“Not exactly.”
“What then?”
“Maybe he was hiding something.”
“Oh! Now he’s hiding something. I’ll bite. What was he hiding?”
“I don’t know. But I just have a feeling it has something to do with this Pennyfeather and Pappy.”
Erinn started pacing. “No, wait! I think if we could establish a timeline, we could see where all this intersects. We need to know why and when Cutthroat turned from Pennyfeather to Pappy. Why did he just give Pappy the OK to stay in Fat Chance? On whose dime? Just out of friendship? There are too many unanswered questions.”
“You’re forcing the issue, you know that,” Wesley said.
“Look, I don’t have all the answers, but I’m thinking something like this—Cutthroat is completely reliant on Pennyfeather. Maybe the next beat is . . . I mean, maybe the next thing that happens is Pennyfeather dies. For some reason, Cutthroat turns the law firm over to a kid and takes up with an eccentric nobody had ever heard of and leaves him in a ghost town. Does that sound about right?”
“It’s a possibility, yes. So what?”
“You don’t think it’s an odd coincidence that Pennyfeather suddenly disappears and Pappy moves into his spot? Cutthroat, who trusted only one man and then so easily replaces him?”
“So now what? You think Pappy killed Pennyfeather? That would be an interesting twist.”
Erinn stopped pacing and looked at Wesley. How could she have missed it? Wesley was dogging her every step because he already knew the truth and wanted to make sure she didn’t stumble on it.
“I agree,” Erinn said. “It would be very interesting. But that’s not the truth, is it?”
* * *
Pappy tilted into the lashing rain. His heart beat faster. If Old Bertha wasn’t in the grocery store, he didn’t know where else to look. He’d expected to find her at the inn and was surprised when she wasn’t there. He didn’t have time to think about how surprised he was to find Cleo and Powderkeg in bed together and he was already trying to forget the image of Powderkeg standing naked in front of him.
He was so focused on making his way down the disintegrating boardwalk, he luckily didn’t see a tiny light shine from Powderkeg’s store, where Erinn and Wesley continued their sparring. Unluckily, he didn’t see Old Bertha trudging through the mud on her way to the forge.
Pappy went into the grocery store. He knew immediately it was empty. Should he go back to the inn? Maybe Old Bertha passed him when he was in the bank.
Where is that damned woman?
When Pappy had seen the sky turn green, he knew he had to return to Fat Chance. It was a risk, but one he knew he had to take. He had grown to love not only Old Bertha but the entire band of misfits with their passion for life and their squabbles over asphalt and grapes. He loved them but knew they didn’t have two brain cells among them when it came to anything practical—like weather.
Pappy stood in the middle of Main Street, barely breathing. He listened. The wind had died down. There wasn’t a sound. The tornado was upon Fat Chance. After making sure everyone he could find was as safe as they could be in an old ghost town caught in a tornado, he found himself the most vulnerable of all.
He braced for the fight.
Let’s do this.
Chapter 32
Titan opened the door of the forge and Old Bertha rushed in. She busied herself shaking off the quilt and brushing mud from her skirt. When she looked up, she let out a curse. She found herself staring into Rocket’s eyes.
“What’s that damned bull doing in here?” she asked.
“Same as us,” Titan said. “Waiting out the storm.”
“I didn’t think I could make it back to the inn,” Old Bertha said.
“Not a problem,” Titan said. “We’re happy to have the company.”
Titan walked over to the small window that faced Main Street. Old Bertha knew what he was thinking. She opened her mouth to tell him he just needed to let go of the idea that Fancy would ever be coming back. She stared at his broad back and found she didn’t have the heart to set him straight.
“You know, that buzzard of yours is one smart bird,” she said. “I don’t think she’s going to try to make it back to Fat Chance in this weather.”
“You’re probably right,” Titan said. “She’ll wait out the storm.”
His posture straightened. Old Bertha was pleased with herself. Maybe she should try to be nice more often. Old Bertha heard a sound like rain drumming on a tin roof. She looked up, knowing full well that the forge had a patched roof.
“What’s that sound?” she asked.
“Just the rain beating on the Cinderella carriage out back,” Titan said. “I tried to move it inside, but Rocket is pretty much taking up every square inch.”
Old Bertha was about to say the longhorn was taking up too much room. He was not exactly domesticated. But then it flashed through Old Bertha’s mind that Jerry Lee and Patsy were at the inn.
“Your mules are as smart as Fancy,” Titan said, as if reading her mind. “They’ll know how to take care of themselves.”
She nodded, but since she herself was lying about Fancy being smart, she took no solace from his comment. She looked at Rocket. She’d heard that animals had an innate sense about where to go and what to do when something like a tornado or earthquake was imminent, but this huge beast looked dumb as a stump. She exhaled, realizing she was holding her breath. She prayed that there was someone at the inn who was taking care of her precious animals.
She looked back at Rocket. He was moving his horns from side to side.
“What’s the matter with your cow?” Old Bertha said.
“He’s a bull,” Titan said, walking quickly to Rocket, who let out a loud bellow. “What’s up, big guy?”
Suddenly the bull reared back. Titan pulled Old Bertha out of Rocket’s way as the bull charged the back door. The door splintered into three large pieces. The bull ran past the Cinderella carriage with incredible speed. It was easy to see why he’d been named Rocket.
“That bull ruined—” Old Bertha started to say.
“Shh,” Titan said. “Listen.”
Old Bertha could hear it. It sounded like a train coming through. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, first faint, but getting stronger.
“What is that?” Old Bertha asked.
“It’s the twister,” Titan said.
“Oh my God.”
Titan picked her up and started running toward the front of the building. He stopped just in time, as an enormous beam blocked his path. Pivoting on his heels, he faced the back door—or where the back door used to be before Rocket crashed through it.
There was no choice. He’d have to make a run for it.
* * *
Dymphna put her head in Professor Johnson’s lap, hands over her ears to block out the sound of the twister. Professor Johnson patted her hair with one hand and held on to Thud’s collar with the other. Thud was barking at the cellar door.
“It’s taking the house,” Dymphna whimpered.
“Yes,” Professor Johnson said.
Dymphna sat up. Wobble glared at her from a top shelf. The chickens huddled together as did the rabbits.
“Nobody’s freaking out,” Dymphna said as she studied them.
“They know you’re taking care of them,” Professor Johnson said.
Dymphna started to cry. Professor Johnson sat next to her silently. Her tears could be about so many different things. The animals that were here with them? The goats who bolted and were out there in the storm somewhere? The fact that the farm was coming down around their heads? The fact that she now had a perfect out to leave Fat Chance, and felt guilty?
That, of course, was all contingent on their making it out alive.
Even in the cellar, they could tell that the sky had lightened. It was late afternoon, but the sky had been as black as Polly’s Goth makeup. Birds had started to sing again. Thud stopped barking.
“
Do you think we should try going up?” Dymphna asked.
Professor Johnson wasn’t sure. It was fairly obvious from the sound of things that the house was gone. Had the shredded lumber fallen on the cellar door? The door opened out, which meant they’d be trapped. Before he could make a decision, there was a banging at the door. Dymphna started. It was not the sound of a friend knocking on the door. It was fierce and aggressive.
“What is that?” Dymphna asked, shaking.
Professor Johnson looked at her, then at Thud. Thud gave him a slobbery kiss.
“Thud’s not barking,” he said. “I think we’re safe to take a look.”
Professor Johnson stood up. Thud was already at the door, wagging his tail. Dymphna tried to slow her heartbeat, but the crazy banging continued. While Dymphna calmed herself by attending to the animals, Professor Johnson unhooked the latch and pushed on one side of the door. It didn’t give an inch.
“Hello?” he called as casually as he could. He tried to take Thud’s goodwill as a sign that they weren’t in any danger, although he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who or what was making that ungodly racket. He tried to push again, with as much force as he could muster.
Nothing.
He wondered how long it would take for someone in town to come up to the farmhouse . . . well, what was left of the farmhouse. Professor Johnson felt his breath grow ragged. In his entire life, he never had anyone he could truly call a friend, and now he had a whole town full of people he could count on. The thought of fighting with Fernando about the grapes and Dymphna about the road now seemed so inconsequential. He’d make it up to them when they got out of this.
The banging started again.
If we get out of this.
He knew the farmhouse was gone, but it hit him—and hit him hard—that the grapes might be gone as well, that the entire town might be gone, his friends might be gone. Twisters chose loopy and random paths, but it was foolhardy to think Fat Chance had survived unscathed. He had heard the damage, if not yet seen it. History repeats itself, he thought. Twisters had nearly destroyed the town twice in the past; maybe three times was the charm. The erratic banging continued. He tried pushing the other door.
It opened easily.
He looked back at Dymphna, who was studying one of the rabbits, singing softly to it and stroking its long, soft hair. He was happy she was distracted. He wanted a chance to assess the damage. As he tried to make his way quietly up the stairs, Thud shot past him. Professor Johnson tried to catch him, fearful that whatever was making the racket outside the cellar was foe, not friend. But he only managed to grab hold of the dog’s tail, which whipped through his fingers without Thud even noticing. Professor Johnson climbed out of the cellar. He reeled back instantly. At first he had no idea what he was seeing, he was so close to it. But then he knew.
He was staring into Rocket’s eyes.
The longhorn’s right hoof was stuck in some timber. He was standing on one side of the cellar door, trying to dislodge it.
“You were making a lot of noise there, Rocket,” Professor Johnson said, grabbing the wood that trapped the longhorn. “Gave us quite a scare.”
Once freed, the longhorn scampered off and Professor Johnson made his way the rest of the way out of the cellar. He steeled himself, then turned around. He staggered backwards as he surveyed the devastated farmhouse. It had been reduced to rubble. Rocket and Thud nosed curiously around the devastation. Professor Johnson realized he was holding the piece of wood that had entrapped the longhorn. He looked at it. It was one of the lovingly painted floorboards from Polly’s welcome mat.
Dymphna’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Watch out, Wobble’s on his way.”
Professor Johnson had to duck as the rooster shot out of the cellar. The rooster flapped his way to his customary fence post, but the fence post wasn’t there. He turned and glowered at Professor Johnson accusingly.
“Can we come out?” Dymphna called from inside the cellar.
“Not yet,” Professor Johnson said. “Let me make sure it’s safe.”
He was lying. He didn’t want her to see what had become of her home.
It was gone.
* * *
Erinn and Wesley clung to each other. The sky had returned to its usual benign self, but neither would let go of the other. They’d been arguing about Pappy, Erinn joyfully cornering Wesley and Wesley deftly avoiding the most damning accusations. They were each so intent on their arguments and counter-arguments that they’d forgotten about the giant stomping through the town. They heard the deafening roar at the same time. Wesley had his finger raised, mid-point. Erinn had her arms folded and her eyes blazed. They looked at each other. As the sound got closer and closer, they’d rushed into each other’s arms.
“You have been the worst PA in the history of the world,” Erinn had said. “And I’ve loved spending every minute with you.”
“You’re the most fascinating woman I’ve ever met,” Wesley said.
“I agree,” Erinn said. “Not that I’m the most fascinating woman you’ve ever met! But I think you’re a remarkable man. A most remarkable man.”
“You know you might not get to make that documentary after all,” he said. “I think that ticking sound is wood splintering.”
“We who are about to die, salute you,” Erinn had said to the wind as she stared at the window.
She’d buried her head in Wesley’s chest. She had always thought she was too politically correct to take solace in a man’s arms.
Forgive me, Gloria Steinem.
She had been scared to death and he felt like safety. They held on tight.
Erinn was the first to let go. When she was a young playwright on Broadway, she’d had her share of too-casual encounters that left her feeling embarrassed in the morning. She’d found a way to at least pretend the morning after wasn’t awkward. But that was a lifetime ago and she was out of practice.
“Looks like we made it,” Wesley said, letting his arms drop to his sides.
“Yes,” Erinn said, walking to the window and looking out. “The boardwalk looks like hell.”
“What else is new?” Wesley said.
Erinn was looking out the window rather than at Wesley. She could tell by his voice that they were going to play this as if those last words had never been uttered. That was fine with her; she wasn’t exactly proud of her role as damsel in distress. She looked up and down the splintered boardwalk.
“I see Jerry Lee and Patsy,” she said.
They stepped out onto what was left of the boardwalk. The animals leapt off the planks onto Main Street—and into the sticky mud. Fernando, Maggie, Cleo, and Powderkeg were running out of the bank toward them, their faces grim. The buildings were a mess; there was mud everywhere. But Fat Chance appeared to be standing.
“We’re OK,” Erinn said as the group advanced, but everyone ran right by her. Erinn’s smile faded. She turned to see what had them in such a panic and then she saw it as well. She gasped and grabbed Wesley’s hand.
The forge had collapsed. The walls and shingles were strewn everywhere, splintered wood piled high over the Cinderella coach.
Pappy was standing in the rubble.
Where did he come from?
Erinn felt Wesley release her hand when he saw the old man. Erinn and Wesley exchanged a look. They both knew it meant that they were calling a truce until the damage was assessed. Then they followed the rest of the townspeople toward what was once the proud forge of Fat Chance, Texas.
Chapter 33
Pappy was grimly moving wood, kicking at mangled tools and swearing.
“Titan?” he called. “Come on, buddy, where are you?”
Pappy stopped his macabre hunt and staggered, but he regained his footing. He looked at the paralyzed group.
“Some help here?” he asked gruffly.
As if coming out of a dream, the group snapped out of their disbelief. As they helped each other move heavy pieces of wood and machinery amid j
angled nerves and tears, a new sound diverted their attention. An engine whined from the road above Fat Chance. The group turned to look as the limousine, now almost brown with mud, came soaring down the road, metal scraping and shooting sparks when it hit the asphalt.
“My God,” Powderkeg said. “Jeffries drove through this?”
The limousine screeched to a halt. Polly and Jeffries flew out of the front doors.
“Titan!” Jeffries cried. “Titan!”
His surprising outburst momentarily stopped everyone in their tracks. But they mobilized as Jeffries threw off his jacket and started running into the dangerous mass of wood and metal.
“Hey,” Pappy said. “Be careful there.”
But Jeffries wouldn’t listen. He seemed possessed.
“Slow down, partner,” Powderkeg said to Jeffries as he grabbed him. “We don’t want any more . . .”
A huge piece of lumber from the middle of the rubble suddenly crashed to the ground, shaking the ground and frightening everyone. Was another twister on the way? Another piece of wood moved as a strong, mocha-colored hand pushed it aside.
“It’s Titan,” Fernando called out. “Sweet Lady of Guadalupe! It’s Titan!”
The inhabitants of Fat Chance fought through the mountain of debris, trying to reach him.
“There is no way he could have lived through that!” Powderkeg said.
“It’s a miracle,” Fernando said. “I wish my mother was here to see this. She was a big believer in miracles.”
As Titan pushed and the people of Fat Chance pulled, the impossibly sturdy and heavy Cinderella carriage slowly revealed itself.
Polly turned to look down the street to the other end of Fat Chance. Jerry Lee and Patsy stood in front of the inn as if nothing unusual was going on.
“The inn made it,” Polly said to Cleo, as Polly wiped a tear from her eye. “As soon as we get Titan out of there, I’ll go check on Old Bertha. She must be freaked.”
Cleo exchanged a look with Powderkeg.
“Old Bertha’s not at the inn,” Maggie said absently. “Everybody who was there went to wait out the tornado in the bank vault. It was nuts . . .”
Livin' Large in Fat Chance, Texas Page 21