George’s chair was also empty. Despite his age and against the wishes of his wife, he had been up until midnight helping neighbors clear downed tree limbs. He’d left a message on Prosper Hardware’s answering machine, telling the others not to worry when he didn’t show up for coffee. “I’m too old for this,” George had said, his voice muffled by exhaustion. “Off to bed.” Auggie had kept the co-op open until eleven and came back in at four that morning, the phone ringing constantly with farmers needing feed after their silos and barns were damaged in the storm.
Through her tears, Melinda told Doc and Auggie about Hobo. The two friends exchanged looks of concern but offered much-needed words of encouragement.
Auggie said a neighbor’s dog once disappeared for two months and then suddenly returned one morning; she was found lounging on the patio as if nothing had happened. Melinda had set up a Facebook page for Doc’s clinic just before the Fourth of July parade, and he urged her to post Hobo’s photo right away.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Doc said. “Animals sometimes run away after a storm, I doubt he went very far. Sounds like the damage at your place wasn’t too severe. He likely wasn’t hurt, just scared. Kevin will understand.”
“And you’re not a failure,” Auggie patted Melinda’s arm. “I didn’t know what to think at first when you said you were taking on Horace’s farm. A city girl, out in the country with all those animals to look after? But you’ve done more than you know, and given Horace peace of mind to boot. Frank and Miriam would never have gotten by this long without you, either.”
“What about me?”
Doc and Auggie looked shocked as Aunt Miriam hustled up the main aisle from the back of the store.
“Oh, come on, now. You boys aren’t the only ones with keys to this place.” Miriam elbowed Bill, who was yawning and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Melinda wasn’t sure where her aunt had found her energy or her high spirits.
“Everybody, I’ve got an idea, been working on it since last night.” Miriam slapped a palm on the oak counter, unable to contain her excitement. Doc gave Miriam a questioning look over his coffee mug. Auggie jumped in his chair, and Melinda realized he’d nearly fallen asleep.
“We’ve come through with not much more than a broken pane of glass in the front door. But sadly, many people around Prosper can’t say the same. I hear the Emmersons are still in the hospital. So, Frank and I were up late, talking about how we might help. It was all I could do to keep him in the house. He wanted to go pick up tree branches, can you imagine? But here’s what we’re going to do.”
Miriam pulled up one of the vacant chairs gathered around the sideboard. “Bill and Melinda, for the next two weeks, we’ll sell all the building materials at cost. That’s the plywood, lumber, screws and nails, you name it. If someone asks for it and you’re not sure if it qualifies, don’t worry about it. Just give it to them at wholesale.”
“Miriam, that’s a wonderful idea.” Doc reached over to put an arm around his longtime friend. “People will sure appreciate it.”
“Well, this community has done so much for us these past months. This is one way we can give back, say thanks.” Melinda could see a few tears of gratitude in her aunt’s eyes. “The construction stuff doesn’t make up much of our sales these days, not like it did decades ago. It won’t break us to do it at cost for a little while. Besides, this way people won’t have to drive so far to get what they need, they can come here rather than drive to Mason City or anywhere else. I’ve got the cost sheets up in the office. Bill, I’ll get those to you and put a copy up here under the counter.”
“Sounds like we may need to increase our supply order for next week.” Bill was exhausted, but he was smiling.
“Melinda,” Miriam turned in chair, “can you get something together to put on the city’s website? Nancy can post it for us, and I don’t think Jerry would mind. And out to the media?”
Melinda felt her despair start to ease. She needed something to pull her focus away from the fact that Hobo was missing. And Aunt Miriam’s good mood was infectious. “Of course. And you might gain some new customers out of all this, too.”
“That’s true. You are always thinking ahead like that, I love it. Now, let’s see how many people we can help out. Speaking of help, I made Frank promise he’ll stay inside today and let our dear neighbors clean up the yard so I can be down here at the store. I think we’ll be busy. It is a Saturday, after all.”
Aunt Miriam was right. Three people were waiting outside when Melinda unlocked the front door at eight. Two customers from the hardest hit areas northwest of Prosper had pulled up in the back even before then, their pickup beds cleared out to haul plywood and lumber.
Miriam guided people to the correct screws and nails and other supplies they needed, and was quick to give comfort as residents shared their harrowing stories of survival. Esther showed up before noon, insisting she couldn’t sit at home when she knew Prosper Hardware was having one of its busiest days in years. Her first task was to make more coffee and set out cups for the customers. Melinda, running the register, could barely catch her breath as people continued to pour into the store. Many of them lingered, anxious to talk to other shoppers and ask after old friends or distant relatives.
It was an emotional day. Everyone was tired, disheveled and reeling from the storm, but the goodwill circulating in the store gave Melinda just enough of a lift to power through. Friends hugged each other, tears of sympathy and relief on their cheeks, and promised to lend a hand with repairs. Strangers were connecting over their shared troubles, parting with warm handshakes and pats on the back. One man paid for his purchases and then slipped Melinda two twenty-dollar bills, asking her to put them toward the tab of “anyone you think needs it most.” He left the store before Melinda could flag Aunt Miriam down and try and find out who he was.
“This is small-town Iowa at its best.” Esther beamed while she sacked up a customer’s supplies. “Everyone pulls together when things get tough. We always find a way to make do, don’t we?”
“We certainly do.” Melinda felt a lump in her throat as she reached for the next customer’s items on the oak counter. Seven customers were waiting in line for the register, but no one was complaining or cross. All these people were willing to help each other, whether it was to swing a hammer or just offer a kind ear to someone who was worried or scared.
She was proud to be from here. Actually, she was proud to be here, right now, be a part of the healing that was taking place right there in the store. But she was so tired …
“You need to take a break.” Esther put her hand on Melinda’s arm. “You had a long night, and today’s going to be the same. Why don’t you go upstairs for a few minutes, take a nap if you like? I’ll give you twenty and I’ll come up and wake you.”
“Thanks, Esther, I will.” Melinda took her purse from under the counter and saw her phone blinking with a message from Kevin. She settled in on the faded couch in the upstairs office and, with trembling fingers, dialed into her voicemail.
Kevin urged her not to worry, and said several Schermann family members would arrive at the farm by nine tomorrow morning. “There’s still hope Hobo will show up.” Kevin’s tone was reassuring, but she could hear the sadness running through it. “I won’t tell Horace about Hobo just yet. He can’t do anything to help and it’ll just upset him.”
Melinda barely remembered closing her eyes and was startled when Esther gave her shoulder a shake. The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind, the store’s entire display of screws and nails reduced by half and every tarp on the shelf and in storage sold before the store closed.
“Good work today, everyone.” Aunt Miriam sighed as she locked the front door, then looked at Bill and Esther. “I don’t want to see either of you here Monday morning until at least noon. And Melinda, Monday is still one of your days off, so you stay home.”
Bill started to protest but Miriam kindly cut him off. “You’ve all done more than enough. I
can manage by myself Monday morning, I’ll line up someone to stay with Frank. I think most people needing large amounts of lumber have already come in, and I’ll help any stragglers as best as I can.”
As they walked to their cars, Melinda told Miriam that the Schermanns were coming in the morning to clean up the acreage.
“I can understand Kevin taking that on, and maybe a few close relatives, but it sounds like there’s going to be a whole team,” Melinda said. “I felt so alone and afraid last night, and tomorrow I’ll have more than enough help. It’s almost overwhelming.”
Miriam gave her niece a hug. “What goes around, comes around, my dear. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here. I know your parents love having you back, if only for a summer, but Frank and I are running a close second. And,” she turned more serious, “I’ll be praying that Hobo finds his way home. You’ve done all you can, it’s not your fault.”
“I know it’s not my fault,” Melinda said to herself as she drove home. “But I still feel sick about it. I wasn’t home when the storm hit. Even if I’d left the store the minute the skies darkened, I couldn’t have made it there in time to do anything. Why am I still beating myself up about this?”
The answer came swiftly and, for the second day in a row, she found herself blinking away tears as she turned off the county highway.
“Because I love that dog.” She shook her head, wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “Because I love that house, and that farm feels like home. Hobo’s my best friend here in Prosper, despite all the wonderful people I’ve met. I can’t give up on him, on any of it.”
Melinda slowed as she approached the jag in the gravel road, then bumped across the creek bridge and pulled over to the narrow shoulder. She couldn’t go home until she checked the ravine again.
The birds had resumed their songs in the willows, and the squirrels chattered at Melinda as she side-stepped partway down the creek bank. She looked up and down the waterway for any sign of movement, called for Hobo to come. The terror she felt last night under the bridge didn’t return, but there was no sign of her friend.
No one ran to greet her when she came up the driveway. Melinda usually changed her clothes before chores, but not tonight. She hurried to the barn, calling for Hobo as she crossed the yard and opened the door. She had cautioned herself to not get her hopes up, but she was still discouraged when Hobo didn’t appear.
The ewes came tumbling in from the pasture, crowding at the feed bunk. Their fear long forgotten, they were only interested in how quickly Melinda could scoop out their supper and reach over the partition to give them a few quick pats on their heads. Stormy and Sunny watched from behind the grain room door, and mewed and circled their dishes while Melinda added to their kibble and refreshed their water. She held out her hand, and Stormy tentatively leaned forward and touched her fingers with his nose, then quickly stepped back.
“I need to look after the ones still here, no matter what else happens. Isn’t that right?” she asked Sunny, who hesitated at first then bravely brushed against the leg of her jeans.
Maybe the cats will learn to trust me after all, she thought. There’s always hope that they’ll change. She had wanted to make friends with the cats from the first time she saw them, but now, with Hobo gone, it seemed more important than ever to win them over.
The hens clustered at the front corner of their run when they saw Melinda coming. They, too, wanted their supper. She scattered their feed, relieved to see that her rough repairs to the run were holding. She dumped out the waterers, then lifted the red plastic bucket off its hook inside the coop door.
Hobo enjoyed filling the bucket at the hydrant, drawn by the squeak of the iron handle and the whoosh of fresh water splashing on the ground. He’d always tried to sneak in a drink before Melinda got the bucket in place, although she gave him plenty of time to enjoy the rushing water when she was done. She smiled at the memory of Hobo dancing at her feet, his enthusiasm for even the simplest joys on the farm. Every chore, every routine reminded her of him. How was she ever going to fill these lonely moments?
Melinda tried to turn her focus to what it would take to restore the acreage. She was picking up branches as she made her rounds and had started a decent pile of limbs and sticks next to the garden, but wished she’d gotten more done. At the very least, she wanted to straighten up the house tonight and bake something to share with the volunteers tomorrow. She was just renting the place, only staying for a few months, and the repairs were ultimately Kevin’s responsibility. But this was her home, even temporarily, and she planned to be out here with everyone else, pitching in.
Hobo’s disappearance wasn’t her fault, she knew, and few people besides Auggie had expected the storm to be as severe as it was. But the damaged acreage shook her confidence.
She had learned so much about living in the country in just a handful of weeks, was so proud of how the garden and the animals were thriving under her care. But now, she saw just how uneducated she really was, how wrong she had been to assume she could spend the summer just reading in the front porch swing and enjoying the fresh bounty from Horace’s garden. She had a huge mess on her hands, and one of her dear friends was missing. And she hated to think about it, but what else might happen?
“Apparently, lots of things,” she muttered as she lugged the bucket of water back to the chicken coop. “And we can pick up every twig in this yard, and fix the shed roofs and try to save the garden, but none of that will bring Hobo back.”
Living in the country might be peaceful, but it could turn dangerous or frightening in a matter of minutes. Unpredictable weather was only one of the challenges. An animal could suddenly become hurt or sick. Would she have even the faintest idea what to do? What if Doc couldn’t come right away? It was just short of a miracle that none of the sheep had been injured during the storm, or worse.
She thought back to last night’s trek through the windbreak, her slide into the creek ravine. She was living alone out here, and she needed to be careful. If she got hurt and her phone wasn’t within reach, it could be hours, or days, before someone might realize she needed help.
Melinda hadn’t known that before, hadn’t thought of it until now. Trouble had come, and she wasn’t prepared. And that made her uneasy.
CHAPTER 22
Melinda was just finishing her cereal the next morning when Kevin’s truck slid past the kitchen window. Less than a minute later, she spotted a car coming up the lane. And then another. Following that was an SUV, adding to the kick-up of gravel dust that danced in the humid sunshine.
She glanced sideways out the kitchen window to where the Schermann relatives were gathering under the light pole by the garage, hugging, shaking hands and unloading rakes and toolboxes out of their vehicles. A chainsaw appeared, and then a wheelbarrow was lifted out of the back of the SUV.
“These people mean business.” She went out to the back porch for a better look. She saw Kevin, in a pair of grungy jeans and a faded T-shirt, slide the garage door open and start to hand around more tools, then roll out Horace’s wheelbarrow and the grill.
Melinda was as ready for her guests as she could ever be. She’d scrubbed the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom last night, then dusted and decluttered the main rooms. The banana muffins she baked this morning were packed with walnuts and oats for energy and chocolate chips for a sweet finish.
Some of Kevin’s relatives were looking toward the house. Melinda imagined a few were evaluating the structure, checking for signs of storm damage, but many were probably more curious about the tenant that hadn’t yet appeared.
“I’m the one who’s really the guest here.” She subconsciously brushed at her jeans and tee shirt. “I need to get out there and say hello.” She smoothed the wavy hairs already escaping her ponytail and reached for one of Horace’s faded caps hanging next to the door.
Kevin was at the back steps, ready with an unexpected hug. “I see what you mean about the mess. But we’ll get on
it.” He introduced two friends Melinda had assumed were family, then went around the group calling out names and how everyone was related.
“And without further delay,” Kevin waved forward an older woman who was already beaming at Melinda, “this is Ada, my mom.”
Melinda instantly recognized Ada’s blue eyes, as they were shared by both her brother and her son. She was notably younger than Horace, probably in her early seventies, with cropped silver hair and a broad smile.
“Oh, Melinda!” Ada offered a welcoming hug. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Kevin can’t stop going on about all you’ve done out here, caring for the animals, the painting and on and on. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done inside.”
“Well, I’m trying to keep things going.” She was touched by Ada’s warmth. “The house may have come through the storm pretty well, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Horace’s garden.”
“You’ll be surprised at how quickly those plants might bounce back.” Ada dropped the tailgate on Kevin’s truck and nimbly climbed in the back. “How about we get this cooler into the house? I brought hot dogs, chicken and burgers with all the trimmings.”
The two women nearly had the cooler to the back porch steps when again there came the hum of tires on the gravel. Diane and Roger parked alongside the other vehicles in the yard, and Roger popped the trunk lid.
“More food?” Melinda gasped. “I was just glad you could help out for a while, I didn’t expect …”
“What’s a potluck without potato salad?” Diane reached for a cooler. “I threw in some fruit, and your dad insisted on bringing his special calico beans.” Ada approached Roger for a “hello” and held the back door open as he carried the slow cooker into the house.
Growing Season Page 22