Chapter 3
Ernest woke in the gray pre-dawn. He looked around, a bit surprised. What was he doing out in the open?
Then, he remembered.
The flood.
He sat up and rubbed eyes that felt grainy, as if he had been out on the prairie all day.
He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to face the heartbreak that he would surely find.
While he had promised to remain positive, he recognized the odds he faced.
He had become certain that he would find nothing but agony.
“We have to look.” Ernest spoke to the roan as if it were a friend. Maybe it was. “We’ll go slow. If we find them alive, we’ll cry tears of joy. If they’re dead, we’ll buck up. I’m a Vance. We prevail.”
While his words sounded brave, Ernest wasn’t at all sure he would prevail. He wanted to find his mother and father alive, so they could make the decisions about the ranch.
He started at the missing house and rode to the creek, which was back within its banks. It flowed as if nothing had happened, as if the world was exactly what it had been one day earlier. That was a lie. This wasn’t the same world. That world had been destroyed.
The horse walked close to the water, as Ernest needed to look at both sides. There was no telling whether what he looked for had stayed to one side. His gaze scanned both sides, taking in the remains of the house and barn.
When he spotted a small raft that had been part of a barn wall, his heart brightened. Maybe his folks had found such a boon and used it to escape the killing water.
He stopped the horse so he could take a better look.
The raft was held in place by a large rock.
Were his parents underneath?
No, no one waited for him.
He moved on.
Tears filled his eyes whenever he came across something he recognized.
A broken dining room chair with its hand sewn seat.
A drowned cow, unlucky enough to get caught in the flood. Most of the herd had been out on the range and, no doubt, survived. They would remain safe until he found a way to reclaim them.
A trail of mud-stained shirts sticking out from his bureau like a cloth tongue.
A water bloated pony named “Spot.” He learned to ride on Spot.
The butcher block where his mother chopped up chickens and pork loin.
Three hay bales wedged between two large rocks. Swollen into place until they rotted into nothing.
His father’s favorite hat.
His mother’s favorite dress.
Ernest recognized his life strewn out on the still wet ground. It was all there. If he took the time, he could recreate his childhood.
He didn’t have the time.
Not after he spotted the vultures.
*****
“Is the water gone, Miss Whitfield?”
Anna looked over the choir loft railing. “Not yet, Owen. But it’s much lower. Soon.”
“I’m hungry.”
“We’re all hungry, May. We have to be patient. We’ll be leaving the church soon.”
Anna turned to the children she had managed to herd into the church before the flood slammed into the town. All six were her students.
All six were afraid.
“Where are our parents?”
“I’ve told you before. They’re busy cleaning up the town. I’m sure the flood created havoc. Who knows what havoc means?”
Jewel, the oldest of the children, raised her hand.
“Yes, Jewel?”
“I think it means things are not happening as they should.”
“That’s right. Havoc is akin to chaos, and chaos is when normal events go haywire.”
Six faces stared at Anna, and she forced a smile. “It takes time to right the wrongs created by havoc and chaos. If we were to venture out now, we would add to the havoc, as we have needs that must be met. It’s better for everyone if we bide our time.”
Anna could tell that her words were lost on the children. They were hungry and tired and scared. They weren’t about to listen to reason. They had not achieved that level of thought.
“To use this time constructively, we should practice our multiplication tables. Who will start?”
May raised her hand.
“Proceed, May.”
“One times one is one.”
“Hello! Anyone here?!”
Anna recognized the preacher’s voice, and she leaned over the railing. Below, Reverend Hogan stood shin-deep in the dark, fetid flood water.
“Up here, Reverend.”
He looked up and smiled. “Miss Whitfield, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. Are you alone?”
“No, sir, I have six children with me. I’m afraid that’s all I managed to herd into the church.”
“You saved six, and that’s a mite better than most.”
“Is it bad outside?”
“It’s worse than anyone might have imagined. But there are folks alive and starting to set things to rights. We are a hardy bunch. We will prevail.”
“Is it time to bring out the children?”
“Not quite yet, Miss Whitfield. As you might imagine, the town has been mostly destroyed. It’s dangerous just to walk around as the water brought in snakes and such. The mess it filled with boards and nails and rocks. It’s not safe.”
“How much longer?”
“An hour perhaps. When you come, bring your students to Moss Hill.”
“The cemetery?”
“It’s the highest point in town. People are afraid that there might be a second flood, although I’ve assured them that with the dam gone, there won’t be another deluge.”
“I’m sure you’re correct. We’ll join you in an hour. If you could have some food available, that would be welcome.”
“We got scavengers going through what’s left and bringing anything that hasn’t been contaminated to the cemetery.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s always darkest just before the dawn. We’ve seen the worst. What comes next will be better. That’s God’s way.”
“Be safe, Reverend.”
“You too, Miss Whitfield. I’ll be looking for you in an hour or so.”
“Oh, please inform the parents of Owen, May, Elsie, Joshua, Ruth, and Moses that I have their children, and I will deliver them directly.”
“I’ll tell them when I see them, but there’s no guarantee that they made it. We’ve lost more than a few.”
With a wave, the man splashed out of the church.
“Are our parents dead?”
Anna brushed back the few strands of dark hair that had escaped her bun.
“I won’t tell tales. You have all seen death before.
If not a person, then an animal. We all die eventually.
And we accept that. Until then, we will do what we can to make our lives and the lives of others as fruitful as possible. Now, where were we?”
“I was on ones.”
“Yes, and you may proceed.”
“One times two is two.”
Anna wouldn’t tell tales, but she would anticipate. That no parent of the children in the loft had come looking spoke loudly to Anna. If they weren’t alive to search…
She focused on the droning voice that finished with the ones and started on the twos. If the parents had succumbed, then Anna faced more problems. How was she to cope with the children? Widowed, she had no children of her own.
She squared her shoulders. She had faced adversity before. She would handle it again.
“Two times ten is twenty.”
*****
Ernest lifted the dead vulture with his rifle barrel and added it to the five he had already gathered.
Thirty yards away, another dozen birds sat on the ground, staring at him with beady, dark eyes.
Their crooked beaks sought flesh to rip away.
He wanted to shoot them, but he didn’t have the extra bullets.
“You boys stay over there, and we’ll get along.”
Although he wanted his voice to ring with authority, he had to admit his words were weak. He would have to shout if he was to scare them, and even then, they wouldn’t move far. The bodies were too enticing.
They rested side by side, holding hands.
Ernest couldn’t look at them without crying.
Their eyes were gone, taken by the birds. That sickened Ernest. A fresh wave of hate and anger shot through him. He raised the rifle, only to lower it again.
He had to make some decisions.
He couldn’t leave them, not to the vultures. And he couldn’t bury them without a shovel. Moreover, he wanted to mark their graves. They might well become ghosts and haunt him if he didn’t note the spot where they were supposed to lie.
Forcing himself to view them, he saw the rips and tears in clothes still soaked with flood water. He dropped to his knees and tried to smooth out the dress and shirt. He sought to give them a smidgen of dignity. He loved his parents, even if he never told them. And he would do right by them.
There was really but one choice. He had to take them to Vance Fields and bury them proper on Moss Hill. Nothing else would do.
“I’m sorry, Pa.” Ernest rubbed his father’s chest. “I should’ve been home with you and Ma. I should’ve saved you.”
He spoke the words even though he knew that if he had been home, he would have died with them. He had avoided death. He wasn’t at all sure that was a good thing. It seemed the reaper had taken everything Ernest held dear.
Looking at her empty eye sockets, Ernest sobbed. His mother had the prettiest light brown eyes he had ever seen. And now, she had… nothing.
“I’m so sorry, Ma, so sorry.“
He pulled his kerchief from his pocket and placed it over her face. That helped but not enough. He cried until the tears ran dry. Until a vulture landed a few feet away.
“Varmint!”
He picked up a rock and hurled it. He missed, but the rock landed close enough to spook the bird. The throw was enough to spur him to action. He wiped his nose and face on his sleeve and grabbed his pa’s arm.
“You get to ride on the bottom, Pa.”
He shouldered the body and carried it to the roan.
He placed the corpse on the saddle and returned for his mother.
He retrieved his kerchief, as he laid her face down on top of Pa.
He tied the bodies onto the saddle before he retrieved his rifle.
He fought the urge to shoot another vulture or two.
His walk back to Vance Fields would be risky enough even if he had all the ammo he could carry.
Checking to make sure his load wouldn’t slide off, he grabbed the reins.
“I know this is more weight than you bargained for, but we got to get them to town. It isn’t that far.”
The roan nodded, as if he understood. Maybe he did. Ernest sometimes thought horses were smarter than people. At least, horses didn’t complain like people did.
Behind, the vultures squawked as they lifted into the sky.
Ernest was certain that the flock would follow him for a while.
He suspected that one or two brave birds would try to land on the corpses.
He was ready for that. He would kill the first bird to warn the others.
The rest would find other carrion to eat. The flood had been good for that.
“I almost forgot. I reason you’re still with me, waiting for me to find you a permanent grave.
So, you need to know that I didn’t get to asking Evelyn for her hand.
I wanted to, and I was going to. But the dam busted and ended all the wooing.
I couldn’t think of anything but coming back to you two.
Don’t you worry, though. As soon as I get you settled, I’ll find her and drop to my knee like I’m supposed to. I’ll make you proud.”
Overhead, the sun seemed too bright, as tears filled his eyes once more. Ernest’s father had always said that crying was part of growing up. A boy turned into a man when he could stop the tears and handle whatever problem needed to be handled. His tears could wait.
Since Ernest didn’t face danger or joy, he let the tears run down his cheeks.
Maybe he wasn’t a man—yet.