Route 66 Reunions (45 page)

“I see.” Mrs. Carter glanced at the folder in front of her and made a notation. She met his gaze again. “The other day on the phone you mentioned you would be staying on your sister’s farm so you could rebuild. Have you seen the property yet?”

“No, I got here as soon as I could. I came straight here after the funeral.”

“I can sympathize that your concern is with your niece, but rest assured, she’s in good hands. The family she’s with has two teenage girls who love babies.” Mrs. Carter laughed. “She has the equivalent of three mothers fussing over her.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, they aren’t her family. She doesn’t know them.”

Mrs. Carter nodded. “Yes, that was true at first, but she’s been there three days, since the night of the storm. Small children adapt quickly. Will you be staying at the farm?”

Chad nodded. She had a point. He didn’t even know if he’d have shelter other than his truck. “What do I have to do to get custody of Kara?”

“Since you will likely need a lawyer for probate, may I suggest that you begin proceedings with an attorney to obtain legal guardianship after you’ve had some time to see what you’re up against with the house? Go out and look things over. If you need help cleaning up and rebuilding, go to the courthouse and get on the list. I understand volunteers are being assigned work locations.” She looked down at the file again. “You teach at a high school in the northern part of the state, is that correct?”

“Yes, in Rockford.”

“I assume you have a home there?”

“An apartment. I live alone. There hasn’t been need for a house, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll buy a house. I intend to raise Kara just as Jessica and Steve wanted.” She needed to understand. “Steve might have been raised in foster homes, but he didn’t let his background keep him down. As an attorney, he saw the need to provide for his family. I’ll check with the firm. I’m sure he made provisions for Kara.”

Mrs. Carter smiled. “It sounds as if Steven Jones was one of the rare successes that come out of the foster care system. I always love to hear of those.”

“He was a good man.” Chad felt his throat tighten and didn’t say more.

“I’m sure he was.” Mrs. Carter stood and so did Chad. “We’ll get this all ironed out, but for now, why don’t you take a look at the farm?”

“In the meantime, may I see Kara?”

“Absolutely. Let me call the Warners and set up a visit. Check back with me in the morning. We should know something then.”

Chad bit his tongue to keep from saying what he thought of the delay. He wanted to see Jessica’s baby now. Rather, he wanted to take Kara home with him. His grief had been so intense that he’d barely thought of his niece beyond his need to get to her.

He again shook hands with the social worker and left. He drove back to the center of the destruction and stopped at the four-way stop. This time he turned to the right—the opposite direction from the way he’d come into town—and drove four miles into the country before turning on the gravel road that led to what was left of his sister’s home.

He stopped near the house. For a few minutes he sat in silence and stared out the windshield. The house still stood. So many houses in town had been leveled to the floors with no loss of life. He’d been told that Jessica and Steve had not died in the house. The neighbor who found them assumed that after the first storm passed, Steve went out to take a look at the damage to the barn. Jessica heard on the radio that another tornado was headed toward them and ran out to tell him to take cover. Before they reached shelter, the second tornado hit and flying debris from the barn killed both of them. The house didn’t appear to have been touched.

He stepped from the truck and took a quick look around. The barn was little more than a pile of rubble. He walked around the house. Several windows had been shattered. In the backyard, he stopped and stared. A large maple tree leaned against the house with one branch buried in the roof.

Inside he found that not one room would be suitable to shelter a child. He might as well do what the social worker said and get on the list for help. Jessica wouldn’t want her baby with strangers. Steve wouldn’t want his daughter raised in foster care. The sooner he had help, the sooner he could make a home for Kara.

T
he day after the storms, Pastor Walt Mattson stood before his Wednesday evening congregation with a special plea for help. “Folks in Lakeland have been hit hard. Four people lost their lives in two tornadoes that ripped through the town. Many are without homes while others begin the seemingly impossible task of cleaning up and rebuilding. We’ve prayed for them, but we can’t stop there. Until you see the destruction a tornado leaves, you can’t imagine what these people face.”

He motioned to the ushers in back. “Gentlemen, if you will start the sign-up sheets circulating, I’ll explain a practical, hands-on way we can help.”

Amanda sat with her parents and listened. “Churches and civic organizations are asked to provide volunteer workers to help the citizens of Lakeland and the surrounding area rebuild. Of course they need carpenters and plumbers, but their immediate need is workers who can pick up brush and bricks or wood pieces. I can’t begin to list the debris scattered everywhere. If you are an able-bodied man or woman and have any free time, please consider donating a few hours to this worthy project. I’m hoping to take a crew of at least five or six from our church this Saturday. We’ll be assigned an area and will likely work together.”

Amanda took the sign-up sheet and wrote her name on the list. She understood the hollowness of loss. Her heart ached in sympathy. Their homes gone or damaged within moments. Others had lost even more through death.

Saturday morning, Amanda drove her rental car to Lakeland in a caravan of two other vehicles. Linda Maddox rode in the front with her while an older couple sat in the backseat. Linda’s daughter Sarah was Amanda’s best friend from high school, and Linda had always been a second mother to her.

As they neared Lakeland, signs of damage came into view, but nothing seemed especially devastating until they turned off the highway and drove into the populated area just past the city limits sign.

“Oh, will you look at that?” the woman in the backseat said.

Amanda shuddered at the destruction on either side of the road as she followed the pastor’s dark blue sedan. Thankfully the street had been cleared, but she didn’t need much imagination to see that piles of bricks, shards of glass, and pieces of buildings on either side had, only days ago, covered the pavement where they now drove.

Some houses suffered roof damage, while many more littered the area up to the edge of the street. On one corner, a floor without walls held nothing except a bathtub and toilet. From her car, Amanda saw a roll of toilet paper sitting between the fixtures even as Linda gasped.

“I’ve heard of tornadoes doing things like that, but I’ve never seen it before. How could the wind totally remove an entire house, yet leave something as light as a roll of paper sitting on the floor?”

Amanda shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m amazed there weren’t more deaths here. Only four people died and a few injuries were reported, yet we’ve already driven past at least a dozen totally destroyed houses.”

A group of people worked by the side of the street, sorting through the mess as they loaded pickup trucks with trash to be hauled away. Amanda itched to stop the car and get out to help. There was so much to do and so few working. How would the town ever be cleaned up?

A brief stop at the county courthouse gave them their assigned location. After driving a few miles into the country, they turned onto a gravel road for a short distance before stopping at a house that appeared to be untouched.

Amanda shared a look and a shrug with Linda as they got out of the car. She closed the driver’s door and stood for a moment taking in the peaceful scene. The one-story ranch-style house looked well taken care of. A couple of wooden slat chairs sat on the inviting front porch with a small matching table between them as if waiting for company. The soft green of the house blended harmoniously with the manicured lawn. A flagstone walk curved from the driveway to the front steps.

To the left, several feet back from the house, a cement floor, collapsed walls, and rubble marked the place where a barn once stood. The wind had been selective in its destruction. There, the ground held evidence of its fury.

“Good morning.” Pastor Mattson’s greeting brought Amanda’s attention to the others gathered in a group near the house. “I’m Walt Mattson, pastor of Community Church in Litchfield. This is John Sinclair, Rick Harrison, and Ron Kimbel.”

He continued calling off names, but Amanda stopped listening as her gaze focused on the man who moved among the helpers shaking hands and smiling as the workers were introduced.

Her heart skipped a beat before pounding furiously when she recognized who they would be working for. What had it been? Thirteen years? Fifteen? No, she couldn’t fool herself into believing she didn’t remember. Fourteen years and seven months ago her heart had been broken by the very man who now stood across the yard watching her.

“And Amanda Wilson, who is still leaning against her car. Come on, Amanda, and join us. This young man is Chad Randall. He will be showing us what needs to be done.”

Amanda pushed away from the car and circled the group to stand beside Linda, as far from Chad as she could get. Her heart thundered in her ears until she couldn’t hear what he or the pastor said. She sought the calming effect of nature in the peaceful scene of several cows grazing across the fence. Taking several deep breaths, she questioned what was happening.
Lord, why of all the places needing help, did You send us here?
What was Chad doing here, anyway? He’d married and moved away. Of course, so had she, but that was different. He should have stayed away.

“We’ll be glad to help you any way we can.” Pastor Mattson’s voice again penetrated Amanda’s befuddled brain. He turned to the women in the group. “Ladies, as you can see, the yard there by the barn has enough broken limbs and lumber to keep us all busy. Chad says a large tree in the backyard fell against the house during the storm. He’s been unable to remove it without help. For today, would you mind working in the yard, picking up usable lumber and firewood while we men concentrate on removing the tree?”

Elva Harrison gasped and covered her mouth before saying, “Oh my, did the tree do a lot of damage?”

Chad sent the hint of a smile toward the older woman. “Not as much as it could’ve. A branch broke through the peak of the roof, but didn’t touch the attic floor.”

His gaze shifted to Amanda as if speaking to her. “My niece’s bedroom is directly under the trunk of the tree. If I have anything to be thankful for in all of this, it’s that the tree stopped when it did. She was in her bed when it fell.”

Amanda couldn’t tear her gaze from his. In that moment, time became irrelevant as their past fell away and her heart ached with his pain. At the mention of his niece, she understood his loss. He’d had only one sibling. Jessica. Had she married her high school sweetheart? Were they the man and woman who had died here? Jessica and Steven. Jessica with her laughing blue eyes and dark brown hair so like Chad’s. At one time she and Amanda expected to be sisters. The work project became personal as she shared Chad’s grief.

A soft smile touched his lips before he looked away, breaking contact with her.

The men began moving toward the backyard. Amanda nodded at a truck in the driveway. “I see a wheelbarrow sticking up in the back of Brother Kimbel’s truck. I’ll get my gloves from my car; then I’ll lift it out. Did you all bring gloves?”

The two older ladies, Mable Kimbel and Elva Harrison, wore long-sleeve shirts tucked into their blue jeans. They each had on wide-brimmed hats to cover their gray hair and shade their faces. Mable wiggled her gloved hands and smiled. “I’m ahead of you, Amanda.”

Elva nodded. “Yes, you two girls get your gloves and let’s get to work.”

Linda, who was the same age as Amanda’s mother, whispered as she and Amanda hurried to the car. “Being with those two sweet ladies makes me feel young again.”

Amanda laughed. “I know, but I have a feeling we’ll be putting out some effort to keep up with them.”

She heard a chain saw revving on the other side of the house. “I didn’t know anyone brought a saw.”

“I don’t think they did. It was probably already here.” Linda pulled her gloves on and headed toward the barn.

Amanda hurried to catch up. A cold chill chased up her back as she thought of Chad trying to cut through a large tree by himself. He could have been hurt. She shouldn’t care. But she wouldn’t want anyone hurt, not even Chad.

Elva and Mable had already started dragging broken tree branches into a pile by the barbed wire fence separating the yard from the pasture. While they did that, Amanda and Linda made piles of usable lumber near the cement floor that had been the barn. Most were useless for anything other than firewood and those pieces went into the wheelbarrow to deposit across the yard.