by D. Gideon
“That’ll be a relief,” I said. “The four-legged animals are a lot nicer than the two-legged ones.”
CHAPTER 21
M onday, September 3rd
Snow Hill, Maryland
Daybreak found Dotty in her kitchen, patting dry vegetables she’d just picked from the Miller’s garden and washed clean, and half a pound of blackberries she’d gathered from the bushes on her back fence. She’d even pulled some cured sweet potatoes and onions from her cellar, and a one-pound bag of lentils. All total, it filled a brown grocery bag. She dug out a squat stock pot that she couldn’t find the lid for from the back of her cabinets and put the grocery bag into it. She considered adding a pint jar of canned stew meat, but decided against it. Cathy would probably turn her nose up at a jar of meat if it didn’t come with a fancy sticker on it, and Dotty didn’t really want her gossiping neighbor to know she had it. She couldn’t hide the big garden in her backyard, but she could hide her canned meats.
That’s not very Christian-like, Cathy had said the night before, and Dotty felt a pang of guilt. Brash and entitled as she was, maybe Cathy was right. Jesus certainly wouldn’t have been hiding food if he had it. He’d be out sharing it. Dotty took a good amount of food from her garden to the church every Sunday, and had worked from sunup to sundown yesterday to earn the right to take over a hundred pounds of chicken to the church pantry. John had a commercial ice machine that he used to keep chickens that had died from seemingly no cause on ice until the Perdue techs could come get them for testing. He’d hooked that machine up to the generator yesterday and run it for a couple of hours, making enough ice for everyone to pack out their coolers with the chicken they’d worked so hard for. Dotty had had to borrow a few coolers, and those were sitting in the church pantry right now, waiting for Betty to come in and cook them up this morning.
Was that enough? She had more…should she be sharing more?
Upstairs, she heard Thomas’ watch alarm start beeping. It was amazing, how much even the smallest sounds carried now without the usual background hum of appliances filling the silence. Sitting by the door, Jax perked up her ears and went bounding up the stairs to help Thomas wake up.
“Okay, okay, I’m up. I’m up, Jax. I don’t need licking!” She heard Thomas say.
Crossing into the living room, she opened a drawer on the old writing desk she kept by the front window and pulled out a small pad. Leaning over, she started writing out a little note to go with the food.
“Mornin’, Grams,” Thomas said as he thumped down the stairs. He came over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “What you writing?”
“Just a little note explaining what to do with that,” she said, pointing with her pen at the pot and bag sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Taking it down to the church?”
She bent back to her writing. “Gonna leave it on Cathy and Dan’s front step before we head out to the farm.”
“You’re kidding, right? After what she said to you last night? I heard it, hell I think the whole neighborhood heard it,” he said. “She yells at you like that and you’re gonna give her a bunch of food?” He walked into the kitchen and started poking around in the bag. “There’s at least a week’s worth of soup fixins in here.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Dotty said, not looking up from her note.
“Why is it the right thing to do?” Thomas said. “She’s not sick. She’s not handicapped. She can go up the Food Rite just like everyone else in this town and buy some food. Or she could’ve taken me up on the offer to till up a garden plot this spring and she’d have all this in her own backyard right now.”
“I know that, Thomas, and I don’t disagree. But her and Dan still need it, and I’ve got enough to share. So I’m sharing it.”
Thomas huffed and crossed his arms. “You’re letting her guilt trip you into giving stuff to her so she doesn’t have to put any effort into getting it herself,” he said. “She’s playin’ you, Grams.”
“Well then I’m a fool and I’ll learn my lesson,” Dotty said, walking over and tucking the note under the zip-loc baggy of berries so it wouldn’t blow away. “Until then, I’m going to do the right thing and stay friendly with my neighbors. I don’t want an enemy living right next to us.”
Dotty picked up the care package and walked to the door. “Oh. Before we go, could you go down and check the temperature in the chest freezer? There’s only a few things left in there, and if it’s starting to thaw I’ll just cook it up this evening and we can have stew for a few days.”
“It’s fine. I ran the generator for a bit last night,” Thomas said, dipping a cup into a bucket of water sitting on the counter and drinking it all down at once.
Dotty sat the pot down on the writing desk. “Why, Thomas? I thought we agreed to only run it when there was enough noise to cover it up. Now people are gonna know-“
“It was two in the morning, Grams. I put it in the garden shed and you could barely hear it. Ran my long extension cord to the basement. The freezer was right up at thirty-two degrees, so it needed it.”
“What were you doing up at two in the morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Kept dreaming that kid came back and lit the house on fire. Woke up panicking because it was so hot; I thought it was real. Should’ve thought to open the window before I went to sleep.” He scratched his head and gave a sheepish grin.
“That was a big risk, Thomas. You coulda woke people up.”
“Well you didn’t wake up, did you? I was careful, Grams. I even sat outside and watched to see if any lights came on in anyone’s house. I don’t think anyone woke up.”
Dotty shook her head and sighed, but then caught herself. Here she was, insisting again that they keep what they had hidden. She picked the pot up and hit the latch on the screen door with her elbow.
“Get washed up,” she said. “I’ll take this next door and then we need to get on out to John’s farm.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, heading back upstairs.
Dotty stepped out into the muggy heat and scanned up and down the street. No one was out yet. She’d be able to get next door and back without being seen. Good.
Picking her way quickly through the dewy grass, she set the pot with its bag of goodies onto the Riggs’ front step where it wouldn’t get knocked over if they opened the door before seeing it. Then she hustled back to her own house, breathing a sigh of relief when she was inside.
Frowning and fingering the cross on her necklace, she remembered Cathy’s words again.
What’s gotten into you, Dorothy Parker?
“You eat your fill, baby. There’s plenty more if you want it. And when you’re done, Aunt Betty’s got some snacks to take with you,” Betty said, ruffling the hair of a little blonde-haired boy who was plowing through his oatmeal and apples like he was in a race.
“I can’t believe you’ve done all of this cooking already,” Dotty said, backing out of the way as the plump little woman bustled by, two plastic containers of apple juice in her hands.
“Well when Sheriff Kane stopped by last night to tell me Pastor Bill might need me here earlier than usual, I came right over to see for myself,” Betty said, putting the juice down on the counter. She side-stepped to one of the church’s big ranges and pulled a chicken leg out of a skillet, setting it to drain on a plate of paper towels. There was already a plate next to it, piled high with freshly fried chicken.
“Aunt Befsee, could I have some more juice, pweeze?” A squeaky little voice asked.
“You sure can, honey. I’ll be right over,” Betty said, grabbing the juice again. A buzzer went off as she made her way to the table.
“Ooh. Could you get those biscuits out, Dotty? Here ya go, sweetie. You want the cranberry apple or the grape apple?”
“Gwape,” the little girl said. She couldn’t have been more than four, with freckled skin and strawberry red pigtails that could’ve used a brushing. There were maybe a dozen children at the long table, breaki
ng one of Betty’s cardinal rules—no eating in the kitchen.
“It’s ridiculous that their parents are too proud to come in and eat,” Thomas said, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Hush,” Dotty told him, pulling a sheet pan of biscuits out of the oven and setting them on top of the second range. “Little ears.”
“Thomas Winters, if you don’t have anything good to say, make yourself useful and start bagging up that chicken,” Betty said. “Zip-locs and lunch bags are in the top cabinet all the way to the right there. Two pieces of chicken and a biscuit in each bag.”
“Yes ma’am,” Thomas said, making his way around the table to the counter. “You want just a mix, or…?”
“One thigh, one leg, one biscuit,” Betty said, coming back and picking up her tongs. “Put the chicken in a baggie and put the biscuit on top so it doesn’t get squashed. Put a napkin in, too. We need eight bags.” She flipped a few pieces of chicken in the skillet and rubbed the back of one hand across her forehead. “And put some gloves on!”
“How bad was it last night?” Dotty asked, pulling down a stack of brown lunch bags. She fluffed a couple open and lined them up for Thomas to fill.
“There were thirty cars between the main lot and the overflow lot. Thirty! I counted,” Betty said. “And a line out the door to use the potties. Bill was runnin’ himself ragged bringing in buckets from the rain barrel out back to flush with,” Betty said. She put another piece of chicken on the plate. “I finally had to step up and tell a few of those men to grab a bucket and help him. You know he wouldn’t have said anything to ‘em.”
“Mr. Bill’s nice,” a little dark-skinned girl said. “He let me light a candle for my grandma, and then we said a prayer.”
“Well that was a very nice thing for you to do,” Dotty said, fluffing open another bag. “Does your grandma live far away?”
“Grandma’s in a mercy home,” the little girl said.
“You mean a nursing home, sweetie?” Betty said. She put the last piece of chicken on the plate and turned the flame off.
“Nursing home,” the girl corrected herself. “But I heard Daddy telling Mommy that she was probably gone by now. I don’t know where she’d go though, ‘cuz Mommy sold Grandma’s house last week.”
Dotty and Betty shared a look, and Betty shook her head, her lips set in a grim line.
“Well if you said a prayer for her, honey, God will make sure she gets to where she needs to be,” Dotty said, lining up another bag for Thomas to fill. “You did a good thing for your grandma.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. God listens to all the little children’s prayers. You’re grandma’s in good hands.”
The little girl smiled and turned back to her food.
“I’ll get more napkins,” Betty said, her voice breaking. She hurried to the pantry door, shutting it behind her. After a moment, they all heard the sounds of crying.
“Aunt Befsee’s sad,” the freckled girl said.
Dotty touched Thomas’ arm, and he nodded.
“Go on, I’ve got this,” he said, pulling another biscuit from the pan and gingerly setting it into a bag.
Dotty found Betty sitting on a stepstool in the pantry closet, crying into a handful of napkins. An LED camping lantern hung from a hook on one of the shelves, barely lighting up the room. Its battery must have been getting low.
“I’m sorry Dotty,” Betty said, wiping her eyes. “I just…I didn’t want to cry in front of the children.”
Dotty tugged over another stool and sat down. “What is it, Betty? Do you know that little girl?”
“No,” Betty said, wiping her nose. “It’s my Daddy. He’s 92, and he’s in a nursing home down in N’awlins. He’s got one of those oxygen machines. You know, the kind that plugs into the wall?” She looked up, her eyes red and puffy.
“I know the kind,” Dotty said, nodding. “Sheriff Kane’s mama has to use one now and then, when she exerts herself too much.”
“Yeah, the kind like that,” Betty said. “Only he has to use it all the time. He can’t even go on any outings the home sets up because he’s got to be plugged in all the time. The dang insurance company won’t pay for him to have one of those portable battery ones. They say it’s not a ‘necessity’.”
“It’s a shame the way these insurance companies are doin’ old folks with these new government rules-“ Dotty started.
“What if his power’s out too, Dotty? What if he’s sitting there dying because he can’t get enough oxygen? What if he’s already dead?” Fresh tears rolled down her plump face and she grabbed another handful of napkins from the open bulk package on the shelf beside her. She dabbed at her eyes and sniffed again, loudly.
Dotty took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She took Betty’s free hand and held it. It was no use telling Betty that the nursing home might have a generator. They both knew that would run out eventually. It would be a lie to tell her the power was still on in Louisiana; she had no idea if it was or not. She looked up and saw what she needed. She reached up and took the simple little wooden cross from where it was hanging on a shelf support, and wrapped Betty’s hand around it.
“It’s not just little children that God listens to,” Dotty said softly. “He’ll get your Daddy to where he needs to be.”
Betty’s hand tightened around the cross, and she glared at it for a moment. Then her face and her hand relaxed, and she sighed.
“I’ve got no right to be angry,” she said. “He raised eleven children. He never met a stranger. He had mama by his side for fifty-four years. He loved being out in the pastures, tending to his animals. He lived a good life. What he’s doing now ain’t livin’. He can’t even go outside.” She raised her eyes to Dotty again, looking resigned.
“This is a blessing,” she whispered. “It’s mercy.”
The door opened behind them, and Pastor Bill stepped inside.
“Is there something I can help with?” He asked, his voice gentle.
Dotty squeezed Betty’s hands and stood up, nodding.
“I think Betty could use a bit of your time,” she said, moving to the side. Bill stepped past her and sat down on the cooler.
“Pastor Bill, could you help me say a prayer? For my Daddy?” Betty asked, her voice trembling. “I…I think he’s dying. He might already-”
“Of course,” Bill said, taking her hands. “What’s your Daddy’s name?”
Dotty slipped out, softly closing the door behind her. Thomas was cleaning styrofoam cups and disposable bowls off of the table. The children, and the bags of chicken, were gone.
“Pastor Bill rounded them all up and took them outside with the lunch bags and some bottled water. Betty transferred all of the chicken into the church’s coolers before we got here, so I’ve got John’s coolers waiting in the truck. We just need to cover the rest of that chicken and the biscuits, and we can get going,” Thomas said. “We’re already late.”
“John won’t mind,” Dotty said, opening a drawer and pulling out the aluminum foil. “He’ll be happy to hear that some of his chicken has already been put to good use.”
Thomas dropped the last load of bowls into the trash and pumped the hand sanitizer dispenser above it.
“So what was going on in there?” He asked, jerking his head towards the pantry door.
“Betty just realized that with the power being out, a lot of people in nursing homes are going to be dying soon,” Dotty said quietly.
Thomas stopped rubbing his hands, and looked up.
“Oh man,” he said. “And the hospitals, too. But…they’ve got generators-“
“Those only have enough fuel for a couple of days,” Dotty said, shaking her head. She tucked the last edge of foil around the biscuit tray and dropped the foil back into the drawer. “If they turned on Friday night, and they haven’t been refueled, they’re probably already empty.”
Thomas sighed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.
“Grams, there’s some people here in town that are on machines,” he said. “I’ve helped transport most of them to the hospital one time or another.”
“Oh lord. Do you know where each of them lives?” Dotty asked.
“There’s a list at the fire station. When a call comes in for the ambulance, we check the address against the list. But with no phones-“
“I’ll go,” Bill said from the pantry doorway. “I can get one of the guys that’s on duty at the fire station, and I’ll go check on them.”
“I’ll go too,” Betty said. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was no longer crying. She still held the little wooden cross in her hands. “If I can’t help my own Daddy, maybe I can help somebody else’s.”
“Betty, are you sure? Some of them might be…” Dotty said, faltering.
Betty nodded. “I’m sure. I’d want someone to do the same for me. Bill, grab a case of bottled water out of the pantry. We’ll take the rest of that chicken and the biscuits too, just in case.” Focused now, she strode over to the sanitizer and shooed Thomas out of her way.
“Go on now, go. I know you two have got someplace to be,” she said.
“But we should help,” Dotty said. “We could split up-“
“No, she’s right,” Bill said. “It should just be us. If you were to get to a house and the person had…” He paused, glancing over at Betty. “Well, I can’t read the Scripture in two houses at once.”
“You should stop by the Sheriff’s Department and get a Deputy, too,” Thomas said. “In case you think there’s someone inside that needs help but they can’t get to the door.”
“Good idea,” Bill said. “And Dotty—tell John I might not make it out there today after all.”
Dotty and Thomas made their way through the church’s small dining hall and stepped outside. The smell of dog poo hit them like a slap.
“Oh my lord,” Dotty said, covering her nose. “That’s fresh.”
“Look, right here, right next to the steps,” Thomas said, leaning over the railing and pointing down into the grass. “And there’s another pile, over by the sign.”