Chapter 51 Frannie
Frannie knelt next to Paul.
The water was at his chin.
She couldn’t breathe and there was a sharp pain in her chest, like she’d just run ten laps around the school track.
She pushed desperately at the tree trunk on top of his legs.
Her hands scrabbled against the rough bark, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.
They couldn’t just sit here and let Paul drown in front of their eyes.
Mel and Roberts stood beside her, doing nothing. Had they given up? They couldn’t give up.
“Frannie.” Paul’s voice reached through her frantic efforts. “Frannie, it’s okay. The Lord must want to take me home.”
“No. He. Doesn’t.” She pushed on the tree with every word. Paul was only nineteen. He had his whole life ahead of him. He was smart and funny and kind and no way would God take him this early. But a small voice—a voice she hated—whispered that people died young all the time. God didn’t save them.
Paul grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Would you do something for me, Frannie?”
“Anything.” An ache in her throat made it hard to get the words out.
“Would you pray with me?” His voice was soft and he wouldn’t meet her eyes, as if he’d asked too much.
The ache turned into agony. She didn’t want to.
God didn’t like her. And he didn’t help her.
She’d prayed for her mother to come back.
She’d asked God to help her be good, like Dad wanted.
She’d even said a prayer at the top of the water tower—that she wouldn’t get caught—but the police were waiting for her as soon as her foot touched the ground.
God hadn’t answered her, not ever. Paul should ask somebody else to pray with him.
And anyway, she didn’t know how to pray. What was she supposed to say?
Paul was looking at her, the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes shining in the light of the flashlight. “Please, Frannie?” He was trying to be brave, and she figured she better try to be, too.
Maybe this time—like the desperate prayer she’d offered when she was drowning—maybe this time, God would hear her. “Okay.”
But what was she supposed to say?
Out of nowhere, she remembered the twenty-third Psalm.
Something from the Bible had to be good.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” she said. “I shall not want.” It seemed completely wrong.
They wanted so much—for the tremors to stop, for Paul to live.
For help to come for the Wilsons and everyone around them in the dark.
Paul said it with her. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.”
Mel and Roberts joined in. “He leadeth me beside the still waters.”
Frannie could hardly keep going. Frustration choked her. None of that was true. These were horrible rocks Paul lay on, and the waters were anything but still.
Paul tipped his head back to keep his mouth and nose out of the water. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.”
Please, Lord, she begged. Don’t let him die.
Frannie wished she hadn’t been so stupid.
She’d thought being brave was about climbing the water tower, or teasing a bear, any of the other stupid things she’d done.
When Paul was really the brave one. She could barely whisper the rest of it past the knot in her throat.
“And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
The three of them sat in silence as the water rose.
God wasn’t answering.
And why would he? She only prayed when she was desperate. I’m sorry, Lord. I don’t deserve anything from you. But this isn’t for me. This is for Paul. She clutched Paul’s hand under the water. Save him, please. Save him. Tears slipped out of Paul’s eyes and ran down his wet cheek.
The trailer behind them creaked.
Frannie straightened. Had she imagined that? She swiped her wet sleeve over her eyes and turned the flashlight beam on the trailer, blinking hard to see better. The trailer creaked again and . . . looked for all the world like it moved.
Frannie waited, afraid to even breathe.
Then, it definitely moved.
Frannie jumped up. “Mel!” she cried, sloshing around behind Paul. “Help me.”
Mel stayed where he was. “But we just—”
“Do it,” Frannie demanded. She didn’t have time to explain. If what she thought was happening was really happening, maybe he had a chance. Paul’s eyes were frantic as the waves splashed over his nose. “Both of you, pull him up.”
Mel took one arm and Roberts took the other. Frannie went to the trailer where the treetop was jammed under the axle. “Pull!” she yelled. She grabbed the axel as Roberts and Mel pulled on Paul. She lifted up on the trailer. It moved. Not much, but some.
She looked back. Paul’s nose and mouth were above water.
“The water,” Paul croaked. “It’s lifting the trailer.”
“Pull again!” Frannie shouted. The rising water buoyed the trailer and the axel moved up a few more inches.
Roberts and Mel pulled . . . and Paul was out.
He lurched to standing, Mel and Roberts on each side, breathing hard.
Frannie splashed through the water and threw her arms around Paul and Mel and Roberts—all of them—squeezed in a big muddy bear hug.
When Mel stepped back, Frannie saw he was crying.
They were all crying. Well, not Roberts, but he looked a little misty-eyed.
Thank you, thank you, thank you. Frannie’s legs were wobbly, but she’d never felt better. Better than climbing the water tower or hot-potting or riding in a fast car. God had heard her. He’d heard her prayer. Maybe it wasn’t all mumbo jumbo. Maybe God really did love her like Bridget said.
“Can you walk?” Mel asked Paul.
He tested his legs and winced. “I think so.” They were still cold and alone.
They had badly injured people waiting for help, the water was rising, and Frannie hadn’t found Claire and Jenny or Jerrylynn.
Despite it all, she felt a surge of satisfaction and of something else. Something warm and solid.
Was this what faith felt like?
If this was faith, she’d take all God had to give her, because they needed it tonight. They all needed it.
Frannie stood at the campfire with Paul, Mel, and Roberts.
Mel and Roberts had helped Paul up the hill, and Frannie found a camp chair to put him in while he warmed up beside the fire.
He figured he had a sprained ankle—or maybe broken—but other than that, he was alive and well. It was a genuine miracle.
But not everyone was well.
“We have to get the Wilsons to a hospital,” she told Roberts. They couldn’t wait any longer.
“What about us?” Vicky’s voice came from where she was huddled in her blanket by the fire. “Are you leaving us here to die?”
“Stop being dramatic,” Frannie said. “There’s not enough room for everybody and you’re not hurt.” Jeepers, couldn’t Vicky think of anyone other than herself?
“I’ll get them loaded in the wagon and head out,” Roberts said, “but you need to get the rest of these people to higher ground.” The water had risen halfway up the ridge, covering most of the cars and trailers in the campground below. “If the dam goes, this whole place will be underwater.”
Frannie and Mel helped Roberts transfer the most severely injured to the back of the wagon. They folded down the seats and made a bed for Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and put Phillip and his mother beside them. Roberts had room for Connie and the twins in the front seat.
As Frannie hugged the girls goodbye, a cheer went up and a set of headlights could be seen weaving through the dark from upriver.
Help was here. Thank the Lord.
A dark green vehicle the size of a tank pulled up. Everybody clustered around the new arrival, inundating the driver with questions about the earthquake, the dam, and—most desperately—“Can you get us out?”
“Listen, folks,” the newcomer said, raising his voice. “I have good news and bad.” He looked like a military type, and introduced himself as Frank.
Everybody quieted down.
“The dam is holding for now,” he said. “But the road is out right past it. The whole thing just broke off and fell in the water. Even my Suburban can’t navigate that.”
Frannie’s hopes plummeted. How could they get to the hospital if both sides of the canyon were cut off?
Vicky stumbled forward, clutching her blanket around herself. “We’re trapped here?” Her voice was high and she pulled in shuddering breaths like she couldn’t get enough air.
Frank ignored her. “There’s a camp set up at a high point over the dam. They’ve got some food there, and supplies. Maybe a hundred people already there. That’s your best bet for rescue when the sun comes up. I can take as many people up as can fit in this Suburban.”
Vicky shoved her way to the passenger door. “I’m not staying here one second longer.”
Good riddance, Frannie thought. Vicky wasn’t alone in wanting out of the destroyed campground. Frank was able to get almost everyone left on the ridge into the roomy vehicle. The woman with the injured eye, the teenage boy named Lance, and the polio victim, along with those who weren’t hurt at all.
Mel tied the wheelchair to the top of the Suburban, then looked at Frannie. “Maybe we should all go?” he asked, as if she was the one in charge. “There’s some room left in the back.”
Frannie wasn’t going anywhere until she’d found Claire and Jenny and Jerrylynn. “There are still people out there,” she said. “I’m not leaving until I find them.”
“I’m sticking with Frannie,” Paul said. She gave him a grateful look.
Mel nodded. “Me too, then.”
Frannie could have kissed Mel right there, except that would be embarrassing for them both.
“I’ll come back to help if I can,” Roberts said. “In the meantime, move yourselves up to the road.”
“We will,” Frannie said. “And Roberts”—she leaned into his driver’s side window—“we need a boat. And quick. We have to get to whoever is out there in the water. It might be my sister.” Whoever it was, she had to help them.
She prayed she wouldn’t be too late.