Retribution (30 page)

A soft whisper reached her ears. “And keep Trina safe too, and my new baby cousin that will be born soon. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Sandra settled Jimmy at the table, his back to the window. Sneaking another look outside, she took a deep breath before removing the lid to the game.

~*~

Lillian helped Trina back into the recliner and propped up the footrest.
Swell, now she decides to take on the sick role. Ted better get home to coddle her.
In a distant corner of her mind, Lillian wondered at the strange, negative thoughts. She'd slept well, but maybe the storm was making her restless. She could deal with a cheerful Trina, but not a whiny one. “You rest. I'll get your juice.”

The windows rattled against the force of the wind. Bits of debris pounced on the glass as dampness filtered into the room.

“In Cleveland, it would be snowing,” she mumbled.

Back from the kitchen, juice in hand, she found Trina struggling to get out of the chair. “I think my water just broke!”

Oh, dear God, please, no
. Placing the glass on the table, she reached over to help Trina out of the chair.

The lights flickered, and then died. Cave-like blackness filled the room. Rain pounded against the walls, beating a cacophonic sound like a myriad of drummers lacking a conductor. The darkness and noise distorted her senses.

She clutched onto Trina, hoping they both wouldn't end up on the floor.

A streak of light blended with ear-piercing thunder, sending vibrations through the room. Cracking sounds split the air followed by a muffled thud.

Lillian turned huge to eyes Trina. “I think lightning hit that old oak. At least it missed the house.”

“Oooooh.” Trina's body stiffened. “The pains are getting worse.”

Standing in utter darkness, gripping a moaning woman, Lillian felt out of control. The storm raged and she had no idea what to do. She glanced toward the window where floor–to-ceiling glass encompassed most of the front wall. The limb had missed the house, but what about next time? What if something airborne shot through the window? Panic consumed her like fire through kindling. “We need to get out of this room.”

~*~

The popping of plastic pieces from the game helped drown out the sound of frantic rain and hurricane-like wind.

But with each streak of lightning, Jimmy jumped, his elfin face becoming more ashen.

Sandra thought of Bill, and wished he were there. He would protect them. Even if he seemed to be losing romantic interest in her, he was a good man and would still keep them safe. Something special between them had ignited, but lately he had pulled back, seeming distracted and nervous around her.
Now is not the time for romantic regrets.

The lights died.

Guided by the edge of the table, she worked her way to her whimpering grandson and wrapped arms around his shaking body.
Why didn't I think to get out some candles?
“Come on Jimmy.” She pulled the reluctant boy from the chair. “Walk with Grandma to the sink. There's a flashlight underneath.”

“Can I hold it?”

“Of course you can.”

As she grabbed the flashlight, lightning split the sky, the jagged spear temporarily illuminating the room. “We need to leave the kitchen,” she said, her voice trembling.

She guided Jimmy to the living room and placed the quivering boy on the couch with the flashlight. As he cast a beam for her, she pulled the heavy drapes across the large picture window and mentally reviewed the house. Where could they go that would be safe?

With each volley of thunder, her panic rose until she felt as though waves were crashing over her. She couldn't remember a storm like this since Hurricane Hugo in the ‘80s, and back then she hadn't been responsible for her grandson.

They both jumped as something large smashed against the side of the house. Jimmy burrowed his head into her chest. What if the projectile had hit the window? Even the heavy curtains would be unable to provide an adequate barrier.

Another hard thump.

With her heart ready to explode from her chest, she pulled Jimmy toward her bedroom.

~*~

Trina cried out as Lillian steadied her. The seat of Trina's maternity jeans was wet. Liquid dripped onto the floor.

“We need to get somewhere safer.” The hall was perfect—almost. She lowered Trina back into the recliner. “I'll be quick.”

“Can you drive me to the hospital?” Trina gritted her teeth and her hands made deep indents as she pushed them into the padding of the chair. “The pains are really close together.”

Anger tightened Lillian's jaw. “Trina, look out the window.”
Sure, let's go out in the storm. You won't even stand up by yourself and you expect me to get you to the hospital?
Again, Lillian wondered at her thoughts. She brushed them aside for the current situation. She'd have to think on it later. “Maybe the squad can get here.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 911, only to hear a busy signal.

“Aaaah! Lillian!” Trina's panting breaths were almost lost among the reverberations of the storm.

Grabbing in the darkness, Lillian pulled the cushions off the couch and dragged them to the hall, bumping into the recliner and smacking into the wall during the process. As she felt her way back to the den, rain and wind assaulted the windows; the old glass probably couldn't take much more. Tension tightened her throat. “Let's move, Trina.”

“I can't!” A cold hand grabbed hers. “It hurts too much.” Trina let out another moan. “Something must be wrong!” The woman's hysteria sapped heavily on Lillian's reserves. “My baby is going to die!” Trina jerked her hands from Lillian's. “Your baby died, and now mine is going to die!”

Wanting to slap her back to reality, but knowing the movie trick probably wouldn't work, she glared in Trina's direction, the lack of light preventing Trina from seeing her angry expression. “If you want to stand here by yourself, go ahead.” She took a few steps before Trina's words stopped her.

“My dad is right. You are dangerous.”

“What did you say?”

“Dad doesn't trust you. Says you're here for a reason, something bad.” Trina groaned in the darkness. “He feels death all around you.”

Rage pushed its vicious head into her heart. Hadn't she proven her trustworthiness? How dare Bill think terrible thoughts of her?

Across the black space, Trina emitted a low guttural scream. “I know why you're here! You're going to kill my baby. Oh, God, oh, God. That's why you won't take me to the hospital!”

Lillian stiffened, too many blows hitting her at once. First Bill, now Trina. How could Trina even think that? She stood frozen to the spot, mouth gaping and eyes filled with tears.
God, You got me into this. I didn't want to stay here, but You made me. And now this. I can't handle any more...

Lightning ripped the black sky. She grabbed Trina's face between her hands. “Listen to me. Susan died in a fire. I should have been there, but I wasn't. But I
am
here with you.” Arms dropped to her sides, anger drained. “I know you're afraid. I am, too.”

“It hurts so much!”

“Trina, listen to me. Labor hurts, and it can last hours. When the storm is over, I'll get you to the hospital. Until then, I'll be with you.” She half-dragged and half-carried the pregnant woman to the hall. “Lie down on these cushions.” She braced Trina against her legs and lowered her to the floor. “I'll get some pillows and blankets.”

Arms extended, patting her way between piercing bolts of lightning, she grabbed four pillows and the throw she had been using on the couch. Stumbling over something hard, she picked the duct tape off the floor and hung it over her wrist. Trying to think what she might need, she groped around in the dark until her hands landed on two more throws. She shuffled her way back to the hall.

Panting for breath, hoping she had enough time before projectiles pierced through the house, Lillian threw one of the throws over the top of each of the glass doors that divided the entry from the long hall. The doors groaned as she struggled to close them. Above the sound of the storm came a distinct crack as the wooden frame split. Bill could fix it later—served him right. Strips of duct tape held the fabric barriers in place.

She groped her way back to Trina and propped pillows under her head and knees.

The blackness felt alive, and she brushed her hands across her arms, wiping the illusion from her. “Where do you keep your candles?”

“I don't know.” Trina rolled back and forth on the cushions.

Nostrils flaring, she gripped the younger woman's shoulders. “I can get us some light, or we can sit in the dark. Your choice.” Another pain peaked, and Lillian waited until the moaning stopped. “Think, Trina. Are there any candles in the kitchen?”

“Under the sink. Ted put an emergency box there, too.”

She found her way to the kitchen then the sink. Opening the lower cupboard, something soft landed on her fingers. Gasping, she jerked her hand back and shook it, trying to remove whatever had landed on her, most likely a spider. Hesitantly, she explored the opening. A box of dishwasher detergent fell over, gritty powder coating the shelf. Cleaning pads, bottles of something. Hard plastic tube—the flashlight!

Grateful to be released from the darkness, Lillian pressed the button, and an anemic beam greeted her. She continued to search the cupboard and spotted a green metal box pushed against the back wall, looking very military and utilitarian. Hoping it was Ted's emergency stash, Lillian laid the flashlight on the floor and pulled on the heavy container.

The flashlight went out.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes.

“Lillian! Where are you?”

Gritting her teeth, holding back the verbal lashing that pushed to be released, she turned. “Hold on. I found Ted's emergency box.”

“Please hurry.” Fear etched Trina's voice.

In the dark, Lillian ran her hands over the box and fingered two metal latches. No lock, thank goodness. She flipped up the lid and hesitantly lowered her hand into the invisible space. Hard, round shapes lay on top. D batteries!

Blindly she grabbed the flashlight, dumped the dead batteries on the floor, felt for the positive and negative ends of the new ones, and inserted them. The strong beam felt like air to her drowning spirit.

From inside the box she pulled out matches, four candles, a foil survival blanket, two bottles of water, and several envelopes of dehydrated soup. In the bottom lay a one hundred dollar bill. As she grabbed the candles and matches, she snickered.

Never had money been less relevant, unless she used it to start a fire…fire! The fact that she would even think of the hot flames when her mind needed to be on saving Trina made her muscles tighten. Always fire.

Was she becoming some sort of beast who focused on anger and self-righteousness when a woman labored across the shadowy space? When her labor had started, Craig had been at a ball game, his cell phone in his car. As her pain grew worse, contractions coming closer together, she had tried calling the emergency squad, but her hands had been shaking too hard to press the three numbers. By the time Craig got home, she had been a mass of tears, almost hysterical with fear.

Trina had proven her stiff backbone time and again.

What if this was Bill's prophesy? Flashes of recent behavior played out in her mind: her anger over Trina's dependency, her unwilling to show kindness, her jealousy of a God-given child. Tears wet her face as she struggled to her feet. It would be hours before the baby would come, and she would make those hours as comfortable for Trina as she could.

Entering the hall, the beam from the flashlight revealed a tinge of red seeping onto the cushions. This could not be good.

Droplets of sweat ringed Trina's face. “I'm so scared.”

“I am too.” She stroked Trina's cheek, trying to calm the nerves that controlled both of them as the storm blasted against the house. “What can I do for you?”

Trina turned her head toward the wall, then back to Lillian. Eyes round with pain, she looked into Lillian's face. “I'm so sorry about what I said…about my dad.”

“Look Trina—”

Another pain gripped the woman. When it passed, she sank exhausted onto the cushions.
“Trina, how long ago did your pains start?”

Damp hair clung to the pillow. “Sometime last night maybe…or this morning. I don't know.”

Fear churned in Lillian's stomach. “Why didn't you say something?”

“Didn't want to bother anyone until I knew for sure.”

Well, she had succeeded. But if Trina had gone into labor hours earlier than Lillian had expected, she could be ready to deliver before the storm passed!
God surely You don't mean for this baby to die, like my precious Susan. You have to save Trina's baby. Let this storm end so the squad can get here!

Punching in 911 over and over, the phone continued to beep busy.

With the severity of the storm, the chances of the emergency squad reaching Trina before her baby came were slim.

Lillian ached to run to the door, to shout for help, but she knew no one would be there; instead her words would be shredded and tossed back.
God, I know I don't deserve Your help, but Trina does.
Prayer used to be a routine part of her life. Even after the fire had destroyed her family, she had not forgotten to seek God. So what had kept her from His throne in the past few weeks? She had been so busy with Roger. With a quaking heart, she looked at Trina. “Listen, I can't reach anyone by phone. But that's OK. We can do this, but we need to pray. Give me your hands.”

As Trina's shaking arms reached toward her, she grabbed them. “Lord, Your precious child is coming into this world. Please help Trina to do her part, and guide me in mine. We really look forward to holding this blessing. In Jesus name, Amen.” She opened her eyes, unsure if God would hear her prayer.