The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String (22 page)

A hand bumped into her face. Her first panicked thought was that she’d lost her pillow. Her thoughts bumbled into each other, retracing what had happened. “That’s me,” she said, doing inventory, patting her body. “You’re grappling my nose.” It surprised her to hear the calmness in her voice. She swiped at the hand, pain exploding on the left side where she lay. Her arm, pinned under her body, wouldn’t move. “I think my elbow’s broken.”

“I’m okay. I’m trying to get off you two,” Gus mumbled.

Vera blinked. The world had gone dark. Where had the flashlight rolled? Her ears still hissed from the rumble of the twister, but now there were other sounds. Creaking timbers. Popping sheetrock as walls gave way and settled. A drumming hush of rain. She felt around her. They were still in the tub. Aunt Ula lay next to her. Gus floundered on top of them, attempting to scooch backward toward their feet. She patted the old woman. “Aunt Ula?” No answer. She attempted to sit up. Shockwaves of pain ricocheted through her body, and she plopped back down, banging her head on the bottom of the tub.

“I’ll lift up. See if you can move your legs from under me,” Gus grunted, stepping on Vera as he searched for footing.

“Aunt Ula!” Vera jerked her feet out of the way and continued rapping the old woman.

“Something’s angled on top of us.” Gus knocked on the timbers around him. “About three feet above the tub. Feels like sheetrock resting against the north wall.”

Gus had banged on the only wall that still stood erect. The rest of his home slouched on top of itself like a collapsed deck of cards. The tornado had clawed away the roof and walls, jolting the trio sideways into a pile of senior citizens. As a seemingly polite afterthought, the whirlwind tossed a section of a child’s room across the top of them, constructing a broken lean-to and a prison.

Gus grunted. First like a weightlifter, then he wheezed like an old man. “Can’t move it. Can’t see out.”

“Now what? Aunt Ula’s not responding.” Vera’s hand stuttered over the old woman’s neck and found a pulse. She rubbed the face. Unsure if the wetness was rain, she touched a fingertip to her mouth. A coppery bitterness spread across her tongue. Her hand continued exploring, finding a gash above the old woman’s eyebrow. She pressed the edges together, feeling warmth ooze between her fingers.

“She okay?” Gus asked. Vera shook her head then realized Gus couldn’t see her. She told him she didn’t know. “Now, we wait.” He groaned as he pushed on more boards.

“I’m sick of waiting.” She heaved a miserable sigh. “I’ve been waiting for the next piece of life ever since I can remember. And this is what arrives instead.”

“Birds know that life changes. The light will return to the sky. The rain will clear. A bug will stumble by. Why wait? Your next piece of life will come.” He gave a plaintive whistle.

“It’s nothing like I planned. It never is. You’d think if you’re a servant of the Lord, you’d get a pass for catastrophes like this.”

“No species gets a pass. Maybe you shouldn’t plan, then you wouldn’t mind the wait.” Gus grunted as he drove his shoulder against a pile of debris covering the end of the tub. “Everything is trying to eat something else. Except humans—we concoct our own misery.” He gave the same whistle again as he rested.

“A kildeer in distress,” Vera said. “I didn’t concoct this.”

“But here you are. In a bathtub with me.” He gave a quiet
caw
, waiting until Vera identified it as a crow-hello before continuing. “I don’t think you could’ve made it to your house.”

“Probably not. I wonder if I even have a house now.”

“No one plans to have their nest blown away.” He whistled several minor notes.

“Robin,” she murmured. Even in this crisis, she doubted Gus would skip playing his game. She could ask him all the questions she wanted, but hours of visiting had taught her she received answers only if she played along. Somehow, the familiarity of it was comforting. “Oh, Gus. All your books and sonograms. I hope they’re alright.”

“When birds move, they leave everything behind. No baggage. Maybe it’s time to move on.” They sat in silence, listening to the rain. After a while he gave a loud
chucka chucka
.

“Chukar?” Vera said.

“Is somebody in there?” a voice yelled from outside. Gus gave another rallying song of the Chukar Partridge. This time the voice was nearer, “Augustus? Is that you?”

“Walt?” Vera called.

“Vera! We thought you were blown to Missouri. Is Aunt Ula with you? Are you all okay?”

“She’s unconscious. I think my arm’s broken. Gus is all right,” Vera yelled. “Can you get us out?”

“Roger and I are working on it. There’s damage across the city. Emergency vehicles can’t get through.”

“Is my house still there?” She could hear the sounds of lumber being tossed aside.

Walt waved at Roger to stop making noise then hesitated, scanning the lopsided garage that remained standing on her lot. “You’re gonna need a new porch. Listen, there’s a pile of debris on top of you. We’re gonna try to open up a hole.”

Gus pushed and grunted again. “Sorry. Can’t move anything from here,” he said, but Walt had already left.

“It’s dripping in my face,” Aunt Ula wheezed.

“Praise God. You’re still with us.” Vera tried to sit up, but gave a yelp and dropped back down, panting, “Are you okay?”

“I hurt all over like I’ve been pitchpoled. Why am I getting Chinese water torture?”

“Rain is dripping through the debris. Can you move down a little where it’s more protected?”

“I don’t even want to try.”

A chill crept over Vera, either from an exhausted sense of doom or from her wet clothes sponging up the rainwater collecting in the tub. “Gus is with us,” she said lightly as though she were announcing a celebrity. “Give us a cardinal’s call, Gus, to cheer us up.”

“Sorry,” he rasped. “All that pushing, I’m troubled getting a breath. Feels like a wire around my chest. Someone’s pulling it tight.”

“Walt!” Vera shouted. “We need help.”

Shhhhhhh…” Aunt Ula wheezed. “No more excitement. Let them work. We’ll get out faster. Are you resting against something, Gus? Try to breathe slowly. It’s probably a panic attack.” He gave a low
uuungh
as he shifted into a spot.

Vera listened to the sounds of lumber being tossed in a pile. A sob escaped from her throat. “I said some terrible things to Jim about a hideous blue wishing well a member made for him. I’m sure it’s blown to Oz now. Looking back, it all seems so stupid.”

“You hated it, but still hung onto it after Jim died?” Aunt Ula reached up to touch the gash on her brow, pushing Vera’s fingers away, so she could staunch her own wound. “I’d say a tornado is a good pry tool to loosen a tight grip.” Silence answered her. Muffled clean-up sounds marked the time, punctuated by occasional low groans from the other end of the tub. Aunt Ula hacked, clearing the stickiness in her throat. “I’m sorry, Gus. You’d have this paradise all to yourself if I hadn’t traipsed over here.”

“Glad I’m not alone.”

They waited for the birdsong, but it didn’t come. Instead they heard a sharp intake of air followed by Gus falling on top of them. Vera gave a
whoop
. Aunt Ula yelped a sailor’s curse, bringing Roger to check on them.

After repeated questioning, Gus gasped he was okay, but in pain. “Make him as comfortable as you can,” Roger yelled. “I heard they’re turning off the gas and electricity for this section, then road graders can clear a track through the streets. It won’t be long. Hang in there.”

“Why?” Gus whispered. He shifted to his side, spooning between the women. With each jostle, Vera groaned even though she appreciated the extra warmth he carried. “Vera, you’re waiting to live,” he whispered. “I’m waiting to die.”

“Don’t say that.” Vera heard the words twist out of her mouth and wished she could take them back. A tiredness she’d never known carried her bones to the bottom of her flesh. It was unlikely rescue would arrive in time. Like the ugly wishing well, this might be the last time she’d see Gus or her aunt on this side of Earth. “Sorry. Say what you want.”

“Atta girl.” Aunt Ula’s voice shook to the tempo of her shivering body. “Speak your mind.”

Gus gave a trill of bird syllables.

Vera’s face flushed in spite of the chill. “Mating call. Meadowlark.”

Aunt Ula barked out a laugh. “Must be feeling better, Mr. Vogler.”

“Eased a bit,” Gus whispered. He gave a series of low twitters and chirps. Aunt Ula made several guesses. He had to bump Vera to get her to respond.

“Never heard it.” Her body shook. She felt relieved her left side was going numb.

“Sparrow. Two for a penny. Not one falls without the will of the Father.”

“Gus…” Vera roused herself. “You know scripture?”

“Live it, not strut it.” He gave a half-chirp. “‘Don’t be afraid: you’re worth more than many sparrows.’”

“The book of Matthew, isn’t it? I’d like to be a common sparrow.” She sighed. “No one notices them. I’d sit in the back pew, chew gum, and sing loud. Something I’ve never been allowed to do.” Vera coughed and leaned into Gus’s back. “I’d be free.”

“You’ve been free. You just didn’t know it, niece.”

“I don’t feel free.” Vera’s voice was tight with tears. “When Jim died everything changed. All chores fell on me, but I wasn’t needed, except by a plumbing system designed by Rube Goldberg. I was alone, not free. Let me tell you, that’s a black ache of sleepless nights. I couldn’t understand how the sun kept rising, my heart kept beating, and the roof continued to leak. It was unfair, but I kept going. Kay told me my God was too small.” A sob escaped. She let the rest of her tears loose, pressing her face into Gus’s back. He attempted to pat her, taking wild aim in the dark, groping across her leg and backside. She grabbed his hand, sniffed and cleared her throat. “That threw me into an angry fog. I pushed through it. I always do, staying busy. Keeping to business. Were you there, Aunt Ula, when she accused me of boiling frogs and adding cheese?”

“Warm food sounds good right now.” Aunt Ula shivered.

“It does, doesn’t it? I almost snorted when she said it, then I felt guilty. How could I laugh when Jim was dead and things were falling apart? I should be keeping everyone on track. Then you came to live with me. My semblance of control went out the window.” She let out a long breath and swiped her runny nose against Gus’s back. “The weeks he’s been gone have turned into almost a year. Life has gone on and it’s harder to keep plucking that same string. The person I used to be doesn’t fit anymore.”

Gus was shivering. She leaned her body against his back, trying to give him warmth even though she couldn’t feel her arms or toes. “One day last week,” she said, “I woke up and noticed summer was almost over. You’d have made fun of me if I’d told you the sunflowers were as big as pie plates and bowing their heads. I saw twilight with a bruised-purple sky and remembered how much I loved sunsets. I felt like I was coming out of a heavy sleep. Now this. Long ago, Jim told me to retire from managing the universe, but I didn’t listen. I guess I’m ready now. I’m not sure what to do next, or if there even is a ‘next.’”

“Worth more than sparrows,” Gus whispered. “And birds don’t carry luggage when they migrate.” A smile hinted in his voice.

“I’d applaud if I could feel my fingers.” Aunt Ula’s voice sounded clotted.

A blanket of silence covered them. Sounds reverberated through the debris as the men untangled boards, wires, and insulation. The soft
tunk-tunk
of rain dripped into their cavern. Aunt Ula’s teeth chattered. Vera felt her thoughts clear. She heard the music of the storm. Chords climbing to a harmonious crescendo. Not the repetitive one-note song she’d been living. She was waking up, heading into the next piece of life. She could surrender what she was and turn her face toward what she would become. The fresh scent of rainfall filled her body, a promise of growth after a long, lean drought.

Time became slack, uncoiling in wakeful clumps. Vera’s words were slow and thick. “A sparrow…floating on peace.”

“No…Vera. No floating on my watch.” Aunt Ula quivered then coughed. “Stay awake. Bump her, Gus.”

“Two sparrows for a penny,” he whispered. Gus gave a weak trill, the sibilant sound trailing off like a fading breeze. He shuddered against the old woman.

“Don’t leave me alone.” The words felt sticky in Aunt Ula’s mouth…or it might be blood. “Lift up, Gus. You’re squashing the air outta me. And pinch Vera.” Faraway, a monotonous hum of generators and engines thrummed the night. It was like the purr of a winch pulling up the anchor. Preparation to set sail. Soon they’d leave port. She could hear the creak of the rigging. The canvas sail gave a
thwop
as its belly filled with wind. Her face was wet with spray. She wondered if she was floating, too.

*

Nearby, Walt and a group of young men hauled a china closet of broken dishes to the curb. Five engineering and physics students from Oklahoma State University had sneaked into the neighborhood, ignoring the emergency curfew dropped on the town. “They’re sending people away to keep gawkers and looters out,” a young man with a scraggly beard told Walt. “We’re here to help if you want us.” Roger hadn’t been able to get through to 911. A busy signal buzzed in his ear each time he’d called. He sent two of the boys to find EMTs, giving them his phone number in case they had a problem getting back.

Walt and the remaining young men worked on the debris pile, arranging supports to stabilize the wall next to the bathtub. They were hefting a tree limb as thick as a man’s leg when the chug of a caterpillar, scraping debris to one side, pulsed down the street. Behind it, yellow lights of emergency trucks beamed through the darkness.

The bearded young man and his friend ran ahead of the machinery, picking their way around obstacles. “I told them my grandparents were really hurt,” he said to Roger. “They came here first thing. Don’t rat me out.”

Walt hurried to the wall, shouting into the dent they’d made in the pile of wreckage. “Help’s here. We’ll have you out real soon.”

He shouted again, telling them he’d spotted the red-blue lights of the ambulance. By the third shout, he realized—no one was answering back.