“Keep going while I clean the bowl.”
I washed the big bowl and put a splash of oil in it, while she punched and beat the bread dough. We put it into the bowl, turning it so the oil coated it, and then covered the big yellow bowl with a towel to rise.
Emi and I took a walk outside to watch John work on the syrup. I saw him quickly pocket his cellphone when we approached the barn.
He had collected and cooked down twenty gallons. The sap in the pot was turning darker all the time. I could tell he was excited over the prospect of making his first maple syrup. He promised a curious Emilee that he would explain the different rocks in the table top to her later, when he was done cooking. By the time Emi and I collected eggs, the bread was ready for folding into a loaf, and its second rise.
“Why does it take so long, Nahna?” “Good things take longer,” I answered.
Another hour and the bread was ready for the oven. I set the timer for forty minutes just as John brought in the pot of golden syrup. I stirred it, watching it slide off the spoon.
“Almost ready!”
I set the pot on the stove, lighting the burner. It didn’t take long for it to bubble, and I lowered the heat so it wouldn’t scorch. It would be a small batch, but it was an important one. The excitement in the house was high with Emilee’s first loaf of homemade bread and John’s first batch of maple syrup— and the accompanying delicious aromas—competing for our attention. The house smelled wonderful!
I slipped away to call Eric, sure he would want to be part of this. Everyone showed up a few minutes after I took the bread out of the oven.
“Oh, man, does it smell good in here!” Eric exclaimed when he walked in and hugged his daughter.
“Dad! I made bread! I really did, didn’t I, Nahna?” Emilee looked over at me as she clung to her father.
“You sure did,” I said. I cut the first slice of the hot bread, even though it was really still too hot. I portioned a couple of slices cut in half for us to dip into a bowl of John’s maple syrup. Dessert before dinner! It was wonderful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“I’m taking some time off, Anna. With the power back on, everyone is happy and things are getting back to normal. You don’t need me anymore.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll file a final report today. You can send it to Don or do whatever you want with it. I’m also officially resigning as your deputy.”
I’m sure she conveniently forgot I was still sworn in from when she was down with the flu.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Allexa? I understand that this has been very stressful for you. It has for all of us. You’ve been a tremendous asset to the town and we won’t forget all that you’ve done.” She was quiet for a minute, as if trying to formulate the right words in her head for what she wanted to say. “You will be compensated, Allexa, I assure you.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I know you don’t, but I do!”
“I really have other things I need to do now, Anna.”
This was hard to explain and it wasn’t coming out the way that I had wanted. I needed to not worry about everyone in Moose Creek. I needed to talk to my sister and my friends. I needed to plant flowers and tomatoes. I needed to get my life back. I needed a lot of things I felt I was losing my grip on.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I will accept your resignation as my deputy, and don’t you dare try to resign from being emergency manager. That one I will not accept.”
“Deal.”
I turned back to my computer to do a final report. I wanted to go home.
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: March 19
The weather has been staying in the high 50’s during the day, and drying the ground out nicely. I hauled out my tumbler composter from under the cistern platform. Although with the power back on, I have the washing machine available anytime I needed it, I had kept in the back of my mind that the composter would make a good manual washing device, and one of these days, I intended to find out if it could work. Even not using it for clothes, I could see using it to wash blankets and big items, since the capacity is three times that of the washing machine. Maybe I’ll try it for the bedspread soon, instead of going to the Laundromat.
The sap has been running really good, a constant flow instead of a fast drip. The weather is perfect for collecting sap. From each of the six taps, we’ve collected almost two gallons, twice a day, from the big, mature trees. In only two days of constant boiling we have enough for a gallon of fresh syrup. Although the work has been tedious and continuous, it certainly was not hard.
* * *
I had just set a loaf of cheesy bread to its final rise when John came in.
“You want to check this batch? I’m thinking it’s getting close to being ready,” John asked. He really has been pleased with having something to do and learning something new at the same time. We walked out to the barn, steam rolling out of the big doors in fragrant clouds.
I stirred the dark golden liquid with the big spoon and let it run off of the edge. “Yes, very close. You’re getting a good eye for this. Keep it cooking while I get the jars prepped and the canner heating. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
A half hour later, we were ladling hot, deep golden syrup into pint jars, fixing them with a sterilized lid and ring. Five jars were submerged into the boiling water bath and timed for ten minutes. I lifted them out and John set them on a folded towel to cool. Then we started on the next five jars.
“Now that’s a beautiful day’s work!” I said, hooking my arm into his to admire the ten pint jars of the deep amber liquid, all perfectly sealed and lined up on the counter. I rested my head comfortably against his shoulder.
“Do we need to do more?” he asked.
“Not unless you want to. This should last us a while. Jason is doing his own, so we don’t need to provide for them. We could pull the taps, now.”
He nodded tiredly.
I got the small wagon from the garden, and armed with a hammer and a near empty can of pruning seal, (another hole in my preps) we started at the furthest tree. We removed the tent, then the bucket, emptying any sap into the five gallon pail for tomorrow’s final coffee, and put everything in the wagon. Next came pulling the tap out, which John did while I searched for just the right stick to plug the hole. I jammed the stick as far as I could and broke it off. John used the hammer to drive it in. A quick spray of sealant and we moved to the next tree. The last bucket to come down reinforced John’s desire to stop syruping. The bucket had two inches of milky fluid in the bottom proving this tree at least, was done. I dumped it on the ground. It really didn’t surprise me though. The temperature had climbed into the high 50’s for several days now. The removal process took less than fifteen minutes, and I still had to wash everything so it could be stored for next year.
I told John I wanted to make something special with that first small batch that he had made. There was about a cup left.
I melted two sticks of precious butter, plus a half cup of evaporated milk in a pot. I now had only four pounds of butter left from the ten that I had in the freezer back in October. A sobering thought. Then I added the cup of maple syrup to the pot, a half cup of brown sugar, and two cups of graham cracker crumbs that I found in the back of the cupboard, sealed in a glass jar. I cooked that at a boil for five minutes. Next I opened one of the jars of canned crackers, using the club crackers. I lined a 9x13 inch pan with the crackers, then poured one-third the cooked mixture over them. Then another layer of crackers, another third of the mixture. One more layer of crackers, using all of that one jar. I took a chocolate bar that I had been hiding and grated it into a bowl. I made sure that the final third of the mixture was hot, spread it over the top and sprinkled the chocolate over the surface. The heat softened the chocolate to the right consistency. Then I set the pan in the pantry to chill.
“What did you just make?” John asked with a fascinated look on
his face.
I grinned. “Maple Kit Kat bars! You are going to be amazed how good they are!”
“But you used a whole jar of crackers.”
“Yes, John, and this is the reason I stored up what I did. All the canning I did, all the work I went through, has been to provide things for myself and my family. Things that might not be available when the time came to need them. That’s what prepping is all about, Hon. Having what you need, when you need it. It might be tomatoes or ready-made soup. It might be aspirin and band aids, or it might be rope or crackers. It might even be something I forgot.”
“I doubt that you’ve forgotten anything,” he said, putting his arms around me for one of those special hugs that I’ve come to love.
* * *
Later that evening everyone enjoyed the sugary treat, and none of it was going to the school!
* * *
JOURNAL ENTRY: March 20
The chilly nights have quickly given way to more moderate temperatures in the fifties, which means open windows to me, and fresh air for sleeping. Listening to the woods wake up in the Spring is very special. The night birds come back, the animals rustle around in the leaves looking for food. I was very excited to hear geese honking high above us this morning, and I almost wept with joy to hear the very distinctive call of the Hermit Thrush looking for his mate.
This morning’s fifty-two degrees rose to sixty-five degrees by noon and I knew how I wanted to spend the day - washing curtains and hanging them in the sunshine! John helped me sort through the coils of rope stacked on a shelf. After the blizzard was over, we retrieved all the ropes, carefully rewinding them, tying them individually and hoping that we wouldn’t need them for a long time.
* * *
“You don’t know how this makes me feel! I love the way things smell when they have dried outside.” There was only room for four fifteen foot lines, but it was enough.
“Since you’ll be spending the afternoon washing curtains, you don’t mind if I take the four-wheeler out for a ride, do you?” John asked, pulling the last clothesline tight.
“No, of course not,” I replied, though I was disappointed that I wouldn’t have the extra set of hands for some of the other work I had in mind.
I took down all of the curtains in the kitchen and dining room, and set them to wash. Then I started washing the windows. Months’ worth of wood smoke was evident as I sprayed on the window cleaner, watching it drip in dirty streaks. I had to wash each one twice, and now they’re sparkling. When I got to the glass door-wall, I also had to clean the track that was full of mud and bird seed. No wonder it was getting hard to move!
When the first load of curtains was waving on the clothesline, I put the next load in from the bedroom and hallway. Since this room was the furthest from the woodstove, the windows weren’t quite as dirty, but still needed cleaning. As each window was cleaned, I left it open to help air the house out.
Trying to be systematic, I moved the dining table, swept and mopped under it, moved it back and did the same to the rest of the room in preparation of hanging the clean window coverings back up. For some reason I felt an urgency to clean, or maybe it was just the warm breezes that was spurring me on. With the power readily available now, I vacuumed the bedroom and as a last thought, stripped the bed and washed those sheets too. We might even get fresh pillowcases tonight!
When the sheets finally went on the line, and since all the curtains were back on the windows, I began cleaning up the yard from the winter, a very harsh winter in more ways than one. I stopped, leaned on the rake, and pulled my cloth hanky out of a pocket to wipe away the tears as memories bombarded me. I tamped down the emotions and lifted my face into the sun, welcoming its heat.
* * *
With all the curtains cleaned and back up, windows washed, floors cleaned, even freshly sun-dried sheets back on the bed, I sat down in my rocker with a sigh of satisfaction. It was then I realized it was almost six o’clock, and John was still not home.
The kids would be over for dinner soon. It was our Wednesday spaghetti night, and I had yet to put it together. I found a jar of pork shreds for meat, and two jars of sauce that I made last summer, a pound of linguini instead of my usual angel-hair and a package of noodles for Jacob. My arms were full when I walked out of the pantry, and almost bumped into John. My heart leaped. I was so glad to see him.
“Did you have a good ride?” I asked, though I really wanted to tell him that I was getting worried.
“Yes, I did. It was a beautiful day. Let me help with that,” he said, taking two of the jars from me.
As we set everything down on the work island, he said, “The house looks great, nothing like fresh air.”
I wanted to scream. It was burning in me to know where he had been all this time. Just then the kids came in.
FINALE
JOURNAL ENTRY: March 21
The power has been back on for a full week now. It’s been easy to get used to again… water when we want it, lights in any room, the refrigerator making ice, coffee ready before we get up, clothes washed and dried in the same day. The internet was back on too, and I spent way too much time catching up on the groups, reading news, and sending emails. It sure felt good. Watching TV at night still feels surreal and mystical. In reality, my life will never be the same ever again, no matter how free the power is or how much is now stocked in the grocery stores. Our lives have been changed, damaged, for some beyond repair. We’ve starved, we’ve killed, some have been killed.
No, we will never be the same.
I woke during the night with my heart pounding and I was gasping for breath. It was only the result of a bad dream. I snuggled closer to John for comfort, and found he wasn’t there. The sheets were cold, so I knew he had been up for some time. I got up and wandered toward a softly glowing light in the other room. He was standing by the deck door, staring out into the darkness. I wonder what’s on his mind?
* * *
I leaned against the doorway to watch John with his sweat pants slung low on his hips, barefoot and shirtless.
“I can feel when you come near me, you know,” he said, without turning from the window. “I don’t have to see you to know you’re there.” The small battery operated lantern cast a soft glow and his shadow bounced off the opposite wall. I waited until he turned around.
“Are you okay, John?” I asked softly.
“I couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb you.”
It didn’t escape me that he hadn’t answered my question.
“Why don’t you go back to bed, Allex, I’ll be there in a minute,” he promised.
I turned and went back to bed. A few minutes later I felt him shift under the covers and he curled himself around me, holding me snug against him. We both finally fell asleep.
* * *
We made love that morning. It was sweet and gentle and… sad. John slipped out of bed and I heard the shower start. I turned over and wept. All I could think of were the unexplained hours away from home, the quickly hung up phone calls when I came near, and most of all his growing distance. Before the water went off, I used the second bath to rinse my face and use eye-drops, hoping to conceal the redness from my tears. I slipped on my usual morning sweatpants and t-shirt, both now too baggy on me.
I was already pouring a cup of coffee when he came out, dressed in jeans and a deep green hoodie. I turned to him. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” I asked, making more of a statement than a question. My hands were shaking and the coffee sloshed. I set the cup down on the table.
“I got a message from Green-Way. They’re starting up operations again, and I have to report back.”
He crossed the room to me. I backed up. “Allex…” his voice caught, pleading in that sweet, charming North Carolina drawl that I’ve gotten so use to, clawing at my heart.
“Why can’t you stay here and still work for them?”
“They don’t work that way.” He ran his hands over his bald head in that oh so fam
iliar way, and I lost it. The tears streamed down my face. He stepped closer, using his thumb to wipe away the tears on my cheek. I blinked hard, sending a fresh cascade down my wet face. Were those tears I saw in his eyes? I couldn’t tell.
“If you have to go, John, then just go.” I was surprised the words came out. I hadn’t seen his duffle bag already packed by the door. I wanted to reach out, to hold him and keep him from leaving me. But I can’t force him to stay. I can’t make him love me. My hands hung limp at my sides, twitching, aching to touch him, to hold him here. I wanted to beg him to stay. I stood silent. Pride stopped me.
John picked up the duffle bag and walked out.
I stood at the door, hidden by the curtain, and watched him walk down the road, the duffle slung across his broad shoulders, a sob escaping from my throat with every step he took away from me. How could he do this to me? To us? Did the past three months mean nothing to him? He had told me, tried to warn me so long ago, that he wouldn’t get emotionally tied to anyone ever again, because he always left. Always.
On uncertain legs I went into the bathroom, hoping to find some relief under a hot shower. There on the dryer, all neatly folded, were the clothes that I had given him that first day; sweatpants, t-shirts and socks, with the Beretta sitting on top.
He wasn’t coming back.
My world shattered. My life shattered. Then my heart shattered. My legs collapsed and I slid to the floor, and everything around me went dark.
The Journal: Cracked Earth Page 30