Mammoth Secrets (19 page)

The worker glanced to the trailers, his gaze hesitating at the largest one. “They'll all be in there. Randall's the owner. Tell 'em Guthrie said it was time to go.”

Jeremy maneuvered the vehicle as tires spun, then found purchase on the mud. They didn't have much time left. The fairgrounds were already flooding from the pounding rain.

“My turn.” Wipers swished a metronome beat as Jeremy took off running. Within seconds, he banged his fists against the Class A trailer.

Luke scooted into the driver's seat and turned up the heat until a warm blast of air poured from the vents. His clothes steaming, Luke's yellow slicker dripped and puddled by his boots.

Jeremy remained on the small step of the bus-style trailer, pounding on the door with his fist, looking small, defeated. No answer.

“They won't come with you, you know,” Guthrie spoke, rubbing absently at his whiskered jaw. “Not many, anyway. Even with my say-so.”

“It's our job to see folks to safety.” Luke watched through the rain-spattered shield.

Jeremy pounded again and the door opened a couple inches.

“Thought that was the poh-lice's job, son.”

Luke slid a glance to the rearview, noting his rumpled passenger eyeing the bottles of water and bags of granola bars. “Go on and take some. They're for upping folks' blood sugar. Looks like yours could use a boost.”

The man crunched a bar in three bites, folded the wrapper with his long fingers. “Can't say I recall a tornado ever coming through this early.”

Luke flashed the brights, just as the storm klaxon howled its three-minute warning. “Yeah? It's comin' anyway.” Luke's thumbs drummed in time to the wipers.

Jeremy argued with someone through the narrow opening into the trailer. Turtled into his slicker, Jeremy returned, followed by a teenage girl, a white-haired, lanky man, and a trio of bedraggled women. Jeremy slammed the bay doors after they huddled inside. He climbed into the passenger seat and shoved back his hood. “Let's go!”

“That it?”

“All that'd come.” Jeremy shivered as he warmed his hands, rainwater dripping from his nose. “Think these folks never watched the storm chaser channels.”

“Or they want to be in one.” Guthrie's cackle from the back seat raised the small hairs on Luke's neck.

The odd bunch sat in the back benches of the ambulance while wind howled.

He traversed down the access road through the fairgrounds, to the safety of the Mammoth High School storm center.

 

 

 

 

26

 

Wind screamed at the walls as dirt and rocks pelted the windows. In her cast iron cradle, Eden cowered under pillows clutched over her head, heart slamming in her chest.
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.
Over and again—her only prayer, His name.

At last, the shrieking wind ceased.

She shoved the pillows away, sat up, and strained her ears for sounds. The tiny window at the top of the bathroom wall leaked weak light into the room. A flick of the wall switch indicated the power was still off. She flipped it again. Nothing. Her reflection showed hair standing in a million directions, thanks to static from piles of pillows clutched over her head. She stepped into the other room, breathing with relief that all walls and the roof were still in place.

Late afternoon gray light poured through the curtained front windows. Outside, wind and rain blew about in fits and spurts. The bulk of the storm looked as if it missed their hill, even the trough of Mammoth. North, toward Thayer was blotted black by the clouds and storm.

Papaw had been right. Papaw. Nana.

She limped toward the big house, past trees scoured of their delicate spring leaves. Limbs torn down, broken stubs from the trunks looked fresh and torn and bled sap. The river cleared of its mud from the rain, continued to flow by in silent witness of the event. Her grandparents' iron lawn furniture lay jumbled in a heap along the waterline. Not a single house seemed affected on Riverview Drive. Mammoth had once again dodged a bullet.

“Nana?” Eden called. She stepped through the door a little thinned of paint but no worse for wear.

Muffled voices came from within.

She glanced down the stairs to the extra room. Nothing. Down the hall, no sign. “Papaw?”

“We're in here!” Nana's frail voice called.

Eden followed the sound to the large hall closet, opened it to find Nana and Papaw much as she had been, surrounded by a nest of pillows, wrapped up in Nana's quilt.

“It's over.” Eden breathed. “You can come out now.”

“Did it hit?” Papaw's clear eyes were wide, worried.

“No. Not in Mammoth.” Not on Riverview, anyway, but she didn't need to share her worries with them at present. “We're OK.”

Nana nodded, dragged herself out of the windowless room, and then stood to fold her quilt with shaking hands.

Eden grabbed a corner, folding the queen-sized friendship quilt into a tiny square. “Thank you, Eden. You're a good girl.”

“I'm gonna head to the diner to check things out down there.” Eden inhaled long, exhaled deeper. “You OK?”

“Go on.” Nana helped Papaw to his chair. “We'll be fine.”

“Get the phone, Naomi.” Papaw squeezed her hand, eyes going distant. “I'm in the middle of the crossword.”

“He was with me during the storm a bit.” Her grandmother's gaze drooped with exhaustion. Or grief. “We even talked.”

Eden swept her up in a hug, tighter than Nana usually allowed.

“Don't worry about me, child.” Bird light, Nana wrapped arms around, and held on. “I'm all right.”

Like hugging a ghost
. Eden forced her mind away from that horrible notion and released her. “You always are.”

 

 

 

 

27

 

Jake sat on the quilt-covered earthen floor, Lilah's head on his shoulder, and stared at the crack in the overhead doors. Waning strands of daylight touched them through hairline cracks from up above. No sign of wind, the rain a subtle patter on the wood, he strained to hear other sounds of life.

Lilah dozed off. The soft, lovely bow of her lips curved up at the corners.

He wondered what she dreamed about. He wondered if he could ever make her smile that way. Or if, by some chance, his dream self was the reason.

A girl like Lilah was worth waiting for. His mind raced to Margaret and how opposite his former wife was when compared to Lilah's subtle beauty. Margaret, with her pulled together confidence. Even when caught cheating, Margaret had maintained the upper hand. Her voice rang in his head,
“You live too much in your emotions, Jacob; ever the optimist, only seeing what you want to see.”

Maybe that was true. Perhaps the storm was God's way of showing him he'd planned too much for this little community. But it wasn't as if he were bringing snakes to kiss, or planning a massive healing event. He simply wanted room for all. To allow the casual wanderer to drift in, see what all that music was about, and find Jesus waiting in the tents. Softening hearts of the faithful, opening the locked places of those who'd never witnessed such a gathering. And really, wasn't that what he wanted? God to manifest Himself in some miraculous, physical way? He'd heard about such things before—lay pastors at his home church often spoke of it. Pastor Pingry went on at length about seeing the Holy Spirit wash over his group of pastors in a wave of light.

Jake's heart surged. What pastor wouldn't want to see such a thing? To know, beyond measure, that the Lord was with them? Really with them. Beyond a subtle feeling, or a stirring in his gut. And wasn't that vanity in its purest form, trying to force such a thing into happening?

A cloud-strained sunbeam crossed Lilah's cheek. Cool, gray light stroked her gentle features. She sighed. One arm flopped over his lap, and her fingertip wove its way through his belt loop. Tugged tight. Her body, warm against his side, her head on his shoulder, curling hair tangled in his two-day growth of beard.

What had this poor girl gone through since she'd returned home? Persecuted for wandering and her failed marriage, yet saying nothing. She faced the masses on a daily basis with subtle strength and kindness. Sometimes sad, sometimes angry, but she always showed up, making her daily specials to please herself, if no one else cared to order them. Did she realize she glorified God just by her own personal act of creation, with the faith that perhaps one day someone might order what she'd made? Isn't that what had drawn them together in the first place?

Her eyes blinked open. Found him staring down.

“Whoops.” She yawned, covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry.”

“It's OK.” He kissed the top of her head, gave her a long squeeze, and then got up to stand at the bottom of the stairs. “I think the worst is over.”

Behind the peace of the subterranean doors, her shoulders quivered in a shiver-shake. There was so much he still didn't know about her. About the town.

And now, they'd spent the whole storm together underground?

As if she read his thoughts, she shook her head and yawned. “Nu-uh, Pastor. The worst's just starting.”

 

~*~

 

The power remained out, Nana's great room lit only by the fading light seeping through the paned windows, their million-dollar view leveled to downed trees, toppled patio furniture strewn across the lawn, and blown corrugated metal wedged into crevasses and rocky crags down the slope.

“Lilah?” Nana appeared around the corner, little brown glass in hand, ice clinking as she walked. Her hair was mussed, the only sign of anything wrong.

“Are you guys OK?” She swept her grandmother up in a hug.

“Fine.” Nana pushed free from her granddaughter's grasp. “Papaw's resting. Just gave him his pill.”

“Naomi!” he called from the bedroom. “Rebecca's not in her room…” His voice trailed off.

Nana met Lilah's questioning gaze, shook her head, and took a sip from the glass. “It's the storm. The weather. He's already having a time enough, and this—well. It makes things worse.”

“Can I do anything for you?” She outstretched a hand.

“He just needs rest.” Nana's fingers clutched her glass. “He has an appointment in West Plains tomorrow. Maybe you can go with us.”

“I'd like that.” Lilah stiffened, lip quivering. She caught and captured Nana's faltering gaze. “I want to be here for you. It's why I'm back.”

“Is it?” Nana challenged, voice shaking. “Where were you during the storm? Eden came to check on us first, and then she set off to see if she could help in town. Eden's never needed anything but her family.”

So many comments flew to her lips, impossible to choose just the right barb to sling back. Fighting with her grandmother was as easy as breathing. Still, this wasn't the time or place. “I'll check on you later.”

Turning on her heel, Lilah raced out of the house, over to Eden's, and found it empty. A bathtub full of pillows showed where she'd weathered the brunt of the storm.

Across the street, Jake yanked at a tree limb. It budged, but only slightly.

“Let me help.”

“Thanks.”

Together, they tugged, moved the branch, and freed up the parking shed. He hauled open the doors where his yellow, dusty truck sat, covered in a layer of globs of leaves and wet dirt dislodged in the wind and leaky roof. Mud streaked, but drivable.

“Cell towers are out, too.” Jake frowned as he checked his phone. “Anyone across the street?”

“Eden's on her way into town.” She frowned at Jake's dented, rusty vehicle. “Might be better to just walk down, see how everyone fared.”

“Truck's got a winch.” He dragged out a thinly populated key chain. “Extra gas, water, supplies. Former Boy Scout.” Jake three-fingered a salute to prove it.

“Always prepared?”

“Never hurts.”

“They'll have gathered at the high school,” Lilah guessed, joining him in the truck cab. “Anyone without somewhere to go heads there in time of trouble.”

Jake stared at the ominous sky, a worried crease in his brow.

“Don't worry.” She squeezed his hand. “The storm's not coming back.”

“I'm not worried about that. But look where it's been.” Across the river, she saw the source of his obvious agony. The carnival. The Ferris wheel remained straight and tall, as did the tents and midway structures. Up on the hilltop, however, was another story. The Revival tents were ripped to shreds. White canvas flicked, flags of surrender in a wicked wind.

“Jake...” Her heart sank.

All of their work, all of their plans now blown to ruin.

He nodded, swallowed, and turned the truck key. “It's just a tent.”

“But your Revival...”

“My Revival?” He cocked his head, stared at her with hazel eyes gone stormy. “It's not my Revival. It's for Him. From all of us. Doesn't anyone in this crazy town understand that?” The engine revved and he backed out a bit too fast for comfort.

He leaned closer to see as the wiper blades smeared brown sludge back and forth.

She said nothing—merely hung on to the loose armrest.

 

~*~

 

Luke blinked at the generator-run lights, their rattling muffled from inside the gymnasium walls. A crowd of about fifty people huddled on the bleachers and sipped water from paper cups filled from the orange power drink containers usually reserved for the basketball team. A group of Mammoth's seniors shot hoops.

The computer lab teacher, Mr. McPhearson, looked up from his laptop with a frown. “No internet. No cellphones, either.”

Principal Quentin Marshall spun the handle on an emergency radio, twisted the dial until an AM newscast crackled out of the small speaker.