Home of Mickey Minner

CHAPTER ONE

IOWA - May 1938

“Esther, don’t get too close to the street,” Carol Bingham warned her four year old daughter running barefoot across the grassy yard, her doll carefully wrapped in her arms.

Helen Kirby, walking along the sidewalk that bordered the street, laughed. She stopped when she reached the footpath that lead to the Bingham’s house. “Goodness, Carol, the poor child isn’t any where close to the street.”

Carol sighed. “I know. I just worry. Come, please, join me in the shade.”

“And that’s why you’re such a good mother,” Helen said, approaching the porch’s steps.

Carol smiled, acknowledging the compliment. “Beautiful day,” she said looking up at the clear sky. “Do sit down,” she inclined her head, gesturing toward the empty end of the bench while her hands continued to work on a bowl of fresh pea pods in her lap— her fingers deftly removing peas from the pods.

“Thank you.” Helen settled onto the wooden surface, glad to be off her feet. Much older than her neighbor, she wasn’t unwilling to admit that walking the few blocks to and from the market took most of her energy. “Days like this make me want to forget how much my bones ache,” she said as she bent over to rub her ankles.

“Do you need to put that in the ice box?” Carol asked of the small sack of food items Helen carried.

“No, but I thank you for the offer. None of it will spoil and I don’t plan to visit long,” Helen said as she sat back in the chair. “I take it business is good at the store.”

Carol grinned. “Yes. Paul was so pleased when he brought the ice box home last week.” Her husband had opened a small appliance store the year before. “I know it’s seems extravagant.”

“Only extravagant if you can’t afford it,” Helen observed. “I don’t take you for being the kind to spend what you don’t have.”

“No, Paul won’t allow that. Not even if it would make things easier. I told him he should have used the money to buy a car. I wish Cedarwood was a little larger, he could have opened the store here instead.”

“Cedarwood is growing,” Helen said with a wry smile. “And Kalona is only ten or so miles away.”

“Yes, but having to take the bus to and from Kalona means his days are that much longer. But he said the ice box was more important. Now I don’t have to go to the market every morning to buy milk for Esther. Paul said he’ll just work that much harder to save the money for a car.”

“He is a hard worker.”

Carol looked at her daughter who was playing with the doll her father had brought home for her birthday a few months earlier— another unexpected purchase. “Esther misses him.”

“She best get used to that,” Helen said pushing herself up from the chair. “Menfolk go out and work all day and us women stay home and work all day. It’s the way of the world. Now, I best be getting back before my Howard starts to wonder if I forgot the way home.” She picked up her sack and stepped across the porch to the steps then down them to the footpath. Stopping when she reached the sidewalk, she turned to face the porch. “Seems like the day isn’t planning to stay so nice. Looks to be a storm brewing in the west. You best get Esther inside before long.”

Carol turned her head to see what was causing her neighbor’s concern but the wall of the house blocked her view. “I’ll just finish up these peas,” she said as she set the bowl onto the bench. “Thank you for the visit,” she added, standing up.

With a wave of her hand, Helen turned and started her walk back home.

Carol placed her hands on the porch railing and leaned over it to look past the house to see what Helen was concerned about. After such a nice morning, she was startled to see the bank of rain clouds building in the west. As she peered at the darkening clouds, a gust of wind washed down the side of the house and over her. “Come on, Esther, time to go inside,” Carol called to her daughter. “The wind is picking up.” She pulled back from the railing and turned around. Relieved to see Esther running across the yard to the porch, she bent to retrieve the bowl of peas and pods. “Seems Helen was right about a storm this afternoon.”

“Mommy, will Daddy be all right?” Esther asked as she bounced up the porch steps.

“Of course, he will,” Carol assured her daughter. “But he’ll probably get wet standing at the bus stop. And he’ll be hungry like always, so it’s time we got started on his supper.” She held out her hand, smiling when her daughter reached for it.

“What about Miss Helen?”

Carol looked up the street, noting again how unremarkable the neighborhood was. Unique only as to the different shades of color their plaster walls were painted, the houses were of similarly design—square, single story with an attic room; its dormer window overlooked the roof of the covered front porch that stretched the width of the house. The other walls were unbroken except for a set of steps on either side of the house; some led directly into the kitchen while others, like their house, led to a small landing in front of the kitchen door. On the back side of the kitchen steps, a heavy wood door was set at an angle near the ground. It covered the opening to the steep concrete steps leading down under the house to a storm cellar.

The Bingham’s yard was unadorned. Like many of the families new to the neighborhood, they did not have the funds to plant trees, bushes, or flower beds and made do with the grass planted as seed and nurtured into a patchy lawn. Yet, in the yards of the families that had occupied the neighborhood for many years, like Helen and her husband, tall shade trees stood surrounding by lush lawns, and gardens softened the stark walls of the houses.

“She’s home now,” Carol told Esther as she watched Helen turn up the path in front of her house. “Come on, let’s go inside.” A gust of wind ushered them into the house. “Take this into the kitchen,” she said passing the bowl to her daughter. Then she pushed the door shut and made sure it was securely latched before following Esther through the sitting room. Walking toward the cabinet that held her neatly arranged canned goods, she glanced at the kitchen door hearing the loud squeak the knob always made when being turned. “Esther, you have to stay in the house now.”

“Mommy, I left Dolly outside,” Esther explained as she pulled the door open.

“Don’t be long.”

Esther was already out the door and halfway down the steps when she called back to her mother. “I’ll run.” And she did. Across the yard to where she had left her doll. Gathering Dolly up, Esther turned to run back to the kitchen where her mother waited. But what she saw approaching from the west froze her in place. She had never seen the sky looking so dark and angry. And as she watched, the sky grew even darker.

A bolt of lightening blazed across the sky, immediately followed by a crashing rumble of thunder.

“Esther, what’s taking you so long?” Carol called out as she hurried across the kitchen to the door. She quickened her steps when she heard her daughter scream.

Esther cried out when something whipped against her leg with enough force to cut the skin. “Mommy!” she screamed as she tried to stop the blood flowing down her thigh.

Carol ran out the door only to have a gust of wind nearly blow her right off the porch. She grabbed for the doorjamb. “Esther!” she screamed against the wind. Momentarily, gaining her footing, she leaped off the porch and ran for her daughter huddled in the front yard. Scooping Esther into her arms, she turned back to the house. “Oh my…,” she gasped seeing the sky of roiling clouds.

But it was the swirling funnel stretching down from the clouds that truly frightened her.

The wind was gaining strength and Carol fought to maintain her balance as she struggled against it to reach the storm cellar. In the minutes it took to carry Esther back across the yard, the tornado had tripled in size and strength. And speed. “Don’t move,” she yelled over the roar of the wind as she set Esther down next to the storm door. It took all her strength to pull the heavy door open. Digging her heels into the ground, she strained to hold onto the door as it was buffeted by the wind. “Inside, Esther. Run!” she screamed.

Esther couldn’t run, the steps down to the cellar were too steep for her short legs. But she moved as quickly as she could, sitting on each step then scooting down to the next. The sounds from the tornado were so loud that she wanted to cover her ears but the wind whipped down the stairwell and she had to use her hands to steady herself as she descended. Finally, she reached the cellar floor. At that same moment, the door above her crashed shut with a tremendous clamor. Esther stood looking up in the pitch blackness, expecting that her mother would soon join her.

CHAPTER TWO

Luke Anderson drove Cedarwood’s bright red fire truck away from the fire station and toward the residential section of town that had taken the brunt of the tornado’s wraith. The truck’s siren was screaming over his head, warning all to get out of the way of the racing vehicle.

Cedarwood wasn’t very big. A central square, of neatly maintain lawns bordered by flower beds and dotted with tall cedar trees, was surrounded by the shops and offices of the business district. Disjointed neighborhoods radiated out from the square connected by a haphazard array of streets. Cedarwood was a young town but already growing faster than the town council could adopt rules for controlling the welcome expansion.

Luke turned the fire truck onto a street in the devastated residential neighborhood and immediately had to slow the truck’s speed.

“Hard to believe this is the same street I drove down a few hours ago,” Peter Burton said looking out the open window on his side of the cab. Except for some porch steps and a partial wall here and there, nothing recognizable remained of the dozen houses that had lined the street less than an hour before. His eyes scanned the twisted piles of rubble marking the locations of the missing homes. “Sure isn’t much left.”

Luke steered the truck around another tree branch impending their progress. “Let’s hope folks managed to get into their cellars,” he said as the truck bounced over the end of the branch. He let the truck roll to a stop then turned off the engine and silenced the siren. “Not much use trying to go further,” he said as he set the brake. The street was littered with twisted pieces of metal, sections of roofs, and broken trees, its surface almost indistinguishable from the yards on either side of it. “Why don’t you work that side of the street and I’ll take this side. When you check the cellars, give a shout and beat on something to make noise then shut up and listen. It might be hard for them to call out so keep your ears sharp.”

“Gotcha, Chief,” Peter said as he slammed the truck’s door shut. He had pushed open the door as soon as the truck stopped moving and was already stepping out when the town’s fire chief gave him his orders. “If they yell, I won’t miss it,” he assured his boss.

Luke laid his arms atop the steering wheel and peered through the windshield. “Damn,” he muttered. Then shaking himself free of his thoughts, he reached for the fire helmet resting on the bench seat beside him. “Come on. Let’s get to work,” he said as he exited the truck.

Esther’s eyes popped opened. She tried to remember where she was. And why it was so dark. “Mommy?” she called into the blackness. It was hard to move, something was pressing her down. Something big and heavy. “Mommy!” she called again, this time more forceful. She tried to squirm out from under the oppressive weight. “Mommy, I’m squishing,” she cried struggling to free herself. “Ow,” she screamed when a piercing pain exploded in her ankle. She froze, hoping the pain would stop. It didn’t.

After several minutes, Esther managed to free her right arm just enough to probe a few inches into the darkness. Her fingers gingerly felt the surface beneath her. It felt cold yet familiar… almost like… dirt. But much harder than the dirt in her mother’s garden that she liked to squeeze between her fingers. She reached a little further, her hand stopping when it came into contact with something hard. Even harder than the dirt floor. She rubbed her fingers on the object but couldn’t identify what it was. She tried reaching in a different direction. Again her hand brushed against an unseen object that was unrecognizable to her.

As she lay in the darkness, Esther became aware of other pains and aches. But by far, the one that hurt the worst was her ankle. She tried to wiggle her hand down to it but finally gave up. Pulling her hand back, she tucked her fist under her chin as tears filled her eyes.

“Mommy?” she whispered into the darkness, sniffling when she received no response. “I hurt, Mommy,” she whimpered. “I’m scared. Where are you?”

After searching the debris buried cellars of the first three houses on his side of the street and finding them unoccupied, Luke approached what remained of the next house. The only parts left intact by the tornado were two porches. Not seeing much more than splinted pieces of wood and arm-sized branches around the front porch, he weaved his way through the wreckage to the side porch. Now familiar with the design of the houses in the neighborhood, he knew he should find the steps leading down into the storm cellar behind those that had led up into the kitchen. He frowned when he saw the amount of rubble filling the now exposed cellar.

Standing on top of the cellar wall, Luke was surprised to find the stairs remarkably free of debris. He was about to begin down them when he heard his name called.

“Brought you some help, Chief,” Cyrus Tipper said as he hurried across the yard from the street.

Luke saw a dozen men climbing out of the back of one of farmer’s delivery trucks. “Pete’s over on the other side,” he called to the men. “Check in with him so you know what to do.” One of the men waved at the chief then directed the men across the street. “Is that all you brought?”

“There’s more on the way. Some coming here. Some going to Kalona.”

“How’d Kalona fare?”

“Twister skipped right over the town,” Cyrus said as he stepped onto the wall next to Luke. “But the wind did some major damage. Heard the rain was pretty heavy too. Damn thing waited to touch down ‘til it got here. Any survivors?”

“None yet,” Luke answered as he cautiously made his way down the concrete steps. “Is anyone down here?” he shouted after stopping when he reached the bottom. “Hello. This is Chief Anderson. Is anyone down here?” He stopped to listen for a response. Hearing none, he looked for some way to make some noise. Directly in front of him was the metal tub from an ice box, its side caved in after being slammed into something hard during the storm. He bent over to pick it up but abruptly jerked upright empty handed. “Did you hear that?”

Cyrus pointed to a corner of the cellar. “Sounded like it came from over there.”

“Yell out again,” Luke shouted then held his breath to listen. “You’re right. It’s over there. Go get a couple of your boys. We’re going to need more hands to move this stuff out of the way.

Samuel Hampton left his office through the door that led straight into the alley beside the Kalona Café. Outside, he was confronted by a strong wind racing between the brick walls of the building and the one opposite it. “What the heck?” he muttered as he slapped a hand on top of his gray fedora to keep it from being snatched from his head.

“Looks like we’re in for a storm,” Sonny Furston said looking up at the darkening sky. He had followed Hampton out of the building and was locking the door behind them.

“Good thing I don’t pay you for your brains,” Hampton grumbled. He hurried across the alley to the Chrysler Imperial parked on the other side. Even though he was fighting against the wind to maintain his balance, he smiled at the sleek lines of the sedan he had purchased the week before. No one can doubt my importance now, he thought. Especially, those boys in Chicago. He pulled open the driver’s door then paused when his employee shouted to him over the roar of the wind.

“You want me to wait until this blows over?”

Hampton glared at Sonny. “No, I want you to do what I told you to. And I want it done by the time I get back from Richland.” The wind was threatening to rip the door out of his hand so he slid onto the seat behind the steering wheel then slammed the door shut.

Sonny stood in the alley, he body braced against the gusting wind as he watched his boss drive to the end of the alley. The Chrysler disappeared around the corner of the building when Hampton turned onto Cedarwood’s main street. “Damn,” he muttered spinning around. With his shoulder dropped into the face of the wind, he determinedly struggled toward an older model Buick parked further up the alley. It wasn’t as sleek as his boss’ new Chrysler sedan, with its curved fenders and smooth lines. The Buick was boxy with a flat grill and protruding running boards under its doors. But it was fast and built to withstand the pounding of the dirt and gravel roads he drove. And Hampton paid for it so Sonny wasn’t going to complain. He yanked open the door as soon as he reached the Buick and jumped inside. The engine was roaring to life before he pulled the door shut.

Chief Anderson handed a broken chair to Cyrus who turned and passed it to Pete who passed it up to the waiting hands of the man standing along the cellar wall. It had taken the better part of an hour but the men had finally cleared enough of the debris to reach the area of the cellar where they heard muffled cries. A large piece of wood now blocked their progress. One end of the fractured cellar door was jammed under the heavy cook stove that had fallen into the cellar while the other end had been driven into the dirt wall several inches by the force of the tornado.

“Looks like someone had hold of it,” Cyrus said noting the splinted wood where the door handle should have been.

“You want an axe, Chief? Pete asked.

“If someone’s under there, might do more damage,” Anderson responded. “Let’s see if we can move that stove. Cyrus, let Pete up here.”

“I can help, Chief.”

“Pete’s younger.”

“And stronger,” Pete added as he eased past the older farmer.

Realizing both men were right, Cyrus held back any objections and gave way.

“I think we can pitch it back and off the door,” Anderson said when Pete joined him. The men positioned themselves around the stove being careful not to add any weight to the top of the damaged door. “Ready?” Pete nodded. “Let’s do it.” The stove protested but they were able to lift it off the door and toss it further back into the cellar. Then the men focused their combined effort on pulling the plank out of the wall.

“It’s a kid,” someone exclaimed after the door was freed.

Samuel Hampton left the business district of Cedarwood behind. The wind had steadily increased and he was having difficulty keeping the Buick on the road but he had business to attend to— storm or no storm. He guided the sedan onto the highway that led to the bridge over the English River. Now the wind was at his back and the car was having an easier time of holding the road. He reached the bridge at the same time the tornado passed overhead.

The Buick was lifted skyward. It slammed into a girder, crushing its roof and twisting its frame; only the steel structure of the bridge prevented the car from being carried away by the tornado. Released from the storm’s grip, it dropped back to the surface of the bridge, crashing down onto the railing. Momentarily, it hesitated, precariously balanced on the thin section of metal. Then it tilted and slid over the side.

Lying on her stomach and covered by debris, Esther couldn’t see what was happening around her. But she could hear voices and scraping sounds as unseen objects were moved. The weight pressing her down shifted and that scared her. She tried to call to the men but her throat was dry from all the dust the men were causing. Suddenly, the darkness was replaced by brilliant sunlight. The change so startling that Esther squeezed her eyes shut to block out the harsh light.

Chief Anderson knelt down beside Esther. “Hey, there,” he said softly. “My name’s Luke. What’s yours?”

“Esther,” she finally croaked out after several efforts. “My throat hurts.”

“Get some water,” Anderson called up to the men above him then returned his attention to the girl. “Does anything else hurt, Esther?” She nodded. “What? Where?”

“Here you go, Chief,” Pete tapped a canteen against the fire chief’s shoulder.

Unscrewing the cap, Anderson placed the canteen next to Esther’s lips. The angle was awkward but she managed to swallow some of the cold liquid. “My leg hurts really bad,” she said after the canteen had been removed.

“Give us a couple of minutes to get the rest of this stuff off of you,” Anderson told Esther. “Then we’ll get you fixed up.”

“Where’s my mommy?”

Anderson glanced worriedly at Pete who was already pulling debris off the girl. “You hold real still,” he said without answering her question. “We’ll have you out of there in a minute.”

Esther was sitting in the cab of the farm truck, her back propped against Cyrus and her legs stretched out on the tattered seat.

“Sure this thing will make it to Kalona?” Chief Anderson asked as Cyrus nursed the engine into life.

“Once she starts, she’ll be fine,” the farmer assured the men standing around the truck.

“Take care of her leg,” Anderson reminded the farmer who nodded. He made a final check on the position of the jacket balled up under the girl’s right leg. A jagged piece of wood had pierced the ankle and was sticking out several inches on either side of the joint. Blood seeped through the cloth wrapped around the wound. “The doctors will take care of you.”

“Are you going to find my mommy?” Esther asked Anderson who was leaning in the window of the passenger door.

“We’re going to look for her just as soon as Cyrus gets you off to the hospital.”

Cyrus shifted the truck into gear. “Then we best be off,” he said as Anderson pulled back from the window and jumped off the running board. “I’ll be back soon as I get her taken care of,” he shouted as he maneuvered the truck down the litter filled street.

“What about her mother?” Pete asked.

Chief Anderson shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “What about all the others?” he asked gesturing toward what, only that morning, had been a neighborhood filled with happy families and laughing children.

CHAPTER THREE

Chief Anderson and Pete tossed aside another splintered section of roof to clear the steps leading into yet another cellar. The sound of an engine’s deep rumbling drew their attention to the street.

“Wonder who that is?” Pete asked as a late model Buick bounced over a mattress then rolled to a stop.

“Probably looking for family,” Anderson said as he returned to his task.

“Want me to…”

“No. Can’t hide the truth from ‘em. Let them see for themselves. If they have questions, they can come ask.”

Pete watched the car for a few minutes more but when the driver and passenger remained seated, he turned back to the pile of rubble still needing to be cleared.

Sonny sat behind the steering wheel staring out the window at the devastation surrounding him. He wasn’t new to the Midwest and had been on the fringes of more than a few tornados but this was different. The storm’s fury had been directed at this neighborhood and being so close to the aftermath was a sobering experience.

“Damn,” Sonny said.

“Not a whole lot left,” his companion added while looking out the side window. “Sure this is worth our time.”

“Won’t know until we get out and check,” Sonny answered. He reached for the door handle, wrapping his fingers around the metal and slowly twisting it. When the latch released freeing the door, he pushed it open and stepped out.

“Think they’ll stop us?” Clyde Norman asked as he walked around the front of the Buick to join Sonny. His suit was disheveled and he wiped his beefy hands down the cheap fabric trying to smooth out some of the winkles.

“Looks like they have enough problems without adding us to their list,” Sonny said. Looking around, he saw that the men of the search parties didn’t appear too interested in them so he turned away from the car and cautiously picked his way across the debris littered street.

“How do you know which house was his?”

“You think this is the first time Rocks has sent me out here to check on him?”

Clyde kicked a broken chair out of his way. “Probably not,” he muttered.

Sonny stopped in front of a piece of plywood propped up against the front porch. The number one had been painted on the board and circled, sticky red paint sparkling as the sun shone through a break in the grey clouds.

“What’s that mean?” Clyde asked.

Scratching his cheek, Sonny glanced down to the opposite end of the street where several men could be seen moving about the debris. “Might save some time by asking,” he said before walking back to the sidewalk. Clyde shrugged and followed without comment.

Breathing hard, Chief Anderson was standing at the top of the cellar steps when Sonny walked up. He readjusted the weight in his arms before stepping back to allow Pete time to complete his climb up the steps with his end of their heavy burden. Once both men were back on level ground, they carried the body to the front yard and gently placed it on the ground. “Grab that curtain,” Anderson instructed Sonny who, after a moment’s hesitation, snatched up the piece of cloth clinging to the side of a smashed window frame. The cloth was stretched over the body and weighted down with pieces of debris.

“I don’t envy your job,” Sonny commented when Anderson stood up.

As the chief pulled a sweat stained handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his brow, he eyed the pair of strangers. Neither appeared ready to volunteer to help him in his grisly work. “You have business here?”

Sonny watched as Pete picked up a can of paint salvaged from one of the houses and painted a 1 and X on the bottom of a shattered drawer, all that remained of the dresser that it once belonged to. When he finished, Pete propped the drawer up against the porch.

Sonny tilted his chin in Pete’s direction. “Wondering what the numbers are for.”

“You reporters?” Anderson asked, rubbing his sore back.

“Just answer the question,” Clyde blurted out.

“No. We’re not reporters,” Sonny answered while glaring at Clyde who took a step back. “We’re looking for a friend. Lived down there,” he said pointing back down the street. “We saw the number on the front of the house. Wondered what it meant.”

“What was it?”

“A one. But it was circled.”

“House where we found the girl,” Pete said. “Only survivor we found, so far.”

“The kid’s alive?”

Anderson nodded. “Sent her to the hospital in Kalona.”

“Damn, we just came from there,” Clyde grumbled.

“Go wait at the car,” Sonny ordered. “Sorry, his manners aren’t too good,” he apologized once Clyde had walked away.

Anderson shrugged then said, “He’s your problem. You have any more questions? We need to get back to work.”

“Was something wrong with her? You said you sent to the hospital.”

“Had a piece of wood stuck through her ankle; otherwise, seemed in good shape.”

“She was pretty shook up,” Pete inserted. “Kept asking for her mother. She’ll probably be real glad to see family.”

“Guess we better head back to Kalona then. My friend has a store there, he’ll be real glad to hear she’s all right. I thank you.” He nodded to the two men then turned and walked back to the Buick.

“Nice fellow,” Pete said when Sonny slammed the car’s door shut. “Can’t say the same for the other one, though.”

“Hmm,” Anderson muttered noncommittally as he watched the Buick drive away.

“Problem?”

“Funny that he never asked about his friend’s wife.”

“Maybe she’s in Kalona, too.”

“Doubt they’d leave the girl alone?”

“Maybe she wasn’t.”

“He didn’t ask about anyone else.”

“No, I guess he didn’t. What are you thinking?”

Anderson stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m thinking we better get some help, and soon, if we’re going to get the rest of these houses checked out before dark.”

“I hear sirens,” Pete said shifting to look to the west. “That’s probably the boys from Kalona.”

Anderson tapped Pete’s arm with the back of his hand. “Come on, let’s get back to work.”

“You said a young girl?” a harried woman asked from behind a makeshift desk. “We’ve had so many…”

“She’s four. The men that found her said she had a piece of wood through her ankle.”

The woman shuffled through the papers on top of the table.

“Make way!” a voice boomed. “Get these people out of the hallways,” the doctor ordered as he ran after a gurney.

“What was the name?” the woman asked, ignoring the doctor and his orders. She had already been forced to move half a dozen times and there simple was no other place for her to be. The Kalona Hospital was overrun by people desperate for information on missing family members. She was supposed to be providing answers to their questions but it was impossible to keep up with the ever-growing number of victims the hospital’s medical staff was treating.

“Sally, why don’t you take a break,” an older woman said after sitting in the vacant chair beside Sally. “Go on. Just take a few minutes to get some fresh air. It’ll do you good.”

Sally sighed then nodded. “Thanks, Agnes. I won’t be long.”

“Now,” Agnes looked up at the man standing impatiently on the opposite side of the table. “Name?”

“Bingham.”

“Man, woman, child?

“Child?”

“Age?”

“I’ve already told—”

“Age?”

“Four.”

Agnes scanned a page she pulled from a pile of papers. “There’s a girl on the third floor about that age. No name for her but…,” her voice died out as the man rushed down the hallway toward the stairs. She turned her attention to the next person in line. “Name?”

CHAPTER FOUR

May 1988

Dorthea Sanborn stepped off the bus onto the sidewalk in front of a single-story brick building. Her body ached after spending the day loading parts of pressure cookers onto the never ending belt of an assembly line, a job she’d done for so many years that mindless didn’t come close to describing her days. Having to suffer the crowded bus ride across town only added to her discomfort and she hated the thought of enduring another crowded ride back across town after she finished her business inside the building.

Once it had been a source of pride for the community of Rapid Falls; designed by a prominent architect and displaying the most modern of fixtures and furniture. The building’s corners, as well as the door and windows, were framed by sandstone that had shimmered in the sunlight the day of its grand opening; the pale stone contrasting perfectly with the brick walls of a deep reddish shade. And every glass pane of every door and window had been polished until it sparkled.

But that was many years ago and the building, originally used for professional offices was now coming to the end of its days; as were its occupants. Yellow-green ivy, in various stages of life, clung to the structure’s walls; its interlaced vines hiding the dilapidated condition of the bricks’ crumbling mortar. Only a few of the windows had yet to be claimed by the ever creeping plant and those were dingy with years of undisturbed dirt and grime.

Dorthea sighed and shifted the heavy bag she held in her right hand to her left. With a groan, she started up the dozen broken concrete steps holding tight to the metal railing. At the top of the steps she paused to give her aching knees a moment to recover from the climb. Then she again shifted the heavy bag and walked toward the entrance of the nursing home.

“Afternoon, Miss Sanborn.”

Dorthea turned to see a man in his twenties awkwardly lugging an unwieldy ladder around the corner of the building. She smiled. “Good afternoon, Daniel. What are you battling today?” she asked the handyman who spent his days attempting to repair the building’s endless problems.

Daniel waited to answer until after he managed to lean the ladder against the building beside the front door. Then he pointed over their heads where a wooden board hung precariously from two rusting chains, one side hanging lower than the other due to a screw being partially pulled out of the rotting wood. “That.”

Heavenly Nursing Home was painted in bold block letters across the top half of the board while The Path to the Golden Years was floating across the bottom half in a delicate script. When new, the sign with gold paint on a solid black background proudly decorated the entry. But now, with chipped and faded paint, it looked as weary as the rest of the building.

“Goodness, it’s about time. I’m afraid to walk under it for fear it’ll come crashing down on top of me.”

“You’re not the only one. Mr. Galing has finally heard enough complaints. He wants me to paint the name on the brick. He said that can’t fall on anyone.”

Dorthea studied the edifice above the doorway. “Unless one of those comes down.”

Daniel grinned. “Hush, those bricks are loose enough. Don’t be giving any of them ideas.”

Dorthea laughed. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Miss Faye is in a foul mood today,” Daniel warned as he pulled open the door to the lobby.

“When isn’t she?” Dorthea said then nodded her thanks and walked inside.

“Good afternoon, Auntie.” Dorthea had pushed open the door to a small room. ‘Daniel was right, she is in a foul mood today’, she thought when her cheerful greeting was answered with a disdainful glare from the woman sitting in the room’s single bed. “It’s a nice day. Not that you could tell by what little light is coming through that window,” she commented as she walked further into the room. The bed took up a good portion of the floor leaving barely enough space for a straight-back chair next to the head of the bed, a chest of drawers pushed against the foot of the bed, and a dressing bureau under the window. She set her shopping bag down on the bureau. “I brought you some new slippers and a new nightgown and—”

“I told you not to be spending my money that way. And shut that door. You know I don’t like them people staring at me.”

“No one is staring at you, Auntie.” ‘I didn’t spend any of your money, Auntie. Remember, you don’t have any’. “And this room could use some fresh air.” She thought about trying to pry open the window but decided it would be a waste of effort just as all her previous attempts to free the window sealed shut by years of grime. Instead, she reached inside the shopping bag.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to hang your new gown in the closet,” Dorthea explained as she moved to the corner of the room where a small closet was located. She opened the closet door and pulled a misshapen wire hanger off the wooden rod inside. Slipping the nightgown onto the hanger, she did her best to smooth out the wrinkles before replacing the hanger back on the rod. Dorthea closed the door and turned to face the pair of suspicious eyes watching her. She moved to the side of the bed and leaned over to retrieve the pair of worn out slippers resting on the floor, tossing them into the waste basket beside the bureau. Then she dropped a new pair in their place. “I brought you some more magazines.”

“Let me see them.”

Dorthea picked up the shopping bag then, tilting it over, she let the magazines slide out onto the bed beside her aunt.

“These are old.”

“I know. But I’ve told you, Kim has to wait until they’re going to be thrown out before she can bring them home.” Her aunt grunted as she rifled through the stack of magazines, many of their pages torn or missing. “I can’t afford to buy them new.” Another grunt.

“Is this all you brought?”

Dorthea carefully folded the shopping bag. She sighed. “Yes.”

“Then don’t keep standing there.”

“I thought you might want to go sit in the garden for a bit? It really is a nice day.”

“You thought wrong. Go on. Last thing I need is you standing over me like I owe you something.”

‘Oh, no, Auntie, I would never think that.’ “All right. I’ll be back next Friday. If you need anything before then, ask the nurses to call me.” Realizing she was not going to receive a response, Dorthea tucked the bag under her arm then walked out of the room. She ignored her aunt’s shouts to pull the door shut as she headed down the long hallway in the direction of the lobby. “This place really does need a good airing out,” she muttered.

After the bus dropped her off at her stop, Dorthea walked the remaining three blocks to her apartment. The three-story faux-marble building was shaped like a squared-off C with a portico at the center of the main section and two wings jutting out at its sides. Impressive one-story high arched gateways nestled against each wing and an equally impressive wall stretched from one gateway to the other creating a central courtyard for manicured lawns and tended flowerbeds. The stone wall stood only half as high as the gateways to allow an unobstructed street view of the six plaster columns rising two-stories high and supporting the curved balcony above the building’s entry. She pulled open the ornate cast iron gate and stepped into the courtyard.

From the twin gateways, cobblestone paths weaved around the flowerbeds to the portico, the only access in or out of the apartment building and Dorthea was careful not to catch a heel on the uneven walkway. She climbed the steps to the landing and paused in front of the row of mailboxes. She had to bend slightly to glance through the slot on the front of her assigned box. Seeing it was empty, she straightened and walked across the wide landing to the glass door. Once inside, she turned left crossing the small lobby and heading directly for her apartment.

Dorthea entered the apartment with a sigh then closed the door behind her and moved directly to the couch where she dropped onto the worn but comfortable cushions. She leaned back, resting her head on the back of the couch and closing her eyes.

“Visit with the dragon lady that bad?”

“Yes.” Dorthea felt the cushions shift as her roommate, Kimberly Chadwick, joined her. Best friends since they met on their first day of high school, Kim could easily read her moods.

“Here, this should help.”

Dorthea cracked one eye open. Kim was sitting on the edge of the couch holding a glass half full with an amber colored liquid.

“Go on, it won’t hurt you,” Kim prodded.

“You know I don’t drink, Kim.”

Kim sighed then settled back on the couch before taking a sip from the glass. “You should after putting up with the dragon lady all these years.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“No? Then why do you drag yourself home every Friday night with your tail between your legs?”

“I’m tired. I’ve been on my feet since six this morning.” Dorthea lifted her feet off the floor to stretch her legs out on the coffee table. “And the bus ride to the nursing home and back doesn’t’ help,” she said, kicking her shoes off. “Damn, I wish they’d let us wear more comfortable shoes at work.”

Kim scooted into a more comfortable position. “What was her complaint today?”

“Same as always… Why am I spending her money for things she doesn’t need.”

“I thought she had them call and tell you she needed a new nightgown and slippers.”

“She did. Oh, and the magazines were old.”

“What does she care? She hasn’t left that room in over three years. Besides, she’s lucky she gets them at all. If Kelvin wasn’t a friend of mine, I’d have to fight the other secretaries for those old things. If only she knew—”

“She knows.” Dorthea took the glass from Kim’s hand. Lifting it to her nose, she took a cautious sniff. “And Kelvin is an ex-beau who still has a crush on you.”

“Minor point.”

Dorthea took another whiff of the liquor. “Does it taste as bad as it smells?”

“Only one way to find out.” Kim watched expectedly as Dorthea placed the glass against her lips and tilted it just enough for a drop of brandy to touch them.

“Yuck.” Dorthea quickly handed the glass back to Kim.

“Can’t say I haven’t tried to convert you,” Kim said after taking another sip. “Why don’t you take a shower and change? We’ll go out for dinner and there’s a new movie opening at the Roxy… Willow, just the kind of movie you like.”

“I thought you were going out tonight?”

“I am. But I’ll call and tell him something came up.”

“No, you won’t. And you shouldn’t be drinking if you’re going out.”

Kim reached to the end of the couch and set the glass of brandy on the end table. “You are such a stick in the mud sometimes.”

Dorthea grinned as Kim pouted. “Who’s the lucky boy this time?”

“Robert.”

“The one with the pointy head?”

“He does not have a pointy head,” Kim protested.

Dorthea laughed. “When he wears a hat, it spins like a top if the wind is blowing.”

Kim chuckled. “You are so bad,” she said, playfully slapping Dorthea’s arm. “He says he has something special to discuss.”

“Uh oh. You know what that means.” Kim frowned. “What are you going to say?”

“I’m not sure.”

Dorthea twisted to face her best friend. “Why? You’ve been dating him for almost three years. You’ve never dated anyone that long.”

Kim shrugged. “It just doesn’t feel right with him.”

“It didn’t feel right with Thomas… or Arthur… or, what was his name?”

“Peter Alexander Irving Noster von Rumpart, the third,” Kim said with the most haughty tone she could muster.

Giggling, Dorthea collapsed back onto the couch. “Oh, that’s right. Good ol’ P.A.I.N. in the Rump. I really wanted you to say yes to him.”

“He had more name than sense,” Kim said throwing a pillow at her chuckling friend. “And he was sooooooo boring.”

“But you could have been Mrs. P.A.I.N. in the Rump.”

Kim laughed. “Oh, that would have looked good on the society page. Come on, let’s make it a double date tonight? I know a guy at work who would be perfect for you.”

“No.”

“Come on. We’ll have some fun. You could use some.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, you will most likely be proposed to tonight. I really doubt Robert will want anyone else around for that. And, for another, all I want to do is soak in a hot bath for the next couple of hours then crawl into bed and curl up with a good book.”

“There are better things to curl up with.”

“I know but the landlord won’t let us have a dog.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Dorthea grinned. “I know. But tonight, a good book is all I want. So go, finish getting ready for your date. What time is Robert going to pick you up?”

Kim glanced across the room to the wall clock then she jumped to her feet. “Ten minutes ago,” she exclaimed. “Oh, damn.” The ringing doorbell jolted her into motion. “Be a dear and entertain him. I’ll be ready in a jif,” she said disappearing into her bedroom.

Dorthea laughed and stood up. She walked to the door. “Good evening, Thomas,” she greeted Kim’s suitor when she pulled the door open.

“She’s not ready,” Thomas said matter-of-factly.

“She’s being fashionably late this evening. Come on in. She shouldn’t be long.”

After Kim and Thomas left, Dorthea sat on the couch, her eyes wandering aimlessly around the room. The apartment was rectangular in shape with a sitting room at its center. The kitchen and bath were at one end and the opposite end was split into two bedrooms. Located at the front end of one of the building’s wings, the apartment had large windows on three of its sides that provided views of both the courtyard and the streets bordering the corner of the building. She smiled remembering the day Kim had come to her with the idea of them sharing the apartment. They were about to graduate from high school…

“You can’t be serious. We still have a month of school left.”

“I am serious,” Kim insisted. “Look, you want to get out from under Dragon Lady and I want to get away from my…”

“Your dad …”

“Is a drunk and he beats my mom.”

“But how can we afford it?”

“I’ve saved enough from my summer jobs to pay the rent for a couple of months. After that, we’ll pay with the jobs we plan to get as soon as we graduate.”

“I don’t know. There’s other things to consider—”

“We can do this. You already have a part-time job at the factory. I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to hire you full time. And I have an interview next week.” Kim placed her hands on Dorthea’s shoulders and gently squeezed them to emphasize her point. “Please. I need this,” she pleaded.

“But aren’t we too young… I mean will they rent to us?”

“I already talked to the landlord. I told him about my dad. He said he’d give us a chance. That’s all we need, Dorthea. Just a chance. Please, I can’t spend another day living in the same house with him.”

Dorthea didn’t have to see the desperation in Kim’s eyes to understand the pain she carried in her heart. Slowly, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Kim smiled broadly.

Dorthea stood and walked into the bathroom. She bent over the tub, turning on the faucet before she undressed while the tub filled with warm water.

CHAPTER FIVE

Dorthea slipped between the sheets then arranged the pair of pillows behind her and settled against them. She reached over to the lamp sitting on a small table beside the head of her bed and tilted the lampshade to allow more light to fall across the bed. Then she retrieved the magazine she had placed on the table before her bath.

The magazine was one of the few luxuries Dorthea permitted herself, saving just enough from her weekly paychecks to cover the cost of the subscription. Being intensely interested in history, she felt the magazine’s articles substituted for the education she might have received had she been able to afford college—a, now, long abandoned dream. Opening the monthly publication to its first article, she snuggled against the pillows and began to read.

Kimberly turned the key in the door’s lock then twisted the knob and pushed the door open. She gasped when she spied a shadowy figure inside the dark apartment. Her hand shot out reaching for the light switch on the wall beside the door, her fingers fumbling about as they sought the elusive switch. “My god,” she exclaimed when the room exploded with light to reveal Dorthea on the opposite side of the room leaning against a window frame. “You scared the pants off me,” she said pushing the door shut, her chest heaving as her fear subsided. “Damn, I thought you were a ghost. It’ll take my heart a month to recover from this.”

“Sorry,” Dorthea murmured without moving. “How was your date?”

“Okay. What are you doing in the dark anyway?” Kimberly asked as she locked the door. Tossing her purse onto the couch, she made her way across the room. “Something interesting outside? I was just out there and I didn’t see anything that would make me want to stand in the dark.” Receiving no response, she twisted her body to look into her roommate’s face. She was instantly concerned when she saw the distant look in her roommate’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked, tenderly placing a hand on Dorthea’s shoulder. “You’re cold. How long have you been standing here?”

Dorthea turned away from the window. “I don’t know. Couple of hours, I guess.”

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

Dorthea attempted a reassuring smile. “Just thinking. I notice Robert didn’t walk you to the door.”

“No. I asked him not to.”

“He didn’t propose?”

“He did.”

“Congratulations?”

Kimberly laughed. “Only you would phrase that as a question.”

“Well?”

“I said I needed some time to think about it.”

“Let me guess… It doesn’t feel right?”

“Yeah,” Kimberly answered dolefully. “If you’re really okay, I think I’ll go to bed.”

“Um… Actually, I was… No, it’s okay. Go on.”

Kimberly looked quizzically at her friend. “Why were you standing here in the dark? You looked like you were a million miles away.”

“I think I was.” Dorthea held up the magazine clutched in her hand. “I was hoping you’d read this.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

Kimberly had never seen Dorthea so seemingly disorientated and, even though she wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open much longer, she was willing to try if she could discover the reason behind the look of consternation on her friend’s face. “Okay,” she said removing the magazine from Dorthea’s fingers.

Dorthea waited until Kimberly started to read then she moved toward the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee.”

Minutes later, Dorthea walked out of the kitchen carrying two cups of steaming coffee to find Kimberly had moved to the couch where she sat reading. As she walked across the living room, Kimberly closed the magazine then tossed it onto the coffee table. “Finished?” she asked handing her a cup before joining her on the couch.

“Yes. One useful skill the training at work has given me— speed reading. But I’m not sure why you wanted me to read it. What does a tornado fifty years ago have to do with you?” She accepted the offered cup and raised it to her lips as she waited for Dorthea sit down and provide an explanation.

“The little girl…”

While Kimberly sipped coffee, her memory replayed the story she had just read. “The one that disappeared from the hospital?” Dorthea nodded. “What about her?”

“I think…” Dorthea fidgeted for a moment then she set her cup down on the coffee table before pulling her legs up under her. She twisted on the cushion to face Kimberly. “I think I may be that little girl.”

Startled by the surprising declaration, Kimberly almost dropped her coffee cup. “What?!” Kimberly blurted out as coffee sloshed over the cup’s rim and spilled over her hand. “Damn, that’s hot,” she exclaimed. She immediately slammed the cup down onto the coffee table then looked around for something to wipe the burning liquid off her tender skin.

“Get in the kitchen and run cold water on that before it burns,” Dorthea instructed, jumping to her feet. She hurried after Kimberly who was running for the kitchen.

Her hands full, Dorthea used her hip to shut the refrigerator door. “Here, let me see,” she said as she moved to the sink where Kimberly was bent over with her hand underneath the faucet. Straightening, Kimberly held her hand out to be examined. Using a clean dish cloth, Dorthea gently patted it dry. “It’s a little red but it doesn’t look like it burned. “This should help,” she said placing a wet wash cloth over the hand then she balanced a bag of ice on top of it. She carefully wrapped the towel around hand and ice bag.

“Thanks. That feels good.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It just wasn’t what I was expecting you to say,” Kimberly said as she put her uninjured hand atop the towel and ice to hold it place.

“What were you expecting?”

Kimberly turned so she could lean back against the edge of the sink. “Who knows? But that definitely wasn’t it. Care to explain yourself?”

“Sure. But, first, let me clean up the mess you made out there.”

“Your fault.”

“I know.” Dorthea pulled a fresh towel from a drawer. After soaking it in cold water, she wrung the excess liquid out then walked out of the kitchen. She returned in a few minutes carrying Kimberly’s cup. Placing the towel and cup in the sink, she opened a cupboard and removed a clean cup which she filled from the pot on the stove. “Come on. Let’s finish our coffee while I explain.” Kimberly followed her out of the kitchen.

When they were again settled on the couch, Dorthea continued. “The tornado struck fifty years ago. The little girl was four years old. I’m fifty-four.”

“So am I. That doesn’t make me that girl. What makes you think it makes you her?”

“This.” Dorthea stretched her right leg out on the cushion between them. She pointed to her ankle. “Look.”

Kimberly looked. They were difficult to distinguish from the surrounding skin but she could make out the matching scars on opposite sides of the joint. The scars were ragged as if the skin had been ripped open and then repaired with little concern for appearance. “So? You’re fifty-four and you have scars. So could a thousand other women. I have a few myself.”

Dorthea sighed, pulling her leg back. She absently rubbed the damaged skin. “When I read about that girl, I felt something. Something deep inside me. I’m not sure how to explain it. I just felt like that,” she pointed to the magazine, “was my story.”

Kimberly stood up. “It’s been a long night. I need more coffee if you expect me to wrap my mind around this.” She disappeared into the kitchen. When she reappeared she was awkwardly holding the coffee pot in her good hand while she struggled to hold the towel wrapped around her other in place with her forearm. A hot pad dangled from her mouth. She dropped the pad onto the coffee table then placed the pot on top of it. “Thanks,” she said when Dorthea took control of the pot and refilled their cups. “Okay,” she said resettling on the couch. “You are the same age as the girl and you have scars that could have been made by the type of injury she suffered.” She took a sip of coffee. “But you grew up here, in Rapid Falls. The tornado was down south in Cedarwood. Did Dragon Lady ever mention you had survived a tornado? Or that you had ever lived there?”

“No. But, then, she’s never told me anything about my past. To be honest, I don’t even know for sure that she’s my aunt.”

“What? Why wouldn’t she be your aunt? I’ve got to tell you, girl, you are not making much sense.”

Dorthea struggled to find the right words to explain herself. “Let me start from the beginning. Here’s what I know. Nothing. I know nothing. I don’t know who my parents are. In fact, other than Auntie Faye, I haven’t a clue about any of my family. I don’t know if I have any brothers or sisters. Or other aunts. Or uncles; or grandparents. I don’t know where I was born. I don’t know what happened to my parents. I don’t know why I was raised by my aunt. I simply don’t know.”

“She never told you.”

“No.”

“But you asked her?”

“So many times I lost count.”

“What did she say?”

“That I should be thankful I had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in. After a while, I just stopped asking. But I never stopped wondering. Who am I? Not Dorthea Sanborn— I know who that is. But who am I,” Dorthea jabbed a fisted hand against her chest over her heart. “Who is the lost person inside of me?”

“I never knew you felt this way,” Kimberly said quietly. “I mean, I knew you always wanted to know who your parents were. But you never told me you hurt so much.”

“You had your own problems,” Dorthea answered, just as quietly.

The women sat in silence for several minutes.

“I’m going to go see my aunt,” Dorthea finally said. “I’m going to ask her again. And this time, I’m going to demand the truth.”

“What if she won’t tell you?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. I have to know.”

Kimberly glanced at the window. She could see the darkness of the night was being chased away by the rising sun. “We better get to bed. We’ll need some sleep before we face Dragon Lady.”

Dorthea looked at Kimberly whose words had surprisingly brought a smile to her face. “Thanks.”

Kimberly shrugged. “Hate to think of you facing her alone.”

“No. Thank you for believing.”

“I’m not sure I do. I mean, you being that girl. But I do think you have a right to know, if that’s what you want.” Dorthea nodded. “But… Well, all I’m going to say is you better be prepared.”

“For what?”

“For anything. What she tells you, if she tells you, may not be what you want to hear.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kimberly unwrapped the towel from her hand then placed it and the icepack on the carpeted floor. Then she scooted over to sit beside Dorthea and took her hands into her own. “I know you’ve always had the dream of a house with a picket fence and a loving mother and father. But not everyone has that. As rotten as it was to spend your childhood with Dragon Lady, it wasn’t as bad as what some kids live with.”

Dorthea chuckled. “I think I’m old enough to know that real life isn’t always like an episode of Leave It To Beaver.”

“I know you are. But it can still hurt to find out your folks aren’t the Cleavers.”

Dorthea sucked in a deep breath then released it slowly as she nodded. “Okay. Point taken.”

“Good. Let’s get some sleep before we go see Dragon Lady.”

Dorthea looked at her watch as the bus pulled away from the curb. “It’s almost two,” she told Kimberly. “I hope she isn’t sleeping.”

“If she is, we’ll wake her up.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Kimberly grinned and nodded. Dorthea groaned. “Come on,” she said, tugging her smirking friend toward the steps leading from the sidewalk up to the landing at the entrance of the nursing home. “I know you don’t like her, but can you try to be nice.”

Climbing the steps, Kimberly studied the decrepit building. “This place is creepy. No wonder Dragon Lady likes it.”

“Stop that.”

Kimberly pulled the glass entry door open. “I’ll be good,” she said then followed Dorthea inside.

A rather stout woman dressed in a nurse’s uniform, its seams bulging, looked up when the women entered the lobby. “Goodness, we weren’t expecting you today.” She was sitting behind a counter that formed a large circle in the middle of the room.

The counter was four feet high and shielded a second wider work counter a foot lower. In the center of the circle was a cabinet, also four feet high and also circular shaped. The cabinet was split into two levels; the top consisted of individual cubbies for the three-ring notebooks containing the medical records and personal information of each resident. The lower section was divided into large compartments where other supplies were stored behind locking doors. Several wheeled chairs and stools were haphazardly scattered about the area, ready for use when needed.

“We don’t get many visitors this late in the day.”

Dorthea walked up to the counter to stand opposite the nurse who had made no attempt to stand. “I wasn’t expecting this either, Helen.” She picked a pen out of a plastic container resting in a hole drilled into the counter’s surface and wrote her name in the guest book. “Something came up that I need to talk to my aunt about.” Dorthea replaced the pen. “Do you know if she’s awake?”

“She was last time I made my rounds.” Helen glanced up at the wall clock hanging over the lobby door. “But that was almost an hour ago. If you wanted her awake, you should have called. I can’t be keeping them up if there’s no reason to. I’ve got plenty to be doing without worrying about unexpected visitations.”

Dorthea ignored the complaint. “How is she today?”

“Same as always. Did you sign both of you in?” Helen asked, eyeing Kimberly who was waiting near the beginning of the hallway that led to the residents’ rooms. Dorthea nodded. “You know how Mr. Galing is. Wants all visitors signed in. That way we know who comes and when.” Her eyes darted again to where Kimberly stood. “And who the trouble-makers are.”

“We won’t bother you anymore,” Dorthea said as she turned away from the counter. Letting the nurse return to the paperback book slipped under a pile of papers while she had signed the guest book.

“Witch,” Kimberly muttered under her breath when Dorthea joined her.

“Stop it,” Dorthea hissed.

“Hasn’t checked on her for an hour,” Kimberly continued, unheeding the warning. “Probably hasn’t lifted her fat butt off that chair for…” Dorthea had taken a few steps down the hall when she spun around so quickly Kimberly almost plowed into her. “Hey, watch it.”

Dorthea planted her feet, refusing to give ground as her friend tried to move past her. “Kim, please. I’m having a hard enough time as it is. Can you please just can the comments? For today? For me?”

Kimberly hung her head. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“I know Helen is as lazy as they come and she has the personality of a—”

“Stuffed cat?” Kim smirked.

Dorthea shook her head. “Probably… but I’m not real sure if stuff cats have personalities.”

“My point, exactly.”

“I really don’t need any more problems today. It’s going to be hard enough to talk to Aunt Faye about this. I don’t need Nurse Ratched getting into one of her I’m going to make your life miserable moods, like the last time you were here.”

“That wasn’t my fault.”

“You told her to get off her fat ass and earn her paycheck.”

“She refused to check on that woman in the room next to your aunt’s. The way the poor lady was groaning, I thought for sure she was dying.”

“I know. Okay, we agree she’s a pain in the butt but she’s not the only nurse here. And the other ones are really nice. Anyway, please, don’t piss her off today.” Kim nodded. “Good. Come on.”

Dorthea waited impatiently. She was sitting in the room’s only chair while Kimberly had been relegated to stand on the opposite side of the room in the space between the bed and the dressing bureau. They were waiting for Faye to finish with the magazine she insisted she was reading when they had barged into her room.

Kimberly studied Faye, recognizing none of Dorthea in her aunt’s features. While Faye had been a short woman even before arthritis had bent her spine, Dorthea stood just shy of six feet. Faye’s auburn hair, once thick and curly, had thinned over the years and now streaks of silver highlighted the patches that remained. Dorthea had sandy blonde hair that refused to hold a curl no matter how much time was spent in curlers. Faye’s face was oval with deep green eyes, a roman nose, and a mouth formed of tightly drawn lips that rarely smiled. Dorthea’s face was round with soft, sky blue eyes, a button nose and a full mouth that seemed more comfortable smiling than not.

Faye suddenly tossed the magazine aside. “Well, what is it? Since you won’t leave me in peace, tell me what you want.”

“I have some questions,” Dorthea said softly. “And I would very much like for you to answer them.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Questions about my past. About who I am.”

Faye glared at Dorthea. “We’ve been through those. I told you—”

“I know what you said before,” Dorthea injected, keeping her voice calm. “But I want the truth this time.”

“Are you saying I lied to you—”

“I’m saying I want you to tell me what you know.”

Faye grunted and reached for the discarded magazine. “Already did.” Kimberly snatched the magazine off the bed. “Give that to me.”

Kimberly tossed the magazine onto the dressing bureau. “No,” she said, punching her fists into the mattress and bending at the waist to glare into Faye’s eyes. “Not until you hear her out. Not until you tell her what she needs to know.”

Faye turned to Dorthea. “I don’t want her here.”

Dorthea bit her lower lip. She looked at Kimberly who had straightened back up and was leaning against the wall. She appeared relaxed but she noticed her jaws were clinched and her eyes gazed back at her, a mixture of determination and doubt clouding them. She turned to her aunt. “She stays.”

Faye glowered but said nothing as she fell back against her pillows, her eyes darting from Dorthea to Kimberly and back.

“Who am I? Who were parents? Why are you the one who raised me? What happened?” The questions tumbled out of her, stopping only when she felt a gentle hand placed on her shoulder.

“Give her a chance to answer.”

Dorthea looked up to find Kimberly had somehow walked around the bed without her noticing.

Faye watched the exchange with disinterest. “Seems a woman your age should know your name by now.”

“I know my name,” Dorthea replied. “At least, I know the name you gave me.”

“Didn’t give you nothin’. It’s the name you came to me with.”

“I came to you… From where?”

“It was a long time ago. It don’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me.”

Faye looked at Dorthea. Then she shifted her gaze up to Kimberly. Then she squirmed down under the covers and rolled onto her side, leaving them to stare at her back. “Happened long time ago. I don’t remember,” she said before pulling the blanket over her head.

Dorthea sat for several minutes then she slowly pushed herself up from the chair. “I’m going to find out, Auntie Faye,” she said in a voice barely loud enough to be heard. “I don’t know how but I’m going to find out.”

CHAPTER SIX

Dorthea waited for the forklift operator to back the ungainly machine away from her work station—an assigned spot on the factory’s concrete floor where she stood eight hours a day loading pressure cooker parts onto a pair of conveyer belts. She worked in the four feet of space between the conveyers and two large wire baskets-- one holding unfinished lids and one holding the round pots.

Even when empty, the metal baskets were heavy and required a forklift to move them. Four feet square and three feet deep, they were woven out of wire as thick as her pinkie finger. It was Dorthea’s job to remove the lids and pots from the baskets and place them on the conveyers, filling any gaps. If she didn’t keep the belts supplied with the required parts, the assembly department would have problems further down the line. And then she would have problems from the shift supervisor.

As soon as the forklift retreated to a safe distance, Dorthea bent over the baskets, which had been conveniently placed side-by-side, and pulled out a lid and pot. She turned around, placing them on the correct conveyer belts then turned back to retrieve more. The belts were arranged one above the other with the upper belt carrying lids and the lower carrying the cooker pots.

It was mind-numbing work and she did what she could to keep her brain focused on anything but the slow moving hands of a clock hanging on the wall several feet from her work station. She thought again of her Aunt’s stubborn refusals to answer her questions; having visited Faye three more times since the futile attempt when Kimberly accompanied her. Each visit had ended with her aunt feigning exhaustion.

“There has to be a way,” Dorthea said out loud, the noise of the conveyer belts drowning out her words. While she moved from baskets to conveyers than back to the baskets in an endless cycle, she visualized different scenarios where she could force the answers from her Aunt; different ways of forming her questions; different ways of pleading with the stubborn woman. But each ended the same—her aunt rolling over and refusing to look at her; let alone, speak to her.

Lost in her thoughts, Dorthea was startled by the clanging of the shift bell. Changing her focus to her surroundings, she was surprised to see her replacement walking toward her. ‘Thank goodness,’ she thought as a smile replaced the troubled look that had settled on her face during her silent deliberations. She pulled at her thick work gloves to remove them from her hands.

“You look happy to see me,” a woman in her forties shouted, nearing the work station. The commotion of the conveyers, the fork lifts, and other equipment in the factory made speaking in normal tones impossible except for each shift’s half hour lunch break when the machinery was shut down for a quick inspection by the maintenance department.

“Hi, Char. I am happy to see you. But I’m happier to be hearing that bell. It snuck up on me today.”

Moving to take Dorthea’s spot on the floor, Char pulled on her own pair of gloves. “Really? Usually, you watch the clock so close you’ve got your gloves off and are ready to leave before I even get a chance to say hello.”

“I know. But I’ve been thinking about something today. I guess the time just got away from me.”

Char grinned. “Oh? Want to share his name?”

Dorthea laughed. “Nothing like that.”

“Too bad. Here I was hoping you finally decided to get yourself a man. By the way, the offer to join my bowling league is still open. I know you’d fit right in with the fellas on my team.”

“Thanks, but bowling just isn’t my game.”

“Okay. Guess we’re stuck with my sister for another season. Good thing it’s a handicap league,” Char shouted, bending over the baskets. “Geez, did they speed this thing up today?” she asked when she was unable to fill a pair of empty spots on one of the belts.

“Gladys said they added another assembly team up front. She said we’re behind on some of the holiday orders.”

“The holidays? They’re six months away.”

Dorthea shrugged. “You know how they are.” She reached into one of the baskets, pulling three lids out then placing them on a belt. Grinning mischievously, she told Char, “That should help you out.”

“Gee, thanks. Want to stay and help a little longer?”

“No. I’m sure you can handle it all by yourself,” Dorthea said as she walked away. “See you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

Char gave a little wave before reaching into the baskets.

Dorthea walked through the employee gate of the chain-link fence that separated the sidewalk from the factory’s parking lot. Instead of walking to the street where city buses lined the curb, she stepped off to the side clearing the way for those employees behind her. Leaning against the fence, she absently chewed her lower lip while considering possible options for obtaining the information she so desperately wanted from her disobliging aunt. Then, abruptly, she pushed off the fence and walked across the sidewalk to take her place in line behind passengers waiting to board one of the buses. It took just a few minutes for it to be her to turn to climb the steps onto the bus and pay her fare. She found an available seat near the rear of the bus and slid onto the hard unpadded bench just as the bus pulled away from the curb.

Half an hour later, the bus stopped in front of a three story brick building. Dorthea exited through the rear door then hurried across the sidewalk to a flight of stairs half as wide as the building itself. She forced her aching legs up the wide steps to the building’s entry. Not hesitating when she reached the landing, she walked to the massive oak doors and pulled one open.

Dorthea was familiar with the layout of the building, having been a regular visitor since she was a child. As she walked purposely across the carpeted lobby, her face crinkled up as the expected unpleasant aroma of old books and stagnated air assailed her nose. Laughing at herself, she reached up to rub her nose and rid it of the ever present odor that permeated the Rapid Falls public library. ‘You’d think I’d be used to that obnoxious smell. After all, I’ve been coming to this old place since I was a child.’ A frown quickly replaced the smile. ‘How young was I? ‘Let me see… I remember coming here when I was… in second grade? Yes, Mrs. Marigold was my teacher that year. That would have made me… six? No, seven. Hmmm. What about before then?’

“Good afternoon, Dorthea.” A woman sitting behind a long oak desk asked, startling Dorthea out of her thoughts. “Looking for something for the weekend?”

“Um… What? Oh, yes… I mean, no.” Dorthea pressed her lips together to stop her unintelligent stuttering. She sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly to give herself time to gather her wits. “Sorry, Jo,” she said with an apologetic smile. “I was lost in thought. Let me try again. I was wondering… Well, this may be an odd request but I was hoping that the library might have some information on tornados.”

“Of course. We have lots of books in the science—”

“No. I’m sorry, I should have said on specific tornados.”

“A recent event?”

“This one happened around nineteen thirty eight in the southern part of the state.”

“Goodness. Why do you want to know about something that long ago?”

“I read an article recently and I... Well, I would like to learn more.”

“Let me think… I believe we do have the Rapid Falls Herald from back then. Isn’t that right, Audry?” Jo asked a woman standing a few feet away.

Audry marked her place in the catalog drawer she had been looking through and pulled open another drawer. Her fingers walked across the top of the drawer’s three by five note cards, flipping them forward as she sought the proper section. Her fingers stopped and she withdrew a card from the drawer. “Yes. We have the daily issues back to nineteen twenty-nine.” She replaced the card and pushed the drawer shut. “They’re in the archive room.”

“That would be a good place to start,” Jo told Dorthea, who nodded approvingly. “Let me get the key and I’ll meet you at the door. While you go through those, I’ll see what else I can dig up.”

“Thanks, Jo. I appreciate that.”

The librarian smiled. “That’s what we’re here for. I’ll be there in a jif.”

Kimberly twisted in her chair just enough to see the clock on the far side of the room. “Thank goodness. Ten more minutes and I’ll be out of here. Is it just me or has this been a long day?” she asked the other secretary in the office, keeping her eyes focused on a sheet of paper resting on a typing stand beside her keyboard.

“It’s not just you. I feel like it’s been forever since lunch. I can’t wait to get out of these damn high heels.”

“You’re not the only one.”

“Wonder what the chances of Mrs. Kapin being too busy to come back before five?”

Kimberly laughed. “Oh, Marge,” she said. “Does a snow ball’s chance in hell answer that question?”

Marge chuckled. “Yes. I suppose it would be too much to think we could end a day without her telling us it was time to leave.”

The women shared an office with the company president’s administrative assistant. Officially, their positions were secretaries for the pair of vice-presidents but, in truth, they did the biding of the other woman who spent a good deal of her time acting important while Kimberly and Marge did her job.

Marge caught movement in the hallway outside the office door. “Watch out. Kapin is headed this way.”

Kimberly saved the document she had been working on then hit the print button. She stood to retrieve the printed copy from the dot-matrix printer in the corner of the room.

A woman dressed in an efficient business suit of matching skirt and jacket walked into the room carrying a file folder. “Miss Chadwick, I know it’s late but Mr. Martin has requested that this be typed as quickly as possible,” she said placing the folder on Kimberly’s desk.

Frowning, Kimberly returned to her desk. Sitting down, she pulled a pen out of her desk drawer and wrote on a note on the copy. Only then did she pick up the new folder. “Mrs. Kapin, it’s almost five,” she said as she opened the folder. “Can’t he have someone from his own department type this?”

“Mr. Martin may be in the Sales Department but a client requires it by six and you are the fastest typist in the office.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t—”

“I assured Mr. Martin that it would be done. He has authorized overtime.”

Kimberly looked at the clock while she mentally calculated the amount of extra pay. “All right. Let me finish this,” she said dropping the folder onto her desk. “Some of the numbers don’t balance and I need to ask Mr. Jackson about it.”

“That can wait for Monday.” Mrs. Kapin said, leaning across the desk and tapping the folder. “This can’t,” Kimberly sighed and nodded causing Mrs. Kapin to smile. “Put it on Mr. Martin’s desk when you’re finished.” She crossed the room to her desk. After shutting down her computer, she pulled her purse from the bottom drawer then locked the desk. “Remember to place your unfinished projects in your desk drawers,” she said as she turned for the door. “Good night.”

“Bitch,” Marge muttered after the haughty woman had left the office. “Hey, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“Yes. And I’m not looking forward to explaining why I’m late.”

“You could have said no and let her type it herself. I’m sure she probably told Mr. Martin she would.”

“I know. But I really can’t say no to the extra money.”

“That, my dear, is why you need a husband.”

“You sound like Robert.”

“So, say yes to him and you can become a kept woman.”

“Right… house, picket fence, two point five children…”

“Exactly.”

“Except he thinks I should keep working.”

Marge rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

Kimberly glanced at the clock and sighed. “I better get busy if I plan to get out of here tonight.”

Marge smiled sympathetically. “Sorry, kiddo. I hope it doesn’t take too long,” she said locking her desk then standing. “At least, you still have the weekend. Try to do something fun.”

“Thanks. See you Monday.” Kimberly pulled the papers out of the folder and placed them onto the typing stand. She adjusted the stand so she could more easily read the poorly scripted writing. “I wish they’d send Mr. Martin to a penmanship class,” she muttered as she opened a new WordPerfect file and began typing.

Dorthea stood in front of the door to the library’s archival records. Fidgeting, she shifted from one foot to the other as she impatiently waited for the librarian to join her. She stilled when she saw Jo walk around the end of a row of bookshelves and head toward her carrying a shoelace looped through the notch in the top of a key. The ends of the shoelace were knotted together to keep the key from slipping free. “Okay, let’s see what we can find,” Jo said, inserting the key into the door’s lock. Pushing the door open, she reached for the light switch.

Dorthea followed the librarian, squinting against the harsh overhead lights that filled the room. The room was rectangular with specially built shelves and cabinets lining each of the walls. The center of the room was occupied by a table four feet wide and ten feet long; and a pair of chairs were tucked under the ends of the table.

“Let’s see… what year was it?”

“Nineteen thirty eight.” Dorthea watched as Jo ran her hand along a series of narrow doors in one of the cabinets. “This should be it,” she said pulling one of the doors open. Carefully, she slid out a wooden rack consisting of several dowels spaced two inches apart and secured to sturdy end sections. Issues of the Rapid Falls Herald hung from the dowels. “The papers weren’t very big back then so each dowel holds a full week of issues,” Jo explained. “They’re in order… January in here and December here,” she said pointing to the adjoining door. “Please keep them that way.” When Dorthea nodded, she continued. “Then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll check back in an hour if I don’t see you before then.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“So do I,” Dorthea said as Jo walked out of the room. Then she turned to face the rack of newspapers. “Let’s see, April… May…,” she murmured lifting a group of papers off a dowel near the bottom of the rack. She carried the papers to the table and laid them out flat. Then she pulled a chair around from the end of the table and sat down. “Let’s hope you’re more informative than Auntie Faye,” she whispered, her eyes already scanning down the front page of the top issue before she had settled on the chair.

Kimberly slipped into Mr. Martin’s office. ‘Good, he’s not here. Probably went for coffee,’ she thought as she hurried across the office to the desk pushed against the wall of floor to ceiling windows. ‘Now, if I can just get out of here before he gets back and starts asking for revisions.’ She placed the folder with the original handwritten pages and the new typed copy on the desk. Then she set the floppy disk on top of the folder and turned to retrace her steps to the door. She had already turned off her computer and locked her desk so all she needed to make a clean getaway was get out the door, down the hallway, and onto the elevator.

As Dorthea walked along the sidewalk toward her apartment building, her hand dropped to the pocket of her purse where she had carefully tucked the pages of copies made at the library. Assured that the papers had not dislodged and fallen free, she patted her purse and quickened her steps. Reaching the gate, she unlatched it then pushed it open. After closing the gate and making sure it was securely latched, she turned around to walk along the path to the front entrance. She was surprised to see Thomas sitting on a bench in the shadows cast by a tall cedar tree.

“Good evening, Dorthea,” Thomas greeted her forlornly.

“Evening, Thomas. I thought you and Kimberly were going out,” Dorthea remarked stopping beside the bench.

“So did I. She’s not here.”

“Mrs. Kaplan probably came up with another last minute project for her to do. Come on in. I need a cup of coffee and you look like you could use one too.” Thomas stood and followed Dorthea toward the building’s entrance. He jogged up the steps, reaching them before Dorthea and pulled open the door into the lobby. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at her roommate’s unofficial fiancée show of chivalry.

They walked in uncomfortable silence across the lobby and down the hallway to the apartment door. Dorthea slipped the key into the lock and turned the knob. “Something on your mind, Thomas?” she asked the obviously downhearted man.

Thomas waited until they had entered the apartment before responding. “I don’t think Kimmy wants to marry me.”

“Sit down.” While Thomas collapsed onto the couch with an audible thud, Dorthea, not too surprised by his comment, continued into her bedroom and tossed her purse onto her bed. She took the time to remove her shoes before heading back into the sitting room. “Let me put the water on. Or, would you prefer something stronger?”

“Coffee’s okay.”

“Be right back.” Dorthea glanced at the clock as she entered the kitchen and frowned seeing it was almost two hours later than Kimberly normally arrived home from work. Opening the refrigerator, she retrieved the can of drip coffee. She made short work of filling the pot with cold water and measuring the correct amount of grounds into the filter before plugging in the pot and leaving it to brew. Opening a cupboard above the stove top, she pulled out a box. She thought about using a plate but decided it wasn’t necessary and left the kitchen. “Sorry, but I’m starving,” she said dropping onto the couch and popping a cookie into her mouth. She offered the cookies to Thomas. “Help yourself,” she mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

Thomas took one of the lemon sandwich cookies and bit off half of it. “Well?” he said after swallowing.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Dorthea said, setting the box of cookies on the couch between them.

“You’re her best friend. She must have said something to you.”

Dorthea nibbled on another cookie. “I’m sorry, Thomas, but she hasn’t.” She popped the remaining part of the cookie into her mouth and chewed.

“Okay. Then give me your gut feeling.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Coffee’s ready. Give me a sec.” Thomas grabbed a handful of cookies as Dorthea disappeared into the kitchen. He was reaching for a second handful when she reappeared carrying the coffee pot and two cups. “Maybe I should get another box of those,” she said as she sat on the edge of the couch and filled the cups.

“No. I can’t eat any more. I still have to take Kimmy to dinner,” Thomas said, dipping a cookie into his coffee. “So, what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing.”

“Obviously, there must be. What does she want that I’m not giving her?”

“Really, I don’t think there is.”

“Then why won’t she give me an answer?”

Dorthea sipped from her cup. “I don’t think she knows.”

“Uh?”

“Kimberly is looking for something. And, no, I don’t know what it is,” Dorthea said before Thomas could ask. “But the problem is that I don’t think she knows either. I think she’s still searching—”

“That doesn’t make sense. Kimmy’s a little old to be trying to find herself, don’t you think?”

Dorthea took a moment to study Thomas. His face was contorted into a scowl that conveyed both anger and hurt. “I think Kimberly does love you, Thomas. And I can’t say that about most of her past boyfriends. But, I just don’t believe that’s enough for her. I think she wants more.”

“More? What more can she want besides love?”

“Maybe for you to respect her… as a person.”

“I do respect her.”

“Then why do you insist on calling her Kimmy? You know she doesn’t like it.”

Thomas looked surprised by the declaration. “It’s just a nickname,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders.

Dorthea turned to the door when she heard the knob turn. She felt Thomas shifting positions as he prepared to stand and she reached out placing her hand on his arm. “Pick another one,” she said turning back to face him. “If you love her, give her that much.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Barefoot, Dorthea padded across the linoleum kitchen floor carrying a bowl, coffee cup, and spoon to the table next to the window. Then she walked to the cupboard where the boxes of breakfast cereal were kept. After considering her options, she pulled the box of Trix off the shelf and closed the cupboard. She walked to the refrigerator and retrieved a gallon jug of milk then carried it and the cereal to the table. She settled onto one of the pair of chairs placed at opposite ends of the table. She poured cereal into her bowl and added milk. Then she filled her coffee cup from the pot that had been set on the table earlier and left to brew, an electrical outlet under the window making it convenient to plug in the pot. She shifted in the chair then lifted a spoonful of Trix to her mouth.

The sound of movement caught her attention and she looked toward the kitchen door. “You’re up early,” she said when a disheveled Kimberly shuffled into view still wearing her nightgown.

Kimberly moved into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep.” She lifted a coffee cup off the rack on the counter and carried it to the table where she sat on the chair opposite Dorthea. “Please,” she said sliding the cup across the table.

Dorthea willingly filled the cup with steaming coffee. “How was dinner?”

Kimberly took a sip before answering. “Awkward.”

“How so?” Dorthea asked as she stood. She walked to the cupboard and retrieved a second bowl then opened the silverware drawer and picked a spoon from it. “You want something else?” she asked pulling open the cupboard door to reveal the various boxes of cereal.

“Trix are fine.”

Dorthea placed the bowl and spoon in front of Kimberly. “Dinner?”

“He said I needed to give him an answer,” Kimberly said as she pulled the box of cereal across the table.

“You do,” Dorthea said as she returned to her chair and breakfast.

Kimberly filled her bowl with cereal and added milk. “I did.”

“Oh?”

“I said no.”

Dorthea waited, sipping from her coffee cup.

Kimberly took a mouthful of cereal and chewed. “He kept asking why,” she added after swallowing.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you tell him?”

Kimberly sighed as she dipped her spoon into her bowl. “It just didn’t feel right.”

“Of course,” Dorthea murmured.

Kimberly raised her eyes and looked across the table at her best friend. “Of course,” she whispered.

Several minutes passed quietly as the women ate their breakfast and pondered their own thoughts.

“Thomas said you got home late yourself last night,” Kimberly finally broke the silence. Dorthea nodded. “Work late?”

“Went to the library. I decided that if Aunt Faye won’t respond to my questions, I’ll find the answers another way. I looked up the issues of the Herald from the time of the tornado.”

“Oh?”

“And Jo found some mentions of the tornado in a copy of books.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, the information in the Herald was rather sketchy. Mostly information on how many houses were destroyed or damaged; and estimated number of victims.”

“Estimated?”

“Seems record keeping back then wasn’t too good. And the survivors were taken to hospitals all over that part of the state. Many were treated and released with little information being taken from them. The hospitals were too overwhelmed to worry about it.”

“Too bad.”

“But I did find a reference to a list of survivors posted in the Kalona paper.”

“Anyone named Sanborn?”

“I don’t know. It just said there was a list, it didn’t give the list.”

“Damn. So now what?”

Dorthea refilled their coffee cups. “I want to go to Kalona.”

“What for?”

“The library didn’t have any of the Kalona newspaper in its archives. I want to go and see if I can find the issue with the survivor list.”

“Are you sure? I mean… well…”

“I know this must sound stupid to you, but I have to know. I just have to know if I’m that little girl.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid.”

“Crazy, then.”

Kimberly smiled. “Just a little.” Dorthea shrugged then the hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “I think I understand what you’re feeling. When do you plan to go? And how? Kalona is a couple hundred miles from here.”

“By bus, I guess. And as soon as I can arrange some time off. I’m going to talk to my supervisor first thing Monday. I’ve got vacation time coming but they’re in a big push to get caught up on Christmas orders so I’m not sure if they’ll let me go right now.”

“You load an assembly line. How hard can it be to find somebody to fill in for a few days?”

Dorthea dropped her eyes to her empty bowl. “It’s a good job, Kim.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Dorthea said dejectedly. “It’s not important like your job.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s true. I load an assembly line. Something they could train a monkey to do.”

Kimberly pushed up from her chair and moved to stand next to Dorthea who sat looking into her empty bowl. She knelt by her friend’s chair and placed a hand on her thigh. “Honey, I didn’t mean it that way,” she said quietly. “I know you work hard. God knows, I don’t think I could have stayed at that factory as long as you have. All I meant was—”

Dorthea turned to look into Kimberly’s eyes and was surprised at the level of tenderness reflecting back at her. She attempted a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay. I sometimes wonder why I’ve stuck it out as long as I have.”

“The great perks,” Kimberly offered, trying to lighten the sullen mood in the room.

Dorthea laughed. “Yes, that must be it. Let’s see, perks… I get to stand on my feet for eight hours a day loading heavy pieces of metal onto nonstop conveyer belts. It’s dirty, noisy, smelly...”

“But you get paid well.”

“If you consider I make half what you do.” Dorthea frowned. “If it wasn’t for you I couldn’t even afford this apartment. You pay more than half of the rent and the bills.”

“Hush. I’ve told you it doesn’t matter.”

Dorthea scooted around in her chair so she could face Kimberly. “Is that why?”

“What?”

“Is that why you told Thomas no? And the others?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you tell them no because you knew if you left, I’d have to give this up? Tell me the truth… Are you doing this just to make sure I’m okay? Because if you are—”

“I’m not,” Kimberly said as she abruptly pushed herself upright but remained standing in front of Dorthea and looked over her head to the courtyard through the window. “It’s not you. I mean, yes, I do think about what would happen to you if I got married. But that’s not why I told Thomas no. It just… I don’t know why but he just isn’t right for me.”

Dorthea gently placed a hand on Kimberly’s hip and tilted her head upward. “Kim, look at me,” she said quietly then waited until her friend complied. “I’ll be fine. I may have to find a new place or, maybe, get a new roommate, but I’ll be fine. Please, don’t pass up your chance at happiness because you’re concerned for me,” she said, letting her hand drop back into her lap.

Kimberly started to speak then stopped. After a moment, she tried again. “I wish I could claim to be that noble,” she said. “But I wouldn’t do that. I do worry about you, Dorthea. But, believe me, if the right guy came along, I wouldn’t let my concern for you outweigh my happiness.” She laughed nervously. “Oh, that sounds bad.”

“No. It sounds right. Now, finish your breakfast so I can show you what I found at the library.”

“It does seem like a visit to Kalona is the next logical step,” Kimberly said as she gathered up the pages spread over her lap. She had changed into a comfortable pair of light blue shorts and pull-on shirt of matching color. She and Dorthea were sitting on the couch discussing the information uncovered at the library. “And to Cedarwood, since it’s not that far from Kalona. Who knows? Maybe someone still lives in the neighborhood and could answer some questions.” She handed the stack of papers back to Dorthea.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Dorthea said as she neatly tucked the papers into a folder for safe-keeping. “I checked the bus schedules and, with all the stops it makes, it will take almost ten hours to get to Kalona.”

“Too bad we don’t have a car. You could drive it in half that time.”

“I know. As it is, I figure a day to get there, a day in Kalona, a day in Cedarwood, and a day back. That means 3 nights in motels. Good thing, I’ve got some savings. I’ll have to skimp on food but I’ll just pack some snacks.”

“You can’t go four days without eating.”

“Sure, I can. Besides, it’s not like I can’t afford to lose a couple of pounds.”

Kimberly settled back against the couch. “When do you think you’ll go?”

“I’m going to ask Mr. Hanson for Thursday and Friday off.”

“Think he’ll go for that?”

“No. But I think he’ll say if I help work through this push to fill orders, he’ll let me go in a couple of weeks.”

“Can you wait that long?”

“I really don’t have a choice. But, if that happens, I’ll have time to put in some overtime.” She grinned. “Then I won’t have to starve when I’m gone.”

Kimberly laughed. “I guess that would be a good thing. Hey, you have any plans for today?”

“Not really. The apartment needs vacuuming.”

Never one to worry about housework, Kimberly brushed off the comment. “That can wait. What say we go to the park? It’s a nice day and I, for one, could use some fresh air.”

“That does sound good.” Dorthea looked into the kitchen where the wall clock was just visible from where they sat. “If we hurry, we can make the next bus.”

“It’s not that far. How about we walk?”

“Okay. I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

The park was an oasis in the middle of Rapid Falls. Small groves of cedar trees broke up the park’s large expanses of grass covered fields. In the center of the park, a lake, large enough for paddle boats and canoes, encircled an island covered in thickets of native grasses. The island, off limits to the town’s residents, was home to several pairs nesting ducks. A system of trails weaved about the park providing a variety of paths for a leisurely walk.

“We should have brought some bread for the ducks,” Dorthea said as they sauntered along the path that circled the lake.

Kimberly smiled at a trio of ducks, hoping for a handout, paddling alongside them. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think about doing that. Guess it’s just been so long since we’ve come here…”

“It has, hasn’t it?”

Dorthea nodded when Kimberly turned away from the ducks.

“Guess that’s my fault.”

“You had Thomas. I could have come by myself.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It’s not the same,” Dorthea said quietly.

Kimberly sighed. They had been coming to the park for years, starting shortly after they had met in high school. The park was somewhere they could escape the troubles that awaited them at home and, even after they moved out on their own, it was a place they went to rejuvenate bruised spirits after a hard day at work or the breakup of a relationship. “I’ve missed this,” she said emphatically after several steps.

“Missed what?”

“This,” Kimberly repeated, sweeping her arms around the park. “Enjoying a nice walk; some good conversation—” A loud quack interrupted her and she laughed. “And you, too,” she told the irritated mallard. “I promise, next time we’ll bring bread.”

“Didn’t you take walks with Thomas?”

“Yes. Well… Not like this. He was always in a hurry to get to the end. Point A to point B; straight line; no detours; no dawdling.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t hmm me. He had his good points. Casual walks just weren’t one of them.”

“No?”

“He thought he was too old to be wasting time. Make a plan and get it done. It’s surprising he held on to me for as long as he did.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He wanted to get married then start saving as much as we could for retirement. That’s why he wanted me to keep working.”

“No family?”

“He said we were too old to start a family. And children cost too much.”

“Well, I guess, you could say he was right on both counts.”

“I suppose…”

“But?”

Kimberly stopped and stared down at a stone in the middle of the path. With a quick kick, she sent the pebble flying towards the lake where it plopped into the water ten feet from the shore.

“Ducks aren’t going to like you if you keep doing that,” Dorthea said as a half dozen of the birds flapped their wings and squawked in protest.

“It wasn’t even close to them,” Kimberly protested before continuing down the path.

“But?” Dorthea prodded.

“Did you ever want children?” Kimberly turned the focus of the questioning to her friend.

“Yes… and no. Yes, because I think all women want to be mothers. And I’ll admit that I wanted to know what that felt like. But… To be honest, Aunt Faye wasn’t that good of a role model. I would hate to have picked up her mothering skills.”

“You mean, the lack of…”

“Yeah. Anyway, I never wanted a child to go through the childhood I did.” Dorthea pointed up into a nearby tree. “Look,” she whispered, “a hawk.”

Kimberly looked to where her friend was pointing. She smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Sure is.”

They watched until the hawk spread its wings and lifted off its perch. With strong wings beating, it rose effortless into the sky and glided across the lake where it disappeared into one of the cedar groves.

“Think it has duck on its mind for dinner?” Kimberly asked.

“Most likely, but I’m not going to think about that.”

“Good idea.”

“What about you?”

Kimberly shook her head. “No. I’m more a chicken gal.”

Dorthea laughed and playfully swatted her arm. “No, not that, silly. Did you ever want children?”

“Actually, yes,” Kimberly replied, seriously. “I always wanted to give a child what I never had— a happy home to grow up in. But, I guess Thomas was right about that, I’m too old now to start a family.”

Dorthea sighed and thought about their observations. Then she moved closer to Kimberly and slipped an arm around her best friend’s. “But, you know what?” she asked brightly. When Kimberly shook her head, she continued. “We may be in our fifties but I still have a lot of life left in me. And I’ll be damned if I’m not going to enjoy it. What do you say we go find us a store and bring some bread back for the ducks?”

Kimberly grinned. “You’re on.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I heard Mr. Martin thanking Mrs. Kapin for the work you did Friday night,” Marge told Kimberly as they sat at their desks enjoying the cups of steaming coffee they had just carried from the break room. “He was telling her what a wonderful job she did reading his handwriting and how much he appreciated her staying late.”

“Oh?”

“And she just let him believe she had done it. She never once told him it was you who stayed late.”

“No surprise there.”

“I almost told him myself.”

“Why?”

“Because someone around here needs to know the truth.”

“We know. And she knows.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“Because, at the end of the week, I get paid the same whether I do my work or hers. I don’t see any reason to blow a gasket over something I can’t change. Besides, if I tried, she would make my life miserably. And, probably, yours, too.”

Marge nodded and brought up the spreadsheet file she had been working on. “I’m sure of that,” she agreed. “Well, break is over. Time to get back to work.”

Kimberly glanced at the clock. “Still a few minutes. What’s the rush.”

“I’ve got to get these budgets done by ten. Big financial meeting this afternoon and they’re expecting these to be updated.”

“Oh, good, you’re back from break,” Mrs. Kapin said as she rushed into the room. “Budgets?” she asked.

“Working on them,” Marge replied without raising her eyes from her work.

“Oh, I thought they’d be done by now.”

Marge looked up at the woman. “If two of us had been working on them, they probably would be…”

“Well, why didn’t you ask Kimberly to help you then?” Kapin asked, missing Marge’s point.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kapin,” Kimberly interjected before Marge said something she might regret—they both might regret. “But Mr. Jackson insisted I finish the project he expected completed on Friday. He wasn’t happy it had been put aside.”

“I’ll have a word with him. He must understand that other priorities do arise from time to time. Now, please, hurry up and finish so you can help Marge. She isn’t as quick as you on these computers.” And with that, Kapin turned and left the office.

“I’ll give her quick…” Marge snarled as Kimberly silently giggled. “At least, I know how to turn the damn thing on; which is more that she knows most days.”

“Oh, come on, give her a break. You know the last time she called IT to complain really wasn’t her fault.”

Marge glared. “I suppose you could blame it on the cleaning crew. But you’d think she would have checked a few things out before making such a big fuss. The poor guys in IT were ready to install a new computer until they figured out hers was just unplugged.”

Kimberly laughed. “I think that’s the last time this office has been vacuumed.”

Marge chuckled. “I think you may be right. Do you think she’ll talk to Mr. Jackson?”

“No.”

Marge shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Give me another half hour and I’ll be done with this,” Kimberly said as she turned back to her keyboard.

“That’s okay. I’m almost finished. I just didn’t want the old witch to know it. I should have the budgets down to the print shop in plenty of time for the copies to be made and delivered to the conference room. I may just wait and deliver them myself so Kapin can’t take the credit.”

Kimberly grinned. “You go, girl. But if you want help… After all, you aren’t too quick—” She ducked when a paper clip whizzed over her head.

“Was that quick enough for you?”

“Obviously not, you missed.”

Dorthea decided to wait until after the end of her shift to talk to her supervisor. Before going to look for him, she made a visit to the bathroom to wash the grime off her hands and arms. She combed her hair and did what she could to brush off her work clothes. She had given up trying to keep them clean during her shifts, everything in the factory seemed to be covered in a thin firm of greasy dust and it was impossible not to end a shift the same way.

She found her supervisor in his office. “Excuse me, Mr. Fudley,” she said, tapping on the open door.

He looked up from the papers he had been reading. “Hi, Dorthea. Problem?”

“No.”

He waved her into the office. “Then come on in. I’ve had my share of those today and I just don’t want to face another. But if you don’t have one, then, by all means, come in and sit,” he said laughing.

Dorthea smiled and sat on the chair in front of his desk. “Thanks.”

“So, what’s on your mind? You don’t make many visits to my office.”

“I try not to be a bother—”

He laughed again. “You? Dorthea, of all the people in this factor, I can honestly say you are the one I never concern myself with. Now, what’s up?”

“I need some time off. Not much,” she hurriedly added when she saw his brow crease in consternation. “Just a few days.”

“Well, now just isn’t a good time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He looked at a calendar hanging on the wall next to his desk. “I need everyone I have working until… well, let’s see… until, at least, the week after next.”

“That’s okay, Mr. Fudley. I can wait if you want. I just need it before too long.”

He turned his attention back to Dorthea. “Problem?”

“It’s… it’s personal.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if you can wait for a couple of weeks,” he said, reaching back and pulling a piece of paper out of a tray on the credenza behind him. He placed the paper on his desk and picked up a pen. “Let’s see, Dorthea Sanborn,” he said aloud as he filled in blanks on the paper. “Vacation… time to be determined—”

Dorthea leaned forward on her chair. “Umm…”

He looked up and smiled at her worried look. “No later than, shall we say, the end of the next month?” She nodded. “Very good,” he said as he made a notation on the form. He looked up again. “How many days?”

“Two. Thursday and Friday, if that’s okay.”

“Don’t see why not. Is that enough?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” He signed the form, then separated the copies and handed one to Dorthea. “Let’s talk again the end of next week. I’ll know how close we are to completing the back orders by then.”

Dorthea folded the page and tucked it into her purse. “Thank you,” she said as she stood. She turned and left the office while Fudley went back to his work without further comment.

Paul Bingham sat in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the living room. The chair was positioned in front of the room’s large window so he could maintain his daily vigil for the mail carrier. “Esther, he’s here,” he called out in a voice feeble with age.

“I saw him.” a voice floated out from the kitchen. “Let me finish up in here and I’ll go see if you received anything.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Paul muttered, reaching for the walker beside his chair. He struggled to stand on legs weakened by years of hard labor.

“Poppa!” A woman rushed across the room. “I said I would be here in a minute,” she admonished as she gently eased the elderly man back onto his chair. “Now, what good would it do any of us if you fell again?” she asked, moving his walker out of his reach.

“I need to know—”

“And you will, just as soon as I walk out to the box.” Satisfied, he was settled, she turned for the door. “Though, why you think you’ll hear anything after all these years is beyond me.”

Paul watched her walk down the porch steps. “I can’t give up,” he whispered.

She returned a few minutes later with a fistful of envelopes. “Mostly bills and junk mail.”

“Are you sure, Esther?”

“Yes,” she told him, kneeling beside his chair to show him the envelopes. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything.”

“What could have happened?” Paul asked, his voice soft as memories flooded into his mind. “Why hasn’t she written?”

“I don’t know.” She pushed herself upright. It was the same everyday. He would sit all morning watching for the mail carrier to stop at their mail box. He’d wait impatiently for her to return with the delivered mail, only to be disappointed that the one piece of mail he desperately wanted never arrived. Then he would let his memories take him back to an earlier time and he would drift off to sleep. When his breathing evened out, she walked back to the kitchen.

“Why do you let him call you that, Mom?” A man in his mid-twenties asked when she returned to the sink of dirty dishes.

“It’s easier than trying to get him to understand.”

“But it seems so weird.”

“He’s an old man, Peter. There’s no harm in letting him have his memories. After the life he’s been through, he’s earned them.”

“If you say so.” Peter kissed his mother on the cheek. “But I still think it shouldn’t be too much for him to remember you’re not Esther.”

“Maybe for you, but not for him. Will you be late tonight?”

“Shouldn’t be.”

“Good. It’s so much easier getting him to bed when you help.”

“I’ll be here.”

Dorthea pushed open the apartment door and was greeted by an unexpected yet very pleasant aroma that caused her stomach to rumble in delicious anticipation. She quickly closed the door, tossed her purse onto the couch and headed directly for the kitchen, kicking her shoes off enroute. Entering the kitchen, she found Kimberly stirring a pot on the stove. “What’s this?”

“What does it look like?” Kim asked, waving a wooden spoon over the stove and a variety of pots. Steam seeped out from under the lids filling the air with mouth-watering scents of cooking meat and vegetables.

Dorthea grinned. “Like you’ve lost your mind. But it smells wonderful.”

Kim placed a lid back onto the pot of stew. “I can cook, you know.”

“I know. But you do it so rarely, I sometimes forget.”

“Funny. I hope you’re hungry.” Kim said as she opened the oven door and removed two cake pans.

“Starved. I didn’t get a chance to eat anything after lunch.”

Kim flipped the cake layers out of the pans and onto cooling racks then turned to face her roommate. “Dorthea, you worked an extra half shift today. Are you telling me you haven’t eaten since noon?”

Dorthea shrugged, giving Kim a chagrined look. “Umm… yeah. We’re so busy trying to get caught up on back orders that they really don’t want any breaks in the line.”

“You have to eat.”

“I know.” Kim stood with her hands on her hips glaring at Dorthea. “Hey, don’t give me that look. I already decided that I’m going to pack some snacks I can sneak at my station for the rest of the week.”

“Good idea. Now, go get washed up so we can eat.”

Dorthea leaned over the cooling cake layers then inhaled a deep breath. “Mmmm, lemon, my favorite. Can we start with dessert?”

“I haven’t even frosted it yet.”

“That’s okay. Just put the cake and frosting on the table. We’ll improvise.” She pressed her palms together. “Please.”

Laughing, Kim pushed the begging woman out of the kitchen. “Go. I need a few minutes to get everything on the table.” She waited until Dorthea hurried into her bedroom before returning to the stove.

“This is delicious,” Dorthea said reaching for the bowl of stew in the center of the table.

Kimberly smiled. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be one?”

“No. But you have to admit this is way out of the realm of normal.”

“Maybe not anymore.”

“Oh?”

Kim scooped a spoonful of broccoli out of a serving dish. “Don’t go reading too much into that,” she said as she placed the vegetables on her plate.

“Okay,” Dorthea said then waited for more of an explanation.

Kim speared a piece of broccoli with her fork and lifted it to her mouth. She took her time chewing and swallowing before she relented and answered Dorthea’s unasked question. “I just think I want to slow down for a bit. Spend more time doing things like this and less time…”

“Dating?”

“Yes.”

“Can you do that? I mean, you’ve been on the dating merry-go-round since high school.”

“It hasn’t gotten me too far, has it?”

“You just haven’t met the right guy.”

“Maybe. But, right now, I want to stop looking and spend my time doing things I want.”

Dorthea grinned. “Like cooking?”

“Yes,” Kim said indignantly then smiled. “Okay, it’ll take some getting used to but I think I need a change.”

“Are you sure about this? Can you be happy without a guy in your life?”

Kim thought about the question. Can I? “I want to try.”

“Okay.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Since high school… Well, even in high school, you didn’t date much...” The pained looked that flashed across her best friend’s face caused Kim to regret the comment almost as soon as it left her lips. “I’m sorry,” she said reaching across the table for Dorthea’s hand. “Please, I didn’t mean to—”

“No. It’s okay.” Dorthea smiled sadly. “After all, it’s true, I haven’t dated much. I guess I just wasn’t the kind of girl the boys wanted.”

“Do you regret that?”

Dorthea sighed and looked to where Kim’s hand covered her own as she considered her response. “I regret not having someone to share my life with,” she said as she slowly withdrew her hand and placed it in her lap. “I do wish I had a special someone,” she said softly.

Kim pulled her hand back, her skin still tingling from the contact. She looked across the table into Dorthea’s eyes. “I want that, too.”

“Don’t give up on love just yet.” The curious look Kim directed toward her caused a flush of heat to race up her neck and she abruptly pushed up from the table. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up so we can get to that cake,” she said picking up her dirty plate.

to be continued...

Chapter One	Chapter Two	Chapter Three	Chapter Four	Chapter Five
Chapter Six	Chapter Seven	Chapter Eight	Chapters 9 to 16	Chapter Ten