A Blessing for Miriam (29 page)

Miriam forced herself to think about
Mamm
’s letter today from Possum Valley:

Shirley had her bandages taken off at the doctor’s office today. I expected the worst and insisted I stay in the room as comfort for Shirley. Thank the Lord, the scars are only little red traces across her face now. Even those will eventually fade from sight, the doctor assured us. Shirley must learn to place less weight on her looks, but we are still thankful the Lord saw fit to make things
easier on her rather than harder. This is the grace of the Lord we all need, I am sure.

So Shirley’s operation had been a success.
Mamm
was happy about something else too. That was evident from the tone throughout the letter, although
Mamm
hadn’t explained further. Shirley’s recovery must be going well in more than the physical realm. Maybe other
gut
things were also happening in Shirley’s life. But what? “Thank You, dear Lord, anyway,” Miriam whispered. Then her thoughts returned to the sounds of the storm drawing closer.

Aunt Fannie stood up to glance into the living room. “It sounds awful, I know, but it’s not unusual for this time of the year.”

Her aunt was trying once more to settle her nerves, Miriam realized. This was, after all, her first spring in Oklahoma. Miriam tried to trust that all would be well. Her last look out the living-room window had revealed banks of clouds rolling ever closer in from the southwest. Uncle William still hadn’t come in from the greenhouse, so he must be busy preparing for the storm. She would comfort herself with that thought. And in the Lord’s goodness, He would surely not allow anything to happen that did not meet with His approval.

“Just sit down,” Aunt Fannie said. “If you’ll hold baby Jonathon, I’ll go see where William is and if he needs help.”

Miriam glanced at the look on her aunt’s face. She was clearly more worried than she wanted to admit.

Before Aunt Fannie could move, a loud bang at the washroom door announced Uncle William’s presence. From the violence of the sound, the wind must have knocked the door against the side of the house.

Aunt Fannie fastened her gaze on Uncle William as he walked in from the utility room, a wild gust of wind following behind him. The blast was strong enough to blow part of the tablecloth over the food dishes. She gasped and shooed Uncle William in and
hurriedly closed the door behind him. Miriam leaped to her feet to rescue the food. A washrag was needed, and she retrieved one from the kitchen sink. Carefully Miriam pulled the edge of the tablecloth away from the gravy and cleaned the mess as best she could. When she glanced up, both Aunt Fannie and Uncle William had disappeared into the living room. She laid the rag on the kitchen table and peeked in. They stood in front of the living-room window watching the approaching storm.

Uncle William had baby Jonathon in his arms. He turned around first. “I think we’d better take shelter in the basement. That’s no ordinary storm. That’s a tornado!”

Aunt Fannie gasped and grabbed Uncle William’s arm.

“What about the food?” Miriam asked.

Uncle William shook his head and led them toward the basement door. “There are more important things right now than supper. We have to pray for protection—for us and our neighbors. Only the Lord can still the wrath of tornadoes. I’ve not seen such a dark funnel build up in a long time. Miriam, make sure you bolt the door behind us.”

Miriam glanced at the heated dishes on the kitchen table before she followed Aunt Fannie. It seemed a shame to leave all the food, even if fear was gripping her heart. The danger must be great for Uncle William and Aunt Fannie to flee to the basement so quickly. They knew what actions to take and when. They were used to life on the prairie.

Uncle William was already on his knees near the washtub when Miriam arrived at the bottom of the stairs. He cradled baby Jonathon in his arms and had his eyes closed. Aunt Fannie knelt beside him, and Miriam joined them. Uncle William led out in prayer:

Dear Lord in heaven, be with us. If it be Your will, protect us and our neighbors this evening. We ask not for the things of this world that pass away, but for our
loved ones that they would be safe. Comfort the hearts of the children tonight as this tornado rages around us. Let no memory of its terror linger long in their hearts. Let the sweet presence of Your Spirit dwell over us, and let Your grace encamp around us. Give us humble hearts to accept Your will—whatever that might be tonight. Let not our hearts blame You for the wrath that is released upon this world of sin. It’s only by the mercy of Your great hand that we are not all-consumed even this very day. Help us…

Miriam listened as the sounds of the winds increased and intruded through the basement walls. Uncle William continued to pray, and Miriam heard a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very air. She sensed it was coming from the direction of Clarita. Her schoolhouse was near there. Would the building stand up to this wind? What if she arrived tomorrow and found the roof gone or the windows blown out? They couldn’t have classes with the schoolhouse in such a condition. Surely the Lord would protect the community from such extreme trouble! Miriam brought her thoughts to the present when Uncle William rose to his feet.

He listened intently, and then motioned with his hand. “We should go to the other side of the basement. The storm is coming this way.”

Miriam followed her trembling aunt, wishing she had Wayne’s arm to cling to just as Aunt Fannie was clinging to Uncle William. Instead, all she could do was pray as the roar outside increased. No wonder Uncle William had left supper to grow cold. In just minutes the storm had intensified. She pictured the food taking flight in the wind. Then she imagined the entire house being lifted. Surely that wouldn’t happen! Uncle William and Aunt Fannie couldn’t lose their house. Miriam had thought the weather looked threatening this afternoon, but this was more than a threat. This was actual danger.

They sat down as close together as possible.

Aunt Fannie whimpered as booms and crashes sounded above them and around them.

“It’s the greenhouse,” Uncle William said matter-of-factly. “We can build it again.”

Aunt Fannie’s eyes were wide as they stared at the far wall.

“The Lord gives grace even when He chooses to take away,” Uncle William said with a steady voice.

“Our dear Lord in heaven,” Aunt Fannie whispered, “forgive us our sins. Forgive me for where I’ve not been the wife, or the mother, or the aunt I should have been. I know I fail You so many times.”

“It’s okay.” Uncle William wrapped the arm not holding baby Jonathon around Aunt Fannie’s shoulders and pulled her close.

Miriam leaned against Aunt Fannie, and they huddled together as the sounds of wrath continued outside. If the house should suddenly lift off, she wouldn’t be able to breathe from the terror, Miriam told herself. The house disappearing into the night seemed totally possible with the sounds the storm was making. She must trust the Lord!

Long moments passed, and no light appeared above them. Uncle William looked up at the basement ceiling as silence slowly fell outside. He withdrew himself from Aunt Fannie’s embrace and handed her baby Jonathon, who wrinkled up his face but no wails came.

After several minutes of quiet, Uncle William said, “We’d better go up and see what’s left.” He moved toward the stairs. “Prepare yourselves though. I’m sure it won’t be pretty.”

Miriam’s knees were still trembling as they approached the door. Uncle William unbolted it, and they stepped into the kitchen. Oddly, the first thing Miriam noticed were the supper dishes sitting undisturbed where they’d left them. She glanced out the kitchen window and gasped. Debris lay everywhere. The greenhouse was
entirely gone. Ripped greenery and broken pots were everywhere. The mess extended out to the road and into the field beyond.

“Yep, looks like we lost the greenhouse,” Uncle William said stoically.

Aunt Fannie slipped her arm around Uncle William’s waist and leaned against him as they stared where their business once stood. Neither of them said anything more as they gazed out over the scene. In Aunt Fannie’s arms, baby Jonathon also remained silent.

Miriam pushed open the front door. The shock of the destruction settled deeply in her heart. She couldn’t imagine how Uncle William and Aunt Fannie must feel. There was no insurance or extra money to fix the damage. Surely the community would rally to their aid. Still…She looked up at the roofline of the house. Shingles had been torn off, but no other damage was evident. The house had been spared. The Lord had been with them even with the loss of the greenhouse. Uncle William’s barn still stood, and only a few of the windows were smashed from what she could see.

Miriam searched the distance. The trees to the south and west were flattened to the ground. It was as if the prairie had reclaimed its own, opening up the countryside right into Clarita. Where houses and streets should have been, there was a path of debris tossed and thrown about. The metal water tower once in the center of the town lay to the north, twisted into a massive steel pretzel. Miriam’s head spun when she realized that her schoolhouse lay directly beyond the horizon on a straight path of devastation. Had it been destroyed? “It can’t be,” the cry escaped Miriam’s lips. “And what of the people in Clarita? And what of Wayne?” She wanted to know immediately!

Miriam’s hands trembled as she reentered the house. Uncle William passed her on his way outside. Aunt Fannie sat at the kitchen table with little Jonathon in her lap. Her eyes were bright with tears, but her face showed courage and resolve. “We will make it through this, Miriam. We will.”

Miriam nodded, afraid to trust her voice at the moment.

“Were our neighbors hit?” Aunt Fannie asked.

Miriam tried to keep her voice steady. “I think so. The town looks pretty bad. I’m worried about the schoolhouse. I’d like to go see if it’s still standing.”

“You should,” Aunt Fannie agreed. “I will go with you, and we can swing by the town afterward to see if anyone needs help.”

“That’s not necessary,” Miriam protested. “You and Uncle William have enough on your minds right here.”

Aunt Fannie stood and touched Miriam’s arm. “There’s not much I can do here now. I too want to know how your schoolhouse fared.”

“I’ll get Sally ready then,” Miriam said. She turned and left the house. She entered the barn to the wild whinny of the horses. How had Wayne fared with his family’s horses? Miriam wondered. His parents were gone on a trip. Surely Wayne had been able to handle things well. Miriam approached Sally’s stall and quieted her with soft strokes on her neck. “It’s over now and nothing happened that the Lord can’t take care of,” she said soothingly. Her words calmed the horse, and Miriam led Sally out of her stall. At the barn door, Sally balked. Miriam whispered in the horse’s ear, “We need to see about my schoolhouse before it’s totally dark. And some townspeople might need our help.” After a loud whinny, Sally settled down.

Together Miriam and Aunt Fannie hitched the horse to the buggy and climbed in. As they drove out of the lane, Miriam saw Uncle William’s form among the ruins of the greenhouse. He stood, his hands in his pockets, gazing over the damage.

“The poor man,” Aunt Fannie’s voice choked. “He’s lost so much.”

“Shouldn’t you be with him?” Miriam asked. “I can run over to the schoolhouse alone. I can check on the town too.”

“William needs to be by himself for a bit,” Aunt Fannie said.

Miriam nodded and drove slowly out of the lane. She had to
concentrate because Sally threw her head up and sidestepped a few times in fright at the debris scattered along the way. Miriam kept a firm grip on the lines as they turned onto State Route 48. In the distance, the wail of sirens hung in the air. Red and blue lights appeared from the direction of Coalgate. Aunt Fannie clutched baby Jonathon tightly to her chest. “Do you think there were any deaths tonight?”

“I hope not,” Miriam said, shuddering but keeping her eyes fixed on the road. She soon turned Sally toward the schoolhouse and tried to see across the branch-strewn fields. Uncle William had prayed for the safety of people’s lives, but he hadn’t asked for the protection of buildings or trees. Perhaps that would have been too much to ask? The Lord’s wrath displayed in the weather could not be totally contained, and the destruction of Clarita lay in plain sight before them. They both stared but said nothing.

There was another turn of the road as they approached the schoolhouse lot. Miriam kept her eyes averted. She wanted to see, but now that she was here, her courage had fled away. Aunt Fannie’s gasp made Miriam look up. The schoolhouse was gone. Not a piece of wall stood upright in the tangled mess. Where the playground had been, glass was scattered. Pieces of the swing set and wood fragments stuck out of the ground across a neighbor’s field. It was as if a giant had crushed the building in his hands and then torn the pieces apart in his fury.

A moan escaped her mouth as Miriam pulled Sally to a stop. Only hours ago, she had left this place. The children had played here today and studied. Now the building was gone. The play equipment was gone.

“We can build again.” Aunt Fannie’s hand touched Miriam’s arm. “The community will rally. We can be thankful that no one was at the school. That would have happened if the storm had come earlier.”

“There’s a shelter in the basement,” Miriam whispered, realizing that would have been scant protection. Obviously the schoolhouse had been in the direct path of the tornado. How like Aunt Fannie to point out the hand of protection from the Lord even in this tragedy and to find a reason to give thanks.