Prairie Storm (24 page)

“I know it does,” she said softly.

“I won't stand by and watch this little town catch sin like a killing case of influenza. I've been in Hope long enough to see these people struggling against enough kinds of sin—greed, jealousy, covetousness, lies, and faithlessness. Why should I stand around and watch that opera house import a whole new form of evil?”

“You shouldn't.”

“I'm the minister of the church,” he continued, “and it's up to me to set an example. Either that or I'd better ride off to China and let the whole town burn down like Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“I'd hate to see that.”

Elijah knew he was walking faster now, but he couldn't make himself slow down. With Lily Nolan, he had always been able to speak his mind. Somehow the woman drew his thoughts right out of his head. If he was planning to denounce her friends and their place of business, well, she had the right to know. Besides, it felt good to talk.

“Seems to me there were two kinds of fellows in the Bible,” he said. “Pastors and prophets. Prophets didn't tend flocks; they hollered out for God to send down justice. They called folks to repentance. They showed people their sins. I reckon I'm supposed to be a prophet. In my sermon today, I stayed away from what was really on my heart, and I feel sick about it. So even though you're going over to that opera house to find work, Lily, I'll be preaching out against you every Sunday.”

“No, I'm not,” she murmured.

“See, I never have been much good at pastoring,” he went on. “I get too het up. I have to preach the Word of God, and that means calling folks to look at their lives and make a change.” By now they were halfway to the grove of trees where he'd spoken with Lily the other night. Just the memory of his failure there made him sick inside. “I think I'm supposed to be a prophet, not a pastor, and that means—”

“You're supposed to be like Christ, Preacher-man,” Lily said.

Eli stopped and looked at her. For the first time, her voice remained gentle when she accosted him. Standing in the road, she gave him a warm smile and lifted her eyebrows.

“Isn't that right?” she said. “Prophets and priests were God's messengers
before
Christ came. After that, our job has been to emulate him.”

“Emulate?”

“Copy. And Christ is both prophet and priest, isn't he? What's wrong with shepherding a flock—and pouring God's Word out to the sheep at the same time? Can't you do both?”

“Are you mocking me?” He shifted the baby to his other shoulder, uncomfortable and more than a little confused at her words. “Go ahead and throw Bible verses and religious talk at me like you usually do. I don't mind, Lily. I realize you know the Scriptures better than I do, and you've been to church a lot more years than I ever have. But it doesn't matter. Ever since our talk the other night, I've been doing nothing but thinking and praying. And I've come to see that the only thing I can do is to walk in Christ's footsteps. That's all. Just follow him. So even if you make fun of me or I mess up a sermon or I give someone lousy advice, nothing matters but that I keep on following Christ the best I can.”

By this time, they had come to the shelter of the trees beside the creek. Elijah realized he was patting the baby with such vigor that poor Sam had gotten himself a bad case of hiccups. Every time he “hicked,” his whole body wriggled, and every time he “upped,” out came a gurgle of white milk onto the shoulder of Eli's black jacket.

“Aw, confound it, Sam,” he said, balancing the baby in one arm while he searched his pockets for his handkerchief. “Don't you know I borrowed this coat from Jack Cornwall? It's his wedding jacket, and now it's a mess, sure as shootin'. He's liable to hog-tie and skin me, young'un. Where in tarnation is that handkerchief? Lily, would you …” He looked up to find the woman convulsed in giggles, her laughter poorly hidden behind her hand. “What's so funny?”

“Here, give me that baby, would you?” She held out her arms, and Sam eagerly went to her. “It's you, silly. You're so hopeless with babies.”

“I am not.” He began wiping the wet spot on his shoulder. “What have you been feeding that boy anyhow? The smell is enough to gag a polecat. What am I supposed to tell Jack Cornwall? And would you quit that infernal cackling?”

Lily leaned against a tree and laughed as though she'd never seen anything so funny. He took off the coat and hung it on a tree branch. There. Maybe it would rain soon.

Looking out across the prairie, Eli felt his heart contract at the sight of the sickening green color of the sky. Though rain hadn't begun to fall, the air felt as heavy as a damp dishrag. Lightning licked the horizon like a snake's tongue. Purple and blue mingled with the pea-soup green, a livid bruising of the heavens.

This was going to be worse than a heavy rain, Eli realized. There could be hail. Hail would mean crop damage right in the middle of summer. If the crops were ruined, there'd be no time for replanting before the onset of autumn. The farmers had barely made it through the past winter after last year's grasshopper plague. He ought to get back to the people. Back to his flock …

“We've got to go, Lily,” he said. “The sky's looking bad.”

Sobering, she turned to look in the direction of the oncoming storm. “Oh, Elijah.” She took a step toward him. “The sky is green. I've never seen anything like that.”

“We'd better find shelter before the hail hits.” He let out a breath. “You know, even though you were challenging me again, Lily, you were right. I've got to follow Christ's example—and that means I'll be both a prophet and a priest.”

“Elijah,” she said, her hand on his arm to stop him. “Before we go, I need to talk to you. I want you to know I wasn't mocking you earlier. I was trying to help you see how important you are to the town. The people need you. Truly they do—and they need you for the man you
are
, not some imaginary ideal of the perfect pastor.”

A sudden gust of wind ripped Eli's hat from his head and sent it rolling down the road. He started after it, but Lily tightened her grip on his arm. “Elijah,” she went on, “I want you to know what happened to me the other night. I've been waiting for the right time to speak. I want to tell you about my decision.”

Eli watched his Stetson tumbling farther across the prairie, and he wanted to go after it. Not because he needed his hat, but because he didn't want to hear Lily's words. She would tell him about her plans to join her friend at the opera house, and that would tear her away from him completely.

The way things were going right now, at least he could be near her sometimes. He could talk to her. He could listen to her beautiful voice. He could pretend he would be able to hold onto her forever, even though he knew she never would be truly his.

“I'd better get my hat,” he said. “We'll talk after the storm passes, Lily. I'll walk over to Ben's, and you and I can sit on the porch.”

Disappointment clouded her eyes. “But I'd rather—”

A shrill screaming wind cut off her words. On the horizon a huge black funnel dropped suddenly out of the boiling green clouds. Tearing through trees and fences like a giant plow, the twister churned up dust and kicked sheds out of its path. Haystacks exploded. Brush ripped free from its roots. Birds flew screeching, their wings beating the air in a futile effort to escape.

“Cyclone!” Eli hollered. “Come here, Lily.”

Grabbing her arm, he tucked her and the baby against his side and began to run down the road toward the picnic site. He'd seen twisters tear across Texas and New Mexico, and he knew the destruction they could cause. Quicker than a man had time to think, the whirling wind could blast his house to kingdom come, strip the skin off his livestock, and suck his children into the air—never to be seen again. The townsfolk needed to take cover, and Elijah knew the creek bed wasn't deep enough to protect everyone.

“Where are we going?” Lily cried as she struggled to keep up with him. “What will we do?”

“We've got to get everyone into the empty soddy. It's half-underground.”

As he and Lily reached the site of the fish fry, the crowd had just noticed the black funnel bearing down. Over screams and barking dogs, Elijah bellowed for everyone to run up the slope and take cover in the soddy. Rushing Lily and the baby toward the little house that had once belonged to Seth Hunter, he could hardly believe the chaos. Some people were actually trying to pack up their belongings. Others had elected to race toward the grove of trees. Mr. Rippeto was even hitching his mule to his wagon in hopes of outrunning the cyclone.

“Salvatore!” Eli called to the man. “Run for the soddy!”

By now, stinging hailstones peppered the bare skin of Eli's face. Sam was crying and Lily could barely move against the howling wind. Her long dress tangled around her legs, and her hair streamed back from her face. The cyclone was headed straight for Hope, Eli calculated, and there was not much hope it would avoid the town. His heart sick, fear an acrid taste on his tongue, he swept Lily into his arms and ran the last few paces toward the soddy.

The old door had blown off its hinges, but townspeople were crushed together in a huddled mass on the floor. Children sobbed as husbands called out to their wives, making certain of their presence in the room. Eli worked his way through the throng to the back of the soddy, and he shoved Lily onto the dirt floor beside Caitrin Cornwall and Rosie Hunter. Chipper gripped his dog around the neck. Rolf Rustemeyer hollered at everyone in German. Sheena O'Toole shouted her children's names. Jack's sister, Lucy, began to shriek.

Just as Salvatore Rippeto burst into the soddy and was yanked to the floor by groping hands, the cyclone churned across the sod roof of the little dugout. The sound of ten train locomotives deafened Eli's ears. Praying for protection, he surrounded Lily and Sam with his arms.

Oh, God, dear God
, he pleaded as the wire screens ripped off the soddy's windows and the black of night descended. He could feel hands gripping him from every side, as though the whole town was clinging together in one lump of trembling humanity.
Save us, Father! Please save us!

But God hadn't protected Lily from her own father, Eli remembered as he held the woman close. His Lord didn't promise shelter from all evil. The buildings would be flattened. The crops ruined. The town devastated.
God, please don't destroy Hope. Please save your people!

A chair flew out through the open door and vanished into the darkness. A mother clung to her child as the wind lifted the toddler up, pulling, sucking, greedy for ruin. At that moment, a heavy iron plow drove straight through the soddy's front wall, splintering wood, grinding up sod bricks, slamming into the gathered people. Screams mingled with cries for help.

It was no good, Elijah thought as he left Lily's side and crawled toward the injured. The twister had them in its grip. In moments it would devour the whole town. The soddy couldn't hold up under the pressure. It was bound to explode or collapse, and then—

“My faith looks up to Thee—”

A beautiful voice lifted over the screams of babies, above the sobs of the wounded, even beyond the growl of the tornado.

“Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Savior divine!”

Amid the storm, other voices one by one joined with Lily's.

“Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day
Be wholly Thine!”

Chapter 13

L
ILY sang, rocking the baby in her arms as howling winds wrapped around the soddy.

“Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray
From Thee aside.”

The others in the room had joined in, and as Lily began the fourth verse of the hymn, the roaring, growling tornado suddenly faded into nothing more than shutter-banging gusts. And finally, the tumult transformed into utter silence, eerie in its intensity. The sheer terror gradually ebbed from Lily's body, leaving her trembling and chilled.

Next to her, Rosie wept in her husband's arms. “The cyclone got our house,” she cried in an anguished whisper. “I just know it did. All your hard work … the new front porch … Chipper's toys … the baby's room …”

“Hey there, sweetheart,” her husband said. “We're all alive, aren't we? Even ol' Stubby.”

Nearby, the big mutt thumped his tail and gave a whimper. The little boy lying against him patted the dog's massive head. “It's okay, Stubby. God brought us through, an' now we're all gonna be fine.”

“Sure, we'll rebuild the mercantile, won't we, Jack?” Caitrin Cornwall asked her new husband, her usually hearty voice carrying a note of uncertainty. “We'll be back in business before the month is out, so we shall. At least, I hope so.”

“Caitrin, I'm worried about Lucy,” Jack said. Lily knew the man was referring to his sister's fragile mental condition. “She's holding on to Mama for dear life.”

“She'll be all right. We'll put Lucy to work cooking for everyone, shall we then?”

“Oh, Caitie, must you always be so cheerful?” her older sister, Sheena, groused. “Next thing we know, you'll be callin' the cyclone naught more than a stiff breeze.”

At that, the crowd hunched together in the little soddy began to chuckle and relax. Outlined in the open doorway, Elijah got to his feet and addressed the people.

“Folks, I'd better tell you there's a couple of us injured up here.” At the reaction of concern, he motioned for calm. “Salvatore Rippeto was clobbered by the plow that came through the wall. I think his leg is broken, and we may need to get him to Topeka. And one of Violet Hudson's little boys fell and skinned his knee pretty bad running up here. Other than that, the main thing we need to find out is how many of us made it into the soddy. Before we head outside, we ought to know who we're looking for.”