by Chloe Garner
She sighed, feelin’ the trouble comin’ on with that storm deep in her bones.
“Went out on a ride for Perpeto one time,” she said. “Found a little house what had washed away in a flood, just broke off its timbers and floated away, miles from Lawrence. Miles and miles.”
“Water washes south,” Jimmy said.
“Water does what it feels,” Sarah answered. “Generally goes south and east, hits the canyons, but this had washed along for miles, bouncin’ off the canyons, near as mattered broke up, but the floor held and a piece of the ceilin’. Couldn’t quite see the canyons from there, couldn’t see the mountains. Woman and her boy had survived, one of the homesteaders, dead family. Husband died to bandits, rest of ‘em to… things. But she’d made it, with him. Flood took ‘em out there and stranded ‘em. No water, no food, no shelter but what were left of the house.”
Sarah shook her head.
“I seen a lot of death in my life, Jimmy, but that one sticks with me like a wound won’t heal.”
“You’d have walked,” Jimmy said. “So would I. We wouldn’t have been in the house.”
“She stayed with her boy,” Sarah said.
He nodded.
She watched the horizon.
The train rolled.
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Storm clouds over the mountains on the horizon got bigger and bigger, flashin’ lightnin’ and drawin’ a curtain of rain over the dry side of the hills, down toward the plain.
If there weren’t water runnin’ yet, it wouldn’t be more than an hour off. Jimmy took Sarah’s hand as they got close and they just watched.
No words.
At the station, Sarah and Jimmy were the only ones to get off. Everyone else reckoned they’d do better goin’ back to Jeremiah to wait it out. Sarah couldn’t blame ‘em, though she felt for Jeremiah tryin’ to find a place to house all them boys. Conductor touched his hat to ‘em as Sarah and Jimmy headed off the platform, then started the work of turnin’ the train.
The air was wet.
Weren’t horses at the station, on account of no one expectin’ Jimmy and Sarah on this train, and that leavin’ horses out here without someone to bring ‘em in would be leavin’ ‘em to die, so Sarah and Jimmy set off at a quick walk toward town.
“If they done their job right, we’re dead,” Sarah observed.
“There’s no way getting all of the guys out of town and up to the shelter went that smoothly,” Jimmy said. “And, if nothing else, we’ll just ride it out at Granger’s. He’ll be there.”
“Fool place to be in the middle of a flood,” Sarah said. “We ought have everyone up in the hills.”
“Granger isn’t ever going to evacuate,” Jimmy said. “He and that store are kind of the same thing.”
Sarah glanced over at him, seein’ the crook to the corner of his mouth.
She sighed, lookin’ over at the mountains again.
Sun was startin’ to set, and everythin’ were an otherworldly dark, waitin’ on that storm to make it over the desert.
They sped up again.
Walk to Lawrence took about twenty minutes, and the ground were turnin’ dark, just out on the horizon.
“Minutes, Jimmy,” she said.
They rounded Main Street, findin’ the place crawlin’ with young men.
“Sarah,” someone shouted, and Sarah lifted her head.
“Rhoda,” she called back. “You’re late.”
“Pot, kettle,” Rhoda yelled, wavin’ ‘em over. Sarah and Jimmy climbed up into the buckboard, lookin’ around.
“How did it get this late and you ain’t got ‘em all up?” Sarah asked.
“They have luggage,” Rhoda said. “I’m supposed to go to the house, from here. If you’d been any later…”
“We’d be underwater,” Sarah said.
“Where’s Sunny?” Rhoda asked. Frowned. “You two didn’t leave together.”
“She didn’t beat us?” Jimmy asked.
“No,” Rhoda said slowly.
“Then she’ll be holed up somewhere along the line behind us,” Sarah said. “Train ain’t gonna run no more ‘till this is past.”
“Or she’ll disappear,” Jimmy said. “Either way, we need to get moving.
Rhoda nodded, turnin’ to put the buggy whip to the mare, who jumped into a trot and then a canter.
“How bad is it,” Sarah asked, “gettin’ the men up to the shelter?”
“Most of them are already there,” Rhoda said. “I took four cartloads up myself, and I was letting Thomas know I was done and getting some things for Kayla from her shop.”
“Only Kayla would think of savin’ fabric in the midst of a flood,” Sarah muttered, and Rhoda grinned.
“All of the Lawsons are at the house?” Jimmy asked.
“Rich, Wade, and Thomas are getting the town evacuated,” Rhoda said. “Sunny is… wherever she is. Everyone else is there.”
“Little Peter, Lise, and Kayla,” Sarah said.
Rhoda frowned.
“When you put it like that, it really isn’t that big a list.”
“Poor Kayla,” Jimmy murmured, and Sarah glanced back at him, but his fair eyes were on the mountains.
“What about Doc and Sid?” Sarah asked.
“What about them?” Rhoda asked.
“Are they comin’ up to the house?”
“They’re supposed to,” Jimmy said. Rhoda frowned and shook her head.
“No. One of the homesteaders got crushed, getting livestock into the house. Both of them went out to help.”
Sarah looked up at the mountains, the line of dark rushin’ on toward ‘em as the mare ran.
“Too late,” she murmured. “What’s done’s done, what ain’t…”
“How far were the boys from the shelter, when you last saw them?” Jimmy asked as a wind kicked up. Normally that much wind would have come with a wall of chokin’ dust, but instead it was wet and cold.
“Thomas was loading up a cart on Second Street,” Rhoda said.
“He have a good, big pullin’ horse?” Sarah asked, eye to the mare.
“Yes,” Rhoda said. “He isn’t going to make it to the house, is he?”
“Not likely,” Sarah said.
“There are plenty of rations up there,” Jimmy said. “And three Lawsons is better than two. I just didn’t intend to make three of them do it. How did they let it take them by surprise?”
“We’ve been working for three days to get everyone up there,” Rhoda said, raisin’ her voice to speak over the wind as it grew more constant.
“What went wrong?” Jimmy asked.
“Fear,” Sarah said. “Lot of ‘em ain’t never seen one of these before, just heard the stories, and the ones what do remember, they’re gonna be pushin’ their way to the front of lines, makin’ sure they ain’t the ones left out to wash away like last time.”
“Yeah,” Rhoda said, noddin’. “That’s pretty much it.”
Jimmy cursed under his breath and Sarah put a hand to the back rest on the buckboard, standin’ as the mare raced into the wind. Road to the Lawson house was even enough from use, but it weren’t made for four-wheel ridin’ this fast.
“If we had a car…” Jimmy said and she shot him a hard glance.
“Water hits her hooves, she ain’t gonna like it,” Sarah said. “You gotta keep her goin’ forward. Won’t be too much wash in it, first… minute or two. After that, we’re gonna get knocked back by a wall ‘a sand like cement, and ain’t nothin’ she can do about it.”
Rhoda gave Sarah a look, mix of fear and anger, determination, and Sarah nodded.
“We get wedged, Jimmy and I’ll get it cleared out. You keep her forward, ready to go. You got it?”
Rhoda nodded, and Sarah looked back at Jimmy, who was up in a crouch, now, ready.
They could see the Lawson house up on the hillside ahead, windows lit. Rain was comin’ down the hills behind it, and the water was catchin’ roundin’ the front hill where the h
ouse was, now between the house and the buckboard, rollin’ fast ‘cross the thirsty ground. Front edge was sludge, but it crept like a mud, breakin’ out and makin’ headway for a bit, then suckin’ down to the ground and stickin’ again. Easy enough to walk over, but wheels could gum, and there could be rocks and bits of brush in there what would stop the wagon dead. Would’a been wiser to ease the mare goin’ at that front edge but that it wouldn’t improve their odds, makin’ it to the house, none.
The trusty little mare ran at the water like it weren’t there, leapin’ at the last minute to jump over the edge. The wagon rocked and jolted, but ran true for another three long strides as the wheels and the mare’s hooves kicked up soupy water, then the whole thing jumped and juttered, nearly throwin’ Sarah clear over Rhoda’s head. She held herself down, watchin’ the mare stumble and go to her knees. She got up again, throwin’ her head and puttin’ herself against the buckboard, but the water were rushin’ too hard and the mare too small as a crest of water took her front legs out again. Sarah looked back at Jimmy, who was already movin’.
She followed him over the back of the wagon, landin’ in calf-deep water runnin’ fast enough to take her feet out ‘fore she got ‘em to the ground. She held to the wagon, gettin’ her boots to sand what washed away fast as she could push at it, then finally she found clay underneath and got a good push to the cart. Jimmy went to the back wheel, puttin’ his weight to the spokes to coax it to turn while Sarah pushed and the mare pulled.
“Jimmy,” Sarah shouted as a wall of rain slashed across them. “Jimmy.”
He looked up and she held up three fingers. He nodded and she squared her feet to the ground, puttin’ her shoulder to the buckboard as she held it, ‘case somethin’ took her ankles out.
“One,” Jimmy yelled.
“Two,” Sarah answered. On three, they both surged against the buckboard and it rolled. The mare jerked it with a shudder, gettin’ the wheel rollin’ against the hard, deepenin’ water as it turned thicker yet with sand. The cart bumped over stones, up and over, painful slow, and Jimmy used his foot to try to keep ‘em from lodgin’ under his wheel while Sarah helped the mare keep the buckboard rollin’.
Sarah couldn’t see no more, for the rain and the dark, but she could hear the rumble of the bad water comin’. This were just the front bit, here. After this, there’d be a torrent of debris, solid and hip-deep at least, what would cut a swath through damn near anything.
The water was gettin’ shallower, though, not deeper, and the mare picked up pace as Sarah heard Rhoda crack the buggy whip over her. Pushin’ got easier, and then Sarah was goin’ fast as she could on her feet. She jumped back up into the wagon and put out a hand to pull Jimmy up as they got up and out of the water for the moment. Was still goin’ up, but not as fast as the hill ascended.
They were home.
Sarah threw herself onto the bed of the buckboard, wipin’ her forehead with the back of her hand and shovin’ her hat back down onto her head.
“Hope Thomas made it,” she muttered to Jimmy.
“Me, too,” he answered.
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Rain went on for four days, hard and overcast enough that they were usin’ the clocks to tell time the whole time. Staff were all back from the houses down in town, and all the linens and towels got replaced every mornin’ and washed every afternoon. Chef and the kitchen staff cooked all day, keepin’ hot food out, ready for eatin’, plus doin’ three elaborate meals a day. Sarah mostly turned her nose up at these, keepin’ to herself. From the sound of it, they weren’t much, for events, with so many people missin’. Those what stayed got on well enough with Jimmy by just keepin’ their mouths shut.
Sarah wondered if that weren’t what Lawson meals were like, ‘fore they came home, too.
Dismissed it.
The twins thrived on conflict.
Sarah read the books she’d read as a child, went through Jimmy’s papers what he’d let her have and read those, went through Peter Lawson Sr’s library and read what were worth readin’. She found most of it was there for show, but Jimmy did show her the shelf Peter had set aside for Elaine, and Sarah devoured those - books of philosophy and natural science, civil science and law. There were a few books of made-up worlds and fantastic creatures, and Sarah marveled at the woman she’d known reading such things, but she enjoyed the hell out of ‘em anyway.
Fifth day, the sun came back out, and Sarah went out to the barn to check her cows, Gremlin, Flower, and the rest of the stock. Merlin and the stable boy were doin’ a fine job, carin’ for ‘em, and it looked like the calves would be ready to go back up to the high country soon as the cows were carryin’ again. Gremlin was happy to see her, and Flower near as kicked down the side of his stall.
“Pair of you,” she muttered. “Ain’t made for stalls, are ya? Well. Seein’ as there ain’t noplace for you to get to, anyway.”
She opened both stall doors, lettin’ Gremlin follow her down the hall as Flower went out to graze the sandy earth outside.
“Why do you do that?” the stable boy asked.
“Do what?” Sarah asked, lookin’ over the cows for another moment.
“Let ‘em out,” he said, squintin’ up at her. “I just have to catch ‘em again.”
“Good for you,” Sarah said, then turned and squatted, lookin’ the kid in the eye.
“You like bein’ put in a box and told what to do all day?” she asked. Kid shook his head, turnin’ his head to spit then lookin’ her in the eye again.
“No, ma’am,” he said, his voice brazen with the fearlessness of childhood. Sarah nodded.
“Them two horses, they don’t like it none, either. They’re made for bein’ out, makin’ decisions for theirselves, you see?”
“But they’re supposed to stay in their stalls, so I can feed ‘em and stuff,” the kid said. Sarah nodded.
“And they’ll come in when they’re ready for feed, no problem. Don’t even need to close the door on ‘em.”
“The people up at the house,” the kid said. “They don’t like horses bein’ around.”
“You let me worry about the people up at the house,” Sarah said. “Any one of ‘em tries to put a hand on one of my horses, you come yellin’ to me, then you disappear. You’re good at that, ain’t you?”
The kid grinned with no small measure of mischief, and Sarah nodded.
“You want me to let the cows out, too?” he asked. Sarah shrugged, lookin’ at ‘em again.
“They ain’t missin’ the roamin’,” she said. “Quiet for now. They live wild all year. Probably enjoyin’ havin’ you bring ‘em hay all day.”
“They eat like monsters,” the kid said, and Sarah nodded.
“Tendin’ a baby’ll do that to you. Now, you hear me, you leave them horses to themselves, all right?”
The kid squinted up at her again and nodded, and she patted his head, then went out of the barn to go look at the water.
Level was still comin’ up, at this point, nearin’ a week in. Big rain up in the mountains took a long time to filter through and come out on the plain, and the flow’d dropped down. Weren’t so much desert to sop it all up. Now it were the vast country ‘tween here and Jeremiah takin’ its time at the job, and that weren’t nearly so effective.
Water’d be up for weeks, yet, at this rate, just like Sarah’d feared, and like the homesteaders had bet. She thought about the refuge Jimmy had built for the young men, wonderin’ what conditions would be like, there, at this stage, then frowned and turned at the sound of a yell.
“Sarah,” Rhoda called from the front porch. “Sarah, get up here. Lise is in labor.”
Sarah turned to watch the water for another moment, not wantin’ to be in the house at all, in that moment.
“Dammit, Sarah Todd, this is your niece we’re talking about,” Rhoda yelled, just a hint of a roar in her voice. “Get up here and help me make sure she makes it into the world safely.”
“Promise Lise don’t w
ant me there no more’n I want to be there,” Sarah said to nobody in particular, puttin’ her hands into the pockets of her duster and startin’ back up the hill, past Gremlin and Flower where they was scentin’ the wind and settlin’ in on the hillside.
She turned her head toward Lawrence, watchin’ the water roll past, murky and red, far as the eye could see.
“Sarah,” Rhoda said again.
Sarah shook her head.
“I’m comin’,” she muttered, turnin’ a bit harder up the slope. “Got hours, yet, anyway.”
Rhoda stood on the porch, fists on hips, waitin’ as Sarah went past.
“You ever birthed a human baby?” Sarah asked.
“No,” Rhoda said. “Have you?”
Sarah shook her head.
“’S what Doc’s for,” she said. Rhoda nodded, lookin’ out at the water.
“I should have made one of them come with me,” she said.
“You might’ve saved a life, not thinkin’ of it,” Sarah said. “Most babies turn up ‘cause that’s what they’re made to do. Man with broke innards needs Doc, for sure. Lise’s fault, anyway, for not havin’ her fancy city doc out here by now.”
“She’s only thirty-six weeks,” Rhoda said.
“Of how many?” Sarah asked. Rhoda paused.
“I didn’t ask.”
Sarah shook her head.
“She couldn’t get her doc here for long enough, just to sit and wait, I’d wager,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go see what we’ve got.”
Rhoda twisted her mouth and followed Sarah into the house.
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Lise was walkin’ a loop in the sittin’ room, hands wove over her belly, the look of a heifer to her like nothin’ Sarah’d ever seen before. She shook her head as she took in the men sittin’ at the dining room table like they wasn’t actually there.
“Jimmy, Peter, you may as well make yourselves scarce, ‘cause I know you’re dyin’ to.”
“She’s going to be okay?” Jimmy asked, lookin’ over at her. She shrugged.
“No guarantees in somethin’ like this, but ain’t no reason she shouldn’t be.”
“Her doctor was supposed to come next week,” Peter said.
“Warned you, didn’t I?” Sarah asked.
