All God's Promises (A Prairie Heritage Book 7)

by Vikki Kestell

  “Good morning, miss.”

  “Guess we’re the only ones here, huh?”

  What a sad commentary on my life, Kari added silently. Straightening her shoulders, she turned on the lights she needed and went to work.

  She drove home that evening through a dense rain. Storm clouds hung from a leaden sky and she thought she heard rumbles in the distance.

  Weary from pushing herself as hard as she could, she skipped dinner. Instead, she filled the garden tub with scented oil and took a long, hot soak. Afterwards, drained and heated through, she climbed into the king-size bed and collapsed into an exhausted slumber.

  She was startled out of her sleep sometime deep in the night by pounding on her front door and the incessant pealing of the doorbell. She stumbled from her bed and realized that the wind was howling; rain was beating on her bedroom windows. The sound was deafening.

  No wonder I didn’t hear the front door—but I can’t believe I’ve been sleeping through this storm!

  A blast of lightning illuminated her room; the thunder that followed was immediate and right over them. It shook the house, and Kari shrieked.

  The pounding downstairs continued, and she could hear muffled shouting from the porch. Kari threw on her robe and slippers and ran down the stairs.

  “Miss Kari! Miss Kari! Wake up!”

  Kari turned on the porch light and unlocked and threw open the door. Toller, dressed in a slicker and streaming water everywhere, barged inside and slammed the door behind him. “We have to go! Now!”

  Without another word, he unfolded and shook a rain slicker, spattering more water across the parquet floors. He tossed the slicker over Kari’s head and began pulling it down over her body, ignoring her protests.

  “Toller! What are you doing? What is happening?”

  “Tornado watch. Radio says funnel clouds have been spotted not far from here. Gotta get t’ the storm cellar!” He grabbed Kari by the hand and dragged her through the living room, dining room, and kitchen.

  Kari wanted to demand, “What cellar?” but the word “tornado” glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

  Toller unbolted and yanked open the back door; the screaming wind nearly tore the door from his grip. He pulled Kari after him and, with difficulty, tugged the door closed behind them. He then led her into the pounding rain. They followed the back of the house until Toller stopped at a small wooden enclosure attached to the foundation. The enclosure was surrounded by shrubs, almost obscured by them. Kari had seen wooden slats peeking through the greenery, but had not thought much about them.

  Toller unlatched a gate into the enclosure—as another bolt of lightning crackled overhead. In the flash of the strike, Kari spied what the wooden fence screened from view: The slanted door of a storm cellar leading down, under the house’s foundation.

  Toller unbolted the heavy cellar door and struggled to lift it. The wind fought his efforts. Kari got her fingers under the door’s edge and lent her strength to heft it open.

  Holding the door half open with his bent back, Toller handed her a flashlight. “Go!”

  Kari switched on the light and descended the steep cement steps. Toller followed and let the door clang shut over them. Kari spun the beam of the flashlight about the tiny room. It was only about six feet in both directions and nearly the same in height.

  “Give me some light here,” Toller demanded. He was fumbling for something near the door.

  Kari aimed the light at him. He located the iron bar he was looking for and shoved it through a clasp on the door and into a hole in the cement wall.

  The tiny room was empty with the exception of an old bench. Kari sank onto it. Rain flowed from her slicker and puddled onto the bench and floor. The wind still howled above them but it was muffled from within the cellar.

  Kari trembled. She was soaked, freezing, and now half-terrified.

  “Will we be all right here?”

  “We should be.”

  “Thank you for coming for me, Toller.”

  Thunder crashed and shook the cellar door. Dust sifted down from above.

  “Will the house survive?” she asked him.

  Toller shrugged. “Impossible to say.” He jerked his chin at the flashlight. “We should turn that off. Conserve the batteries.”

  Kari switched it off. She and Toller sat back-to-back on the bench, propping each other up.

  In the dark, the noises of the storm seemed more distinct. Thunder crashed continuously and then Kari heard a rumbling sound, a deep growl like a mighty engine. It grew and came closer.

  “Wh-what is-is th-that?” She was shaking so badly, her teeth chattered.

  Toller’s response grated in his throat. “That’s a tornado.”

  The roar intensified. At one point, Kari could not have heard Toller if he had spoken to her or if he had shouted. She huddled on the bench and prayed.

  Lord, I thank you for sparing us from this storm. I know that all my earthly belongings are but dust. I place them and I place our lives in your hands.

  As chilled as she was, Kari somehow dozed. When she roused, she was shaking from the cold, but light shone from the door.

  Toller ducked his head into the cellar. “It’s over. We should get out and dry off.”

  Kari’s muscles were cramped, stiff, but she stood up and shuffled toward the cellar steps, not knowing what they would find

  Well, Lord, if the house is gone, I guess that’s one less obstacle standing between Søren and me, one obstacle I can say you have removed.

  —

  KARI SQUINTED IN THE MORNING LIGHT. The first thing she realized was that the wooden fence that had screened the cellar door was gone. Vanished. The lawn was littered with debris. Many of the shrubs had been stripped of their foliage; some were broken, others uprooted. Chunks of wood and masonry cluttered the grass.

  She took a breath, turned, and looked behind her.

  The house still stood.

  “Oh, thank you, Lord,” she breathed.

  Sodden and shivering, Kari made her way up the steps to the back door and into the house.

  I need to repeat that hot bath.

  —

  “THE ROOF TOOK THE WORST OF IT,” TOLLER PRONOUNCED late in the afternoon. He sneezed and drew a hanky from his back pocket to wipe his nose. “Sorry. Caught a sniffle. Half the slate tiles are broken or missing. And the wind busted out a window in one o’ your guest rooms.”

  He sneezed again. “Lotta water damage in that room, Miss Kari. Most ev’rthing ruin’t.”

  “I still count us blessed, Toller,” Kari replied. “We’re alive. Our homes are standing. We have a dry place to lay our heads tonight. Not everyone does.”

  Kari had visited the tiny cottage at the back of her grounds where Toller lived and had seen with her own eyes that his home was intact. Then she had walked through her neighborhood where she usually jogged to see how her neighbors had fared.

  Marlow Avenue was strewn with broken branches and impassable by car, but Kari had picked her way down the sidewalk, turned a corner and, only half a block away, had seen the devastation left behind. The tornado had touched down twice, inexplicably skipping over some dwellings, but leveling three.

  Now she sat at her desk, listening to Toller’s report, grateful for the little damage her house has suffered, yet heartsick at the view from her office window.

  The doorbell rang. Toller looked up. “Would you like me to come back later, Miss Kari?”

  “No; this will likely take but a minute.”

  She squared her shoulders and marched to the door. When she opened it, she blinked in surprise.

  “Miss Em?”

  The elderly woman leaned upon the arm of her companion, a woman perhaps twenty-five years younger than Miss Em.

  Miss Em offered a tight smile. “Aft’noon, Miss Michaels. This here’s my daughter, Doris-Mae, and—”

  The younger woman interrupted. “Doris-Mae Jackson, Miss Michaels, Em’s youngest. I ’pologize for
barging in on you like this, but Mama would not take ‘no’ for an answer. She insisted I drive her over to see you—and today, of all days, when I can see you have plenty on your plate without us comin’ to call at such a time as this.”

  Despite her protests to the contrary, Doris-Mae propelled herself through the doorway, dragging Miss Em with her.

  Kari noted the angry flush that climbed up Miss Em’s cheeks, but the old woman held her tongue from the sharp retort Kari figured was lurking behind those pinched lips.

  You’re a better woman than I am, Miss Em.

  “Not at all. Er, please come in.” Since they were already ‘in,’ Kari led them into the living room and bade them sit down.

  “Take this seat, Miss Em. I believe it will suit you best. Here—let me put this pillow behind your back.”

  Kari knew Toller was watching and listening from her office, only steps away.

  “Thank you kindly, child.” The old woman lowered herself into the chair and plunked her purse onto her lap.

  Then Miss Em fixed Kari with a look. “I would not be here right now in the middle of your trouble, ’cept, I know not to ignore a word from the Lord.”

  Doris-Mae made a small sound under her breath.

  Em ignored her. “See, I b’lieve when the Lord speaks to us, we need to be quick to do what he says.”

  “I agree, Miss Em.”

  Em slanted a look at her daughter, who rolled her eyes. Em shrugged and settled her purse deeper into her lap.

  “See here, Miss Michaels. I had me a dream last night. A’course I have lots of dreams, but this one, this one was special. It lingered and I ’membered it clear as day when I woke up. Been tusslin’ with Doris-Mae since breakfast t’ carry me over here and tell you.”

  “Oh?” Kari glanced at Doris-Mae.

  The woman emitted a longsuffering sigh. “Oh, yes. Mama has been most insistent.”

  “Well, I thank you, Doris-Mae, for taking time out of your busy schedule to bring her here.”

  “Couldn’t even get the car down your street,” Doris-Mae sniffed. “Had to park and walk an entire block.”

  Kari stilled. “That must have been very hard on your dear mother.”

  Something in Kari’s tone must have hinted at her underlying meaning, for Doris-Mae flushed and sat back, silenced.

  “You came to tell me about your dream, Miss Em?”

  “Oh. Yes. And to deliver his message. See, in my dream I saw a great storm brewin’. Now, whiles I was dreamin’ I knew deep in m’ subconscious that it was a-thundrin’ and rainin’ outside for real, but that real storm didn’t wake me up. I was caught up in my dream, you see?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Then the Lord, he say, ‘Tell Kari, they’s a storm comin’.”

  Doris-Mae must have recovered from Kari’s veiled rebuke, for this time her snort was unmistakable. “Mama, any fool can see there’s been a storm.”

  Em stared at her. “If I am a fool, Doris-Mae Jackson, then you are the daughter of one. Hrumph.”

  Miss Em turned her back on Doris-Mae and lifted her chin. “Well, when I woke up, the storm had already passed by our house. And the Lord, he didn’t say, ‘they’s been a storm.’ He say, ‘Tell Kari they’s a storm comin’.’

  “It’s comin’, child.” She stared at Kari with such intensity that Kari began to heat under her gaze.

  “And in the dream, the Lord showed me a big ol’ tree, an old live oak, with its limbs a spreadin’ out wide and down to the ground. That tree was bending and twisting in the wind o’ that storm until, with a thunderous crack, it split.”

  Kari’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Well, child, at first I thought that tree was split in half, top to bottom. Then the wind died away and I saw, no, it was split in three pieces. And the Lord, he say to me, ‘Tell Kari when that storm comes, it will break her tree—but she is not to give in to despair.’ He say that two times: ‘Tell Kari she is not to give in to despair. All will be well.’

  “Then he say it all again, like so’s I don’t forget. ‘Tell Kari: They’s a storm comin’ and it will break your tree, but it will not die. Two branches will grow out of one piece of that broken trunk. Your tree will live—and all will be well.’

  “My tree will live . . .” Kari shook her head, perplexed.

  “See? That’s all stuff and nonsense, Mama,” Doris-Mae chided. “All that ‘your tree will live’ baloney.”

  Em paid her daughter no heed. “Miss Michaels, the Lord’s message is plain: They’s a bad storm coming for you, but you are not to despair. Heed the word of the Lord: Even though your tree is broken in three pieces, it will not die. It will live.”

  Doris-Mae stood up. “All right, Mama. You’ve delivered your message. Now, let’s leave Miss Michaels in peace.” Her mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “I ’pologize again, Miss Michaels.”

  Miss Em remained seated, her chin jutting forward in a stubborn line. “He tol’ me there would be a sign. Here. At your house.”

  “A sign?” A shaken Kari looked up. “You said you had to park far down the street and walk in. From which direction?”

  Doris-Mae and Em pointed together toward the section of Marlow Avenue that ran up to and touched Kari’s driveway before the street reached her house.

  Kari stood. “Will you both come with me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She went through the front door, down the porch, and across the lawn—away from the driveway. Skirting debris, she led them to the other side of the house

  Rhododendrons, azaleas, and hydrangeas, shredded and ripped from their beds, littered the grounds. Shrubs and hedges had been stripped of their leaves. Broken slate tiles from the roof lay scattered amid the vegetation.

  Toller took Miss Em’s arm and helped her navigate across the grass. Head bowed, Kari waited for them.

  The venerable old oak Kari had loved so dearly still smoked and steamed from the lightning strike that had burned its way through the trunk. The blast had cleaved the trunk into three pieces. A full third of it had shattered, and the weight of the trunk’s heavy branches had torn its roots from the ground.

  The shattered pieces lay upon the drenched grass. Severed. Dead.

  Kari knew that the rest of the tree would have to come down, but in the storm’s aftermath, the remainder of the trunk, while split in two, stood upright. It supported branches that still overspread the lawn.

  “Even though your tree is broken in three pieces, it will not die. It will live,” Kari repeated. She lifted her chin. “Since you walked in from the other direction, you could not have seen this. Am I right? Is this sign enough?”

  Em’s lips quivered. “It’s the same tree. I saw it in my dream.”

  Doris-Mae’s mouth hung open as Kari rounded on her.

  “Your mother is a woman of God. It might do you some good to heed her.”

  Kari glanced back at the dying tree and swallowed.

  “I know I will.”

  —

  TOLLER FETCHED HIS RIDING LAWN MOWER and, with Doris-Mae and Miss Em perched on the back, maneuvered them through the debris to their car.

  While Toller was gone, Kari folded her hands on her desk and rested her forehead upon them. Visions of disaster and tragedy flooded her mind along with anxiety for those she loved.

  Søren. Max. Ilsa. Ruth. Clover. Lorene. Oskar. Melanie. Scarlett.

  “Lord, I don’t understand what is coming. Miss Em says it will be bad, but I trust you to prepare me for it. When it comes, please help me, O God, no matter what it is, to heed your word and not give in to despair. Help me to cling to you.”

  ~~**~~

  Chapter 24

  January 1, 1994

  THE KNOCK ON THE APARTMENT DOOR STARTLED LINNÉA. She crossed the room and spoke through the reinforced wood.

  “Who is it, please?”

  “Telegram, Miss Olander.”

  She recognized Gustav’s thick voice, but she glanced through the peephole before she unlock
ed and opened the door.

  “I hope it is not bad news, miss.”

  Linnéa smiled at the rotund man who had been kindness itself so many times. “I’m sure it isn’t. Thank you for bringing it up to me.”

  As soon as she closed the door behind him, the smile dropped from her face. The location of her apartment was as tightly controlled as her phone number. No one in Stockholm but the receptionist and her handlers at Marstead had her address—and they would not send a telegram.

  That left only her family back in the States to send a wire via the Marstead operations center.

  It was New Year’s Day. Stockholm time was two in the afternoon. She calculated the time in Seattle before she ripped open the small envelope.

  Five in the morning.

  As she read the few short lines, horror gripped her.

  Stephen and Kelly in accident.

  Call soonest. We need you.

  Bill.

  Bill Greene was Kelly’s father—Sammie’s father-in-law. Linnéa swallowed and forced herself to remain calm. Sam and Kelly were in an accident. A car crash? Are they all right? What about the kids?

  The kids.

  An image of Sam and Kelly’s beautiful children, ages four years and one year, floated before her troubled eyes.

  For the last decade, Linnéa had transitioned to Laynie once a year and had spent her precious leave in Seattle. She always went in midsummer when she and Sam could get out on Puget Sound with his little sailboat. Even after Sam and Kelly married, he and Laynie managed to spend a few days together on the water during Laynie’s vacation.

  Kelly wasn’t keen on sailing, but she understood the strong bond between her husband and his sister. Kelly had always encouraged their jaunts.

  And Laynie loved Kelly for that selfless gesture.

  Once Shannon was born, though, things had shifted—to Laynie’s surprise and Sam’s consternation: Laynie found that she wanted to spend every moment of her stateside vacation with her niece. And three years later when Robbie was born?

  “I can’t pry you loose from these kids,” Sam had complained. “It’s bad enough that Kelly won’t sail with me, but now you? You’re drying out! Landlubber!”