The Pulse Effex Series: Box Set

by L. R. Burkard

  “Oh, my,” said Mrs. Preston, gravely. “Poor baby. Have you prayed?”

  “Not today,” said Dad. She was already holding out open arms and my mother automatically handed over Justin. Mrs. Preston always rocks him on her lap when she visits. Justin went to her now, even being sick, when a child usually only wants their mother.

  We held hands and prayed over the baby right then.

  I’m going to like having Mrs. Preston with us.

  Over dinner—which Dad grilled outside—we talked about how people are hopefully managing to get by. Mrs. Preston’s hearing isn’t good so she just sat and drank her milk, smiling at us as though we were discussing something happy. Dad said people living near stores could buy supplies if they had cash—until the stock sold out. There would be no more deliveries though, to replenish the shelves. “That’s when the real trouble will start,” he said. “When the stores are emptied out. People are going to have to ration their supplies, and concentrate on keeping warm.”

  “How long will that take?” I asked. “For the stores to run out of stuff?”

  He shook his head. “Could happen in a day, if people panic. You know how before a storm everyone runs out and gets water and food and suddenly the shelves are empty? Well, for those who can get to the store and back, they’ll be buying everything they can cart with them. We’re going to be without electronics for a long time. Credit cards and bank accounts will be virtually worthless. The banks won’t open, because they can’t give everyone their money—they don’t have it. People will have to make do with what they’ve got—”

  “Or what they can steal,” added Mom, in a low tone. She was staring at the tablecloth, deep in thought, Justin half-awake, half-asleep on her lap. “Remember what happened after Hurricane Katrina in Louisiana? This is so much worse. There’ll be riots.”

  “Lots of violence too, I expect,” added Dad.

  “And no one can call the police or an ambulance!” The realization sickened me.

  Lainie was suddenly by my side. “Play checkers with me?” she asked. “Laura won’t play and I’m bored!” I was ready to refuse but out of the corner of my eye I saw my mom nodding at me to do it. “Okay,” I said, getting up. “Let’s play checkers.” I think I was a little relieved; it would take my mind off the awful prospect of what was in store for those who didn’t have anything stored.

  Mom said, “Hey, don’t forget. You can still use that bin of toys in the safe room. It’s not just for when we’re in the room. I put it together for any power outage.”

  I looked at Lainie. “Want to do that?”

  She nodded. “Yeah!”

  As we went through the bin, I felt grateful my mom is such a whiz at planning ahead. I pulled out a book of Crosswords; Lainie grabbed a flat dress-up doll with Velcro accessories. Laura joined us, pulling out a jump rope and promptly putting it to use. There were also board games, cards, little easy-sew kits, and lots of other stuff, all of it non-tech. I recognized some things from the Amish General Store we’d visited last spring while on a family outing. I’d always wondered what life must be like for the Amish—now we were actually finding out.

  Ready or not.

  LEXIE

  JANUARY 15

  DAY FIVE

  Chores take up more of my day than they used to. The barn chores don’t bother me so much because I’m used to doing them. Gathering eggs, milking Milcah (yeah, her name is a pun), cleaning the horse stalls, giving out feed, and so on. The animals are why we’re doing so well now without power. It makes me worry about my friends, though. The very stuff they teased me about is what’s making life bearable with the grid down.

  As I poured the day’s water into the top of the filter, Mrs. Preston shuffled into the kitchen using Dad’s old walker. She seemed tired but offered me her usual cheery smile. “Morning, Lexie.”

  “Good morning,” I smiled, heading to the coffee percolator on the woodstove. She liked her coffee black, so I poured her a steaming cup while she got herself seated in the blue corner overstuffed rocker. When I handed her the cup she took a sniff, closing her eyes. “Ah,” she said, contentedly, “The nectar of the gods!” It was a saying she favored although she was a devout Christian and didn’t believe in “the gods.”

  I watched as she fiddled with her oxygen tubes, getting them settled comfortably in her nostrils. I was glad we had all the tanks now. They stood in rows in the hall closet because we couldn’t risk their being near the heat of the stove. I tried not to think about what would happen when they ran out. Maybe by some miracle we’d have power back by then. Maybe we’d find a way to get more tanks from the nearest hospital or medical center.

  Mom called for breakfast, so I helped Mrs. Preston get out of the comfortable chair. Sitting next to me at the table, she watched as Butler jumped onto my lap.

  “He likes you,” she said.

  “He likes me too,” Laura volunteered, and Lainie immediately echoed the statement. “Of course he does,” purred Mrs. Preston to the twins. “Butler is a cat of good taste.”

  I stroked Butler’s sleek black fur, expecting my mom to make me push him away at any moment. She has this thing about animals being near the table. But she said nothing, so I kept petting him. I think she was distracted because Justin’s fever still hasn’t broken, and I know she was up with him a lot last night.

  “Is there any way we can help Andrea and her family”? I asked. My dad’s fork stopped in midair as he took in my question.

  He finished the bite of scrambled eggs and then asked, “What did you have in mind? What kind of help do you think they need?”

  “I think they need everything,” I said, nodding my head as I spoke.

  “Everything?” He gave a glance at my mom. “That’s a lot of stuff. That’s also vague. What kind of ‘everything’ are you talking about?”

  “I mean everything, Dad,” I said. “Food, water, shelter—”

  “Isn’t Andrea’s family the one with all the money?” asked Mom. “I’m sure they’re all right.”

  “I think so, too,” Dad said. “They’ve got that big house—”

  “Yeah, with a fireplace for heat,” I said, rudely cutting him off.

  “Is that all they have?” asked Mom. “Maybe they’ve got a back-up generator.”

  “I doubt it,” I said, and I meant it.

  “Well, I’m sure they’ve got something—charcoal for a fire outdoors; a grill; maybe a camp stove.”

  “Would we be getting by without our indoor woodstoves?” I asked.

  He chewed his food for a moment. “Well, not comfortably, I give you that.”

  “We need to help them,” I persisted.

  “And what about everyone else? You want to help the whole population who may be suffering right now? Where do you draw the line, Lex?”

  “Andrea is my closest friend! I know we can’t help everyone. But I also know we need to help the Pattersons.”

  “We can pray for them,” Dad said.

  “Dad, I mean REALLY help them.”

  He frowned. “Lex—prayer is the best thing we can do sometimes and that is real help. If you don’t think prayer is real help, you’re about wiping out God’s favorite method of helping his people.”

  “I don’t mean that prayer isn’t real help, it’s just that we can’t JUST pray for them.”

  He took another bite of eggs and then looked across the table at me. “Unless they show up at our door, there’s no way to do anything else. They’re what—fifteen minutes from here by car? Twenty? That’s gotta be fifteen miles, maybe more.”

  I happened to know it was eighteen minutes by car since I’d timed it in the past, but I didn’t volunteer that information. I said, “They won’t just show up. They don’t have horses like we do or a wagon.”

  “It’s possible they could make it here.”

  “Andrea has a baby sister,” I said. “Could mom take Justin that far? How could they make it here in this weather?”

  His shook his
head. “I don’t know, Lex.”

  “Why can’t we take the cart and go get them? That way, they could live here with us—at least until the cold breaks.”

  He reached his hand across the table and covered one of mine.

  “Lexie, honey,” he said, softly. “Andrea’s got a father who will take care of his family.”

  “Dad, you know yourself that Andrea’s father is not a nice guy.”

  He shrugged. “What has that got to do with it? He’s still a father. Fathers take care of their families.”

  “Just because you do, you’re a good father, doesn’t mean all men do, you know.”

  He looked at me quizzically. “Do you have any reason to believe that Andrea’s father would not do everything in his power to see to the needs of his family?”

  I fell silent, thinking for a moment. “Well, I guess he’d try, but he’s never been home a lot, and maybe he’s not even with them. What if he got stranded somewhere? What are they gonna do without a woodstove?”

  “Use their gas generator or propane heater,” said Mom. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions, assuming they NEED help. It’s not been a week without power, yet. Most people are managing to get by somehow or other. Even if they don’t have a good heat source they may have friends in the neighborhood who do. Stop worrying about other people right now and concentrate on keeping our house running. I have Justin to worry about, and I notice you haven’t been jumping to wash dishes for me.”

  I looked down. It was true. There was so much to do on top of my usual chores, and I hated having to heat up water just for washing stuff. Dad was using the generator to keep our refrigerator working but had stopped powering the water heater.

  So I returned to the subject I wanted to talk about. Because parents just don’t get it. How was I supposed to be okay having our basic needs met while I knew Andrea and her family are in trouble? Sarah lives in the city so I figured she had social services there. (Later Dad told me cities most likely did not have social services; that all services would have been crippled with the grid down, but I didn’t know that then. I’m glad I didn’t know or I’d have been just as worried about Sarah as I was about Andrea.)

  I said, “I’m surprised at you two. I thought one of the reasons we were preparing was so we could help other people.”

  “Look beside you,” Dad said, motioning towards Mrs. Preston. “We have a new family member. Plus two cats more than what we had before. We can’t take in whole families, Lex. Yes, we’ve prepared a little extra, hoping to bring an occasional meal to someone in need, but if you bring another family here, there’s no way our supplies will last. Then we’ll all starve. How does that help anyone?”

  “We won’t starve; you can hunt,” I persisted. “We have enough land.”

  “Hunting is something I plan on doing,” he agreed. “But not every day. And think about how many times I’ve gone hunting and come back empty-handed. It’s a heck of way to have to eat by, and the more mouths to feed the harder it will be.” He paused. “And how long do you think there’ll be anything to hunt? When everyone out there’s doing the same thing? This is Ohio, not Africa. We have a limited supply of game out there.”

  I knew deep in my heart that Dad was right but I felt miserable about it, so I said, “I think you just don’t want to be bothered!” I stood up.

  “We feel just as badly as you do for anyone in trouble;” he began, “but you must realize it isn’t a matter of not wanting to help—it’s a matter of resources. We don’t have the resources to help a lot of people.”

  I still resisted his logic. “How do you know we aren’t meant to help everyone we possibly can, for as long as we can, until we all run out?”

  Dad looked thoughtful a moment. “Honey, when Jesus taught in the synagogue in his own hometown, he pointed out there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah and even though a great famine came over the land, Elijah was only sent to one of those widows. And though there were many lepers in the time of the prophet Elisha, only one of them, Naaman the Syrian, was healed. Think about that. God has reasons for allowing suffering. C.S. Lewis says without suffering there’s no free will, because so much of human suffering is caused by our own devices. Whatever caused this power outage, it is still within the sovereignty of God. And in any case, my responsibility before God is to take care of my family, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Just think about it, Dad,” I pleaded. “I’m not asking you to help the whole town. Just Andrea and her family.” Mrs. Preston, surprisingly, laid her hand upon my arm and patted it. I didn’t think she could follow a conversation unless we were speaking really loudly but I suppose she heard our tones, which was enough. Her concern was sweet—but it didn’t help me feel better.

  In a last ditch effort I spilled my guts, so to speak. “I just keep seeing Andrea pleading for help,” I cried. “Like Paul saw the man from Macedonia, remember? I can’t help it! I wish I wasn’t! But I keep seeing this image of Andrea and her baby sister and brothers, all cold and alone in their big expensive house! What would you do if you kept seeing that?” My voice cracked, which embarrassed me. But at the same time I was glad they could see how upset I was.

  My parents looked at each other.

  “Maybe we should pray about it,” my mom said. I loved her so much at that moment.

  “Okay,” Dad said. “We’ll pray about it.” I loved them both. My folks are really good people at heart even if they can be a little thick now and then.

  Later as I did my afternoon chores, I heard wind howling outside the barn and it made me shudder. That feeling of the Pattersons needing us came back, stronger than ever. Then I thought of Sarah in her apartment building, knowing I couldn’t dare ask my dad to rescue them too. Besides, I wasn’t getting the same urgent sense of needing to help them as I did when I thought or prayed about Andrea.

  I did have to wonder how on earth Sarah’s family was managing to stay warm, though. Could they have found a community shelter? Maybe they had a kerosene or propane heater. And maybe Andrea’s family did too. Mom was right; Andrea’s family was rich, it would make sense for them to have a back-up generator. We, who were not rich, had one. It made sense they would too, right?

  It did. But I couldn’t shake the conviction that we needed to go and get them. Something about their situation was not good and God was letting me know it. The question was if my parents could trust my perception of God’s leading. Was I even sure of that, myself? How can you be sure of something like hearing God’s voice, when even the Bible says it is a “still, small voice?”

  All I knew is that every time I got to my knees at night when I prayed for the Pattersons, I got the same urgent feeling that we ought to help them. Soon. When something keeps coming back to you every time you pray, there’s a good indication that God is trying to tell you something. If it lines up with Scripture, (and helping people surely lined up) then why should I think it wasn’t God’s voice?

  LEXIE

  JANUARY 16

  DAY SIX

  Last night Mom came up to “the bedroom.” There’s only one bedroom we use now because it’s got the wood stove. I miss sleeping alone in my own room but the little ones fall asleep earlier than I do, so it isn’t too bad. I can read by oil lamp. It’s just strong enough for reading but not too strong to wake anyone else. It seems kids sleep like rocks anyways.

  So my mother came up and we had a talk while the little ones slept. She asked me more about the Pattersons and we discussed my concerns.

  “Have you considered waiting a week or two at least?” she asked, regarding getting them.

  “Why? It’s so cold right now. What if they aren’t warm enough?”

  “Lex, they surely have coats and blankets and can find a way to stay warm. I’m not saying they’ll feel like they’re at the Hilton—heck, we don’t even feel that way. But they CAN stay warm; and I’m sure they’re not starving. Nearly everyone keeps some extra food in the house and Andrea’s family is
well-off, so why would they be an exception?”

  “Mom,” I said, looking earnestly into her pretty blue eyes. “How could they stay warm, really? With sub-zero temperatures at night like we’ve been having?”

  “Honey,” she said, shaking her head for emphasis, “People find ways. Besides fireplaces, there’s kerosene heaters, propane heaters, gas generators, gas lamps, oil lamps, even candles, and, if they’ve got ventilation, charcoal grills or barrel fires. Also, they can raise the temperature of a room just by sealing it off and staying in one room.”

  “That is no way to live,” I answered, annoyed. “They can’t stay warm with candles! And how do you seal off a room to stay warm? You can’t LIVE in that room until spring!” I shook my head and pretended to read my book, hoping my mom would leave. She was trying to get away from her promise to pray about helping them, it seemed. It made me angry.

  “Well, I just wanted you to know that your father and I will pray about this. But we both think the situation is not desperate yet for most people, and that we likely still have plenty of time before we try to get to their house. I have to see Justin get well first, too, before I take on any more of a challenge. This hasn’t been easy for me, any more than you,” she said.

  I looked at her. “You seem fine. You act like you’ve been ready to live this way. You’ve had dinner every night for us and breakfast every morning.” Lunch was usually just pre-packaged food, processed stuff we didn’t often get as mom believes it’s unhealthy. I was actually enjoying the change.

  “I was somewhat ready for it,” she acceded. “But I’m tired of it, Lex.” She’d drawn out the word, ‘tired,’ sounding like weariness itself. I’d been so caught up in my own worries that I hadn’t really stopped to consider how my mom was busy from morning to night. She was keeping our house running despite having less and less help from the generator. Dad was rationing the use of it more every day. My mom sighed. “I’d love to sit back and watch a good movie and just relax right now.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, lost in thought. “I’d love a good hot shower, too.” Normally I would have smiled at that or told her I wanted a hot shower also; but I was still annoyed, so I said nothing. She looked at me.