Stones in the Road (19 page)

She had an amazing voice, truth be told.

At some point during our fifth or sixth rehearsal run, Mama and the others came back inside. Mary had cranked the volume so much the neighbors in the next county had probably called the sheriff’s office to complain.

“Mary, honestly!” Bill exclaimed in annoyance.

Ignoring her father, she told us to “clap along.”

Why?

Because we’re so happy!

Bill offered a look of disgust.

Mama laughed. She was holding a plastic sheet that Bill would staple over her window until we could get glass to get it fixed properly.

When the song ended, Mary said, “Y’all are the audience. This time it’s for real. Hit the button, booger-breath.”

“Don’t call me that!” Josh whined.

“Just do it, you little butt muncher!”

“Mama!”

Eli hit the button instead.

With a real audience to entertain and several practice rounds under our belts, Mary pulled out all the stops. We all did.

Mr. Ledbetter looked amused. Jackson looked at me and sighed. Mama tried to clap along but couldn’t get the rhythm right. Mrs. Ledbetter’s eyes caught mine across the room. She was staring at me, whether in disbelief or admiration I could not tell. Of course I must have looked like a fool carrying on with the kids the way I was, but she seemed, well…
happy
. Oddly and unabashedly happy.

On impulse, I moseyed over to her, offered my hand. She took it with a big smile, swinging her shoulders and waltzing back to our makeshift dance floor. Noah, who had to watch us to keep up with our moves, beamed, showing off his wicked, awful teeth. Mrs. Ledbetter took his hand and began a flapper-like two-stepping that he mimicked with uncanny precision. Grinning with abandon now, she did a bit of a fox-trot, and Noah followed right along, matching her move for move.

Noah loved to dance. He couldn’t hear a single note, of course, but that didn’t stop him, and as long as he could watch you, he could imitate your movements almost, or so it seemed sometimes, before you even knew what they were going to be.

Mrs. Ledbetter was impressed.

“Play it again!” Mrs. Ledbetter exclaimed when the song ended.

“Oh, honestly!” Bill exclaimed. “I’m gonna fix up Mama’s window.”

Eli hit the button, and we were off for another round. Josh and Eli enticed their mother to loosen up her Baptist innards for just a little bit and dance along. She showed off some moves that haven’t been seen since Gerald Ford was in the White House.

But halfway through the song, Bill came back into the living room, ordering us to turn the music off.

“What, Daddy?” Mary asked, falling out of character and looking annoyed.

“Turn it off!” he shouted to make himself heard.

He was holding his phone, staring at the screen.

Something was wrong.

“W
HAT
IS
it, Billy?” I asked in the sudden silence.

He put the phone to his ear, listening.

“What?” I asked again, annoyed.

“They issued a tornado warning,” he said.

“A warning?”

“Shut up! I’m trying to find out where it touched down.”

Mary grabbed for her phone, punching at the screen.

“We should go to the shelter,” I said automatically, my heart racing a little. A warning meant a tornado had been spotted or had already touched down in the immediate area. I looked out the front windows of Mama’s house, surprised at how dark it had become.

“It’s probably nothing,” Bill said, in a way that was meant to remind me not to scare the children.

I heard the sudden patter of rain on Mama’s roof and the moan of wind rushing through her trees. A few moments later, the power abruptly cut off.

“Oh my,” Mrs. Ledbetter exclaimed.

“Mama, the power’s off,” Eli complained.

“I think we ought to go to the shelter,” I said.

“Really?” Mama said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Mama!” Eli whined.

“You hush!” Shelly said.

“What’s a warning?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“A tornado’s been spotted in the area,” I said.

“A tornado?” she said, incredulous.

“They’re trying to find out where it is,” I said.

“Is it dangerous?” she asked.

“We should get to a safe place,” Jackson said. He was already on his way to the front door. He turned to look back at us.

Noah signed,
Daddy, what’s wrong
?

It’s okay
, I signed automatically.

The quiet was shattered by the sudden shrieking of Mama’s weather radio in the kitchen, which gave off an insistent blare that was not to be ignored. Mama must have put fresh batteries in it just as I’d done.

“We’d better get to the shelter,” I said. I took Noah by the hand, nodded at Josh and Eli to follow me. “I’m taking the kids. Y’all grab your stuff and come.”

“It touched down over by Ingomar,” Mary said breathlessly.

Ingomar was but a hop, skip, and a jump.

“Did they say how bad it was?” Mrs. Ledbetter asked.

“Let’s go, y’all,” I said impatiently. “You can look at your frikkin’ phones later. Josh, bring your brother.”

“Would somebody turn that radio off?” Mama asked.

The rain was heavy, furious, driven by huge gusts of wind that bent the tree branches and sent Mama’s plastic lawn chairs careening across the front yard.

“Where are we going?” Mrs. Ledbetter demanded unhappily.

“To the shelter,” I said.

“Now?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mama said, an edge to her voice.

“Get your stuff and let’s go,” I said, growing exasperated.

I led Noah and the boys to the front door. The wind caught the screen door and banged it wide open.

“Get to the shelter!” I shouted above the sound of the wind, leading them out onto the porch. The sky was strangely dark and had an ominous cast to it.

“Where’s the tornado?” Josh demanded, looking around.

“Come on,” I ordered.

“We’re going to get wet,” Eli complained as we took off across the yard.

We weren’t just going to get wet; we were going to get soaked. And we did, almost immediately.

A gust of wind picked up one of Mama’s plastic lawn chairs and hurled it farther down the way as we hurried to the underground shelter. The trees lining Mama’s drive leaned heavily our way as the wind whipped through them and grabbed at our clothes.

My heart sank when I saw that Mama had padlocked the door to the shelter.

“Damn it!” I cursed. “Mama!”

“What?” Eli demanded.

“It’s locked!”

“Who locked it?”

I ignored his question, turned and saw Mama leading the Ledbetters across the lawn.

“Mama, it’s locked!” I shouted over the wind.

“Oh, Lord!” Mama exclaimed. “I forgot!”

“Get the keys!”

Shelly hurried over, pulling Mary by the hand, Jackson and his parents trailing after them with Bill bringing up the rear. Mama ran back to the house to get the key to the padlock as the rain poured down and soaked us through.

“My blouse!” Mrs. Ledbetter exclaimed. Her blouse had been wet through and now clung to her skinny shoulders, outlining the straps on her bra.

“It’s locked,” I explained.

“Why on earth would you lock it?” she demanded in a shrill, unhappy voice. Her beautiful do was now plastered to her forehead.

What was taking Mama so long? We’d be blown halfway across Union County if she didn’t hurry up!

“Jackson, watch the kids!” I shouted, pushing Noah into his arms.

Noah looked stricken.

You’ll be fine
, I assured him.

Don’t go, Daddy!

I have to
!

“Daddy!” he shouted.

“Wiley, what are you doing?” Jackson demanded in a high-pitched voice.

“Just watch them!” I ordered.

I turned away and ran across the yard as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled angrily across the sky. I glanced at the county road out front and saw a funnel-shaped darkness reaching down from the agitated sky, a swirling mass of coal black that tapered down to a small tentacle reaching for the ground but still not quite succeeding.

A tornado.

A goddamn tornado, just across the road.

Just like that.

Distracted, Bumblebee suddenly underfoot, I tripped over her and fell on my face. Bumblebee yelped, limped off. I picked myself up, turned toward the house, but looked back out across the road again. The twister was trying to form, trying to touch down. It hovered over the Clawson’s soybean field just on the other side of the road, not more than five hundred yards away.

“Daddy!” Noah shouted into the storm.

I stared at the swirling mass of blackness, transfixed. It seemed like an endless moment but surely was no more than a second or two. Noah’s voice rang out like a distant, lazy church bell, a forty-five record played on thirty-three.
Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
….

Like a deer caught suddenly in the glare of a pair of high beams, I was mesmerized.

“Daddy!” Noah shouted again.

I ran for the porch, slipped on the wet surface, careened toward the door. “Mama, we need the key!”

I barged through the door.

“Mama!”

“I can’t find it!” she exclaimed from the kitchen.

“Jesus, Mama, there’s a tornado!”

“I can’t find it!” she cried unhappily. “I can’t remember what drawer I put it in! It’s not here!”

I checked the most obvious place, Mama’s key holder contraption bolted next to the front door. It held keys to her vehicles and also the house, the barn, the sheds, the four-wheelers, and whatnot. The key to the shelter had a big red tag on it.

“It’s right here, Mama!” I shouted as she ran into the living room. I thrust the key into her hand. “They’re waiting! Hurry up!”

“You take it,” she argued. “You’re faster!”

“I have to get Papaw,” I countered. “Hurry up! Go, Mama! Take care of Noah! There’s a tornado across the road! Move it!”

She stared at me with a helpless, bewildered look.

“Move it, Mama!”

But she did not. She was paralyzed with fear.

I grabbed her hand, dragged her through the door, and ran for the shelter.

Outside was a swirling chaos of furious rain and debris, everything moving at once it seemed—trees bending, creaking, moaning, branches snapping, flowers and grass whipped about, and beneath it all an ominous roar like a storm gathering steam.

With shaking hands, I unlocked the padlock and threw the door open. We hustled the children inside first, then the Ledbetters and Jackson.

“I’ve got to get Papaw!” I shouted against the roar of the winds, urging Bill to help Mama get down the steep steps.

“There’s no time!” Bill shouted back.

“I’m not leaving him!”

“Don’t be stupid, Wiley!”

“I’m not going to leave him behind!”

“You can’t help him! Get inside, you stupid ass!”

“I’ve got to help him!”

“Wiley, no!”

I turned to go back to the house, but Bill grabbed my arm.

“Let me go!” I shouted.

“Wiley, goddammit!”

“I’m not leaving him!”

I twisted my arm out of his grasp, ran for the house. A massive gust of wind quite literally lifted me up off my feet and pushed me aside like a giant, invisible hand. I glanced at the road as I struggled to get up and saw a huge funnel just on the other side of the road, whirling and roaring like a freight train, and I knew it was too late. Boards on the porch suddenly flew up, and the house itself moaned and shuddered. The air was filled with swirling bits of something or other—leaves, papers, tree branches, blades of grass.

Jesus
! I thought, and it was both an involuntary curse and a cry for help.

Galvanized, I scrambled to my feet and raced for the door. It seemed to take forever as I hurried through those familiar rooms, my footsteps certain because I’d grown up in this house and knew every square foot of it. The house was very dark now, the walls shuddering and trembling.

I was thirty-four years old and had never once seen a tornado in the great state of Mississippi. Heard about a lot of them, of course, and saw the tremendous damage they could do—highways littered with overturned cars and uprooted trees, downed power lines, roofs torn right off otherwise intact houses. But they had always passed us by. We’d had a few close calls. When I was twelve, the Lann’s house about a mile down the road had been utterly flattened, and Victoria Lann, one of my best friends since first grade, had died, along with her mother and younger sister. A few years ago, an EF5 had blown through and devastated Smithville, a town not far from Tupelo, before cutting a swath of destruction right across the state line into Alabama. And of course, everyone knew about the great tornado of 1936 that had devastated Tupelo itself. For all that, I had never seen an actual tornado, much less been in one.

“Papaw!” I shouted, barging into his room.

He lay with his back turned to me, just as I had left him.

“There’s a tornado!”

He did not answer.

I scooped him up in my arms, blankets and all. There was no time to argue.

He looked at me with tired, bewildered eyes.

“There’s a tornado across the road!” I explained in a breathless voice.

He said nothing.

I struggled to get him through the doorway without banging his head on the frame. I hustled through the hallway, the kitchen, the living room. Papaw was like a bag of hard, unwieldy bones in my arms.

As I ran for the front door, it became suddenly very dark and very loud. The bay windows overlooking the front yard blew out in a hail of glass and rain. All at once, the entire house seemed to be yawning and ripping and stretching in earnest. Debris flew around me now, inside Mama’s house, swirling like dust devils doing a crazed dance.

Mama’s knickknacks tumbled from their perches. The statue of Our Lady of Fatima took a nosedive, as did Mama’s family photos, her collection of porcelain cats and dogs, and everything else. Down they came. The front wall seemed to be caving in, leaning in an odd sort of way that was hard to process, hard to fathom. Her flat-screen television flew off the wall, was drawn up short by its cord still plugged into the wall. It banged to the floor, crashing with a terrible finality.