Chapter 22
Daphne had never in her life known a feeling of isolation like this.
No phone. No internet.
In a world where connectivity seemed just a touch away, suddenly the silence had grown expansive. Especially now, when she
had no way to reach Finn or Jack.
And the water kept rising.
She’d heard a few crashes downstairs, and after getting Lucy settled with a snack, she walked down the stairs to peer into
her shop kitchen with her flashlight, only to find at least a foot of muddy standing water. She’d doubled over on the stairs,
drawing in her breath, attempting to control her rising emotions as her brain tallied the damage.
Would insurance even cover something like this? A flood in the middle of the mountains? She lowered her head into her hands.
She didn’t have flood insurance, and most likely eighty percent of the town didn’t either.
She stilled her emotions and swallowed hard. There was nothing she could do about it now. She needed to get her and Lucy to
safety, and that meant trying to make it to the top of the hill.
And she’d probably have to carry Lucy.
But they desperately needed to get where other people were. This was not a time to be alone. It was going to take an entire community to get through this.
Daphne flicked off the flashlight and stuffed it into her back pocket, her fingers trembling. The apartment had grown colder
in the last hour, the damp creeping into her bones. Every creak in the walls made her skin stand on edge as if . . . How sturdy
was this building?
She entered the living room, and saw Lucy sitting by the window where Daphne had placed her with a little plate of cheddar
scones, apple slices, and ham rosettes, lantern light pooling over her.
Even though the rain had started to slow, darkness was creeping into what little light the cloudy sky provided. That meant
getting to safety would only prove more difficult.
Daphne stepped toward the little girl. “Lucy, finish up that snack, and we’re going to try and walk up to the town hall, okay?”
Her big eyes rounded even more. “But . . . Daddy’s not back yet.”
“I know.” Daphne sat next to her in the window seat. “But he wanted us to be safe first of all, and I’m not sure how safe
we are here right now. There’s a lot of water in the tea shop.” Which meant even more was in Finn’s pub since it was slightly
downhill from her. Daphne tucked a curl behind Lucy’s ear. “He’ll know where to find us. I’ll leave him a note.”
Lucy’s lip wobbled. “Will he be okay?”
“He’s very smart and strong.” Daphne swallowed, tugging the little girl into a hug. “I’m sure he’ll find us really soon.”
Lucy nuzzled in close, and Daphne held her for a few beats longer and then pulled back. “You ready, sugarplum?”
Lucy nodded.
“All right, then get your boots and raincoat on, and make sure you’ve packed all the things you want into your backpack, okay?”
In about ten minutes, after a mad search for Lucy’s stuffed dragon, Daphne tugged on her jacket and grabbed the duffel she’d packed, then scrawled a note on a piece of printer paper.
Finn—Water is rising. We’re headed to the town hall or the inn. Stay safe.
Love, D.
Taping it up with about a dozen pieces of tape to her apartment door, she turned and grabbed Lucy’s hand and Winston’s leash,
then began the slow descent down the stairs into the shop kitchen. It was slow work with a duffel, a little girl, and an anxious
dog, especially when they reached the last few steps and the water-covered floor came into Lucy’s view.
“Dere’s water in your kitchen, Miss Daphne,” Lucy said, peering down at it like it was exactly the anomaly it was.
“I know, sugarplum.” Daphne stepped down into the water, knee-deep now.
Don’t think about what’s in this water, Daphne. Or what’s been destroyed. Just do the next thing.
“And you’re going to ride on my back so I can keep you as dry as possible.” Daphne turned around and edged back to the stairs.
After a slight hesitation, Lucy’s arms came up around Daphne’s neck, and the little girl crawled into place. Then Daphne nudged
Winston to follow.
The dog stared down into the water, unmoving, and then looked back up at her as if she were crazy. Poor guy. He’d been taught
to stay nice and clean for so long; this broke all the rules.
“It’s okay, buddy.” She tugged on the leash. “Splash to your heart’s content.”
With a lift of his ears and a double check to Daphne, Winston almost seemed jubilant as he jumped into the water. Lucy gave
a little giggle as the waves he made brushed up against her boots.
“Winston likes de water.”
Daphne held the sounds of Lucy’s little giggle and Winston’s happy swimming close. Because everything else was topsy-turvy
terrifying.
She waded down the hallway to the front of the shop, Winston at her side and Lucy on her back.
As she turned into the room, her gaze moved to her teapot shelf and the origin of the crash came into full focus. The shelf
had collapsed, and shattered porcelain floated in various parts throughout the water, but most likely lay beneath the murky
mess. One pot, a blue-and-cream one with tiny bluebells, was still intact, wedged against the partially collapsed shelf. One
of her granny’s.
She’d rescued two of them. They were safe upstairs in her apartment.
But . . .
She stared at the teapot a moment, gauging whether she had time to grab it. And then she shook the thought away. No, there
was no time, nor did she have a hand free to hold it.
Just then—thud. Something slammed against the shop’s front window with a deep, hollow knock, like a fist from the storm itself. Lucy whimpered
at her ear.
“It’s all right. It’s probably just something floating outside.”
But whatever that something was . . .
They made it to the front door, and Daphne shoved against it, water both inside and out, holding the door in place. The pressure
was too strong.
“Come on,” she whispered, leaning with her shoulder, gritting her teeth.
Then, with a sucking sound, it gave way.
A rush of water poured in, nearly knocking her backward. She grabbed the frame to keep her balance.
Okay, step one complete.
But the sight that met her nearly distracted her from step two.
Outside, Main Street was a river. To her left, the Ashbourne River had taken over the lower street, up to the windows of Joe’s Filling Station, and there was no road leading into town. It was only . . . river.
The town looked like a ghost of itself—street signs half drowned, porch swings floating like driftwood, flowerpots bobbing
like buoys.
She turned away from the sight and stepped onto what used to be a sidewalk, but with the mixture of mud and water, she couldn’t
see it beneath her feet. She could only go by instinct. The pavement leading upward toward the church and the town hall was
slick beneath her feet, completely obscured, but she could see pavement ahead where the rising water hadn’t fully reached
yet.
She climbed a few slow steps against the rush of current. Winston paddled beside her, Lucy held tight to her neck, all of
them quiet. Focused.
And then she heard her name from up ahead.
She looked up again, nearly losing her footing, her ankle twisting and pitching her forward.
“I’ve got you!”
A strong arm caught her. Jack.
Drenched, panting, mud up to his knees and hair spiraled into ringlets, he gripped her with one hand and Lucy with the other,
anchoring them against him.
“Jack—” she gasped.
“Mr. Jack.” Lucy grasped onto him, relieving the weight from Daphne.
“Hey, bug.” He jostled her against his side, his grin not reflected in his eyes. “Waterlogged yet?”
Lucy’s grin flashed, brightening the moment a little. “I have on my jacket and hood.”
Then his grin grew. “Smart girl. Let’s get you outta here.” He gestured up the hill, gaze focusing on Daphne. “Truck’s at the top. I came to get you as soon as I could make it out of the inn safely. Trees are blocking roads everywhere, and I’ve been cutting through with my chainsaw for an hour.”
“I was just trying . . . to get—”
“I know.” He steadied her and nodded forward. “We’ve got to go. The main road’s washed out. Completely. No way in or out from
that direction, and last I heard from the local police, most other roads into Wisteria are blocked too.”
The words hit like another wave. So they were landlocked . . . in a very unconventional way. For how long? Her knees wobbled,
but she kept moving, following Jack’s lead.
“Have you seen Finn?” she rasped as they kept fighting against the water’s pull.
He turned toward her. “He’s not back.”
Her stomach lurched as she shook her head.
Jack pushed forward, bringing her along. “Let’s get you two safe, and then I’ll go find him.”
Her gaze trailed back behind her, the water surging, a chair floating past.
Oh God, please let him be safe.
Finn had floated with Granny D for a half hour, the current leading them nearer town, from what Granny D said. They’d even
picked up a few stragglers along the way sitting on top of their front porch. A mother, her son, and their dog—the latter
Rembrandt did not appreciate in the least.
Once the boat reached a safe spot along the creek’s overrun banks, Finn helped the little collection of people onto the soggy
earth, and they walked about half an hour before being picked up by a passing fire truck.
Which seemed to be an experience on Granny D’s bucket list.
Either that, or being rescued by a burly and handsome firefighter.
Finn wasn’t sure which one.
Night had started falling by the time they were dropped off at New Hope Church, where Pastor Nate and the ladies from the
quilting circle were already setting up cots and passing out dry socks. When Finn had attempted to take Granny D’s arm to
help her to a nearby chair, she’d waved him off with “Don’t be an idiot, handsome, I survived the storm of 1962,” which he’d
taken as both a blessing and benediction.
At least fifty displaced natives waited inside the church, all waiting for the wind and rain to die down enough to assess
the damage.
Because there would be much more to uncover in the light of day.
But hopefully, replaceable things were the only things lost. Not the irreplaceable.
Without phone access, Finn had no way of knowing if Daphne and Lucy were safe and still in Daphne’s apartment. Nate hadn’t
heard either. With a flashlight and a backpack of emergency supplies he hoped he wouldn’t need, he jogged down Main Street
until he hit water, slowing his pace.
His breath came hard and fast, every window he passed dark, the rising current tugging at his legs like it wanted to pull
him under.
The water splashed thigh-high by the time he reached Daphne’s shop—its cheery painted trim now dulled and streaked with grime.
Finn’s pub was just downhill from it, built into the same long brick building, connected by a shared wall but cursed with
two fewer steps of elevation.
He didn’t want to even consider what waited inside for him. All that money. All that planning for a new business. This place
had been his fresh start. His leap of faith. And now . . .
He shook away the thoughts and made it to Daphne’s door, and with an effort, pushed it open. His flashlight shone into the
dingy space. Chairs tipped. Wallpaper curled. The shelf that had once held her prized teapot collection now lay face down
in the water.
His chest clenched.
“Daphne!” he shouted, voice hoarse. “Lucy!”
No answer.
He pushed through the water, making it to the stairs up to the apartment. A flicker of white on the door at the top of the
stairs drew him the rest of the way. A note was taped to the door. Smudged but legible:
Finn—Water is rising. We’re headed to the town hall or the inn. Stay safe.
Love, D.
He let out a shaky breath and rested his forehead against the note like it might vanish. Safe. They were safe. He closed his
eyes and let the words sink in—headed to the town hall or the inn.
With a push back from the door, he raced down the stairs and back into the shop, his flashlight’s glow skimming ahead to light
the way. Then he saw it—just above the waterline against the wall.
A teapot.
The blue-and-cream one with little flowers. The one Daphne said reminded her of Scotland, for some reason.
He reached for it gently, fingers brushing mud from the porcelain.
The shelf had gone down. Dozens of teapots ruined. But this one had wedged against the wall. Whole.
He tucked it under his arm and sloshed toward the front door, just as some lights beamed from outside.
Out in the street, two small boats drifted by in the murky current—Pastor Nate in one, Jack in the other.
“Finn!” Jack called, paddling toward him. “They made it. I got them to the inn hours ago.”
Finn gripped the doorframe, torn between the instinct to run to them and the deeper pull of everything that still needed to
be done.
“You sure?” he called back.
Jack nodded. “They’re helping those in need.”
Finn exhaled, chest aching with something too big for breath alone.
“And what are you doing?” he rasped out the question.
“Searching for anyone who still needs help,” Jack called back, and gestured toward the side of town where the river had taken
over.
If Daphne and Lucy were safe, that’s all he needed to know. “Then let’s go.”
“Thought you might say that.” Jack’s grin was grim but approving; he offered a hand and pulled Finn up into the boat.
The boat turned away from the higher ground and toward the deeper floodwaters, toward those still waiting for a lifeline.
And as Finn paddled into the current, one thought stayed close, offering a hint of warmth against the internal chill of the
devastation around him.
Daphne and Lucy are safe.
And Daphne had signed the note, Love, D.