The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (21 page)

“We can’t leave.” Exasperation bled through Vera’s voice as her hands fanned outward. “This entryway has to be cleared. The money needs to be counted. I know all of you snipe and snicker behind my back, but I don’t see any of you stepping up to make sure projects like this get done.”

Walt drew himself up to his full height. “You’re right. We’re all lazy sinners. Right now you’re a cranky one. It’s time to call it a day.” His words would’ve landed with more weight if he hadn’t broadcast the apologetic smile of a man who hoped Vera wouldn’t explode on him.

She scanned the tilted piles of boxes. “Very well. We’ll deal with this tomorrow. I expect all of you to come early to help. Particularly you, Walt.”

A curtain of self-earned misery drew across the Property Manager’s face. That’s what he deserved for breaking Rule #3: Escape as quickly as possible. He thrust an envelope at Vera. “Mr. Nobody-Helps counted the money. We made $530 and change. You know the combo to the safe. I’m leaving to pick up Roger.”

“Do those clouds look green?” a woman called out.

Aunt Ula paled. “We’re shoving off.” She pushed, and Vera chided her until they were out the door. Above them, patchy humps of clouds bulged and shifted as an upper layer of pea soup roiled sideways, heading northeast.

“Calm down. Dusk colors the clouds differently.” Vera dug through her purse for keys, pausing to watch Walt lock up. “We’ll start at 7.” Her words were lost in the wind. Walt never looked up.

“Ye gods and little fishes!” Aunt Ula bellowed, yanking the car’s door handle every few seconds. “Let’s go.” Several people glanced at them.

“I’m not driving until you mind your mouth,” Vera shouted back.

“At least unlock the damn door.”

“My side’s unlocked. Stop jerking the handle.” As soon as they got in, Vera held up a finger, her face glowering like a woman who wanted to smack someone. “Zip it. I mean it, or I won’t move this car.” Aunt Ula wrapped her arms around herself, mumbling into her lap. The parking lot was empty and the old woman silent when Vera finally cranked the ignition of her Olds. She drove, keeping up a patter of scolding. “What is the matter with you? You’re even more of a ninny than usual. You’ve lived through Oklahoma storms all your life.” The clouds had dropped low enough to skid over the tree tops. Vera sped up.

Aunt Ula rocked forward and back. “I saw this sky at sea. Someone died.”

“Uh-huh. And just when were you at sea and who died?” But before Aunt Ula could answer Vera blurted, “Now, who’s here?” She looked at a Chevy truck parked in front of her house. Its back window had an “Experienced Driver” sign.

“Who cares?” Aunt Ula leaned over and whacked the remote control on the sun visor. “Pull in.” She rolled her hand. “We’ve got to dog down the doors. I’ll take the anchor watch.”

Vera didn’t argue or ask for a translation. The truck was empty. She drove into the garage and had to admit she felt relieved when the door closed behind them. Aunt Ula was already out of the car and into the house.

*

Five blocks away, on the edge of Vera’s neighborhood, Walt and Roger sat at Cowboy Pizza. “And the ol’ boy who bought the lawnmower has a chain saw for sale . . .” Roger glanced up at the dark-skinned manager, standing among the four tables of customers. “Yeah…okay, I guess we’re ready for another beer since you’re here.”

“Oh, no sir, many pardons for bothering you. Two of the employees have gone home because of the storm. So I believe I will be closing soon.”

Roger leaned forward, reading the man’s name tag. “Kular, you’re not from around here, are you?”

“No sir. I am from India. I am completing my graduate work at the university. My friend manages this location. I am helping him while he is taking a vacation.”

“This is tornado alley.” Roger waved a hand. “There’s storm warnings all the time. When the sirens go off, we all hurry outside to see where the tornado is. You’ll get used to—”

The lights blinked out.

The dull gray of twilight filtered through the windows. Kular’s face had the look of a man falling off a cliff. “Not to worry,” Walt said as he stood and slapped him on the back. “I’ve got matches.” He dug in his pocket, pulled out a matchbook, and lit the candle on their table. “We’ll have a medium cheese pizza and more beer.” Walt tossed the matches to the next table.

“But all power has gone out.” Kular stared at the customers gathering candles from other tables and lighting them. Two people left. He bowed slightly, repeating, “Thank you,” as they went out the door.

“The ovens are gas; you can still bake. Y’all want pizza?” Walt pointed at the other five customers who nodded. Rain began to beat the roof, drumming like thousands of marbles falling above them. “We’ll be fine.” Walt yelled to Kular and pounded his back again, hard enough to get him unfrozen from the floor.

*

Vera had been through the house twice, calling her aunt. The beat of rain on the roof answered her. A new leak plinked in the laundry room. The house demanded as much attention as her aunt. She set a soup pot under the slow drip, and put another kettle in the living room in case the latest patch job didn’t hold. From her front window, walls of water obscured her view of the street. A fuzz of color caught her eye. On her front landing, a blue raincoat slowly moved down the steps. A pair of Keds put both shoes together before advancing to the next tread.

It took three quick paces to get to the door which she threw open, yelling, “Get back here. What in blazes are you doing?” Rain pummeled her words into white noise. With clenched teeth, she ripped a rain jacket out of the front closet, jammed her arms inside, and stepped into the deluge. She could barely make out her late-husband’s raincoat walking across the yard. It was one of the few pieces of clothing she’d allowed herself to keep, reasoning it was too functional to give away. Now the smell of him would be washed away. Her aunt had a way of kinking everything around her.

Vera walked faster, water splashing high on her legs. Pools stretched across her lawn as the downpour overwhelmed the earth’s capacity to absorb it. Knowing Aunt Ula, they’d end up stumbling over each other and drowning in the front yard.

When she was near enough, she grabbed the oversized raincoat. The sleeves covered the old woman’s finger tips. It felt as though she’d grabbed a skeleton in a sack. The old woman’s head was lost in the cavern of the hood, covering most of her face as she turned to look. “What’s the matter with you?” Vera yelled. “Get back in the house.”

“Gus has a cellar. In his back yard.”

Vera stuck her mouth next to the old woman’s ear to make herself heard. “Full of snakes.” Maybe. It could be caved in or full of guns and hooch for all she knew. She’d repent of the lie later.

Aunt Ula shook free and kept walking. Vera reluctantly followed. Their hoods blew off twice. By the time they reached Augustus Vogler’s covered porch, water ran down their faces, seeping into their clothing. “First you had a cussing fit to get home, now you’re out in it? You need to be in a rehab center where you can get mental help.” Vera squeegeed water from her face.

“On my watch, no one weathers a squall alone.” Aunt Ula slapped the doorbell.

“He’s all right,” Vera yelled. “He’s made it through 90 years of storms.” Above them, lightning skipped sideways, thunder rolling behind it. “Move.” Vera shouldered the old woman aside, cranked Gus’s door handle, then bowed her head until it touched the door.

“Whatsa matter?” Aunt Ula shouted.

“Of all the days he decided to lock up—why today?”

*

“I like the spirit of community here.” Kular carried hot pizzas. The seven remaining customers had pushed tables together and filled the wait time by telling stories laced with beer and laughs. The pounding on the roof had slowed, so Kular didn’t have to raise his voice. Yelling was not calming to him.

“Join us.” Roger pointed to a chair. “Can I get you a lemonade?”

“I would like that very much. I don’t wish to be by myself in the kitchen.” Kular had relinquished the dining room to the customers while he baked. Now he watched Roger retrieve a bottle of lemonade and bring him a plate and a napkin. “This is a very unique experience.” He grinned as the diners reached across the table, lifting slices onto their plates, cheese trailers thinning into long strings. “And because the sound of the storm is letting up, and because we have successfully survived, I wish to show you my hospitality—the pizzas are my gift to all of you.”

A siren pealed through the night. The long wail dipped low then climbed to a shriek. Kular looked at the faces. Walt had his hand up, signaling everyone to be silent. A few people leaned forward. Some shifted one way then the other, listening. At the same moment, they turned, staring at each other.

Roger stood, grabbing Kular’s arm. “You got a walk-in cooler?”

“Yes. Is it happening?” Kular waved them to the kitchen. He tossed out two large bags of dough so customers could squeeze into the refrigerated steel box. “I thought you went outside to look when the sirens sounded.” He counted customers, then shut the door with a click.

Walt pulled him away from the door and into their huddle. “Not this time.”

*

At the first note of the siren, Aunt Ula kicked the door, screaming, “Gus. Let us in.”

Vera tore at her arms, her hands losing their grip on the slick rain jacket. “Stop it. Let’s go.” They moved off the porch. Vera could now make out the shape of her house through falling sheets of water. Beneath the wail of the sirens, Vera heard the raspy
caw
of a crow harking a warning. A spot of light flashed at their feet. She turned.

Gus stood in the doorway, beckoning them back with his flashlight.

“I was in the bathtub with pillows,” he said as they stepped into his house. “Why’re you—” The rumble of a freight train stopped him. The three stared at each other for a heartbeat.

“God help us.” Vera’s voice cracked as Gus pushed them down the hallway, leaving the front door to slowly swing back open, welcoming the tornado.

*

Through the walls of the walk-in cooler, they heard the growl of the twister, their bodies half-bent, arms covering their heads. They hunched in the dark. Several people grabbed their ears, crying out from the drop in pressure. Their voices joined the bawl of the wind. Seconds spun out until the din faded, leaving them murmuring their separate prayers. “Everyone okay? Are we all still here?” Walt asked. No one answered. After a moment someone gasped, “Is it over?” Voices spoke at once. Walt pulled away from the group, cracked the door, and peeked out. “There’s still a building around us,” he announced. Laughter and shouts of relief followed.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the all clear signal?” Kular said.

“You can wait if you want.” Walt walked out, Kular behind him, counting out loud as the others left and clapping when he reached seven. “You’ve got a broken window.” Walt pointed to someone’s dining table sticking through the glass. “But there’s still walls and a roof.”

“Look at this,” someone said as they opened the door to the parking lot. A light rain fell on tree limbs, broken 2x4s, bicycles, and bed sheets strewn across the pavement. “It was a bouncer. Skipped over us.”

“At least my car’s still here,” a young man said. “Under somebody’s . . .” he picked up cushions, “sofa.”

“And my truck’s here.” Roger walked toward his Chevy, lying upside down on top of the Cowboy Pizza sign.

Kular stared, his hands hanging limp at his sides. “This is bad.”

“No, this is just messy.” The lines in Walt’s face deepened with the knowledge freighting his mind. “It’ll be bad where his truck was parked—five blocks away.”

*

Kular gave Walt and Roger a flashlight. They made their way through the dark streets, climbing over wreckage that was once someone’s treasures. The tornado had cut a narrow path across neighborhoods, skipping over some homes, sucking walls and windows out of others. Pipes stuck up from foundations, hissing gas and spraying water.

At the intersection before Vera’s house, a writhing electric line threw sparks in the air, preventing them from going farther. They circled what they thought was the block, hoping to reach her and Aunt Ula from the south. People were coming out of homes and backyard shelters. A twenty-year-old man kept yelling “Mom?” as he peeked inside leaning walls. Far away a siren wailed.

“Which house is Vera’s?” Walt eyeballed piles of debris. “Are we even on the right street?”

“I always look for the big elm. That’s where I parked.” Roger squinted as Walt put the light on a tree. The few shredded leaves that were left dangled from broken limbs. “I think this is it.”

Walt arced the flashlight back and forth on a garage. Saw-toothed timbers stuck out where the rest of the house used to be. Homes on either side were missing roofs. Some of their walls had collapsed.

The squeal of sirens began to float across Stillwater from all directions. “It’ll be hours before they can get the streets clear enough to get emergency vehicles in here,” Walt said.

He and Roger climbed over the rubble. Soon they found themselves joining the other frightened people as they called out names and peered into dark crevices.

GUS, VERA, AND Aunt Ula made it to his bathroom. “I can’t bend too well anymore,” Gus mumbled. They hunkered in his tub, clutching pillows on their heads like helmets. His next words were lost in the rip of the downdraft. The tiny bathroom window bulged inward several inches then shattered in an explosive bang. Overhead, a monstrous wood chipper sucked and chewed shingles, trusses, and walls, spitting them over the neighborhood. Vera was screaming, but couldn’t hear her voice. The world spun around her. Something hit her, toppling her sideways.

And then it was over.

The roar was still there, but moving away. The earth stopped whirling. The sound of dropping boards and heavy
thuds
kept her quiet and still. She waited for the beast to come back, but it moved away, tearing the tops off buildings, playing hide and seek with the people below.