Flood Friday (4 page)

“There won’t be a single house left in River Bend,” said Annabelle.

The boat could not get near the Dillon house. The men had beached it now on an isolated rise of land near by. One of the men started casting with a fishing rod. Now Mr. Dillon, who could be seen at the upstairs window, caught the line. A rope was tied to the other end and Mr. Dillon pulled it in. The men shouted back and forth. They tied their end of the rope to a tree on the hill.

“That’s to keep the house from going,” said Mrs. Toska.

The men on the little island got in the boat again. They rowed over to the road and got out. The Civil Defense man came up in his car and they got in with him. They all drove off.

“Well, I like that!” cried Dan in disgust.

“Are they going away and leave them?” cried Sally. “Why don’t they help?” Though she hated Tommy, she desperately wanted him to be saved.

“What can they do?” said Barbara.

“They must be going to radio for help,” said Mrs. Toska.

“The house is starting to move,” said Dan.

“The rope will hold it,” said Barbara.

“Help! Help!” Mr. Dillon called from his window. Behind him, the white faces of his wife and children could be seen.

Sally hid her face in her hands. She could not look any more. Just then, a whirring, buzzing sound was heard.

“Another helicopter!” cried Dan. “A bigger one this time.”

Excited now, the children watched.

“It’s going to save the Dillons,” shouted Dan. “It’s coming down to their window.”

But the machine did not come down. It hovered over the house, with a long rope dangling. The rope came down in front of the upstairs window. After a while, it moved away. Mrs. Dillon hung to the rope, with the loop around her arms and shoulders. The youngest child, little Frank, clung to her, his arms around her neck. The machine and the figures moved through the air.

“They are coming this way!” cried the spectators.

Sally and Barbara did not wait. They ran back to the Boyd house.

“Mother! Mother!” they cried. “Oh Mother, do come quick!”

The two women came rushing out of the house.

“The Dillons are being rescued,” said the girls, pointing.

The women looked up and saw the helicopter coming over.

“Oh, that poor woman,” said Mrs. Graham. “Do you suppose they’ll bring all those children over like that?”

They watched the machine. It came down closer and closer. The man in it was making gestures to the people on the ground.

“He wants to land her here,” said Mrs. Boyd.

“Yes, it’s coming lower,” said Mrs. Graham.

The two women rushed to Mrs. Dillon as her feet touched the ground. She had fainted and now fell into Mrs. Boyd’s arms. Mrs. Graham took little Frank. The Civil Defense man, who had returned, took the rope off them both.

“I want my baby! I want my baby!” cried Mrs. Dillon. The child was put in her arms again.

“Won’t you come in my house and lie down?” asked Mrs. Boyd.

“Oh, my children! Where are they?” cried Mrs. Dillon.

Two by two the Dillons were rescued. Clinging to the long rope, they were carried through the air and brought down to safety—to friends.

Mrs. Boyd brought Mrs. Dillon and sick Mary and the ailing babies into her house. She gave them coffee and milk. She found pillows and blankets for them and they lay down to rest.

All but the boys, Tommy and Mike. They stayed outside and talked about their ride through the air.

“I bet you were scared,” said Sally.

“No, I liked it,” said Tommy. “It was fun.”

He did not sound like the old Tommy she had known before.

T
HE CHILDREN CROWDED ROUND
the Dillon boys in the rain. It was exciting to see a boy who had had a helicopter ride. Tommy did not act silly today. His face looked white and he was serious.

“Why didn’t you folks leave your house before?” asked Dan.

“We got home real late last night,” said Tommy. “Me and Mike and my Daddy went to a movie, and when we got home we went to bed.”

“Couldn’t you hear when the policeman banged on your door?” asked Dan.

“They came once and told us to go back to bed,” said Tommy. “They said they’d watch and see how high the river came and come back and tell us. My father was up at two o’clock. The water was going down then, so he went back to bed. At three o’clock the water came back up again, but the police never came to tell us. They must have gone to sleep in their duck.”

“No,” said Dan. “The men have been rescuing people all night in boats, my father, too. That motorboat tipped over about four times, trying to get to your house. We watched it.”

“They went off and left us,” said Tommy, sniffling.

“What about that rope?” asked Sally. “We saw the men throw a long rope in your upstairs window.”

“My Dad tied it around the chimney in our bedroom closet,” said Tommy. “That will keep the house from washing away, he said.”

“What about my compact?” asked Sally. “Was that downstairs or upstairs?”

“I dunno—I forget—” said Tommy, mumbling. “Don’t know just where I put it …”

“Come, children, we must go,” called Mrs. Boyd from the front door.

The children ran up to the Boyd house.

“Oh, Mother,” cried Barbara, “
we
don’t have to leave, do we?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Boyd. “I promised we’d go as soon as the Dillons were saved.”

Mrs. Dillon was up now, gathering her children around her.

“Where are we going? To Uncle Paul’s?” asked Sally.

“No,” said Mrs. Graham. “We can’t get through—the bridges are out. The Civil Defense man told us to go to Union School. They are taking in people there.”

“But
our
house is not flooded, Mother,” said Barbara. “Why do
we
have to go? Can’t the Dillons and the Grahams stay here with us?”

Mrs. Boyd did not stop to explain. She told the Dillons to get in her car and she drove off with them. In half an hour she was back for the Grahams. As they drove out to the highway, they could see that the water was deep under the railroad trestle. The banks on both sides had been washed away. The tracks were sagging low across the opening. No cars could come through from Hartford.

Along the highway, everything looked different. The river had cut in much closer to the road. Houses were gone and trees were floating. It was a scene of desolation. Mrs. Boyd drove through deep water all the way. She parked her car and they all got out.

Union School stood on a high hill, overlooking the river valley. Sally hardly knew where she was. The school looked like some place she had never been before. Cars and trucks were parked in front. A fire engine stood by the door. Firemen and Civil Defense workers were giving and taking messages. People were going in and out of the building. No one spoke to the Grahams or the Boyds. No one smiled. It was still pouring rain.

The two women herded the children inside. A number of families were already there. A Civil Defense worker with a white helmet on his head was telling them what to do.

“All refugees will find mats in the gymnasium,” he said, “in case you want to rest. Army cots will soon be here and food is on the way. Come in and make yourselves comfortable.”

Sally pulled her mother’s arm.

“Are we
refugees
?” she asked. “I thought all the refugees were in Europe or Korea.”

Mother smiled a little. “We used to read about those poor people in the paper,” she said. “Now we know how it feels ourselves.”

It seemed strange to come to school so early in the morning.

The electricity was off, so the halls and classrooms looked gloomy and deserted. Sally opened the door of her Fourth Grade room. The shades were pulled down, but some of the children’s drawings still hung on the wall. What a happy place it had been—last year, even if Tommy Dillon did pull her hair every day.

She closed the door quickly, then followed the other children to the kitchen. They were hungry, looking for something to eat.

Mrs. Graham emptied her basket, and other women who had brought food, did the same. They found dishes in the cupboard and filled them with what they had.

“What’s this? Cold soup?” cried Tommy Dillon, holding up his spoon in disgust.

Sally turned on him. “If you don’t like it,” she said, “you’re not very hungry, Tommy Dillon.”

“I like my soup
hot
!” said Tommy.

Dan Boyd spoke up. “Go find a stove and cook it.”

The children laughed and went on eating. The milk was divided and each child got a taste. Then Helen Dillon, Tommy’s oldest sister, set the children to work. Sally and Barbara washed dishes, Tommy and Dan dried them.

People kept coming in and asking questions. Some direction was needed, so Mrs. Boyd took charge, with Mrs. Graham her willing helper. Mrs. Dillon was lying down in the gymnasium. Mrs. Boyd was good at making decisions. Soon she was telling people what to do. She did not realize that before the next day was over, two hundred and fifty people would be cared for in the school.

Everything began to happen at once, as more people were brought in. Mrs. Graham unpacked cartons of groceries brought by a helicopter. Men brought in pails of water, hauled from springs up in the hills. All water had to be boiled before it could be used, and there was no way to boil it. The stove was electric and there was no current. A man came in and asked how many cots and blankets would be needed.

Sally walked through the halls with her arm around Karen, who was still hugging her big rag doll. Everybody was busy but the children. Barbara Boyd came up.

“What did we come here for?” asked Sally. “I wish we had stayed at your house.”

“So do I,” said Barbara. “It was more fun there.”

“We can’t do a thing here,” said Sally.

“Let’s try to think of something,” said Barbara.

The door opened and a National Guard soldier came in, carrying a huge carton on his back.

“What you got there?” asked Barbara.

“Clothing from the Salvation Army,” the soldier said. “Where shall I put it?”

Barbara was as good as her mother at making decisions. She thought quickly. “Right here,” she said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“You have?” The soldier looked at the girls and laughed. He dropped the carton at the end of the hall and went out.

“Why did he laugh at us?” asked Sally.

“I suppose we look funny,” said Barbara.

The girls looked at each other. Not till then did they realize how strangely they were dressed.

Sally wore big rubbers, her oldest dress, her father’s oldest hat on her head and her mother’s big loose sweater around her shoulders, pinned with a safety pin. Barbara looked strange too. She still wore her everyday dress covered by her mother’s apron and her old red topcoat. Karen wore a coat of Bobby’s and had galoshes on her feet.

“I can’t help it—” said Sally. “I’ve got nice clothes at home, but maybe they’re washed away now.”

“What do you care?” said Barbara. She pointed to the carton. “Let’s open that box and see what’s inside.”

The carton was four feet square and about three feet high. It was filled with clothes all neatly folded.