.”

  “About what? A new outbreak of some virus?” I know I sounded snarky and I didn’t care.

  “How did you know? I just got the reports this morning from the ME’s office. There have been several cases of flu similar to the one last winter, and all of them have been along County Road 695, moving toward Moose Creek.”

  “Tom, they were here and I’ve been exposed.”

  “They? They who?” he asked.

  “It’s a family, Tom. They were on the way to their camp when their car broke down and they’ve been walking. Apparently they’ve been spreading this along the way,” I slouched in my seat, my head pounding. “They were here, at my house. Max and Lydia Johnson, along with three kids. The baby is dead and they keep pushing it in a stroller. The two year old is bad-sick, and the rest look … I dunno, just ill.”