Trust Me II, page 30
“What is this?” he asked as he glanced up and saw the emotion in her eyes.
“It was my dad’s,” she said. “I got my mom’s earrings and that case. I want you to have it; open it.” Creighton wanted to push it aside and pull her to him, comforting the memories that danced on her delicate face, but instead he did as he was told and lifted the lid. Inside was a small key-chain with a crystal hanging from the end and inside the gem was a single grain of wheat, preserved for all eternity. He looked up at her and frowned.
“My dad said, all it took was a single grain of hope, to grow a life of love and happiness,” she told him, tears shinning in her eyes. “That’s what I want you to have; a single grain of hope.”
Creighton sat the case aside and stood up, pulling her against his warm chest, holding her tightly for several long moments. He didn’t know what to say; he couldn’t begin to explain how much this simple gesture meant to him or how much he needed to hear her say these things. When he pulled away, his eyes matched hers; both filled with unshed tears of love and joy.
“You are my grain of hope,” he told her, cupping her cheek with his large hand.
“And you’re mine,” she whispered.
“Together, we can grow a life of love and happiness that spans generations to come.” Sandra nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck, their lips touching as their hearts embraced each other’s.
Only together would they make the future brighter; only together could they withstand all that life placed in their paths.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sandra spent the rest of the morning with Mary, sorting through her belongings that Craig’s boys had brought to the farm; while James took Creighton into town for the farmer’s ritual of gathering for coffee at the local restaurant. By ten o’clock both women were exhausted and ready for a break. Mary went inside as Sandra gathered together a few items she wanted to take home with her, determined to make Creighton help her categorize the furnishings, clothing and appliances when he returned. Mary returned a few minutes later with the wash to hang up on the line; a luxury of country living had always been crisp, air dried sheets come bedtime.
It was a humid morning and Sandra had worked up a sweat, making her feel more exhausted than the work alone could cause. She stretched her aching back as she looked at the skies, noticing the heavy dark clouds that gathered in the western sky.
“Looks like rain,” She told her grandmother as she helped her pin the sheets to the line.
“That would be nice,” Mary replied, glancing up to the skies. “A summer rain would be a welcome relief from the sticky heat we’ve had the past few weeks.”
Sandra took the basket and walked with Mary toward the back porch, glancing over her shoulders once more at the dark skies. The clouds were heavy with moisture and she couldn’t hide the frown from pulling her brows together. Creighton had never seen a Kansas storm before; she only hoped he was still with James. At least he’d be safer than at the motel.
By mid-morning the storm had blown in. Sandra looked out the kitchen window to the large vegetable garden on the south side of the house, and frowned. The rows of tomatoes and sweet corn stood at an angle in the gusting wind while leaves from the garden blew upwards; exposing several pickling cucumbers that Mary would soon put-up in jars to make her prize-winning bread and butter pickles.
“Come help me,” Mary shouted from the back door, causing Sandra to hurry outside. The winds had picked up, blowing the sheets loose from the clothespins holding them to the line. They had to get them inside before the rains came. Sandra laughed as she and Mary fought to take the linen off the lines; struggling with the whipping corners that reached out toward the winds and noticing the change in the crisp air. The breeze had turned cold and they looked up to see the dark clouds move in front of the sun, dimming the light.
Once inside they turned on the television to the local news to check the weather forecast. Barton and surrounding counties were under a severe storm warning from 10am until 2pm, which meant a threat of tornadoes.
Mary and Sandra went outside to the west side of the yard and looked up at the clouds. They hung low in the sky and were a sickening grey-aqua color. The air had cooled off significantly and Sandra wrapped her arms across her chest to help hold the heat in. The wind had stopped and they could hear a very faint siren coming from town, two miles away, warning that a tornado had been spotted in the area.
A tremendous clap of thunder shook Mary and Sandra, filling the air with cold electricity. They turned and ran toward the cellar as the skies opened up, sending half inch hail stones pelting the women and making them cover their heads with their arms.
They climbed down the steps to the cellar, calling for Duke who lumbered up behind them. The cellar was nothing more than a large dugout underground; ten feet deep, five feet wide and fifteen feet long. The walls and floor were concrete and the ceiling was made of wood with three feet of dirt and earth heaped on top, giving it a dome shape in the north side of the yard. A heavy metal door was attached to the structure and Mary secured the bolt closed as soon as they were safe inside. The hail continued to pound against the door for several minutes, and then it stopped just as suddenly as it started, but the thunder could still be heard echoing through the concrete surrounding.
The wind had picked up tremendously and they could hear the tree trunks creaking and the wind chimes clanging from the porches. They crouched close together at the far end of the cellar, hugging onto Duke’s collar to keep him calm. The snugged in tight between the shelves where Mary stored her canned vegetables and winter supplies, listening to the storm rage above them.
Sandra couldn’t stop thinking about Creighton and James; she didn’t know if they had made it to safety or if her husband had ever seen a storm as violent as a tornado, before. She wished she could call him, to hear his soothing voice, but she had left her phone in the house. Mary whispered a soft prayer for their men, hoping they were not in the Bronco when the storm hit. Out of all the places they could be, a vehicle was by far the least safest place to hide.
Mary had endured many, many tornadoes in her life on the plains; some of the neighbors referred to the storms as trading lawn chairs, since things that could not be tied down were blown away. Sandra had grown up practicing tornado drills at school and had endured the warning sirens many times while working at the library, taking refuge in the basement.
Violent hail, wind and rain storms were common occurrences in central Kansas and could cause significant damage to buildings, vehicles and crops. Most farmers would insure their crops and farm equipment against loss from drought and storms, though it was never an easy process to replace or rebuild. Anyone who made a living working outdoors, tending livestock or crops had to prepare for Mother Nature’s temperament. Extreme weather was to be expected; freezing ice storms, blizzards, sub-zero winters; monsoon-type rains in the spring and long humid summers. Rivers would overflow their banks and flood the flat lands some years, while drought would touch the crops and turn the soil hard as stone, other years. It was a part of life on the plains; a life Sandra was praying she wouldn’t have to endure ever again. It was the only part of Kansas she wouldn’t miss.
Another bout of hail pounded at the door, demanding entrance; this time the stones sounded larger and heavier than the previous one. Mary sighed, hoping her tomatoes and new azaleas would survive the storm. After a few minutes more, the hail stopped and soon the rain let up. Mary opened the cellar door and felt a cool moist breeze blow through the narrow space.
“I think it’s passed,” Mary said, looking back to Sandra who was trying to move around the large hound dog who coward by her side. They walked up the small steps and looked around; the ground was covered in a white blanket of inch sized balls of hail; it looked like a golf ball factory had exploded across the farm.
There didn’t appear to be much damage; a broken window on the garage, a displaced rain gutter and the Ziggler’s lawn chair and table were sitting next to Mary’s hammered azaleas and the ground was painted red with exploded tomatoes; other than that, they were quite lucky. There was no serious damage – this time.
“Nana, I have to call Creighton,” Sandra said; a sick feeling erupting in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with the baby. “I have to make sure he’s alright.” She turned and hurried into the house, leaving her grandmother and Duke to look after her. Mary smiled as she patted the old hound dog’s head.
“Looks like things are going to be just fine,” she assured him as she walked over to assess the remains of her garden.
James drove the old Bronco into town, explaining to Creighton the ritual that took the farmers away from home on a daily basis. They pulled into a parking stall at the small restaurant where Creighton had taken Sandra every morning since arriving in Kansas. The parking lot was full of trucks and SUVs; not like it usually was during the breakfast hours.
“Gathering for coffee is a tradition,” James began as he shut off the engine. “We meet every morning, mid-morning and mid-afternoon to talk about the weather, crops, politics and just small town gossip.”
“Sounds interesting,” Creighton smiled as he closed the car door and walked next entrance of the restaurant.
He was surprised by the number of people who greeted him by name as he took a seat with James at the same table he had shared breakfast with his wife earlier that same morning. He recognized several of them from the picnic the night before and shared polite conversations with those who stepped up to the table to shake his hand or ask about NHT.
It seemed like everyone in town knew he was married to Sandra and he found each one had a story about Hoisington’s shy, innocent track star who had won the state championship in her senior year. Many told him of the vibrant, intelligent librarian who helped save the small library from closing three years ago when there was no money left in the budget. They relayed the story of her arranging bake sales, yard sales and fund raisers to help keep the doors open and the books on the shelves. He listened to the speakers with interest, proud of his young wife in more ways than when he had woken that morning.
Ten o’clock arrived soon enough and James assured him the bank was open. Creighton was urgent to make certain the money for the sale had been transferred into the old man’s account and even more anxious to get back to Sandra.
James drove one block to the bank in the heavy rain, and parked outside just as the tornado siren started to wale. It was horrendously loud and Creighton jumped, covering his ears with his hands. The siren was the single most annoying sound he had ever heard and lasted for a full three minutes.
They hurried into the basement of the bank, following a number of employees and customers who had gathered for early morning business. Like every home and building in tornado alley, the bank had a storm shelter and those gathered found a place next to the concrete walls. The bank was a newer design, having been built in the 70s to replace the previous turn-of-the-century limestone structure. The modern building had a large community room downstairs that was used for meetings, social events and other activities.
Creighton found himself once again among new friends. One of the tellers, a young red-head named Sally, told him she had been in the same class as Sandra while another woman told him that her children had loved visiting the library and listening to the stories she would read.
Time seemed to pass by very slowly as they sat pressed up against the concrete walls. Creighton was irritated with James’ carefree attitude as he and the occupants of the shelter laughed and talked as though nothing was going on outside the thick walls. He had never gone through anything like this before and he was feeling very claustrophobic and uneasy. The feeling of helplessness was beginning to wear on him and he nearly shouted with joy when the blazing siren finally stopped.
Because of the severity of the storm, the bank president insisted that they stay in the basement until the all-clear was sounded. Creighton to be in and he watched those gathered around him with thought of Sandra and felt a certain awe for the woman; she was much braver than he ever gave her credit for. She had endured many storms over the course of her life and managed to come out, practically unscathed. He thought about how she had lost her parents and fear began to grip his stomach as he took the phone from his pocket and pressed the button to call her, but there was no signal; they were surrounded by too much concrete. James saw the worry on the young man’s face and patted his arm.
“She’s a smart girl and she knows what to do,” he told him gently. “She’ll be alright.”
Creighton tried to smile, but it was a weak attempt.
Twenty minutes passed by before two short blasts of a siren sounded the all-clear and the group emerged from the shelter. They walked up the two flights of stairs to the main bank and looked around. There was no damage to the building and the doors had sealed shut when the alarm went off. Creighton walked to the window and looked out onto the muddy streets; it was raining and the window was cool but it was a steady rain. There were large white balls laying over the ground and for a moment he just stared at them until he realized they were hail stones. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so large in his life.
The bank president escorted James and Creighton into his office and asked his assistant to verify the wire-transfer of Creighton’s payment into James’ account. While they visited, Creighton kept looking at his phone. He couldn’t get a signal and his anxiety was starting to mount; he felt like hurling the small black box against a wall!
Everything seemed to return to normal and a quiet calm settled about the building and Creighton looked around in amazement; it was as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. He watched a man in dirty coveralls enter the building and heard him telling another customer that a funnel cloud had been sighted north of Great Bend half an hour before, but it didn’t seem to touch down. The worse of the storm had passed and now they had to contend with any damage left behind by the winds and hail.
The bank president’s assistant appeared a few minutes later and confirmed the funds had been deposited, bringing Creighton immediately to his feet. He shook the man’s hand and waited anxiously as James followed suit, listening as the man assured them he would be happy to help them with any other transaction they may have. Creighton rejected his offer and walked back toward the door, waiting as James came sauntering up behind him.
They drove back to the farm, looking at the hail stones that remained on the sides of the roads. It was apparent the storm had hit the outlined farms harder than the town and Creighton found his anxiety mounting. He finally obtained a signal on his phone and dialed Sandra’s cell, but the line was busy. He tried the house phone, but nobody answered. He felt like shouting to James to go faster, but as they drove around the curve in the road and saw a large tree branch that had been broken off a nearby tree by the winds, he knew it was unwise to suggest it.
Several farms they passed did not appear to have any structural damage, though there were broken trees and damaged crops as evidence of the storm. The heat was returning and the air was turning muggy as they continued to drive toward the farm. The truck radio said the storm was moving east and Ellsworth County was now under a tornado warning.
James pulled the Bronco into the yard as Sandra came running out of the front porch. Creighton was out of the car in a split second, not waiting for it to stop as he ran through the mud and rain to his wife. He held her tightly against the strength of his chest, feeling the relief flood over him as he kissed her face. This was one event, he would never wish to undergo again.
By lunch time the news reported that an F4 tornado had struck a farm outside of the town of Ellsworth and destroyed a farmhouse completely. The family was safe, but the buildings and their truck was gone; the family was left destitute and homeless. With a quick glance to Sandra, Creighton picked up his phone and began texting. She knew he was making a call to Michelle without even seeing the message. Come suppertime, she was quite certain the devastated family would not only have a place to live and a new truck, but would have the money to rebuild.
Yet once again, he proved to her that money had a voice and it was very loud and very eager to be heard.
They washed up in the old sink before sitting down at the table to relax. Creighton and Sandra had spent the better part of the next day inventorying the items in the barn and discussing what they should do with them. James and Mary had left a short time before; it was James’s bowling night and he usually met his team ahead of time for a few beers while Mary went to the local church to set up for bingo, leaving them alone in the house. Creighton was amazed at how life just seemed to go on; no further thought of the disaster that shook their lives the day before. It was one event he did not want to go through again, and one reason he was not allowing Sandra to be out of his sight.
He looked around the kitchen as he leaned against the counter, drying his hands on a small towel; it really was a pleasant house with a feeling of love and happiness that greeted anyone who entered it. He could imagine what it was like for Sandra to grow up here; it wasn’t much different than his own childhood home and he remembered how much fun he had.
The Stevens’ farm was large, more than a hundred acres - not including the three hundred acres he had purchased outside town - and filled with fruit trees, wheat and corn; fifty sheep, a dozen head of cattle, a hundred chickens, two dozen hogs and an old hound dog named Blue, who was currently sleeping on the old rug in the hallway where it was cool.
“What do you think your grandparents will do now that they have enough money to move anywhere in the world they desire?” he asked watching Sandra set her glass on the table.
“I know they have been talking about moving to Florida, but I don’t know if my grandfather would enjoy living there or not. His roots are here; his family has been in Hoisington since the late 1800’s; his parents are buried here, my mom and dad, his grandparents. It’s been home his whole life.”
