Falling for Grace

by Robert Farrell Smith

  “It’s so windy,” Noah said, informing me of something I already knew quite well and falling right into the conversational trap that I had so brilliantly been weaving.

  I looked around and acted as if I was just noticing the barn for the first time. “We could go in there,” I suggested.

  “You’re okay with barns?” he questioned.

  “Sure,” I shrugged. “My grandmother loved barns.”

  “I don’t exactly know what you’re trying to pull, Trust, but I’ll play along for fun,” Noah said snidely. “Just let me grab a sweater.”

  “Of course.” I smiled.

  A few moments later Noah stepped outside. We walked over to the barn, both of us keeping our distance from each other. We went in the same door I had seen Leonard go through moments before. Once inside, the sound of wind died down and the night seemed to become even emptier around us. My forehead hit against a small hanging object. I pulled on it and light flooded the room. I hoped Leonard was well-hidden.

  “So is this all right now?” Noah asked.

  “This is fine.”

  “Well then, speak your piece and get on with it,” he demanded.

  “Listen,” I said, trying to start the discussion on a good note. “I know you and I have not exactly gotten along, but I didn’t come here to make any more trouble than I have to.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Trust,” he snipped. “Say what’s on your mind.”

  “All right,” I sighed. “Have you ever done one of these emergency preparation operations in Maine?”

  “And what if I have?” He grimaced.

  “Well, does the name Noah Talmage sound familiar?”

  I had asked the question in a nice enough way. But I guess Noah felt differently. He pulled a gun out from under his sweater and motioned with it for me to put my hands up.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in alarm.

  “You’re a real thorn, Trust,” he said. “I took you for smarter than this. And let’s just say, I knew you were no genius.”

  “So that was you in Maine?” I said, amazed.

  “I’m not going to answer a single one of your stupid questions.”

  “Listen, Noah, I don’t care what you did in Maine, really. Just don’t do it here.”

  “You act as if you have some control over the situation.”

  “This can be worked out,” I reasoned.

  “Actually, I’m doubting it can,” Noah sneered. “You know, I’ve never shot anyone before. Then again, I suppose you’ve never been shot before. Huh . . . I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  I was just about to make a break for it when I noticed Leonard up on one of the haylofts behind Noah’s back. He crept into position as if to jump down on top of him.

  I tried to stall. “Really, Noah? I’d guess a guy like you had killed dozens of people.”

  “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” Noah asked. “Well, you’re wrong. You’ve been wrong from the start. And anyway, it doesn’t matter now. You know, Trust? Maybe after you turn up missing, I’ll go over and comfort Grace. She really is a nice girl. You were right about that.” The words were like grease dripping from his lips. “I know I was shooting my mouth off about the babes in Tahiti, but there’s just something about that Grace.”

  Noah licked his lips and smiled.

  “I’ll have to make sure and spend a little time with her before I leave town.”

  “Don’t make me sick,” I spat.

  “I’ll make you more than sick,” Noah laughed. “I’ll make you dead . . .”

  From the top of my eye I saw Leonard leap off from his perch. He seemed to hover in the air for a moment before plummeting down. I guess he was planning to land on Noah, but unfortunately he missed completely. He smacked against the dirt floor two feet away. But the commotion was enough to distract Noah, and in that split second, I threw myself into him, pushing up his arm. The gun fired into the barn ceiling as the two of us fell backwards into a mound of moldy hay.

  Leonard grabbed a loose board lying on the ground and swung it wildly toward Noah’s head. It would have been helpful had he hit Noah instead of me. The already bruised and swollen back of my head throbbed with pain. I rolled off of Noah and into Leonard’s legs. My momentum threw Leonard off balance, flipping him forward into Noah. I blinked my eyes, trying to remain conscious. When my double vision finally became one again, I saw Leonard struggling with Noah on the ground, the gun lying in the dirt about three feet beyond them both. I started crawling for the gun. Noah kicked Leonard free, sending him flying into a large wood beam that was supporting the upper loft. Leonard’s eyes almost burst from the impact of it. He slid to the ground in a lifeless lump.

  “Leonard,” I yelled, taking my eyes off the gun.

  Noah began scrambling for it, pulling my focus back. Both of us got to the gun at the same time. I reached out and Noah bit my arm. Then he tried to scratch my eyes. I was not at all surprised he fought like a little girl. I fell onto him again and we rolled about, trying to gain possession of the gun. Finally I got a good enough hold on it to be able to toss it up into the air and away from the two of us. It flew into the hayloft.

  Noah dug his knee into my chest and pushed my face down as he fought to get up. I let him, only to grab his ankle as he jumped onto the ladder leading up to the loft. He kicked like a mule on fire, the back of his shoe clipping me in the face. I stumbled backwards as he made it the rest of the way up the ladder. I felt the blood on my face. With new resolve, I jumped to the middle of the ladder and pulled myself onto the loft. I stood up and realized that we were higher up than I had expected. Noah was digging through the hay like a madman. But it was no use—the gun was gone. I walked up behind him.

  “You’ll never find it,” I said, wiping my bloody mouth with the back of my hand.

  Then he did what I considered to be a rather thoughtful thing. He turned toward me just enough so that I was able to connect a strong punch to his jaw. He stumbled back, trying to catch himself. As he got his bearings, he looked around in a panic for some sort of exit. There was none. The ladder leading down was behind me, and I was blocking him from the edge of the loft. He glanced over at what looked to be a grain chute on the wall behind him.

  “Give it up, Noah,” I said, exhausted.

  “I never should have spoken to you,” he said hatefully. “This is my fault. I knew you were a moron, so I thought I’d have a little fun with you.”

  “You mean this isn’t fun?” I joked.

  “You really are a piece of work,” Noah said. “Grace talks about you like you’re something great. She’s just as dumb as you are.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s as stupid and deluded as you are, Trust,” he said childishly.

  Silly me, I had thought I was through hitting Noah—I ran to him and slammed him against the wall. He rolled out of my grasp. The entire barn seemed to moan and wobble. He grabbed the edge of the grain chute and pulled himself down into it. I could hear him banging around as he slid his way down. I should have just let him be, but I didn’t want to risk him getting away. I took a big breath as if I were diving underwater and jumped in after him.

  The grain chute was about ten feet long and connected to one of the silos I had seen earlier. It was rusted and weathered, but I still fell through it at a pretty good speed. I flew out the end of it and down into the empty silo. My hands hit first as I rolled into the ground and up against the inside wall. I felt around for anything broken. I seemed to still be latched together. I quickly glanced around the silo floor for any sign of Noah. The moon outside was just bright enough that I could see. Noah wasn’t there. I pulled myself up and tried to open the door leading out. It was sealed shut. I thought for a moment that Noah had made it out and locked me in. I felt panic flush through me until I looked up and saw his dark form hanging upside down from a rope near the opening of the chute. It appeared his leg had gotten caught in it as he flew out. He w
as wiggling around trying to disengage himself. I followed the rope with my eyes up from Noah’s leg to where it was hooked to a little door high up on the silo wall. I could see through the eroded roof that the little door fronted a chute from the other, taller silo next door.

  “Help me down,” Noah pleaded.

  “How?” I asked. “I can’t reach you.”

  Noah flipped and turned as he dangled up above me. The rope slipped a notch, becoming completely taut and tugging hard against the little trapdoor.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be moving around so much,” I hollered. “There could be something behind that little door.”

  “So what?” Noah yelled. “Get me down!”

  I tried the latch on the lower door again, knowing it was no use. Noah swung his upper body up to grab hold of his ankle. It was that move that did us in. The rope jerked, pulling the door above us open. Grain doused us like a weighty waterfall, the pressure of it knocking Noah out of the rope and pushing him down to the floor by me. I fought desperately to keep the stuff off of me. It was no use. In a matter of moments we were waist-deep in wheat.

  I frantically began to bail, scooping grain away from me with my hands as more rained down. It was a lesson in futility. There was no place else for the grain to go. The flow of wheat surged, suddenly burying us up to our shoulders. I thought about trying to get my arms up before it was too late.

  It was too late.

  The wheat packed around us, binding my arms to my side so tightly I could scarcely wiggle my fingers. We were strapped in for the long haul. I tried to move my legs but the weight of the wheat was crushing. I prepared myself for suffocation, certain we were going to die. Wheat flew around my head like bursting fireworks. It was in my hair, in my ears, and rising over my shoulders and up my neck. I kept my mouth shut, desperate not to breathe in the dirty grain. The wheat was inching up right below my nose when suddenly the flow from above miraculously stopped. I wiggled my head and tried to pull my arms out. I couldn’t do it. Wind dipped down into the open-topped silo and seemed to suck the dust from the old grain up into the night. I opened my eyes expecting to see long-dead relatives waiting to greet me. There was no one there except for the top half of Noah’s head. I assumed I was still alive, though just barely.

  Noah was a couple inches shorter than I but I must have been standing lower in the silo because the level of our heads above the grain was just about equal. He spat out wheat and tried blowing it away from his mouth. I did the same, experiencing similarly weak results.

  “Can you breathe?” I finally coughed, wishing away the dark.

  “A little,” he answered.

  “Can you move?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Save your strength,” I huffed. “Leonard will find us.”

  I don’t think either one of us felt comforted. The wind kept reaching down into the open-capped silo and whipping around in our hair. I pushed my head back as far as I could and opened my mouth wide to breathe. I noticed a few stars through the rotted roof. I cast my eyes over at Noah and almost started to laugh. The sight of his half-head sticking above the wheat seemed so absurd and brought me a small amount of joy. I said a prayer begging God to please not let me die this way. Then I willed Leonard to find us.

  A number of hours later, I felt pretty confident that neither God nor Leonard had been listening. It was almost impossible to stay awake any longer. Noah had knocked off a while earlier. I panicked for a bit, not knowing what the consequences of falling asleep like this might be. I remembered learning that if you dozed off in the freezing cold, you would never wake up. I just couldn’t recall ever having discussed what to do when you were buried in wheat. So I kept myself awake by reciting anything I had ever memorized. Songs, poems, ads, the Boy Scout Oath, anything. I drifted in and out, dozing off a couple of times, but the pressure of the grain pushing up against my lungs made it impossible to breathe at moments and helped to keep me awake. The sun eventually rose on the two of us planted there like tulips. And sometime near its zenith, Noah began to stir and started sobbing.

  “We’re going to die in here,” he moaned. The small bit of his head that was visible looked like a hairy anthill.

  “Well, it’s not my fault,” I huffed.

  “Where’s Leonard?” he cried. “You said Leonard would find us.”

  “He hit that pole pretty hard,” I reminded him. “He’s probably in worse shape than we are.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Noah complained.

  “Just hang on,” I encouraged. “Someone will find us and dig us out.”

  “Who knew you were coming here?” Noah asked. “Anyone?”

  “Just Leonard.”

  “We’re going to die.”

  “Can you get your arms above the wheat?” I asked him.

  “I can’t even move my hands,” he snapped.

  I tried again myself, but with no luck. The grain had a suction-like hold on my whole body.

  “This is it,” Noah lamented. “Killed by food storage. How befitting.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. He was right.

  “This could have been avoided,” I sputtered, spitting wheat all the while.

  “Thanks for pointing that out,” Noah yapped.

  “I only—”

  “Just shut up,” Noah said sharply. “We’re going to die.”

  I was just about to agree with him when I heard something outside the silo. A couple of seconds later, I could distinctly feel the grain being pulled down and away from my body.

  Someone had opened the lower silo door.

  The wheat continued to slide out until we could see our waists again. As it lowered I saw two teenage boys standing there in the doorway. One of them had a pack of cigarettes, and they both were looking surprised. I think they were hoping to find a little solitude, not a few tons of wheat with a couple of dirty-looking bodies in it. The moment they realized we were still alive, they backed away and took off running.

  “Stop!” I tried to holler. But being teenagers like they were, they didn’t listen to a word I said.

  I put my hands under my right knee and pulled my foot out of the grain. It came up shoeless. My body was so exhausted I could hardly stand. Noah was leaning on his hands, slowly extracting his legs as well. There was dirt and wheat clinging to almost every part of his body. I thought about tackling him so he wouldn’t get away, but I was too spent. Instead, I crawled through the waist-high wheat and fell out the door onto the ground. I looked across the field and noticed that Leonard’s car was gone. I just lay there for a moment, thinking how curious that was, when I drifted off into sleep.

  37

  Tall Drink of Water

  Lucy couldn’t believe how nervous she was as she answered the door. Even though her father and mother would be back from their long European vacation in a little more than two weeks, Lucy had decided to call the full-time missionaries and finally get the blessing she had so desperately sought. She figured they were the perfect people to ask. They wouldn’t judge her. And even if they did, they would be transferred out of Southdale before long. At this point, she didn’t really care what anyone thought anyway. She only wanted some comfort for the pain and confusion she was still wading through.

  Lucy opened the door and Elder Nicks and Elder Minert entered, followed by Doran Jorgensen in a denim shirt and tie.

  “Three of you?” Lucy observed out loud.

  “Brother Jorgensen is driving us around,” Elder Minert explained. “We were just over at the Williams house giving Sister Williams a blessing. I guess she’s not feeling too well.”

  “Was Trust there?” Lucy asked without thinking, still bothered by how he had reacted a few days back.

  “No,” Elder Nicks said, fielding the question. “Actually, they don’t know where Trust is.”

  “I hope that you don’t mind me coming along?” Doran said shyly. “I thought, since we’d already met and all . . .”

  Such sinceri
ty.

  “Not a problem,” Lucy replied, looking Doran up and down and recognizing something comforting and strong in the way he held himself. “I’m just thankful that you came,” she replied.

  “Me too,” Doran said softly.

  “Who would you like to give the blessing?” Elder Minert asked.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” Lucy said, while sort of hoping it would be Doran.

  The choice was made.

  The blessing was given.

  Lucy was comforted.

  38

  Confined

  Roger Williams yawned, causing the checkerboard that was lying across his lap to jiggle. He had been confined to his bed for some time now. And even though it was not what he would choose to be doing, the locals had done a rather nice job of keeping him entertained. Narlette put on a puppet show with some of Digby’s old socks. Pete Kennedy gave him a personal gun safety course, and Leo Tip read to him from some of his favorite comic books. And now here was President Heck taking time out of his not-necessarily-busy schedule to play a game of checkers.

  “I can see that,” Ricky Heck joked as the board jiggled again.

  “See what?”

  “The old tilt and cheat,” he said. “You think Roswell’s never tried that on me before?”

  “Have you played a lot of checkers with Roswell in bed?” Roger laughed, the color rising in his face as he did so.

  “Well, not lately.” Ricky scratched his head. Then he jumped Roger’s playing pieces until he was victorious. He smiled wide.

  “Happy?” Roger asked.

  “I suppose I am,” he answered. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I better get along. Wad needed me to help him paint his shack. Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “You’ve already done too much,” Roger said.

  “You sure now?”

  Roger paused as if remembering something. “You know, I would like to make a phone call. Do you think you could help me over to the boardinghouse to make one sometime?”

  “I’d be honored to.” Ricky sort of bowed. “But the phone doesn’t work. Lupert accidentally chopped down one of the phone poles thinking it would make good firewood. The phone company hasn’t been able to make it out here to fix it.”