A Flickering Light (10 page)

She sighed.

“There she is!” Voe said. “Hurry up now. Your ma says you can come with us. We’re going to play Old Mother Wobble Gobble, so bring lots of hair ribbons and handkerchiefs.”

“Not too many,” Jerome said. “I’m going to give you jess—” He stopped himself. “I mean I’m hoping to get me a cherry in that game.”

Clara, one of the girls in the crowd, laughed. “There’ll be no kissing, Mrs. Gaebele. Jerome’s just a big tease.” Ma had frowned with Jerome’s boast, and Jessie didn’t think Clara’s words had reassured her. Good, maybe they’d forbid her to go. But they said nothing.

“It’ll take me a while to get ready,” Jessie stalled. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I’d hate to hold you up.”

“We don’t mind,” Voe said. “Do we, Jerome?”

Jerome was as husky as her little brother was thin. But he was a muscled husky, formed from farm work. A big, blond German boy. “I don’t mind waiting, Jess. I enjoy talking to Mr. Gaebele here about dairying and such. I don’t hardly ever get to see you at church, you’re out of there so fast.”

At the mention of church, Jessie’s mother’s shoulders relaxed. Jessie thought him wise; he knew how to butter up her father and her mother all in one breath. “You attend the Youth Alliance?” Mrs. Gaebele asked.

“Sometimes. Lots of us do,” he said.

Jessie just wanted to be left alone. She sent her father a pleading look. But tonight he was blind.

“Run along now, Jessie,” her father told her. “You’ve worked hard enough for one day.”

“I’ll help you heat the bath water,” Selma told her. Jessie blushed. Lilly just shook her head. Jessie wasn’t going to get her way tonight; even she could see that.

One of the nice things about a Minnesota summer afternoon, FJ thought as he walked home, was that it lasted so long. Mosquitoes came out, yes, and one had to keep the children from being bitten, but it was possible to work a little late, stop at the lodge, and still be home in time to toss a ball to Russell. The boy was tall and slender with soulful eyes like his mother. He was a fine lad to spend time with.

Thunder turned FJ’s eyes skyward. Dark clouds clustered like grapes to the south. A downpour might wash out his hopes to toss that ball with Russell, but they could use the rain.

He swung his walking stick, a habit he’d acquired when he first suffered from pneumonia while with the Seventh Cavalry, Troop G. They’d been sent to the frontier, and the regiment was known for having replaced Custer. Later he was stationed at Fort Keogh in Montana. He had frequent bouts of fever there, and his bones ached terribly when riding, so by the time his unit arrived in Fort Meade, South Dakota, he was worn down and ill and had to spend eight weeks in the hospital. Pneumonia and then rheumatic fever, they called it. He called it deathly ill. He used a cane as he recovered, and the walking stick had become a part of his uniform, replacing the sword that now hung in the library at home. At his commander’s recommendation, he left the infantry and joined the hospital corps at Fort Riley, Kansas. He had the pleasure of exercising Custer’s old horse, which had been brought to Fort Riley to live out his old age. But once again the illness struck. This time they sent him to Fort Snelling outside Minneapolis, for the climate. He improved there, taking part in various company expeditions as part of the hospital corps. FJ participated in “police actions” rather than heavy fighting, which suited him fine. He had no taste for killing. The last Indian action he’d seen was against the Milaca Indians in Minnesota.

He shook his head of the memory. The campaign had required the hospital corps to follow, and what he witnessed there left such a sour taste in his mouth that he left the army soon after. Had he stayed but one year more he could have been commissioned as a physician.

Mrs. Bauer sometimes reminded him of that decision as being a poor one, that he could be a doctor now instead of a photographer. But she hadn’t been there. She didn’t know.

His cane clicked against the stones, and he became aware of the sudden quiet. No bird sounds, no rustle of leaves. His skin prickled. He felt the wind change suddenly, coming not out of the southwest but from the north, and yet the trees blew as though the southwest wind still pushed them, swirling the branches like eggs whipped in a bowl. Birds flitted away in large flocks, silent, which seemed odd. So odd, FJ looked up again.

Black and greenish clouds hung terribly low from the sky. He must have been daydreaming, because he hadn’t realized that the temperature had dropped. He felt a chill in the air and rain started falling, the wind pelting the drops against his face and clothes. He was several blocks from home on South Baker Street. It would be best to turn back to the studio and wait until the storm passed, so he lifted his cane and headed back toward Johnson Street as the wind pulled at his hat. He slammed his hand onto his head, holding the bowler in place. Wind filled up his coat sleeves like balloons. Tree branches broke and twisted as they fell to the ground. He felt off center and looked down to see the sidewalk lift slightly. Roots belonging to trees several yards away cracked the surface at his feet like ice breaking on a spring lake. Like a long breath, the trees lifted up, held, then exhaled back into their roots. He nearly stumbled on an uneven surface. Lightning flashed. He caught himself, jumped away from the breakage, and watched a tree fall in slow motion toward a house. He gasped. More lightning, heightened wind, and then before him he saw a gaggle of young people.

They swung baskets and twirled around, laughing and letting the wind push them about.
They don’t realize the severity of the storm!
FJ recognized his employees. Yes, Miss Kopp’s height made her stand out, and Miss Gaebele’s small form appeared locked between her friends. He heard shouts as the rain began to pelt them. Dust and dirt like tiny pinpricks bit his face, and he could see them rub at their eyes and turn their backs to brace against the fury. Miss Gaebele stumbled and fell. It took all his own strength to not be bowled over.

Now leaves and sticks and broken branches swirled like a circling horse, and wonder of wonders, he actually had to lean into the wind just to stay upright. With his cane he motioned to the group to turn back and shouted, “To my studio!” He pulled his hat down over his ears and held his coat tight around him, pushing his way toward them, motioning with his cane.

“Take cover! My studio!” Old maple seeds winged their way up from the street and swung at their cheeks. Miss Gaebele was so small she could easily be lifted by the force of this wind. “You know the way, Miss Kopp!”

“It’s on Fifth and Johnson,” she shouted to the others and turned them all like a herd of frightened calves.

They started to run then. The boys with them raced after Miss Kopp, charging toward the studio, leaving Miss Gaebele and another young woman exposed to the elements, barely able to stand. Hanging his cane over his arm, FJ reached them and took each girl by the elbow, and together they pushed up the street against the wind, leaves and dirt a nightmare around them. A terrible cracking sound forced the woman to hold her ears, and as one, they stopped and turned to see a giant oak pulled from its roots crash across the street where they’d just met up.

“Quickly, quickly! Hang on to the porch banisters,” he shouted when they reached the studio. He patted his vest for his key, found it, opened the door, and let the now sopping-wet crowd into the reception room.

The largest young man with them pushed against the door and slammed it shut. “Into the darkroom,” FJ told them. The girls led the way through the double doors and into the interior of the studio. The day was as night, and Miss Gaebele pushed the lights on using the button on the wall.

“Wouldn’t we be safer in the basement?” the young man asked.

“What kind of storm is this?” one of the others asked.

His answer was drowned out by the sound of a train, and the house shuddered like a runaway wagon on a hard-rutted road.

Jessie shook. She’d never liked storms. The root cellar was the place they’d gathered whenever the storm clouds stalked the valley near Cream. They kept extra water there and jerked venison, which enabled them to stay a few days if they needed to. Her father would make light of things, have them tell stories, say prayers, but his reassurances were never quite enough to relieve Jessie of her fears. This storm had come up so quickly, and she’d felt near panic at watching the others run off without her and Clara. The wind had swirled and pressed against her, and she thought she might be lifted and tossed aside.

She’d never been with people other than her family during a storm; she hoped her parents and sisters and Roy were safe, hoped she was safe here. Were the others as frightened as she was? She looked at their wet, dripping faces. A loud pop sounded and the room went black.

“The electric lights have gone out. Not to worry,” Mr. Bauer reassured them.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat, you’d think the trains couldn’t run in a wind like this,” Jerome Kopp said. Jessie thought his voice was higher pitched than usual, and it lacked the cocky tone.

“That sound isn’t a train,” Mr. Bauer said. “More likely a tornado. And the lights… I suspect a tree has just taken out the lines.”

“Tornado! My pa says Winona doesn’t get them. Must be just a strong wind,” Jerome argued. “Tornado. Pawh!”

Jessie wondered if they ought to have tried for the basement, but they were here now. She huddled close to Voe, swiped rain from her face. No one spoke for a time, listening to the wind. Her ears hurt. She swallowed and thought about Lilly and Roy and Selma, about her parents. They had to be safe.

After a time, they heard no more sounds but their own breaths. “I’d like to get out where there’s light,” Voe said.

“Is it safe?” Jessie asked. Her teeth chattered.

Mr. Bauer patted her shoulder. “Why, you’re cold,” he said. “And shivering. Well, of course. You all must be. Cold and wet. Let me step out and see if the studio still stands. I’ll start a fire in the fireplace so you can dry out before going on your way to let your parents know you’re all right. I’m sure the phone lines will be down.”

“My pa won’t be that worried about us,” Jerome said. “He knows I can take care of me and my sister. I can take care of you too, missy,” he said, groping for Jessie’s shoulder. His fingers got caught in her bun, and she slapped at him, glaring, though she supposed he couldn’t see her in the dark. She stiffened.

When Mr. Bauer opened the door and let the natural light into the room, Jerome was still shaking his hand as though he’d touched something hot.

Jessie turned toward Mr. Bauer. “I am cold. But I need to go home to see if everything is all right.”

“Let’s all get out of here,” Jerome said. He’d made himself the leader. “No sense waiting for a fire to dry us out. Let’s see what damage has been done.” He said it with a gleeful curiosity in his voice that saddened Jessie. A wind such as this could have easily harmed a great many people. She hoped her family had taken refuge in the basement.

Mr. Bauer went out into the reception room and called to them. “The worst is passed. Lots of puddles. Nearly a stream washing down that street, so be careful as you go. Watch for roots that have been lifted up; the trees could be unstable.”

The group stepped gingerly down the steps, gazing at the changed world. They pushed aside broken and blown branches, their green leaves clinging to them the way a deer leaves bits of hair against a fence: evidence of damage. Voe turned around slowly.

“All the trees are naked,” Jessie said. “There’s hardly a leaf left on them. It looks almost like…winter.”
We should take some pictures
, Jessie thought, the idea bringing a level of calm to her.

“We should photograph this,” she said aloud to Mr. Bauer, who had walked to the far side of the yard and looked up, to see if there was damage to the roof, Jessie supposed.

“What? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Jessie hurried beside him now. The others had headed out, and she’d motioned to them that she’d catch up. “We ought to take photographs. For the paper.” His look said he must think her unfeeling. She should be worried about her family, not trying to take pictures of disasters.