The first one through my front door was Lisa Leann, who came dressed in jeans and a long fringe-tipped sweater in teal. She was bearing a beautiful Bundt cake. As I took it from her, I realized it was still warm. “Don’t worry, I didn’t talk to the media,” she said, as if she was proud of the fact.
“Good,” I said. “How did you have time to bake a cake?”
“Oh. This is my lemon Bundt cake,” Lisa Leann explained. “I keep an emergency supply of them in my freezer. All I had to do was defrost it in my microwave. Voila!”
I, who was almost speechless at the thought of having a stash of emergency lemon Bundt cakes in my freezer, could only say, “Oh, how nice.”
“This cake has seen me through several seasons of emergency prayer meetings. Like this one time, when one of the ladies at my old church back in Houston found out her husband had been cheating on her, well—”
The doorbell rang. “Excuse me, Lisa Leann.”
She followed me to the door and helped me usher in first Olivia, followed by Lizzie, then Evie through the door.
She hugged them, then hung their coats in my hall closet. “I’m so glad you could come,” she told them.
She certainly has the gift of hospitality, I thought, especially since this isn’t even her house.
Soon, we’d all settled in the living room. Fred and David pulled up a chair beside Mother, who looked like the queen of the world as she sat on her throne. “I do hope you’ll pray for me tonight,” she said. “Seeing as how I’m caught in this very difficult situation.”
I looked at her and narrowed my eyes. “Now, Mother, of course we’ll pray for you. But first we have an emergency on our hands. Olivia, do you know the latest?”
Poor pregnant Olivia. She looked absolutely frazzled with worry. She ran her fingers through her short red hair, which caused it to stick out at odd angles. She was wearing gray sweats, and that color seemed to wash out her usual ruddy complexion. She looked around the room at us. “Well, I’ve been in contact with Irene from dispatch, and she tells me that the first avalanche closed Jade Pass. The original assessment is it will be spring before they get the pass open again. Of course, they’ll have to wait till morning’s light to know more.”
“Oh no!” Lisa Leann said. “Wouldn’t it be awful if Goldie couldn’t make it to Evie’s wedding?”
“Honestly, Lisa Leann, is my wedding all you can think about? What does that matter now?” Evie snapped.
Lisa Leann said, “I’m sorry, but what if they can’t get them out?”
“They’ll get them out somehow,” Evie said. “I mean, Donna and Wade are on their way now with snowmobiles.”
David shifted in his seat. “Wade Gage is with Donna? Maybe we should pray.”
“Amen to the prayer,” I said. “But people, we’re forgetting that we don’t even know if Goldie and Jack are safe. After all, that little mountain valley is nothing but a bowl of potential avalanches. If one should come down above Pastor Moore’s house, well...” I looked at Olivia’s stricken face and stopped midsentence. I found my voice. “But that would be the worse case, and Olivia, well, we’ll pray.”
She nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“I don’t want Donna on a snowmobile if the avalanche danger is so high,” David said.
I glanced over at my son. “That’s one of the reasons we’ve called this prayer meeting, dear. We’re all worried.” I looked around the room. “Any other prayer requests before we get started?”
“My ankle,” Mother chirped. “Pray for my ankle.”
Lizzie spoke up. “And my mother. She’s in early stage Alzheimer’s, you know. My sister-in-law Mildred was taking care of her, but now she’s in the hospital following a heart attack. So let’s pray for Mildred too, and pray that we can find someplace for Mom—preferably an assisted living arrangement—by next week.”
I nodded, wishing I had the guts to say, “And pray for me! My mother is driving me crazy, I hardly know my son, and the media won’t leave us alone.” Instead I said, “Anything else?”
Lizzie patted me on the leg. “And you, Vonnie. You’ve got a lot going on over here too. We’ll pray for you.”
Soon all heads were bowed.
One by one, we called out for heavenly help for Goldie and Jack, then for Donna and Wade. Lizzie spoke for all of us when she prayed, “Lord, turn this time of terror into a time of miracles, for both Goldie and Jack and for Donna and Wade. Use what seems like horrific circumstances to turn what the enemy meant for evil into good. We pray for the safety of our friends as we trust you with their very lives.”
When it was David’s turn, he prayed, “Protect Donna. Lord, save her for me.”
The whole group peeked at the same time and caught the earnest look on his face. I saw Lizzie smile, but bless Lisa Leann if she didn’t frown. That’s strange, I thought. You’d think she’d already be planning the wedding.
It was finally my turn. “Dear Lord, we need a miracle, not only for Goldie and Jack but for Mandy, Donna, Wade, David, Fred, Lizzie, Lizzie’s mother, and every person sitting in this circle. We pray to you for your miracles. And at the same time, we trust and believe you will make all these things come out for the good, as we are those who love you. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
My mother spoke up. “What about me?” she asked.
I bowed my head again. “Oh Lord, and please help my mother.” And me. Please help me get through these coming weeks. I don’t think I can make it unless you give me the strength. So, please help me, dear Lord. Please.
21
Apple’s of Gold
Clay had decided to walk from his apartment and up the sidewalk to Apple’s for a late-night cup of coffee, a decision that turned out to be most fortunate. As soon as he walked into the dimness of the restaurant where but a few patrons remained, he shook the dusting of snow from his coat and then shimmied out of it. After hanging it on the coatrack near the front door, he ambled over to the bar where a mounted TV was turned to the area news. The six or so customers nursing their drinks were completely oblivious to the breaking report of the snowslide at Jade Pass.
Brad Sumser stood behind the bar, pouring Jim Beam Black into a small glass as he rounded out the end of his shift. He glanced up at Clay, then turned his attention back to the drink preparation. “How’s it going there, Clay?” he asked.
“It’s going,” Clay answered, sliding onto a bar stool.
“What can I get you?” he asked, then slid the glass of Beam to a waiting customer. “There ya go, brother,” he said with a smile.
“Coffee,” Clay answered.
“Straight up?” Brad asked with a dimpled grin.
“Nothing fancy,” Clay answered. He pointed up to the television. “Can you turn that up just a bit?”
Brad poured a cup of coffee, placed it in front of Clay, and reached for the remote in one fluid movement. “Yeah, did you hear about that?” he asked as he leaned against the other side of the bar.
“My boss called me a while ago about it. I’ll call Donna in the morning and see what’s what. Coach and Mrs. Dippel are up there, you know.” Clay blew at the hot coffee, watched it ripple across the mug.
Brad nodded. “Yeah, I know. Wade called me, asked for my snowmobile. He and Donna ought to be there by now, toting his sled and mine. What a mess, huh? You think Coach will be alright?”
“Snowslides are dangerous.” It was all Clay knew to say. He took a long swallow of the coffee, grateful that he could erase the picture of Donna with her arms wrapped around Wade Gage as they went into the dangers of a snowslide. “So what do you think about Donna and Wade going up there together?”
Brad shrugged his shoulders. “Wade knows his way when it comes to snowmobiling. Donna couldn’t be in safer hands.”
Clay frowned. He didn’t like the picture that evoked. “Yeah.” He took another swallow of coffee, cutting his eyes over the rim. “Those two, though. They go way back.”
“Don’t we all?” Brad answ
ered, then pushed himself upright, grabbed a towel, and began to wipe up behind the bar. “But I know what you’re saying. I kinda thought they’d end up married, you know?” Then he winked at Clay. “Not to say there’s not still a chance, right?”
Clay set the mug down on the bar with a thud. “Right,” he said. He sensed someone walking up behind him, and he shifted on his bar stool. His brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed.
“Hi,” the pretty blonde said to him. “You waved at me the other day.” She held out her hand. “I’m Velvet James.” She smiled a “Donna” smile.
“Good gosh,” he said. “Who are you?”
Donna
22
Recipe for a Rescue
Wade and I both checked into private, postage-stamp-sized rooms, but not before another rumble roared beyond the snowslide that blocked the entrance to the upper mountain valley. No question about it, it was a second avalanche.
Wade and I were just walking down the hall to our rooms when we heard the thundering crash. We exchanged glances. “That can’t be good,” he said.
I shook my head and turned to go into my room. “We’re in a protected area here. So, grab some z’s. We’ll see what we’re dealing with in the morning.”
“Sure.” He stared at me like he wanted to say more. “Night, Deputy. Don’t forget to say your prayers. There may be a couple of lives depending on it.”
I nodded curtly. “Right.”
I unlocked the door to my room and shut it behind me then leaned against it. I didn’t want Wade to know, but I was really worried.
I checked my cell phone. Sure enough, both Clay and Vonnie had tried to call while Wade and I were on the road. We must have been out of range, so the calls had gone to voice mail. I listened first to Vonnie’s message: “Donna, dear, the Potluck girls met tonight, and we’re all praying for you. Call me when you can. Love you.”
Then Clay’s message: “Donna, I’m worried. Could you call me and give me a report? Don’t wait till morning, okay?”
I plopped back onto the bed as I punched in his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Donna! How are the Dippels?”
“I don’t know. Won’t know till morning. But Wade and I have made it to the hotel at least. We’re spending the night.”
“Oh? Well, you’re both consenting adults, I guess.”
I felt my eyebrows leap. “Consenting?”
“Ah, well, I mean, call me in the morning and let me know about the status.”
“Of the snowslide, or how I’m getting on with Wade?”
The line went silent for so long I thought I’d lost the signal. Finally he said, “Why, Donna, I’m a reporter. You can tell me anything.”
“Yeah, anything I want to read on the front page of the paper. I’ll call you later. Night, Clay.”
“Night.”
I sat down on the bed and tugged off my shoes as I analyzed our situation. The local and state authorities weren’t going to let us do anything until morning. All I could do for now was to try to get a good night’s sleep, a task that soon proved almost impossible. First, my room was too cold, so I turned on the wall heating unit. It groaned and chugged until the room was absolutely boiling. Finally I turned the heater off and cracked a window to let in some cold air as I looked outside. I’d noted it was three in the morning, at least according to the red digits of the clock near the bed. So I wasn’t happy to see thick snowflakes blowing sideways in the illumination of the streetlights. This blizzard was a bad one, and so far it showed no signs of letting up.
So much for Wade’s prayers.
I tried to go back to sleep, but I tossed and turned for another two hours. At five I’d had it. I pulled my uniform back on over my underwear (as I had failed to pack for the trip) and strode down the hall. It was time for a cup of black coffee.
When I walked into the lobby, I saw that Wade had the same idea.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he said and then took a sip of coffee. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Nothing like a few minutes of beauty sleep.”
I poured myself a cup from the courtesy pot, and Wade said, “Still snowing, though it may be letting up. I’ve already been outside and talked to the officer. He said the avalanche conditions in the upper valley are extreme. No one will be allowed to go into the area until they assess the danger.”
“Great,” I said, pointing toward the coffee shop next door, which was surprisingly open. Probably so they could serve the rescue and cleanup crews heading this way. “Might as well have breakfast while we wait.”
An hour later, after we’d eaten a round of baked German pancakes with almond topping, the weather was still not cooperating.
Wade pulled on his coat and walked outside to the parking lot to talk to some of the county workers who’d started to gather. I watched the men while I made a few calls on my cell phone.
“Any word from the Dippels?” I asked Dad.
“No one’s heard a thing,” he told me. “How are things going up there?”
“Everything’s shut down for now. Though I’m hoping to get going soon.”
“We’re praying for you, Donna.”
“Uh, thanks, Dad.” I shook my head. Dad prays? This is news to me.
After I hung up, I approached Wade, who looked like an iced version of himself, as his down parka sported a coating of snow.
“Any news?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I have to admit I’m worried.”
“Have you talked to the local sheriff ’s department?” he asked.
“Yeah. They confirmed what we already knew. There was a second avalanche in the night. We won’t be allowed in till the snow lets up and after they shoot off some of their avalanche cannons located on a few of the ridges in the area.”
“Good idea. The sound waves will either bring down more slides or prove the snow’s stable enough for our snowmobiles.”
“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t pull down a slide on the Dippels.”
I rubbed my gloved hands together, feeling the icy pelts of snow on my face. “It’s freezing out here, and we could be waiting for hours. I think I’ll go inside.”
“I’ll join you,” Wade said. He grinned down at me. “At least inside I can enjoy the view.”
Like a lazy game of checkers, the day slowly played by. The snow didn’t let up till noon, and even then the powers that be wouldn’t give Wade and me the go-ahead to ride our snowmobiles into the upper valley until after three.
When we’d finally been given the green light, we only had a couple of daylight hours left. Wade unloaded the machines and checked our emergency supplies. He tossed me a helmet.
“As I’m a more experienced rider, I’ll take lead. So stay close. There might be some tricky spots, and I don’t want either one of us to get stuck, plus we don’t want to trigger any more slides.”
He tossed me an emergency beacon. “Turn this on. At least they’d know where to find us if we get buried.” Then he grabbed my hand. “Let’s pray first,” he said, without giving me a chance to argue. I bowed my head as he said, “Father, guide us, keep us safe. Help us to lead the Dippels to safety. In the name of Jesus.”
I couldn’t argue with a prayer like that, so I said the only thing I could say. “Amen.”
Wade grinned at me. “I’m one of the few people who knows you’re a heathen, Donna. So I thank you for allowing me to pray. It makes me think there may be hope for you yet.”
I put on my helmet in an effort to hide my irritation. “Ah, thanks, Wade.”
“Ready to ride?”
“Let’s go,” I shouted as my motor roared to life.
With the sun out, the glare from the white snow was blinding. I was glad for the tinted ski goggles Wade had given me. They worked well to keep both the bitter wind as well as the bright sun out of my eyes.
The cold was going to be a problem, especially as the mountain shadows stretched between the patches of afternoon sun. How I wished for
a pair of ski pants to slide over my uniform pants to cut the arctic air.
I decided to disregard the wind chill, which was probably hovering around ten below, as Wade and I raced out of the parking lot and onto the snow-covered road winding up toward the pass. Though the pass was completely blocked, we managed to shovel and pick our way through, around, and over the mounds of rocks and snow as our machines roared beneath us. I counted each dip and bounce through the wavy white ripples as a milestone bringing us closer to the Dippels.
The cold wind stung my cheeks and filled each breath with air so icy my chest literally ached. Still, the ride was exhilarating. Wade drove just ahead of me, creating a trail, a rut for my sled to follow. Periodically, he would turn back to check on me, and I’d wave to show I was fine. In fact, I was more than fine. Despite the danger and the cold, I was actually enjoying myself.
Soon, we’d made it through the slide area and tried to follow what should be the road, up the valley hill to the Moore cabin. I let out a whoop when I saw the bungalow.
We brought our machines to a halt and stared. Another slide, just to the west of the cabin, had come close to burying it.
I gazed at the second slide, not to mention the deep snow drifts, and realized Jack’s car must be completely buried beneath the blanket that seemed to have knit the little house inside a winter’s white turtleneck sweater. Only the tops of the windows peeked out, like eyes beneath a white cap.
Holy moly.
We parked the vehicles. If Goldie and Jack were in that cabin, they’d know help had arrived because of the sound of our motors droning up the valley.
“Goldie! Jack!” I called.
No answer.
Wade’s voice joined with mine. “Goldie! Jack! Are you in there?”
The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake Page 13