Waiting For Lily Bloom (4 page)

“Lily, grab the fence.” James coughed and sputtered. “The fence!”

She tripped over her own feet to reach the corral and latch on. She clung there, wind and dust swirling around her, lifting her braid up into the air.
Please, God, help me!

 

****

 

James ran in the direction of the fence. It was no use. Instinctively, his eyes closed, worthless in the blinding storm. The last thing he'd seen was Lily's thin frame being engulfed by a dust wall that blotted out the sky.

Father, save her.

“Lily, listen.” He yelled, choking on dust. “Use the fence to walk to me. I'm coming.” He took his handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his head, protecting his mouth and nose. He gripped the fence railing, quickly sidestepping. Sand pelted him, stinging his skin. A rock flew into his forehead. Warmth oozed down the side of his face. “Lily, if you hear me, knock on the planks.”

Loud knocks reached his ears in rapid, frantic blows.

“I'm coming for you, Lily. Walk toward my voice. I hear you.” He shouted above the squall. “That's the way. Keep knocking.”

The knocking beat in his head like a woodpecker, her constant, anxious rapping drawing him nearer. “Almost there. Come to me.”

Craaack
. He froze. A tree split, the deafening racket besting Lily's constant hammering. Wood splintered, groaning as it crashed downward.

Lord, don't let it fall on Lily.

Time stopped. How big was it? Where would it land? He braced himself for impact. With a
whoosh
and a
thud
, the limb collapsed onto the fence.

The wooden plank ripped from his hands.

 

****

 

The tree limb fell. A shattering commotion preceded a dull, horrible thump. The fence pulsated against Lily's palms. The ground quivered under the weight of the fallen limb. Brittle, scratchy leaves blew past her head.

The horse neighed and sputtered in the distance, his wails muted by the howling wind.

James?
James!
She couldn't hear him anymore. If only she could see! She whimpered, beating hysterically on the fence. Dirt filled her nostrils, burning her throat. Horrified, she covered her nose and mouth. Sand blasted into her chilled flesh. That hideous droning…was it bees?

“Lily, are you hurt?”

Tears filled her eyes. She'd never heard a sweeter voice, and strained to hear him above the tempest.

“Knock once for yes, twice for no.”

Oh!
Rap-rap
.

“Thank You, Lord.” The reverent words carried on the wind.

She'd send up her thanks when they were safe.

“Lily, there's a tree limb between us now.” He coughed. “When you don't feel the fence anymore, don't panic. That just means I've almost got you, OK?”

She nodded even though he couldn't see, pushing forward on shaky legs as the wind blew her skirt between her knees. The constant knocking scraped her knuckles, but she grabbed the fence with one hand and kept knocking with the other. Air…she needed air! She clutched the fence, hacking, and bent with spasms. Finally, she grasped a sharp, splintered handful of wood, and then there was no plank at all.
He said don't panic.
She stopped knocking.

“Have you reached the broken fence?”

Rap
.

“Good. Be careful, you could trip on the limb. Hold onto the fence, but reach out and see if you can find me.” His voice carried above the roar.

She stretched as far as possible, waving her arm in the direction of his voice. Dust went up her nose, and she gagged.

“Are you reaching?”

Rap.

“OK. The limb must be bigger than we think. I'm going to let go of my side of the fence—”

RAP-RAP.

“I'll be fine. I have to let go so I can reach you. Stretch toward me again. Here goes.”

Gripping the shattered wood with her right hand, she leaned forward as far as possible with her left, waving in every direction. Nothing. Tears threatened. She couldn't stand the blindness any longer and opened her eyes. Squinting against the blustery wind, powdered sand scraped and clawed. Dark, rolling dust enveloped her, stealing her breath. She slammed her eyes shut, the image of the churning billows scalded into her memory.

“Lily, I think the limb took out two sections.”

No!

“Reach forward with your foot. Can you reach the tree limb?”

Surprised that she could stand on one wobbly leg, she stuck her other leg out and toed the ground around her.
Rap-rap.

“Then there's only one option. I need you to trust me.”

Wind drove sand into her face, threatening to suffocate. She had nowhere to turn. What choice did she have?

“Lily?” He shouted over the howling wind.

Rap.

“Is that a ‘yes'?”

Rap.

“OK. I'm going to find the limb and step over it. Don't be afraid. You hear how close I am, don't you?”

Rap.

“Good. I'm on my way. Keep knocking if it helps.”

It helped, all right. She knocked with one hand and covered her mouth and nose with the other. A muffled ‘
oof'
reached her. He'd found the fallen limb! She reached out with her left hand and knocked fervently with her right.

“I hear you. Just...a few…more…steps.”

She stretched as far as possible, waving her arm from left to right and back again. Her fingers brushed something soft. Material! She grabbed his shirt with her left hand, releasing the fence with her right.

“I've got you.”

She rushed into his arms, shivers wracking her body. In her joy, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. Her cheek rested against his scratchy shirt as she clung to him.

He sputtered, and then patted her shoulder in return. His warm hand covered her collarbone. “Don't thank me yet. We've got to find the house.”

 

 

 

 

3

 

“Blow your nose.”

Lily coughed. Safe inside James's home, she took the cloth he offered and blew. Sand ground deeper into her eyes. Opening them was impossible.

He took the rag from her and grabbed her hand. “Follow me.” His voice was hoarse.

Led by his hand, she followed him to the sink, where he placed her hands on the edge and then worked the pump.
Glonk, glonk, glonk.

“Rinse your eyes.”

Oh, would they ever stop burning? She leaned her head under the water and blinked in the stream.
It didn't work. She squeezed them shut again. Cupping her hands, she lifted the water to her face, scrubbing from forehead to chin. The cool water rushed over her fingertips, soothing her throbbing palms and knuckles. If only she could fit in that sink. Her flesh tingled, crawling with dust. Opening her eyes again, she immediately shut them and shook her head.

Glonk, glonk, glonk
.

“Keep rinsing them. Then we'll wash your hair.”

She did as he suggested. Maybe her eyes would clear soon. She stuck her head under the spigot, braid and all. Well, what was left of her braid. Her back ached as she leaned over the sink. She raised trembling arms to scrub her scalp.

“I'll do it.” James placed her weary hands on the edge of the sink and untied her braid.

She tensed.

He combed his fingers through her hair, washing with brisk strokes. His firm hands gently ministered to her filthy head.

Chill bumps rose on her arms as he washed her forehead, the baseline of her neck, and her crown. She almost sighed when his fingernails scrubbed her scalp.

“Turn your head.”

She startled at his gravelly command. Her shoulders tightened as water filled her ears.

“Sorry. Gotta get the dirt out.”

He ran his finger along the shell of her ear, and then rubbed the dirt out of the center.

Her stomach shook, and she raised to her tiptoes.

James stopped. “What?”

She poked him a few times in the ribs.

“Tickles, huh?'

Rap.

“Almost done. With this one.” He half-chuckled, half-coughed. “Next.”

She faced the opposite wall, shivering when he washed her other ear. Her clean ear drained as the dirty one filled with water.

The wind rattled the door, and she stiffened.

“You're OK.” He washed her ear, squeezed out her hair, and walked away. She missed his touch on her scalp. She gripped the sink and arched her aching back in protest. The blood was rushing to her head. Where did he go?

“Ready?”

She didn't open her stinging eyes. He wrapped her hair in a towel, turned her around, and rested his hands on her shoulders.

“Why, Lily Driggers. There you are.”

Again he'd made her laugh. Her expelled air turned into a cough, accompanied by the horrible, un-lady-like desire to spit. She couldn't possibly—

“You have to cough it up. I'll wash the sink after.”

He pumped the water she needed while coughing and clearing his own throat.

What was she thinking, hogging his sink like that? He needed to use it, too. She stepped away from the sink and slowly opened her eyes. They burned, but at least she could see again.

Inside, the house was dark. Outside, dust billowed and rolled. It filtered through tiny crevices in the floor and around the doorposts. What if the dirt engulfed the house? Would they be buried alive?

“Lily.”

Her gaze flew to his.

“You're safe.” The whites of his eyes were red. His hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes were covered in dust. It had settled into the creases in his neck and forehead. A trail of dried blood lined the side of his face.

She gasped and reached up to touch his brow.

“No.”

He turned back to the sink, pumped the water, and stuck his head under the flow. With his other hand, he scrubbed his face. He cleared his throat and spit.

The wind gusted, rattling the door.

She stepped towards James and raised her hand to her throat. What if he hadn't rescued her? The man probably saved her life.

He'd traced the fallen limb back to the frame of the house, stepped over it, and helped her do the same. Then he'd followed the house back to the porch.

She'd clung to him, shivering in the cold wind.

How long would the storm last? Were Uncle Ned and Aunt Charity safe? What about that poor horse? She stared out the window and placed her hand over her mouth as dust churned and roiled.

“It'll pass.”

She faced him. His clean, damp hair touched the edge of his dirty collar.

“I'll take you home when it's over. Ned and Charity will be worried about you.” His eyes were still red, but his face shone from a thorough cleaning. Blood tainted his forehead.

With a glance at his wound, she walked to the table and wrote in the dust. ALCOHOL?

“It's fine. Come sit.”

She shook her head and pointed to a chair.

He sighed, retrieved a bottle and a cloth from the cabinet, and sat.

She poured the cool, pungent liquid onto the cloth. She patted the cloth on his wound, examining it. It wasn't too bad. He'd have the tiniest scar, right along the outer edge of his eyebrow. An inch lower…she shivered at the thought.

“You cold?”

She nodded. Agreeing was easier than explaining.

“The temperature drops in a dust storm.” James stood and walked to a blanket rack in the corner of the room, where he lifted a quilt from the wooden rail. He motioned toward an inviting rocking chair. “Nothing to do but wait. Come rest a while.”

She returned the alcohol to the cabinet. It would be nice to sit. Her muscles were so sore. But she'd rather
do
something. The moaning wind frayed her nerves.

“You'll feel better if you relax.”

She walked to the rocker and sat. James leaned down with the quilt, but she shook her head and grabbed his wrists. Her clothes were filthy.

“Don't worry. It's been through eight kids and twelve grandkids. This quilt—” he spoke gently, wrapping her shoulders “—was made by my grandmother.” He pulled the faded, heavy material together at her throat, clasped it there with one hand, and drew her hands up to hold it secure with the other. “It's kept many a Bloom warm.”

She was horrified, soiling his family heirloom. She was also cocooned. The quilt cascaded across her stomach and covered her feet.

James sat in the chair beside her. “Would you like to hear about my farm?”

She'd like to hear anything other than that shrieking, wailing wind.

 

****

 

James shared the most monotonous part of farm life. It brought the reaction he'd hoped for. She yawned and snuggled deep into his quilt. The rocking chair stilled, and her eyes closed.

He rose and walked to the window. The storm raged on. He'd seen dust storms in his life, but never the likes of that cloud wall. It was like a great partition, separating heaven from hell. Saved from lost. And he was on the wrong side. He swallowed, watching the destruction blow past, taking his dreams with it. Had he done something he shouldn't? Had he failed to do something he should've? Surely this was the judgment of God.

Were his friends and neighbors spared? Many were going hungry already, had babies to feed. Only God knew how many were affected.

A faint cry reached his ears. Was that…did he hear Fitz? Myrtle? He strained, listening for his horses, but the wind roared, swallowing the calls of its captives. He gripped the window sill. If the animals survived, it'd be a miracle.

What can I do, Lord? If the storm continues, I'm finished.
The land would be devastated. What if he lost Dad's farm? He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyelids.

He walked back to Lily. Her hair gleamed. Thick, dark lashes rested against her pale cheeks. She'd curled her feet up in the chair and turned to her side. The quilt was pulled up to her chin. Her head tilted forward slightly, completely relaxed in sleep. Even breaths. In and out. Calm in the destruction. A picture of peace and beauty as his world blew away.