The Great Sand Fracas of Ames County (29 page)

Ambrose continued walking. He smelled the freshness that followed a welcome rain. The wildflowers and grasses alongside the country road had, with the heavy rain, already seemed to lift their heads and renewed their growth. Ambrose's gait was slower these days than it had been as recently as a year ago. He was often short of breath and had to stop and rest for a few minutes before continuing on. Someone from the historical society would have been more than happy to give him a ride home, but he refused, saying he enjoyed the walk. He did enjoy the walk, but every trip it seemed was becoming more of a challenge.

As he walked along, he also wondered if the storm had struck his place. He didn't know what he would do if it had. But as he rounded a turn and could see his place in the distance, everything appeared normal. The tornado had completely missed the Adler farm.

49

T
he day after the storm, Marilyn Jones had an insurance adjuster on site, and the following week a construction crew began replacing the roof and repairing the other tornado damage. Village crews plus volunteers soon had the downed trees in the village cut up and hauled away. The power had come on a few hours after the storm and the Village of Link Lake mostly returned to normal. Of course the stories about the tornado continued, often enhanced with each telling. Emily Higgins, tough-minded, history-focused Emily, had become a local hero for remembering the storm shelter near the supper club. The
Ames County Argus
ran a feature story on the storm, with many photos and the headline, “Link Lake Historian Saves Lives.”

The story read:

For several days, Oscar Anderson and Fred Russo had something to talk about at their early morning coffee gathering.

“Fred, I just heard this tornado story yesterday,” said Oscar Anderson. “It's secondhand but it seems worthy of repeating.”

“Worthy, huh? Does that mean it's not true?”

“I don't know anything about the truth of it, but it sure is a good story.”

“So how long are you gonna keep me waitin'?”

“Well it goes like this. When everybody got down the stairs into that old long-forgotten storm shelter and they let the metal trap door down—”

“So what's worthy about all that?” asked Fred.

“Just hold your horses, Fred. I'm getting to the good part.

“I got 'em under control,” said Fred, with a big smile on his face.

“So that big old iron door is now closed and the tornado is bearing down—some folks said it sounded just like a freight train roarin' through town. That old iron door begins to rattle. Pressure of the storm must have done it, and you know what, Fred?”

“Geez, Oscar, you sure take a long time gettin' to the nub of a story. What's the point—so far about everything you've said I've heard before.”

“Bet you didn't hear this part, Fred. Bet this part is new.”

“So what is it? My coffee's gettin' cold waitin' for you to get to the point of your tale.”

“That old iron trap door wasn't just rattlin' up and down, just makin' noise. It was rattlin' ‘Nearer My God to Thee.'” Oscar smiled from ear to ear when he said it.

Fred, unaccustomed to applauding Oscar's stories more than necessary, burst right out laughing, nearly spilling the cup of fresh coffee Henrietta had just poured for him.

“I suspect that's how some people felt, alright,” said Fred, gaining his composure. “I got a story for you too, and this one I know is true because I heard it right from the fellow who saw it.”

“And what did he see?” asked Oscar, wanting to go along with Fred's tale as he had been patient with his.

“Well, this guy who lives in Chicago has a place on the other end of the lake. Really nice place. A big log house. Had it built a couple years ago. More money in that place than either of us is worth.”

“So?”

“I see this guy the other day at the Link Lake Tap and he's telling how he was sitting on his deck watchin' the storm boil up out of the west. He then sees this tornado drop down out of the clouds and begin tearin' apart the supper club.”

“So?” says Oscar again.

“So when he sees that twister a comin', he hightails it to his basement.”

“So?”

“You keep sayin' ‘so?' and I'm gonna forget what the punch line is,” said Fred, frowning.

“I'll keep quiet.”

“Good. Well, when he comes out of his basement, he looks around and he has no damage whatsoever. But he sees somethin' that he's not seen before.”

“And that would be?” asked Oscar.

“That would be one of the tables from the supper club's dining room sitting right on his pier. Not a scratch on it. His pier is a good mile away from the supper club. Isn't that somethin'?”

“Well, that surely is somethin'. He givin' the table back to the supper club?”

“How the hell do I know? That ain't got nothin' to do with the story.”

“Seems like the right thing would be to give the table back to Marilyn Jones.”

“Oscar. What am I gonna do with you?”

50

T
he tornado completely missed Increase Joseph Community Park. Now in mid-September, the park began to look as it always did in early autumn, a little tired after a long, eventful summer. The once green grass had turned brown, except for the new grass planted where the explosion had occurred. Village workers kept that patch of new grass watered. There was almost no remaining evidence of the eagle nest that people from far and wide had watched in amazement before the explosion destroyed it.

The citizens of the Link Lake community were back doing what they always did in late summer. The merchants in town welcomed the last run of summer tourists. The antique store in the old mercantile had done a good business all summer, with more people visiting Link Lake than anyone could remember, and the store continued to do well, especially on weekends. The Eat Well Café was filled with breakfast customers every morning, and the Link Lake Tap was filled with customers every evening.

Karl Adams put up a new map of the mine site on the bulletin board by the village hall, with his fingers crossed that it would remain untouched. He was in close communication with his boss, Emerson Evans, at Alstage. He informed Evans that since the tornado, the village had seemed to forget about the upcoming sand mine. He also let Evans know that Marilyn Jones was busy putting her nearly destroyed supper club back together, and they likely couldn't expect her to help them much if new problems erupted.

“Karl, one more thing. In a few days we'll be delivering another drilling machine to the site. Let's sure as hell make sure that this one doesn't get blown up.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” Karl said, “but aren't you going to let the mayor and the village board know too? Didn't we learn anything from what happened in this town with the other drilling machine? You try and sneak another machine in and these people and the whole village will blow up. I don't think I'll be able to put a damper on it either.”

“Well, we're bringing in another machine and don't you tell anybody. You hear?” ordered Evans as he hung up the phone.

Karl thought,
What in the world should I do? Tell the people of Link Lake another drilling machine is on its way and risk losing my consulting job? Or not tell them and feel that I've once more not been upfront with a group of people I've come to respect and admire?

Alstage officials continued to press both the Link Lake Police Department and the Ames County Sheriff 's Office for updates on who had been responsible for the destruction of their first machine. Each time the response was, “We're still working on it.”

The construction crew working on repairing the Link Lake Supper Club, under the watchful eye of Marilyn Jones, had only a little landscaping to do and they would be finished. The supper club had been open for limited business for the past week; the Lake Coffee Bar had been in operation for more than two weeks—it being the first repaired.

People were beginning to think about winter, which, as Emily Higgins pointed out, was “just around the corner and ready to blow into town like an uninvited guest.” It was a quiet time. Just as everyone in Link Lake looked forward to the arrival of the summer visitors each spring, they looked forward to their departure in the fall. But nobody would say that out loud, as Link Lake wanted to maintain an image of being open for visitors—as well as open for business, as Marilyn Jones kept reminding everyone. Of course visitors meant business, especially for establishments like Marilyn's. She couldn't wait for the sand mine to begin operations. She knew that once people got over the idea of having a sand mine at the park the community would once more prosper, as it had in the past. But she was more conflicted about her thoughts these days, especially since the tornado had raised havoc with her establishment. She kept coming back to what Emily Higgins had done just before the tornado struck. Emily had saved lives and avoided lots of injury when she remembered the storm shelter that had been built when the forerunner of the supper club, a stagecoach stop and roadhouse, had been built. Marilyn thought,
I hate to admit it, but this is an example of where Emily Higgins's love of history made a difference—a dramatic difference.
Marilyn also couldn't get her mind past the materials she had found in the storm shelter: photos and newspaper clippings of her parents and the story of their marriage in front of the Trail Marker Oak.

Marilyn sat in her new office at the supper club thinking about all this one early morning when her phone rang.

“Ms. Jones?”

“Yes, this is Marilyn Jones.”

“Ms. Jones, this is Officer Jimmy Barnes.”

“Yes, Jimmy. What can I do for you?”

“I don't know if you heard that the mining company hauled in another drilling machine last night. And not only that, they've got armed guards posted all around the mining site. I checked the guards and they've got all their permits in order, so they are legal.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Jimmy,” Marilyn said. She put down the phone, the red rising in her face. She immediately punched in the numbers for Karl Adams's cell phone.

“This is Karl,” a tired voice responded.

“Did you know your mining company brought in a new drilling machine last night?” Marilyn said, a little too loudly.

“Yes, that's right. They're planning to do some test drilling as soon as tomorrow. The company thought it best to deliver it in the night, with the hopes that people wouldn't know about it until they were well into the testing.”

“So you didn't tell anybody that the machine was coming?”

“Well . . .” Karl hesitated. “I tried to tell Emerson Evans that he should let people know the mining company was doing this. But he said no.”

“You didn't even tell our police department?” Marilyn said, her voice rising even more.

“I guess I should have. Officer Barnes saw them unloading the machine at the park and they gave him a bit of a hard time, especially the armed guards. I guess he's not accustomed to seeing men wearing camouflage clothing and carrying assault weapons.”