The Journal: Ash Fall (7 page)

John talked with the clerk at the counter,
who then accepted the cash handed to him. He carefully counted it
out, smiled and slipped some of it in his pocket. Another guard
stood quietly to the side, alert and intent. John said something
else to the clerk that I couldn’t hear. A stock boy came from the
back pushing a dolly, loaded with double my order. I gave John a
questioning look. With the slightest shake of his head, I knew not
to say anything. The boxes just fit in the back of the truck. As we
walked out, John dutifully slipped the stock boy and the guards
some folded bills. I hadn’t planned on John paying for any of this.
There are now some things I don’t argue with him about, and this
was one, besides, I still needed to refill the drums of gas.

“What was all that about, John?” I questioned
once we were alone again.

“Graft. It’s the new old way of doing
business.”

The borrowed pickup truck was well packed
when we made the long drive home to Moose Creek. I did well
suppressing how giddy I felt over what we accomplished, even though
we were a long way from where I was last Fall in supplies.

May 10

With the fresh eggs I collected this morning,
the incubator was full. I placed the last of the eggs tip down,
refilled the lower trough with more water and turned it back on to
warm. The automatic egg turner hummed in its slow motion travel,
slightly shifting all the brown and tan eggs, just like a broody
hen would do, a full rotation every twelve hours. I replaced the
thermostat at an angle I could read through the window in the top
of the lid. The heat needed to be warm and steady. Opening the top
to check the temperature would let too much heated air escape.
Hopefully in three weeks we’ll have forty baby chicks. I
contemplated how to divide the hatchlings up.

“Why will you divide them at all, and to
whom?” John asked, a very valid question.

“Jason will get his choice first, of course,”
I said. John nodded, understanding that my sons always came first
with me. “I also want to give some to the community to raise for
their own eggs.” I sighed. “I love my town, John, however, I can’t
do it all for them. They have to take care of themselves.”

“You give more to this town than anyone
else,” he replied. “So, how many are you keeping for here?”

“It’s going to depend on how many are hens.
If out of the forty chicks half are hens, I think Jason having six
and the community having a dozen, and each get one rooster, that
would be fair. That would leave us with roosters to butcher and a
couple of hens to barter.” When he looked like he was going to
protest, I put my hand on his arm to silence him. “We already have
laying hens. This would give everyone an early start, the chicks
will need a full summer and fall of growing to survive the winter.
I think I’ll start a second batch of eggs as soon as these hatch.
Those will be for us to replenish the layers, and more for the
freezer.”

“You’re a generous person, Allex. Moose Creek
is lucky to have you. And so am I.” I was rewarded with one of his
special smiles and a loving kiss.

JOURNAL ENTRY: May 10

We spent most of the day putting yesterday’s
purchases away. Some needed repacking, some I set aside to go to
the Stone Soup Kitchen, and some got left in the middle of the
room. The bulk rice went into the buckets we emptied over the
winter and then were stored back in the food shed. The pasta
refilled the empty spaces on the shelves that were so full last
fall. With the extra flour, I needed another large metal trash can,
the easiest and most convenient way to store bulk flour.

* * *

“I need to make another trip, John. Do you
want to go with me, or would you like a day to relax?” I had been
working him pretty hard, occupying all his vacation time. “I want
to get the metal cans before there aren’t any, and I completely
forgot about spices. Herbs I can grow, just not spices like
cinnamon, pepper, and nutmeg.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here,”
he said, stretching like his back ached.

“That’s okay, enjoy your day off.” Marquette
wasn’t nearly as dangerous now as it was over the winter, as long
as I didn’t venture downtown. I gave him a hug, and left in my
shiny new car.

* * *

My first stop was the big-box hardware store
for the trash cans. I was surprised to see so many in stock. I
selected two thirty gallon ones, knowing they would just barely fit
in the hatch of the car, and only if I lowered the back seats. When
I couldn’t find lids for them, I was forced to take the twenty
gallon instead, and got three. There would always be a use for
them. Being in a hardware store made me think about Jason.

What was once a common practice now seemed
new and foreign. I called him on my little used cellphone, told him
I was at the hardware store in town, and asked him if there was
anything he needed.

He thanked me, and told me he had an ongoing
list, and most of it he needed to pick out himself.

Next stop was Mack’s for the spices. We had
been so accustomed to just going to any grocery store and getting
anything we want. The world became a small place with the advent of
international shipping. Exotic things like allspice, nutmeg,
peppercorns, cinnamon sticks, cloves and paprika were once
extremely expensive and hard to get. That had all changed and we
got spoiled. I knew the seasonings were in the baking aisle and I
wandered in that direction, going through the bakery section first.
Two young women were in a deep discussion, and my curiosity got the
better of me. They both appeared to be in their mid-thirties, both
blondes. One might have been a true blonde; the other had dark
roots that were showing noticeably. Well dressed, thin and
attractive, they each had the look of being a trophy wife at some
point. Now, they were just young and scared. I made a pretense of
checking out the donuts so I could eavesdrop.

When I finally got the gist of their
conversation – the lack of decent bread, and what there was, was
now $10 per loaf – I couldn’t resist. I asked them why they didn’t
just make their own bread.

“Make bread? No one does that anymore,” one
of them said in a huff.

“Don’t you have a neighbor or someone who
could teach you?” I suggested. Once I said that, I knew I was
interfering and moved away. Their lack of basic cooking skills was
really none of my business.

In the baking aisle, the spices were where
they always had been. I found one ounce jars of peppercorns and
whole cloves, plus a larger container of cinnamon sticks. There was
no whole allspice or nutmeg to be found, not even a space for it.
All of the pre-ground spices were gone so I was out of luck for the
paprika I wanted. Then I remembered what paprika was: ground red
peppers plus some cayenne pepper to zing it up. I could make my
own!

The meat section had very few items, most of
it now being kept behind glass in the butcher case. At $20 per
pound for a steak, there was a sharp rise in theft. There were a
few small chickens, some cut up, and some left whole, also behind
the glass. There was no seafood at all, not one shrimp, which
wasn’t a surprise.

The produce section fared only a little
better. No one was trying to steal; there wasn’t much to be had
anyway. There was a pile of sad and bruised red apples emitting
just a hint of sour over-ripeness, cabbages wrapped in plastic, a
few limp carrots and a bin of papery onions. The stock boy, Andy,
whom I’ve known for years, saw me and gave me a hug. Not a normal
thing, and these days, we were losing those we knew at such a rate
it was heartwarming to see a familiar face.

“We’re really hoping to have a better
selection later in the season after the local farms and gardens
have some time to produce a crop, though I doubt there will ever be
scrap again for the chickens,” Andy admitted. That didn’t surprise
me, as people were finally learning not to be wasteful.

“Andy, I really appreciate all that you guys
have done for me in the past by giving me the old produce for my
chickens and I really do understand. I’ll manage.”

There was a local dairy still in production,
so I checked out that department too. John loved cottage cheese as
much as I did, and I was thrilled to find some in the cooler. I got
us each a carton. Next to it was sour cream and butter, all with
limits posted. I still had some butter, although it was one of
those things I really had the anxious need to keep plenty of, and
who knew when I’d make it back to town? I got the posted limit of
two of both.

I was delighted to see Marie at her register,
and put the few items on the conveyor. When she looked up, I smiled
and her face just lit up.

“Hey, girlfriend!” Marie greeted me. “It’s so
good to see you. I’ve thought about you, wondering how you’re
doing.”

We chatted for a few minutes. I asked how her
cousin and his son were doing, and was pleased that all was well.
It was nice to catch up. I took my bag and headed to the parking
lot, remembering another time, and I shuddered with the memory,
while unconsciously feeling for the reassuring weight of the Kel
Tec in my shoulder holster.

May 11

Watching the news in the evening was
disturbing. There had been several large earthquakes on the West
Coast, thankfully with minimal damage. The Ring of Fire, that area
which circles the Pacific Ocean Basin, had been unusually active
and violent. There were more quakes along the coast of South
America, too. In one small town in Chile, there was a mine cave-in
as a result of the 6.2 quake that rocked the countryside. I
shuddered and John tightened his arm around me, knowing what I was
thinking. He assured me that it was a completely different kind of
mine than the one here, and that he was perfectly safe down in the
tunnels. Nothing would ever completely convince me of that.

CHAPTER 5

May 13

Over a light dinner of chicken Marsala on
linguini pasta, one of John’s favorites from this past winter, we
talked more, knowing he had to go back to work tomorrow
afternoon.

“I remember you saying when one of the other
guys moved his wife up here and rented a house, Green Way cut his
pay because they then considered him a ‘local’ employee.” John
nodded, mopping his plate with a crust of fresh Italian bread.
“Will that happen to you if you stay with me?”

“Yes, and I’m ready to accept that. What I
can’t accept is not seeing you, not holding you.” He pushed his
plate aside. “Besides, Sven is really mad at me, because he can’t
see you either, for his weekly massage.” Sven, the big Swede I also
saw at Eagle Beach. “This way you can go there.”

I thought about this for a few moments. “I
have an idea.”

We took our iced tea out to the back deck and
sat at the black wrought-iron bistro set. Shaded by the numerous
trees on the hill, and buffered from any noise by the house, the
deck was quiet, peaceful and secluded. I took John’s hand across
the small table.

“Before you say anything, I want you to
listen to what I’m going to suggest. There’s nothing I want more
than to have you with me all the time. I also know you have to
work, and so do I. I know you well enough to know that the money
you earn is important to you. If your pay is cut, it will take that
much longer for you to earn enough for whatever it is you want to
do.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to stay
here?”

“Goodness, no! I never want you to leave me
again. Just hear me out, John. If you stay here, we would hardly
see each other anyway, because of your hours.” If I recalled
correctly, they worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week for
four weeks, changing from days to nights midway, and then got two
weeks’ rest.

“If you stay at Eagle Beach during your four
weeks of work, you keep your pay rate. You take your rotation here
with me for those two weeks. I’ll start coming back to give you
massages, so we will see each other, and I’d like you to spend your
shift change here with me, it’s only a few hours, I know, but it’s
better than nothing. Very soon I’m going to get busy with work too,
though just for the summer.” His expression was so unreadable. “Do
you think this might work?”

“So, I stay at the Green Way house, and come
here during shift change, not missing any work, and then spend my
two weeks off here? And you resume coming to do massages? Sven will
be happy about that...” he muttered. “That’s more time than the
other guys get with their wives and family. We’ll make it work.” He
gave me one of those smiles that tell me everything is alright.

JOURNAL ENTRY: May 13

The news tonight had a long story about the first
bridge to be rebuilt across the Mississippi. It is a four-lane
bridge that will allow limited traffic to resume. Auto ferries have
been pulled out of storage and have been shuttling cars and
semi-trucks across the big rivers for two months now, but it’s a
slow route. The new bridge will greatly improve the delivery
system.

The film footage of this new bridge couldn’t hide
the surrounding devastation from the quakes that rocked our country
last fall. Much of that damage is still apparent and likely will be
for a long time to come.

* * *

May 14

We were just finishing our morning coffee
that John insisted on making with the French press like he had done
most of the winter, when Keith Kay drove up with the next load of
wood for my winter supply. He carefully backed the long trailer
across the lawn, stopping short of the log-splitter we had left in
front of the half-filled woodshed. After unlatching the metal doors
on the back, the hydraulics lifted the trailer, spilling the heavy
load of wood. Keith drove out slowly, while the cut wood continued
to tumble out, leaving another huge mound. John frowned; I was
delighted. I retrieved some cash from a drawer, and handed it over
to Keith, who left happy to not have to extend me credit this
time.