Face the Winter Naked (18 page)

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Authors: Bonnie Turner

BOOK: Face the Winter Naked
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"I'd
appreciate it." Daniel got off the bed and reached for Homer's hand.
"I can't tell you how much this means." His eyes smarted. "And
if you don't mind, I'd like to try out this here bed for a little while."

"Take
your time." Homer turned to go, then said over his shoulder, "The
potatoes can wait another few days. In the meantime, we'll pray for your little
family if it's all right with you."

"Thank
you," Daniel said. "I've been so busy trying to survive I almost
forgot how to pray." He removed his shoes and glanced at the picture over
the dresser.

A
few minutes later, Homer appeared in the hall with Daniel's pack. He set it inside
the door and said, "There you go. If you need anything, just holler."

Daniel
waited for him to leave, then removed his tools and lined them up on the floor
beside the bed. It was good to be rid of the extra weight. He picked up
George's banjo, examined the strings and reminded himself to fix the broken
ones someday. Exhausted and with a full stomach, he lay on the bed next to the
banjo.
She's almost like a good woman
, said the banjo man.

 

A
loud crash woke Daniel from a sound sleep, and from inside his head came a
child's voice:

Now
I sleep, pray my soul. I wake and die
.

He
sprang upright.

"Bobby—that
you, son?"

Something—or
someone—screamed, and the hairs stood out on the back of his neck. He listened.
He knew he'd been dreaming. But what? From a distance came the long, lonely
whistle of a train, and he remembered his old hobo passenger.
Has the banjo
man died?

The
eerie sound continued for several more minutes. Perhaps it was only a panther,
not a human. Saul had told him stories about wildcats when he was young. How
they'd stretch out on tree branches at night, waiting for horses and buggies or
walkers to pass under. But he didn't know of anyone who'd died from wildcats
springing down on open carriages.

After
a while the crying stopped. Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and looked at
Jesus.

"I
don't know what it means," he said under his breath. "But I trust you
to help if anything's wrong back home."

Chapter
12

 

Saul
rose from the rocker and waved when LaDaisy left the privy and headed down the
path to the house.

"Come
have a seat, girl, you look wore out."

"You
got it right," she said, coming over. "It's fixin' to storm."

He
cupped a hand behind his ear. "Whatzat?"

"I
said—" She pointed to the sky and yelled, "Look at the clouds."

Saul
gazed toward the southwest. "Yep. We can use the rain."

"That's
the truth." She sat on the top step and fanned herself with the neck of
her dress. "It's just our luck they'll pass on over without leaving a
drop. Those are 'mama' clouds, Saul, big droopy bags of wind."

"Hey?"

"Funnel
clouds."

"Nope,
just straight winds. I seen many a funnel cloud in olden days and these ain't
them." He raised his head and sniffed the air like a hound. "But
rain's coming for sure. Can ya smell it?"

She
got up to leave. Sometimes it was pointless trying to explain anything to Saul.
She suspected he might be going blind, as well as deaf.

"I
have to get supper started. You can eat with us if you want."

"Sounds
like a good idea."

LaDaisy
laughed. "You weren't deaf that time, mister. Mention food and your ears
perk up like an old mule."

"Told
you I ain't deef."

"Says
you. But you're welcome to eat. There isn't much."

"I
ain't hungry anyhow."

When
he grinned, gaps between his teeth turned him into a jack-o-lantern. His
stick-out ears rode up the sides of his head into a disappearing hairline.
Tufts of gray hair sprouted from his ears, no doubt growing in beds of earwax.

She
knew if she didn't watch after him, he might not eat at all. Even now his skin
was about to fall off his bones. Feeding him was the least she could do for her
father-in-law, and the kids enjoyed having him around.

"Suit
yourself, and keep an eye on those clouds."

She
headed back to the house, glancing at the dark sky again. The storm was
approaching fast. On impulse, she went to the storm cellar and pulled open a
wooden door almost hidden under a rock garden a few feet from the back of the
house. The flowers growing on top bloomed despite the dryness: black-eyed
Susan, tiger lilies, mint, and purple iris, whose roots lay on top of the
ground drying out. Another summer soon gone and she still hadn't divided the
tubers.

She
dropped the door back against the ground and descended the steps into a musty,
cool cellar that smelled of dirt, though its walls and ceiling were lined with
boards. But even with the open door and an iron pipe for ventilation, she felt
buried beneath the mound of soil and rocks and flowers. Her family had used
this dark hole only twice to hide from the wind.

This
is how my baby feels buried underground
.

Saul
had stored a bushel basket of potatoes in one corner last fall, and mice had
gnawed the few shriveled tubers that remained. After they moved here, Daniel
built shelves along the cellar's back wall for her Mason jars of fruits and
vegetables, pickles and preserves. Except for a couple of jars of green beans
and tomatoes, the shelves stood empty, a reminder of the poor times come upon
them. An assortment of dusty fruit jars and a box of zinc lids sat on the floor
under the shelves. How long since she'd had any fruit or vegetables to put up?
She was afraid to open the old jars lest the food was spoiled.

After
checking to see if the old wooden bench and pile of blankets were still there,
she came back upstairs, but hesitated about closing the door. Just one glance at
the black, fast-moving clouds boiling overhead changed her mind and she left it
open.

The
wind picked up and swirled dust and leaves around the backyard. Bed sheets,
diapers, and pillow slips flapped horizontally on the clothesline. She ran to
the corner of the house and yelled at the kids playing on the truck as dirt
devils kicked up around them.

"Go
in the house, it's going to storm! Hurry!"

The
two boys stared at their mother a minute, then jumped down from the truck, ran
in the house and slammed the screen door. Catherine came over as LaDaisy went
back to the clothesline.

"Mama,
Mary's crying."

LaDaisy
listened. "She's hungry, Cath. Go in and talk to her. I have to get these
clothes down before they get rained on." She swatted the girl lightly on
the bottom.

"Hurry
now. Go play with baby till I come in."

Catherine
went in the house and LaDaisy yanked clothes off the line, throwing clothespins
in the basket with the clothes. Finishing just as thunder boomed and lightning
crashed too close for comfort, she waved at Saul and yelled.

"Get
in the cellar!"

He
didn't hear. She dropped the basket of clothes by the back steps and tore up
the path to the little house, hair flying in the wind, dress billowing up over
her knees. Saul came down the rickety steps.

"Whatzat?"

Her
heart pounded and sweat rolled down her cheeks as she pointed to the storm
clouds.

Saul
shook his head. "Just a straight wind. I seen many in my day—" He
grabbed his hat as the wind lifted it up. "Whoops!"

"Get
in the cellar!" she screamed. "It's a tornado!"

The
roar of the wind drowned out her voice.

"Th-the
cellar. Quick!" She started back at a run, thinking of the kids alone in
the house, calling over her shoulder, "You get in that cellar right now,
Saul!"

She
continued to the house, burst into the kitchen and grabbed Earl's arm.

"Take
Bobby to-to the cellar.
Now
, Earl. Hurry! I'll get Mary."

A
loud clap of thunder—too close—and the rain poured. The house groaned. A blast
of wind hit the side full force and drenched the kitchen through the open
window. It was almost pitch black outside, and the sky roared like a freight
train, drowning out Catherine's screams. LaDaisy snatched Mary out of the
cradle and ran back to the kitchen.

Mary
cried as Catherine screeched, her face beet red and tears running down her
face.

"Follow
me!" LaDaisy shouted. "Come on, Cath, to the cellar—"

"Mama,
Mama. I'm afraid!"

When
the terrified girl didn't move, LaDaisy slapped her smartly across the face.

Oh
dear God. What have I become
?

"I'm
sorry, Cath, now come on."

The
screaming stopped abruptly but Cath continued to sob.

LaDaisy's
hair stood on end as she yanked the screen door open and pushed the girl
outside. Shielding Mary's face against the wind and rain, the two stumbled down
the cellar steps in the dark. She realized she'd forgotten the flashlight.
God
help us
.

The
boys cried, but Saul was there.

"Ain't
much of a storm," he said. "Why, I seen some could turn your hair
white." He took a small hand in each of his and led the boys to the bench.
"Now just sit your butts down and you'll be okay. It's just wind."

"I
want my daddy!" Earl screamed, and Bobby said, "Big wind, Grampa."

LaDaisy
grabbed Catherine's hand and led her to the bench, her chest heaving from
exertion and fear.

"Say
a prayer," Saul told Earl. "Your daddy ain't here, but if he was he'd
be praying, wouldn't he? You know he would, so get busy and pray."

Rain
poured through the open cellar door and Saul went up and pulled it down with a
bang. Now the cellar was thrown into complete darkness, enough to keep the boys
crying and start their sister up again.

LaDaisy
fought for breath as she pushed Catherine down on the bench, grabbed a musty
blanket and wrapped it around her.

"Hush
up, Cath! You're safe down here. Stop crying before I give you something to cry
about."

It
was enough that Mary cried and struggled in her arms. She unbuttoned her dress
and gave her a breast to suck on. From the dark came Bobby's voice.

"...
me down to sleep ... I wake and die."

Oh
dear God.
LaDaisy's heart turned
over, hearing her son's innocent baby prayer. She thought of Daniel, knowing if
he were here, he'd be totally useless. Part of her wanted to strangle her
husband for leaving them in this danger. But they needed him, and now was no
time for bitterness.
Daniel, Daniel, where are you
?

Outside,
the storm raged and limbs crashed to the ground nearby. Something thumped
against the cellar door. Wind whistled through the cracks of the old boards as
the family huddled in the dark waiting for the noise to stop. LaDaisy's ears
popped, and her stomach jumped. The children had quieted, and Mary nursed
contentedly. Her diaper was soaked—as if she cared.

LaDaisy
listened, but heard only the silence. "I think it's over. Saul, can you
open the door? I heard something hit; it might be blocked."

He
mumbled a reply and she heard him climb the steps. The door groaned. Daylight
streamed in as he pushed until it fell back against the ground with a thud.

Rain
poured through the open doorway. Mary had fallen asleep and lost the nipple. LaDaisy's
eyes adjusted to the light as she covered herself and roused the children
huddled on the bench.

"It's
okay now," she said. "The storm's gone."

Catherine
and Earl stared at their mother with big, startled eyes.

"I
want my daddy," Earl said.

"Well,
as you can see, he ain't here."

"Where
is he?"

She
had no answer, but shook her head and turned away as Saul went out in the rain.
She shook Bobby's arm gently and he sat up.

"Storm's
over, Bobby. We can go back to the house now. I'll cook supper."

Her
children were barefoot and dirty, but safe.

Their
fears gone now, Catherine and Earl ran up the cellar stairs and into the yard
as though nothing had happened.

"It's
raining," Catherine sang. "It's raining. It's raining."

"Thank
God," LaDaisy murmured.

She
grabbed Bobby's hand and led him up the steps, holding Mary against her left
shoulder. They stood by the back porch letting the rain pour over them, the
kids laughing and skipping through the grass soaking wet, thoughts of the storm
lost to memory. LaDaisy's hair hung in soppy tendrils around her face. The
water felt refreshing and cool after the sweltering days they'd spent wiping
sweat from their brows. The blessed rain washed the grime off kids and clothes,
and filled the rain barrel at the corner of the house.

Year
after year, the resident goldfish stayed at the bottom of the deep barrel to
survive the harsh winter months; spring and summer found it skimming mosquito
larvae from the top of the water. A one-inch-long fish when they won it at a
carnival five years before, "Goldie" had grown another three inches. LaDaisy
often wondered how it could live its whole existence in a barrel of water
without another living fish to associate with, and she always made a point to
speak to it when she dipped water for washing hair or watering houseplants.

Sometimes
she felt like the fish.

The
dark clouds moved off to the east, over pastures and dirt roads turning to mud.
Sunshine burst through the rain. The grass looked greener as raindrops pelted
the earth. She became lost in thought, until a sudden noise from Saul made her
turn around.

"Sweet
rain for the garden," she said.

Saul
gazed up the path toward his house, and she followed his line of sight to the
remains of the house he'd called home. She stared, unable to comprehend what
had happened. Then she burst into tears as the old man walked slowly up the
path, past the outhouse, the garden, now littered with debris—boards, window
sashes, doors, broken glass, clothes, and chairs.

"No,
Saul, no. Come back, please."

He
paid her no mind. When he reached the porch he hesitated, then slowly climbed
the steps and lowered himself into the rocker, which, amazingly, was untouched
by the storm.

Behind
the porch lay a pile of lumber—smashed flat and furniture probably blown to the
next county. He rocked back and forth, his old shoes sliding against the worn
boards, his face an impenetrable mask.

Unable
to stop crying, LaDaisy turned and entered her own house, put Mary down and
called the kids in.

"Nobody
needs a bath tonight." Trying to sound cheerful. "Get the wet clothes
off and I'll fix supper."

"Where's
Grandpa?" Earl asked.

"He'll
be here in a little bit." LaDaisy knew Saul was rocking on the porch of a
house that was no longer there.

She
rummaged through the icebox for something to cook. Scrambled eggs? Oh my. She'd
forgotten to put the ice card in the window and the icebox felt warm inside.
She opened the small door at the bottom, pulled out the pan of water and
emptied it into a five-gallon pail. The fifty-pound block of ice had melted to
a chunk about six-inches in diameter. She found the card and stuck it up in the
window, mentally calculating which day it was.

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