The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (28 page)

“So what's so great about that? Almost every day a cloud or two passes overhead, sometimes more than one or two, sometimes maybe three or four, or even eight or ten.”

“Fred, what I saw isn't your everyday set of dry weather clouds. It looks like a storm is brewin'.”

“Weather people didn't say anything about a storm. I listened this morning. All they said is there was a possibility of scattered thunderstorms. They've been sayin' that every day lately, but they never come. It never rains. Just never gets around to rainin' anymore.”

“You mark my word, Fred. There's a storm a comin' our way.”

“Your word is marked,” said Fred, smiling. “I hope you're right though. We really do need a soaking rain. Can't remember when we had a good rain.”

“You coming to the historical society lunch this noon?” asked Oscar.

“Nope, I'm gonna have to miss it this year. My back fence is fallin' down and my neighbor says I better get it fixed or he'll hire someone to fix it and send me the bill.”

“Yeah, figured I'd stay home too. That fancy food doesn't agree with me.”

47

E
ach year, the Link Lake Historical Society held their annual late summer luncheon at the Link Lake Supper Club; this year was to be no exception. Emily would have preferred to hold the meeting elsewhere, but she knew of no other place close by that was as nice as the Link Lake Supper Club and large enough to hold the group. Emily Higgins and the planning committee had organized a special luncheon this year to commemorate all the hard work the members had done in helping the Link Lake citizens become aware of the perils of a sand mine coming to town and the travesty it would be to cut down the Trail Marker Oak. She had invited the members of the Link Lake High School Nature Club to come as well to applaud them for helping to put up the eagle cam, one of the most successful activities the historical society had ever supported. And of course a discussion of the cemetery walk and the bank robbery reenactment were on the agenda as well, with the appropriate committees giving reports and receiving praise for their efforts.

Emily had heard the weather forecast just prior to driving over to the supper club: “Possibility of severe thunderstorms for Ames County with high winds and hail.” Like everyone else in Link Lake, Emily looked forward to some much-needed rain; she hoped the rains would come and the weather people were wrong about the high winds and hail. She saw the clouds boiling up in the west as she drove from the historical society headquarters down Main Street and then to the Link Lake Supper Club. She had seen clouds like this before; sometimes they resulted in strong storms, sometimes in rain, and sometimes nothing at all as the clouds moved north or south and passed Link Lake entirely.

With the invited guests, some fifty people were in attendance for the annual noon luncheon, one of the group's largest crowds in recent memory. Even Ambrose Adler had walked to Link Lake so he could attend the event.

Marilyn Jones remained in her office as the group enjoyed their luncheon and the conversation. When the dishes were cleared and fresh cups of coffee poured, Emily walked to the podium with a sheaf of notes in hand. Emily was well organized and planned everything down to the last detail. She didn't like surprises.

All Emily got to say was “Welcome,” before a tremendous flash of lightning followed by a clap of thunder that rattled the supper club windows halted the proceedings. The lights flickered once and then went out. And the room was quiet.

Marilyn Jones burst from her office, her face pale.

“May I have your attention, please,” she said in a loud voice. “I just heard on my weather radio that a tornado is headed our way. It touched down in Plainfield and will be here in fifteen minutes. Everyone gather in the middle of the room, away from the windows, and get under the tables,” Marilyn yelled.

“Wait, wait,” said Emily Higgins in her usual far-reaching voice. “I have a better idea. Some of you will remember that this place was once a stagecoach stop and roadhouse. What you don't know is the builders of this place also constructed an underground storm shelter. Follow me!”

Marilyn Jones stood with a mystified look on her face. She did not know the history of her supper club; indeed, she had never been interested in it.

“After me,” said Emily as people, most of them with frightened looks on their faces, trailed behind her out a side door and a couple hundred feet away to a tangle of wild berry bushes.

“If I remember correctly, there should be a metal trap door right about here,” Emily said. “I need a little help clearing away this tangle of berry bushes.”

Several high school students stepped forward and began tugging and pulling at the berry bushes, while flashes of lightning and ear-splitting thunder continued to fill the air. The first big drops of rain began falling as Emily announced, “We've found it. Here's the trap door.”

“It's rusted shut,” one of the high school students said as he tugged on the latch.

Several other students helped him, and the door finally squealed open, revealing a set of stairs to an underground chamber. One after another, members of the historical society and the nature club slowly climbed down the soon to be quite crowded and very musty underground chamber. As the high school students, with the help of their teacher, slowly let down the metal door, the group could hear what sounded like the approach of a train. Louder and louder. And the ground began shaking.

It was completely dark in the crowded room until several people removed their cell phones from their pockets, providing a little light. Some began complaining about the cobwebs and the musty smell, but most concentrated on what they heard even though the sound was muffled by several feet of soil and an iron trap door. Three or four of the older members of the historical society had been in tornados before, and the sound of the wind brought back memories of devastating destruction, injury, and even death.

After a few minutes—quiet. Extreme quiet.

“Should we try the door?” one of the students asked.

“Let's wait a few more minutes,” said Emily, “to make sure the storm has passed.”

When the door was finally opened, and people crawled up the steps to the outdoors, they walked into a downpour of rain.

“Oh, my God,” said Marilyn Jones when she saw the devastation to the supper club.

An enormous oak tree had fallen on the back part of the building, directly over her office. Had she been in her office she would have been severely injured, if not killed. The tornado tore the roof off the dining room; people saw pieces of roofing floating in the lake. An enormous white pine tree had snapped off and its trunk had pierced the front door of the supper club.

People stood in the rain, no one saying anything, not believing what they were seeing. Except for the falling rain, it was quiet. No wind. No thunder.

“Is everyone okay?” Emily Higgins asked.

Heads were nodding in the affirmative.

Marilyn Jones, with tears streaming from her eyes, found Emily and took her hand.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much. Thank you for remembering the storm shelter.”

“You are welcome,” said Emily. Marilyn Jones gave Emily Higgins a big hug.

48

H
istorical society members and representatives from the high school nature club stood in the rain, numb, staring at the destruction of the Link Lake Supper Club. In less than five minutes they heard the wail of sirens and soon the two Link Lake fire trucks appeared, followed by the squad car.

“Is anyone injured?” yelled Fire Chief Henry Watkins. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I . . . I don't believe so, Henry,” answered Emily. “We're shaken a bit. But I believe beyond being soaked to our skins, we're okay.”

Volunteer firefighters soon began dragging huge tarps from one of the trucks and with the assistance of historical society members and nature club students they began spreading the tarps over the exposed parts of the supper club, which was most of it, as the entire roof had been blown off.

Watkins walked over to where Marilyn Jones stood staring at the destruction.

“Are you okay, Miss Jones?” asked Watkins as he placed a spare firefighter's jacket around her shoulders.

“Everything is gone . . . all gone. Years of work . . . gone. Just like that, gone.” Tears mixed with raindrops ran down Marilyn's face.

“I'm sorry,” said Watkins. “The supper club took the worst of the storm; a few trees are down here and there around town and the power is out. But it looks like the tornado hit your building straight on and then skipped across the lake and disappeared. That's how these storms work.”

“But we're all safe,” said Marilyn. “I can't image how many of us would have been hurt if we'd stayed in the building.”

“Where'd you go?” asked Watkins, not aware of any secure shelter nearby.

“See over there?” Marilyn pointed to a huge wild berry patch that seemed to have the middle torn out of it. “In that berry patch is an iron door leading to an old storm shelter that Emily Higgins knew about. Emily is the reason none of us was hurt.”

“Well, you don't say,” said Watkins, knowing full well, as did everyone in Link Lake, that Marilyn Jones had never had anything good to say about Emily Higgins.

As quickly as the storm arrived, it departed. The clouds cleared and the sun came out. The firefighters, historical society members, and the students worked for a couple hours, creating a temporary roof over the dining room with blue tarps.

“Thank you all so much,” said Marilyn as everyone began drifting off toward their cars—the parking lot had not been touched by the tornado. After everyone had left, Marilyn, not knowing what to do, went back to the storm shelter, pulled open the trap door, and left it open, which provided a little light in the cramped space where everyone had sat out the tornado. She climbed down the stairs and with the added light of her cell phone looked around. On a little shelf in the back she spotted a metal box, covered with dust. She picked it up and once outside, she opened it. She took out photos of when she and her sister Gloria were little girls. There were early photos of the supper club, and there were photos of her parents, wedding photos they appeared to be, taken in front of the Trail Marker Oak. She also found a newspaper clipping, with a wedding photo, and the caption, “Fred and Barbara Jones, longtime visitors to Link Lake from Chicago, were married this past Saturday in front of the Trail Marker Oak at Increase Joseph Community Park in Link Lake. This old tree has become a popular place for young couples to marry, as some believe that the tree, which was a guidepost for earlier travelers, would point the way toward a happy marriage as well.”

Marilyn thought,
My parents knew about this storm shelter. They must have carried this box into the shelter before another storm. And they were married in front of the Trail Marker Oak—I never knew that. I can't let anybody see this. I did not know my parents had such a connection to that old Trail Marker Oak. I just can't believe it.

A
mbrose Adler started walking toward his farm. He remembered another tornado that had torn through the north side of Link Lake back in the 1970s, uprooting many trees and destroying three cattle barns just out of town. There were no injuries. At least not serious. The storm hit in the middle of the night, around midnight. Old Jesse DeWitt was driving home from the Link Lake Tap with a little more than he could handle. On the back road to his farm, which is where the tornado first struck, a tree limb came crashing down, piercing the windshield of his old 1950 Chevrolet and ending up on the seat right beside him. People found him in the car the following morning muttering something about how God's wrath had nearly struck him down. After that fateful night, Jesse DeWitt never took another drink.

Ambrose also thought about the close call they had just had. Without Emily Higgins knowing about the old storm cellar there certainly would have been injuries, even deaths, when the roof blew off the supper club and debris and broken glass were flying everywhere. Ambrose was also surprised and even a little amazed at the kind words Marilyn Jones had for Emily.
Have we seen a Marilyn no one has seen before?
Ambrose thought.
Is there more to this woman than the harddriving businessperson she likes to portray?