The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  I’m so grateful we still have him.

  LATE AFTERNOON

  “You let me sleep the day away!” Dad scolded, coming into the kitchen where I was sitting with a hot cup of tea.

  “Mom said to.” My mother walked in, holding a crying Justin.

  “I had to, honey,” she said. “You looked so tired and worn out.” He went and peered outside. “It’s getting dark already and there’s no moon to speak of. It won’t be easy but we have to go.”

  “Can it wait ‘til morning?” Mom asked. “Justin’s got a fever.”

  Dad paused, looking at his son. “What do you think it is?”

  Mom shrugged. “Don’t know, yet. He hasn’t been pulling on his ears, so I don’t think it’s an ear infection. Could be the beginning of a cold or flu.”

  “We shouldn’t bring Mrs. Preston here until we know what he’s got,” I said. “She’s so old, what if we got her sick?”

  “You may be right,” Dad said, nodding at me. “I’ll just ride over quick and make sure her fire is built up.”

  “Oh, here we go,” said Mom, in a defeated tone. She looked at him pleadingly. “Please be careful!”

  My mom and dad are acting like we’ve had a zombie apocalypse. I had to roll my eyes.

  “I will,” he said. He walked over and gave her a kiss. Then he gave one to Justin who had quieted some but was still sniffling. “You feel better, young man. Daddy’ll be right back.”

  Justin merely eyed him tiredly, keeping his head against my mother.

  “We have medicine for him, right?”

  My mother nodded. “Oh, yes.”

  “Lex, you coming?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  Mom said, “I’ll need her to be my arms. I can’t put down a sick baby unless he’s sleeping.”

  I was relieved, actually. My bottom was still sore from my trek to the Buchanans’, not to mention taking the kids home the day before. This was way more riding than I usually do. But I walked Dad out to the barn because I hadn’t done the milking yet. We were still yards away when Dad said, “Lex, the door is open!” He started sprinting forward, as much as the snow would allow. “You forgot to lock it!” he scolded.

  The morning the power went out he’d told me in no uncertain terms to be sure and lock the door to the barn for now on.

  “I thought I locked it,” I said weakly when I caught up. But I knew in my heart I must have forgotten. I was so happy about the rabbits being safe that it flew my mind. I’m not in the habit of doing it, yet.

  Dad sighed. “Let’s find out if anyone’s gone.” He was referring to our stock. My heart had crept up into my throat. What if our cow was gone? As our only source of milk, without her we’d need more water for drinking, we’d have no cream and no butter, and Mom wouldn’t be able to make any more cheese.

  Inside I held up my lantern—and there was Rhema, munching on some hay outside her stall! This was proof I’d left the door unlocked; it must have swung open a little but I didn’t care. My horse was back! I ran to her and put my arms around her large head, stroking her nose and telling her how happy I was to see her. None of the animals were missing.

  Dad was happy too. He not only failed to chew me out for my forgetfulness but as I brushed down the horse I noticed he stopped and gave her an affectionate scratch behind the ears and spoke nicely to her. He’s as glad as I am that we haven’t lost her or that no one stole her.

  I finished brushing and threw a blanket over her. I moved on to Milcah, suddenly feeling that her milk was coming much too slowly. Usually I enjoyed the minutes I spent by her side. It was a favorite time for me to think. Finally, she was emptied out; then I finished distributing hay to the other animals. Now I had to water them. This is the chore I dread most in winter as it takes twice as much work. I have to use an ice pick because their water freezes solid.

  LATE EVENING

  Dad says tomorrow we’ll need to get Mrs. Preston whether Justin’s sick or not. The girls are delighted because we’ll be getting her cats too, Moppet and Butler. Kasha may not like our new animal houseguests, and Mom’s not happy about Mrs. Preston’s cats, either; (“more mouths to feed,” she says). But Mrs. Preston would be very upset if we didn’t take her beloved pets.

  I was going upstairs when I heard my dad and mom talking. “You can stop worrying about radiation sickness,” he said. “If Lex and I were exposed to anything major we’d be sick as dogs by now, if not dead.” I watched them hugging in the doorway and felt a sudden contentment.

  When I had to use rationed water to brush my teeth I lost that feeling. But at least I can brush my teeth.

  LEXIE

  JANUARY 14

  DAY FOUR

  “C’mon, girl, the sky looks threatening,” Dad urged me. We’d finished breakfast and he wanted to fetch Mrs. Preston as soon as possible.

  Justin is still feverish. I hope it won’t endanger our elderly friend, but Dad says we can’t keep riding to her house to keep up a fire and she can’t keep it up by herself, so we have no choice.

  When I saw my father putting a saddle on Spirit, I asked, “Aren’t we going to use the cart?”

  “We can’t take the road,” he said. “I saw a lot of people on foot yesterday. I was only out there because I had to be; I don’t know why folks don’t just stay home until it warms up some. Anyway, if we take the cart, everyone we pass on the road’ll want a ride.”

  “I saw hardly anyone when I was out there,” I said.

  Dad nodded. “People are figuring out they may not have electric for awhile, and they’re on the move. They seem to think there’s help out there.” He shook his head.

  “But how will we get Mrs. Preston back?”

  “She’ll fit on my saddle.” He sounded sure of it, but I had to chuckle.

  “I can’t see Mrs. Preston on a horse, Dad!”

  “She may not like it,” he acknowledged. “But she’ll come. She has to.” He stopped and smiled at me. “You couldn’t imagine her using a laptop either, but she does it.”

  He was right. She was a typical old lady in many ways, but a surprising one in others. She seemed frail and often needed oxygen. But she still grew a vegetable garden, and even did a little canning each year.

  We set off. The air was bracingly cold. Last week on the news—which feels like a lifetime ago, now—they said this cold spell was a record-breaker for Ohio. So much for global warming!

  As we rode, I admired the frozen landscape, beautiful in its white silence. I hadn’t been able to do so on my ride to the Buchanans’. I was too consumed by worries, then. Today the silence was deep, punctured only by the sound of the horses breaking ground in the snow.

  Silence, I realized, was going to be a constant companion for now on. We can’t watch the news or get on the internet or listen to music. We can’t make a single phone call! Life is really different. I have yet to fully comprehend how much that’s true. Even though here we are on horseback to pick up an old lady in the middle of winter!

  I felt sad. We would have no more movie and popcorn nights; no more surfing Netflix for new releases; no more listening to my favorite music while I did chores in the barn or at home. And no more drives with music just for enjoyment. No more drives anywhere! No more weather reports. We could be in for a blizzard and never know it in advance.

  I thought of Andrea and other kids I knew from school and felt a deep ache in my heart. Would I ever see them again? What about Grandma and Grandpa in Maryland? What about my aunts and uncles and cousins, some of whom were clear out in Colorado?

  A lump was forming in my throat. But then we turned into some low brush and I had to coax Rhema on. We came out right smack behind Mrs. Preston’s old white house. I pushed my musings aside.

  After tying the horses and fixing feed bags for them, Dad unlocked the back door. We have a key for when we bring meals. Inside, I hurried to her parlor, where she was asleep in a chair.

  When Dad caught up he stopped and surveyed Mrs. Preston. �
�I don’t believe she’s moved since I was here yesterday,” he said. He got on one knee and opened the door of the wood stove to take a peek inside.

  “Still going, but it’s dying down. Good thing we got here.”

  I took one of Mrs. Preston’s hands as I gently called her name but I stopped, startled.

  “Her hands are cool!” I nestled one against my cheek but realized I wasn’t feeling it all that much. My cheeks were numb with cold. But my dad shook her shoulder and when I looked up Mrs. Preston’s eyes popped open.

  “Oh!” she cried, and smiled. “Lexie. Oh.” But she closed her eyes again. “I’m sorry,” she said, feebly. “I’m so tired today.” She gave my hand a weak squeeze.

  “Lexie, go and get some of her clothing. Fill a bag or whatever you can find.”

  “Am I going somewhere?” Mrs. Preston asked faintly.

  “You’re coming home with us,” Dad said. He must have told her the night before, but she’d already forgotten.

  “Oh, how nice,” she said and smiled again, still keeping her eyes closed. I felt as though she was only half with us But then she said, “Don’t forget about the bowl in the hallway.” I had to smile. She never lets me leave without taking a few pieces from her ever-full candy bowl.

  When I returned to the room I went up to my dad. “Do you think she can make the ride?” I kept my voice low.

  He looked at our neighbor. She was wrapped in a quilt, her feet encased in fluffy slippers. Her gray-white hair was being held in with an old-style hair net. She used the net when her hair lost its set. Normally a hair dresser came to the house once a week to set her hair. She was obviously due for a new set.

  “We’ll get her nice and warm, and then bundled up tight.”

  “Okay.” I went to pack up more of her things.

  Dad moved Mrs. Preston’s chair with her in it right up to the stove. I searched for her coat and hat and a thick scarf—she didn’t have a thick scarf, just a whole bunch of colorful polyester ones, the kind my grandmother always covered her head with. I grabbed a pair of black boots. I took all the sweaters I saw, a throw blanket and a nice, thick one that I hoped was woolen. As I took the blanket from the closet, a black form darted past me.

  “Butler!” I knew at once I had to catch that cat. Mrs. Preston would fret and fret about it if we didn’t take her latest animal rescue friend. She also had a calico named Moppet, but I wasn’t worried about catching her. Moppet loved company and would come to me to be petted if I took a seat. As I was leaving the bedroom I saw a bunch of prescription medicines on the dresser and I swiped them all into the bag. In the downstairs hallway I was about to pass the candy bowl and then stopped and emptied it into the bag, too.

  “Have you eaten anything today?” I heard my dad asking, as I came back with a few bagfuls of stuff. I saw the cat’s bed and took it, stuffing it into another bag. I started seeing other things to bring, not to mention checking for any food we could use. In the kitchen, I found that Mrs. Preston had more plastic bags than any one person could probably use in a lifetime. It seemed she devoted a great deal of cupboard space, in fact, to saving that one item. So I filled as many as I thought we could cart back.

  I surveyed rows of canned goods, including peaches. Not as much as she sometimes had, which I figured was on account of her getting older and slowed down. I suddenly thought I ought to ask permission before taking any. Back in the parlor with her eyes closed, Mrs. Preston still knew I’d returned. “You’ll find the cat food in the cupboard, and Butler’s favorite toy should be here on the rug somewhere.”

  “Should I take the canned goods?” I asked. I looked at my father as I asked, too. But Mrs. Preston said, “Oh, take anything you like!” as though I wanted it just for myself.

  Embarrassed, I wanted to explain myself. I wanted to clarify that she was moving in with us; that what we took would be for her as well as the rest of us, but Dad caught my eye and just nodded at me to get packing.

  “Did you eat anything today?” he repeated to her, as I turned to leave.

  The old lady was silent a moment. “I gave Butler a can of his food,” she said, in a wavering tone. “I think.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said at last. I could hear them from the kitchen.

  “Lexie,” Dad called. “There’s a gas stove and probably a reserve of gas still available; go and heat up a cup of tea and put plenty of sugar in it.”

  Dad was right and I was able to use the stove. Only a few days ago this would have been boringly routine, but already I had a feeling of slight awe as it clicked a few times and then burst into a bluish circle of low flame. Our stove was electric so it had died on day one of the outage. I’d always taken stoves for granted, but right now I couldn’t help myself and made a second cup of tea. It felt like a luxury—doing it with a working stove.

  When I brought the tea I had to spoon feed a few sips to Mrs. Preston, who smiled after each one. “Oh, that’s good,” she said, as if I’d just given her lobster bisque. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Is the power back yet?”

  “Not yet,” dad said. Our eyes met.

  “Dad, if gas stoves still work, why didn’t we get a gas stove?”

  “It won’t work for long,” he said. “Once the pipe is empty or loses pressure, it’ll be out of gas and useless, just like our stove.”

  “But can’t you add gas to it? Like we do to a car?”

  “It’s not the same kind of gas, hon,” he said. “And you can’t store gas; it degrades over time.”

  Soon afterwards he said, “It’s time to go, Loretta.”

  “Oh?” She said. “Okay.” Her eyes were open, now. Watery blue eyes that were kind and docile.

  “Butler won’t come to me,” I told her.

  “Oh, he’ll come,” she said. “Give me a can of his food, and a fork or spoon.”

  When I did, she took the can and hit the spoon against the side of it a few times. In seconds the sleek black form was there, and jumped lightly onto his mistress’s lap.

  “Is Moppet here?” she asked.

  “Right here,” I said, bending over to grasp the cat. She’d been rubbing her fur against my legs, circling around, and waiting for me to pick her up.

  We had to unhook Mrs. Preston’s oxygen tube. And then get her positioned in front of her walker. She didn’t absolutely need the walker, but she liked to know it was there just in case.

  “Can we bring my walker?” she asked, as we went through the hallway towards the back door.

  “Don’t need to,” said Dad. “We have a walker at the house.”

  “You have a walker?” she asked, surprised. “Why is that?”

  “That time I broke my ankle,” Dad said, “I needed it for a few weeks after the surgery.”

  “I’m glad you saved it,” she murmured. But then, “Do you have my oxygen tanks? I need my oxygen, you know. I’m sorry.”

  “We have your oxygen,” Dad said, loud enough to reassure her. To me he added, “‘I put all the tanks together yesterday. See how many you can fit into your pack. I’ll need to make another trip for some of them, I’m sure. Possibly a few trips to get all she’ll need from here.”

  “I have two sizes of tanks,” Mrs. Preston warned. “The smaller ones for traveling are in a corner of the parlor, in a box.”

  They were just the size to fit in the saddle bags, so I took as many as I thought we could carry. I’d have to leave some of the other things I’d packed, but Dad could get those when he returned. I grabbed packages of plastic tubing for the tanks and the other accessories, like nose clips. The tanks themselves were surprisingly heavy. When we got outside, both horses were stamping their feet, unhappy being tied up in the cold.

  Mrs. Preston watched my dad mount Spirit in silence; I was waiting for her reaction, but she only looked puzzled. Suddenly it dawned on her that we were going to take her home on horseback, and she froze, her eyes wide. From his saddle, Dad told me to lift her up. S
he was on the back steps so she was already higher than if she’d been on the ground.

  Mrs. Preston looked at me and she looked at dad. I was sure she was going to refuse to come. But suddenly she smiled.

  “I haven’t been on a horse since I was a girl!” She let me lift her up—but I had to put her down after my first try, since she was heavier than she looked. Taking a deep breath, I hoisted her again—never underestimate the weight of a little old lady, I thought—and then dad’s strong arms pulled her the rest of the way while she giggled like a child. I handed Butler to her, and then Moppet. Dad settled her with the cats in her arms in front of him, keeping one of his arms around her, while the other held the reins. Mrs. Preston was so bundled up you couldn’t see the animals at all, and only the older woman’s eyes shone out from a mound of blanket. She looked cute, like a little child.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” she cried, looking at me. “I forgot. Butler’s on medication for an infection. It’s in the refrigerator.” I glanced at dad and he nodded, so I went for it. In this cold, I was sure everything in the refrigerator was probably still good. I hoped so for Butler’s sake. While there, I grabbed two more plastic bags and stuffed in anything else from the fridge that I thought we could use. I’d put the bags in front of me like a passenger. Later mom said that was good thinking.

  On the way home I found myself picturing us doing for Andrea what we had just done for Mrs. Preston. But it couldn’t be just Andrea, could it? We’d have to take the whole family if we went for her. We couldn’t very well leave the others to fend for themselves.

  She and Sarah always teased me—affectionately—about being a farm girl. Now I felt sorry for them because they’re not.

  When we got back, I went to take care of the horses as soon as we unloaded. When I got back inside, Mrs. Preston was happily settled in the corner chair she likes best in the family room, the rocker with a quilted pillow.

  Mom was still carrying the baby. She told us she’d had to give him acetaminophen because the fever was nearing 103.