Chapter Seven
The long night stretched into a long morning followed by an equally long afternoon.
By the time we arrived back at the ranch house, we’d been up forever.
Exhaustion pulled at me. Each step felt as if I were wading through water.
Which I’d been doing for hours and hours.
My back and shoulders ached from shoveling sand into bags and hoisting them into the back of pickups.
That night, and into the morning, as the Tooben and Little Eagle creeks rose over their banks with all hell’s fury, we worked like dogs.
Side by side with the Leary brothers and Manfred Owens and his sons.
They didn’t speak to us, nor us to them, but we did the work that was required of us to help save our neighbors.
We filled hundreds of bags in the dark, working in the high beams of our cars, shoveling sand mixed with salt that was piled at the township building to be used to treat winter roads.
Bastian Grange would have to buy more before the snows flew since we were putting a big dent in the massive mounds.
There were some dicey moments as we slowly crossed running water on the road, something that normally would be a bad thing to do.
Okay, it was always a bad thing to do, and always advised against, but we weren’t able to turn around.
People needed help, so we forged a few creeks rolling over roadways.
I was nervous, but Ollie seemed more than capable.
I will confess to exhaling loudly when we would ease out of the rushing waters onto drier roads.
Ollie said nothing to my nervous exhales in the back but would give me a tender smile in the rearview.
The trailer park was in shambles when we arrived.
Several of the lower-level single-wide homes were flooded.
The ones that sat up on a raised hillock were safe for the moment, the swirling water running under and tearing off skirting.
It looked like most of the residents had scrambled up to the hillock, so we set to tossing sandbags around each home while half of us assisted Ollie and Easton and the other half assisted the stranded residents to our cars.
I stayed to help dam up the waters as best we could as my brothers and Easton began taking people out of harm’s way.
Local ranchers, those who were able to do so, opened up their homes just as we had done, and by dawn—which was a glorious sunrise of purple, pink, and blue clouds that were ever-so-slowly moving north—we had the trailer park emptied of all people and pets.
Many of the mobile homes would be damaged badly but half were holding their own.
Calls came in to Ollie steadily. Now that the rains had stopped, the waters could start to recede, but it would take time.
Ollie set up a temporary command center at the edge of the county line where he could coordinate with other local search and rescues.
The old farmer whose home we were at seemed happy to bring us coffee and stale donuts from the grocery store.
With the storm now out of state, post-disaster recovery had to be set up.
Damage assessments, recovery activities, and assisting the vulnerable and getting them to shelter.
That last item seemed to be well in hand, so we rode out to check on the roads, closing any that seemed iffy, and opening those that were now safe enough to navigate.
There was traffic to manage as people tried to get into Bastian Grange proper.
Only one road was deemed safe to travel, so Easton was directed to oversee that job as Ollie and the rest of us Bastians checked on the buildings in town.
The rec center was fine as were most of the shops and homes in town.
Now that we could get to town, the sheriff’s office became the hub.
All day there were calls for help, for roads that needed to be closed or opened.
The list was endless. Someone from the Calico brought food to the volunteers and first responders.
Nothing grand. Just sandwiches, a cup of macaroni salad, and some bags of chips.
Cans of soda. We dove in as if it were a gourmet feast.
By the time night rolled around, several of the smaller roads leading into town were passable.
The Tooben Creek was still over its banks and causing havoc to thousands of fields of corn as well as the trailer park, but the chaotic stream did show signs of slowing.
It might take days for it to fully recede, but it seemed that we’d ridden out the worst of it.
Now, after the waters disappeared, the heartbreak of cleaning up would come.
Many of the mobile homes were not going to be livable, which would be a burden on the people who were now bunking with neighbors or sleeping on cots at the rec center.
When the clock struck midnight, we were finally on our way back to Bastian Acres. A more sorrowful lot I’d not seen in years, if ever. Bedraggled didn’t even begin to cover our appearance.
The house was still home to several residents of Lilac Hills, but about ten had been relocated to family until the state could get into the assisted-living building to see what damage the water had caused.
My buddies had been picked up and taken to their children’s homes, but the thin lady in pink fleece, as well as several others of Granny’s friends, were still with us.
More than likely due to Granny telling their families not to rush. The more the merrier was her slogan.
Dahn was incredibly distant when we showed up, wiggling from a hug I tried to give him and then stomping outside.
“Such a loving greeting.” I sighed while lowering my tired ass into a kitchen chair.
“He’s been sullen while you were gone. Probably worried but unable to express it,” Granny noted and plunked a plate with a fat ham slice, some yams, and a slice of cornbread in front of me.
My brothers and Ollie—Granny had insisted they sit and eat—got the same meal.
Talking kind of fell by the wayside as we dove into our grub.
Bella was with the old folks in the living room, seated tight to her friend in pink, leading a discussion about hairstyles from the past. It seemed to be a lively conversation.
“He’ll come around now he knows you’re safe.
That scanner has been wild as a wasp’s nest all day. Ollie, how are things really?”
“Mm, well, things are about as well as can be expected,” he replied after swallowing. He sat hunched over his plate, wide shoulders bowed, obviously depleted and running on empty. “We’ll have a better hand on things tomorrow, I think.”
“So the worst is past?” Granny asked and got a nod from the lawman on my left.
“Good, good. We’ve been praying. I put a call in to Manfred, but his line must be down, to let him know his mother is happy to stay here. She’s quite enamored with our dear Bella.” Granny spooned more yams onto Ford’s plate. He grunted a thanks, cheeks filled like a chipmunk.
My gaze darted from Ford to Granny. “That slim woman in pink is Manfred Owens’ mother?”
Granny nodded, a devilish gleam sparking in her eye.
“Yes, my boy, that is Winnie Owens. Isn’t it funny how things work out?
Seems the transfemme woman that he’s all het up about using this bathroom or that in public is the same loving soul that carried his mama from a flooding building and has sat with her for going on two days to keep her calm and smiling.
Yessir, the Lord sure does move in mysterious ways. ”
“I want to be here when he shows up,” we all said in unison.
Granny grinned. “Oh, I plan to have one of you all videotape it on your cell phones.”
None of us felt the need to correct her on how you didn’t videotape on a smartphone.
We all knew what she meant. I suspected every Bastian would be standing on the front porch when Manfred rolled up to collect his mother and was told that Bella was the one who saved her from the floodwaters.
Yes, the Lord did indeed keep his divine plans inscrutable.
After our late meal, I checked on Dahn, who was back to sleeping in his pullout bed in the front parlor, aka our bedroom.
My bed held an old man with no hair, Harry, I think his name was, who snored violently.
Oh, how I wished I could claim my bed, but it looked like we were going to be bunking with the goats.
My son’s wild black hair poked out of the top of his blankets.
I bent over to kiss his head. He mumbled something in his sleep.
The boy had always slept like a log. I resolved to make an effort to speak to him tomorrow morning.
The house was quiet now, everyone asleep, so we gathered up the sleeping bags left by the front door, more dry clothes, and crept like tomcats out into the night. The rooster crowed. A beam of moonlight fell on the ranch. The peaceful chirrup of crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl met us.
“Seems like nothing happened,” I commented. Nature seemed to be recovering in its due course. Life went on for the wild critters.
“That’s pretty common in some ecosystems that are used to flash floods.
The wildlife rebounds quickly in many cases.
They’ll just move to higher ground and return once the water goes down.
Some fish and insects thrive on the nutrients floods bring.
Predators and scavengers will return to their hunting grounds and feast on drowned prey.
Nature, by and large, knows how to handle these disruptions.
Of course, sometimes stress and the introduction of diseases from a great flood can—”
Baker leaned over to kiss his boyfriend. “We love your nature talk, babe, but let’s just go to bed.”