Golden Filly Collection One (44 page)
“Heard anything from Brad?” Trish turned so her backside would warm up at the fire.
“Can’t. The phone’s down too. They’ve probably got about the same situation we do. Thought I’d swing by there on the way into town in case I can fill the tank there.” David brought a half bucket of water from the bathtub and added water to it from the steaming teakettle. “Got a pitcher, Mom?”
Marge spoke as she searched the cupboard for a larger pitcher. “Trish, get some cereal, and there’s juice in the fridge. Dad’s been toasting bread on the long forks, if you want some. Here you go, David. Anything else?”
“Yeah, warmer weather.” He pulled on a hat and gloves and left with the bucket and pitcher.
Trish got her breakfast and huddled on the raised hearth to keep warm while she ate. Her dad offered her some of the bread he’d toasted. “Mm-mm. Thanks, Dad. That’s really good. Sure beats toast done in the toaster.”
“At least I’m good for something around here.”
Trish caught the insinuation that her father felt helpless, even though he smiled when he spoke. She glanced at her mother and father, catching a look that passed between them. While Marge kept her opinions to herself, Trish knew her mother was really worried. And this time she had real reason to be.
“How are things down at the barn?” Hal sounded raspy and short of breath.
“Fine. The horses are frisky, wired. They don’t like having their stall doors closed.”
“Too bad. How’s your head?”
Trish felt for the bump. “Saw stars for a minute. Probably should have put some snow on it but I was already too cold. That wind is awful.”
“The radio says more of the same, and colder tonight. They’re sanding the main roads, but you could help David put chains on the truck. With those and the four-wheel drive, he ought to be able to get to Orchards and back if he drives slowly.” Hal coughed carefully.
The truck roared to life out in the driveway. “Well, that’s one problem solved.” Trish drank the last of her hot chocolate. “You need anything from the store, Mom?” she asked as she bundled into her gear.
“No, thanks.” Marge rubbed her elbows as she stared out the front window. She turned and forced a smile. “Now you be careful.”
How often have I heard those words?
Trish thought as she slipped her way down the sidewalk. Right now, her father was the one who needed to be careful. He didn’t need all this cold and extra worry. And he certainly shouldn’t be out working on the generator.
God, you’ve sure sent this crummy weather at a bad time. Do you have something against us?
David had pushed the truck seat forward and was pulling the chains out when Trish reached him. He handed her a chain. “Here, just lay this out behind the back wheel and make sure everything is straight. Then we’ll back over the chains and hook ’em on.”
Trish did as she was told and miraculously it worked. David only got angry once when one of the links refused to close. At least he had plenty of light to work with. Trish was about to tease him, but one look at his face told her to keep her comments to herself.
“Okay,” he grunted as he pulled himself up by the rear bumper. “Now let’s get that tank loaded.”
Within a few minutes they had strapped the tank to the bucket of the power lift on the front of the old red tractor and hoisted it above the pickup bed.
“Now when I get it lowered in place, you release those straps,” David instructed. “Make sure you keep your hands and feet out of the way because that tank’ll roll.”
You sound more like Mom every day. Worry, worry, worry,
Trish grumbled to herself as she climbed up over the pickup bed. She leaned over and tugged on the strap catches.
Nothing happened.
“Get over here by the bucket. That’ll give you more leverage.”
Trish squeezed by the head of the five-hundred-gallon tank and braced herself against the tractor bucket. She reached over, snagged the black webbing, and pulled.
The strap released.
Trish hung in the air for a fleeting moment. Her arms windmilled to try to catch her balance, but the ice on the fender sent her toppling to the ground.
“Ooooff.”
“I told you to be careful!” David leaped down from the tractor. “Are you all right?”
Trish took a deep breath. And let it all out. This getting dumped on her butt was beginning to get to her. “I’m fine, David. Just fine.”
He reached a hand down to pull her to her feet. “You sure you’re not hurt?”
“No, at least the snow is good for cushioning.” She brushed the snow and ice off her backside. “How’s the water tank?”
David climbed up and released the other strap so the tank could roll into place. “Do you think you can back the tractor up without getting into trouble?”
Trish stuck her tongue out at him as she stepped aboard the tractor, released the gear on the hoist, and backed the bucket away from the truck. She shifted gears, drove the tractor back to the barn, and parked it in the center aisle just down from Miss Tee’s stall.
She stopped a moment to rub the filly’s forehead. A few white hairs swirled a miniature star between the baby’s eyes. Trish kissed the soft muzzle. “No time to play today, but you be good.” She patted the mare. “I’ll bring you a drink pretty soon.”
“Tri-ish!”
“I’m coming.” She trotted out of the barn, being careful not to slip on the ice. She didn’t need another spill.
The temperature seemed to be dropping by the time they got back with the load of water. David parked the truck at the stables and both of them filled buckets from the spigot on the bottom of the tank and poured water into all the horses’ water buckets.
Then they drove out to the aluminum water troughs in the pastures. Since those all had automatic floats, the tanks were full—of solid ice. David leaned his head on his hands on the steering wheel. He took a deep breath.
“I’ll go get the pickax.” Trish scooted out the door before he could even ask her.
The ice was only about six inches thick, so chopping through it didn’t take as long as she’d feared. The mares and yearling stood in a semicircle watching the action until Trish brought them each a bucket of water while David chopped. The horses drank deeply.
But the Hereford beef stock in the next pasture were too spooked to drink from the buckets. Their plaintive moos begged David to chop faster. When the water was clear, they pushed and shoved to get their turn.
“We’ll empty both of these when they’re done and then water them again tonight. That way the troughs won’t freeze up.” David climbed back into the truck. “I’m going to take some of this up to the house and fill the bathtub again. So we’ll have water for the house.”
Trish slammed the door after joining him. “You know, Davey boy, you’re pretty sharp.”
He shot her a quizzical look.
“The way you seem to know all the right stuff to do.”
“I couldn’t get the generator going.”
“No, but like dumping the troughs. I never would have thought of that.”
“Just common sense.” David parked the truck as close to the house as he could. He smiled at her. “Thanks, Tee.”
David and Hal were still struggling with the generator when Trish went down to the barn to feed and water the animals again. Darkness was falling when she got back up to the house.
“Did you empty the hauling tank?” David asked.
“No, I didn’t think of it.” Trish turned and went back outside. She opened the valve and watched as the water drained out on the ground, freezing as it formed a puddle. She wrapped both arms around herself to keep out the biting east wind that whipped down the gorge, bringing the cold from the Rockies. When the trickle stopped, she closed the handle and trudged back to the house.
“No luck, huh?” she asked David after removing all her gear.
“No.” David shook his head. “And when we called about renting a generator, they were all gone. Besides that, now we’ll have to thaw out the pump too. And who knows how many pipes are frozen.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Terrible.”
I
told him he shouldn’t try to fix it.”
“I know, David.” Marge spoke softly so as not to wake Hal, who slept soundly in the recliner. “I tried to tell him too, but you know how stubborn your father is. He was determined to fix that generator.”
“I’ll take it in to be repaired tomorrow.” David rubbed his hands over his forehead and through his hair.
“Just buy a new one. Your father kept that thing running with baling wire and chewing gum. It’s time to lay it to rest.”
“Why, Mom, I—”
“We’ll deal with your father later. I should have had the nerve to say this earlier today and saved him all this.” Marge waved her hand toward her husband.
She’d spread a comforter over the recliner, then a quilt and another comforter. With all that it still took a long time for him to get warm.
Trish listened to their conversation with one ear and kept the other tuned to her father’s shallow breathing. Even with the help of the oxygen tank by his chair, she could hear the struggle. And with the oxygen he couldn’t be close to the fireplace, so they’d moved the recliner over by the sofa.
He looks shrunken in those quilts,
Trish thought.
I thought you were helping us, God! He keeps telling us you’re making him well, but he sounds awful.
She chewed her lip to hold back the tears.
Hal coughed then, a deep wrenching cough that shook the chair.
“Here, Dad.” Trish unwrapped a throat lozenge and held it to his mouth. “This’ll help.”
Hal nodded. His eyes fluttered open and a tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Tee.” His eyes closed again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be better in the morning.”
“I’ll take the sofa and you two get your sleeping bags,” Marge said after settling Hal into the chair for the night. “The bedrooms are much too cold, and at least we can keep the fire going in here. Trish, get some quilts and you can use them as pads under the bags.”
The glow from the kerosene lamp looked warm but didn’t make a difference in the arctic bathroom. By the time Trish had brushed her teeth, she was glad to get back into the living room.
The candles on the mantel, the two lamps, and the glow from the fireplace held them all in a circle of light. Trish looked up at the angel on the tree. She couldn’t see its smile tonight; in fact, she could hardly see the angel in the dimness. It didn’t surprise her.
She snuggled down into her sleeping bag.
“Our Father, who art in heaven…” Marge said softly after blowing out the lamps. Hal’s whisper could barely be heard as he joined in the prayer.
Trish felt like plugging her ears. She was glad when they said “Amen.”
How would she ever be able to go to sleep, listening to her father fight to breathe?
“Trish. Trish!” David shook her.
“Wha—what’s the matter?” Trish pulled the sleeping bag off her head.
“I’m taking Mom and Dad in to the hospital. He’s started to run a temperature.”
Trish shoved the bag down and sat up. She could hear her father’s wheezing like it was in her bones. “What time is it?”
“Two. I’ve just put more logs on the fire. I should be back in an hour or so.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Packing a bag. I’ve got the truck warming up.” He handed her an alarm clock. “I’ve set this for four. If I’m not back, stoke the fire.”
“I’m ready, David.” Marge pulled on her coat. She handed him the suitcase. “Why don’t you take this out first.”
“What can I do?” Trish crawled out of her sleeping bag.
“Pray for us, for a safe trip on all that ice.” Marge gave her a quick hug. “And for your dad.”
With the recliner levered upright, it still took both Marge and David to get Hal to his feet.
With both of them supporting him, Trish wrapped the long wool scarf around his neck. She gave him a two-arm hug around the waist and, after kissing his cheek, secured the scarf over his mouth and nose. “I love you.” She bit back the tears that stung her eyes. “Come home quick.”
Trish watched from the door as the three carefully made their way down the steps and navigated the sidewalk. Without the yard light, she could only see them in the lights of the truck. David opened the door, and they boosted Hal in and placed the portable oxygen tank at his feet. Marge tucked a quilt around him and climbed in.
