The Way of Women

by Lauraine Snelling

  Flashing lights on the freeway announced that I-5 was closed to all traffic. Mr. Johnson switched on the radio to the station whose call letters were posted on the sign.

  “The I-5 bridge across the Toutle is closed until further notice,” the station announced. “Authorities are assessing the damage to the concrete structure.”

  “What are we going to do?” Mellie stared straight ahead. So close and yet … Harv, where are you?

  “I’m going to go on up to the closure and ask the patrolmen there what to do. They’ll be turning traffic away, so someone has to know where we can get help.”

  “You’re in luck,” the trooper said when he leaned in the rolled-down window. “We just got word that we can open the freeway again. Otherwise, you’d have had to go out to the coast and around.”

  “You have any idea where we might find information on this young woman’s husband? He’s a trucker out of Baker Camp.”

  “And you’ve heard nothing from him?”

  “No.” Mellie answered before Mr. Johnson. “He was supposed to be home late yesterday afternoon.”

  “They’re still finding survivors, bringing them out by helicopter. You go on down to Longview. There’s what passes for a command post down there. See if they can help you.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Johnson nodded as he spoke and sent a smile Mellie’s way. “We’ll do that.”

  Oh, please, God, some word, please some word.

  “Well, will you look at that.”

  Used to the green hills all along the highway, Mellie stared at the gray mud, debris-filled, and still steaming river, roiling under the bridge nearly up to the span. The sight shocked her awake. Mud rings high on the remaining trees showed how deep the flow had been.

  “Mommy, I hurt.”

  Mellie turned to look over the seat.

  Lissa rubbed her forehead and then her stomach. “Can I sit in the front with you?”

  Mellie nodded and helped Lissa clamber up beside her.

  “When is her next appointment?”

  “It was today. I called and left a message telling them we couldn’t come. The appointment desk wasn’t open, so I have to call back later.”

  “Ah …”

  She glanced his way to see consternation written all over his face.

  “Wasn’t this the big one for …?”

  “Yes.” Silence but for the hum of the motor. She left off staring at her hands, knuckles white from the clench, and sighed. “But … but I couldn’t go without Harv. He promised he’d be there, and …” Her right forefinger dug a hole in her left. “I have to find him.”

  Despair not only looked gray but smelled like the color of ash as well.

  He nodded gently. “I hear you. We’ll see what we can see.”

  The green-and-white highway sign for Longview reared up in front of them.

  “Where will we look?” Mellie stared at the evergreens that lined the freeway. To look at the world here, nothing had happened. No gray ash, no raging waters, no destruction of any kind. As long as they couldn’t see the Cowlitz River.

  “I figure we’ll go to the police station. They’ll know where the shelters and emergency centers are.”

  “And the hospital.”

  Lissa stirred beside her. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  “Not for you, pumpkin.” Mellie dropped a reassuring kiss on her daughter’s hair.

  Mr. Johnson stretched his neck from side to side when they halted at a stop sign, then rubbed his chest.

  “You all right?” Fear and concern together tightened her vocal cords.

  “Yeah, must be heartburn. I should know better than to have two extra cups of coffee in the morning.”

  When they parked in the visitor’s space in front of the police station, Mellie unsnapped her seat belt. “You stay here with Mr. Johnson, sweetie. I’ll be right back.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “Not a place for little girls. You stay …”

  “How about we all go in? I want to hear what they have to say too.”

  Mellie nodded. “All right, Lissa, put your jacket on, then.” As she spoke, Mellie fished the jacket out of the backseat and held it so Lissa could put her arms in. At the sound of a grunt, she glanced over at their driver, who was now rubbing his left arm and stretching his neck again.

  “Worse?”

  “I think so.” He dug in his pocket and, taking out a small vial, put a pill under his tongue.

  “What was that?”

  “A tablet the doctor gave me. Give me just a minute and I’ll be fine. You go on ahead.”

  Mellie started to open the car door, then shut it. “I’ll wait.”

  He leaned back against the headrest.

  “Mommy, is Mr. Johnson sick?”

  Oh, God, I hope not.

  “I’ll be fine in just a minute.”

  Mellie studied his face. Did he look gray around the mouth? God, what do I do?

  Lissa whimpered beside her and burrowed into her mother’s side.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mellie opened the door and, shaking her head at her daughter, dashed into the building. Warm air, disinfectant, and misery combined in a hard-to-breathe miasma. Two other people stood in line at the information desk. Be polite. No, what if …? She waited only a second before announcing. “My friend—in the car—he might be having a heart attack.”

  MAY 19, 1980

  In the morning Katheryn woke, rubbing her head. If this was what a hangover felt like, no wonder she’d never wanted to drink, at least not to the drunken stage. After downing a glass of water, she flopped back down on the pillows, wishing for the oblivion of sleep, knowing she had to begin her search again. Her heart leaped when the phone rang.

  “Sorry to wake you, Mom, but they found Dad’s car.”

  “Where? Any sign of Brian?”

  “No, the blue bug is roosting in the top of an alder tree that stayed upright after the final surge of the North Fork.”

  “How’d it get there?”

  “The river carried it down. Fully loaded logging trucks floated down on top of the sludge. Huge rocks, chunks of ice, trees, houses, you name it.”

  Katheryn closed her eyes against the pictures he created in her mind. The car. Who cared about the stupid car? Where were David and Brian? Lord, you know where they are. Are you keeping them safe like you promised?

  “Mom?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You want me to come down there? Susan can come here.”

  “Susan has a practice to attend to, and that will help keep her mind occupied. What about your job?”

  “I told them about the situation, and they gave me some time off.”

  “We’d better get off the phone in case someone calls.”

  “Oh, Grandma called. She said you hung up on her.”

  “Twice.”

  “I see.” A hint of chuckle colored his voice. “Grandpa called too. He wondered if you wanted him to come help look.”

  All I need is one more person to take care of. “No, they won’t let anyone up there.” And I’m not stupid enough to want to try. Unless I could hire a helicopter. But she knew all the choppers were already searching the area, and the area where David and Brian would have been was totally obliterated.

  “I have to go. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  “Me too. And Mom …”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Katheryn choked back the onslaught of tears. “Me too.” Kevin had such a hard time saying those three little words that when they came they were more precious than diamonds. She hung up and wiped her eyes. How could they burn so when her tears watered them so frequently? Get your rear in gear, woman. If they are out there, it is your job to find them.

  And if they’re not? The inner voice was nearly her undoing.

  Back to the shelter in Longview, only to stand in line and hear the same rhetoric as the day before. “We have no word as yet,
but as soon as we know anything, we will inform you via the numbers you have given us.”

  Katheryn sucked in a deep breath. “You needn’t call me. I shall be right here, sitting over in that corner, like I did late yesterday afternoon. I’m the one with the portable typewriter.” While she made some effort to keep the bite from her voice, at the fleeting look on the woman’s face, she knew she’d not managed well. “I’m sorry” is in order, she told herself. But the clearing of a throat behind her reminded her she’d taken up her prescribed bit of time.

  Katheryn went back to her space and stared at the blank page. Who gave a rip if Brandy and her friend got to take part in a play? Was there another scene she could write? How about a letter to David?

  Her fingers hit the keys at twice their usual speed. Anger, rage, fear, poured out as line after line ran across the paper. Tears dripped from her chin as she yelled at him in caps, pleaded in underline, and called him names she’d never before said or written, selfish becoming an adjective for many.

  Feeling like someone was watching her, she glanced up, hoping it was the woman behind the counter, but instead another woman, this one two seats away, was shaking her head. When their gazes met, the woman half smiled.

  “You’ve sure been beating those keys. I expect that machine to break in two any minute now.”

  “Oh, I guess I have. Was I bothering you?”

  “No, not at all.” She raised an Enquirer magazine. “Was trying to read, is all. Can’t seem to keep my mind on anything.”

  Oh, please Lord, the last thing I want is aimless chitchat. Or someone else’s sob story. I have enough troubles of my own at this minute.

  “You a reporter?”

  “No.” Perhaps brevity would give her the right idea. Katheryn Ann Sommers, you are rude—and cruel. The voice sounded amazingly like that of her mother. On whom she’d hung up the day before—twice. And not called yet today.

  What kind of monster was she becoming?

  She stared at what she’d written. Did she even want to save this? Hardly. She ripped out the sheet, crumpled it into her pocket, and turned to the woman.

  “I’m an author. I write children’s books.” She glanced down at her hands, then back to the open-mouthed woman. “But I was writing a letter to my husband …”

  “He lost up on the mountain?”

  “Seems so at the moment.” She forced herself to continue. “What about you?”

  “Same. He was called to go up and fix a friend’s truck so they could take some valuables out of their house along the Toutle, just in case, you know?”

  “Were they in the red zone?”

  “Red, green, what difference did it make? That mountain didn’t pay no attention to no red zone.”

  “True.” Katheryn glanced over to the television set that had been set up in the corner. Several children sat in front of it watching cartoons, although she had a feeling that hadn’t been the original purpose of bringing it in.

  They chatted a bit more before the woman got up. “I gotta visit the ladies’ room. Will you watch my things?”

  “Sure.” Katheryn glanced back at her machine, then on around the room. Other than the children playing and an infant sleeping in a car carrier, most of the people in the chairs sat staring at nothing. One man, head tipped back, snored in spurts and stops. Phones rang and machines clattered behind a three-quarter partition, as if life went on behind the partitions but had stopped in front, waiting, holding its breath.

  The woman returned, smiled her thanks, and went back to her magazine.

  Katheryn flipped through the pages until she came to the current one and rolled it into the typewriter. She reread what she’d written last, typed two sentences, didn’t like them, then reread the last paragraph and felt like dumping the whole thing on the floor and jumping up and down on it. Or drop-kicking the machine across the room. Sitting still was impossible. I’ve got to do something! Something active! She stuffed her typewriter in its case and headed out the door.

  You should tell them you’ll be right back, common sense reminded her. What if they hear something?

  If I don’t get out of here, I’m afraid of what I’ll do. She shoved a hand through her hair and straight-armed the outside door open. She dumped her things in the trunk of the car, pocketed her keys, and strode down the street, her heels tattooing the concrete.

  Sometime later, breath fighting to keep up with stride, she paused and bent over, one hand cradling the stitch in her side. How far had she gone, and where was she? More important, where was the center?

  After stopping in at a convenience store for a cup of coffee and instructions, she headed back. Surely there was something she could do there while she waited. You can write, her self suggested. You’ve gotten yourself calmed down enough now, and when you get lost in your story, the time will fly by.

  The baby was awake and crying, two children squabbling and the two young mothers talking to each other, ignoring the fracas. Another woman sat in the corner, tears leaking down her face.

  Katheryn ignored the chaos, pulled out a pad of paper, and wrote three paragraphs. Decent or not, she’d gotten herself back in control, and she could always go back on the rewrite to fix it.

  The baby’s higher-pitched wail, like fingernails on a blackboard, shivered her spine. She glanced over at the two young mothers. One was crying, the other comforting her. Someone comfort that baby, she thought.

  Finally, she closed the top on her typewriter, set it under her seat, and crossed the room. Bending over the baby, she glanced to see if the mother, whichever one was the mother, would take the hint. When not, she rocked the carrier, crooning comforting mother sounds while she checked for moisture. Sure enough, soaked. “No wonder you’re upset, little one. Let’s see if we can help you out.” She dug a paper diaper out of the bag, along with changing pad and powder. The woman had at least come prepared.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Changing your baby. She’s been screaming for who knows how long.” Katheryn plastered a reassuring smile on lips that wanted to accuse baby abuse. “Do you mind if I take care of her for a bit. I need to get practiced up for my coming grandchild.”

  “I guess.”

  “Thank you.” But she couldn’t stay mad at a grieving woman with a helpless baby, and within minutes Katheryn had her changed, redressed in a dry outfit, and cuddled against her shoulder. If there was anything more comforting than a sweet smelling baby against one’s shoulder, she had yet to think of it. Other than seeing her son dash through the door and call her name.

  When the young woman finally reached for her baby, Katheryn handed her back and returned to her place. She opened her typewriter and forced herself to return to her story. Glancing up, she caught a nod and smile from the woman behind the desk, and Katheryn smiled back. When she glanced up from rewriting a paragraph for the third time, the woman beckoned her over.

  “First, I want to say thank you for my sanity,” the woman said, nodding toward the now fed and sleeping baby. “I don’t understand young mothers nowadays.”

  Katheryn made an agreeing sound, all the while wondering what was coming next.

  “Let me get to the point. You have such a capable presence about you that I wondered if you would help us a bit. Things are so terribly confusing, all slapdash together, and the people coming here are in desperate need of a comforting presence. If you could just greet them, perhaps, and get a bit of information about them. Many of them could go right to a shelter, and unless they are indeed looking for someone lost or injured, they could be better served elsewhere and not have to stand in this line for no reason. I mean, you don’t have to do this, and you could leave when you want but …”

  Katheryn momentarily compared her work that was going nowhere with the good feeling of helping with the baby and nodded. She spent the next hours greeting people, offering condolences, pointing out the rest rooms, and in general making herself useful and easing the burden on the harried staff of one. />
  At three she left to get another cup of coffee, a necessity after tasting the sludge in the back room. How could the sun be shining when a heavy fog hungover her?

  She writhed in the agony of her rocks and ash hurling into the air, miles into the stratosphere, dusting the world with her insides. Gases, melted rock, bits of her soul poured forth, in gray and black destruction. Would it never end? Other times had lasted for suns and moons; would this one too? Her slopes were barren and scarred, drenched in mud and ash, leaking water like tears from buried glacier ice. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I could not help this. Her cries rose heavenward, along with the prayers of His people. God, save us.

  MAY 19, 1980

  Please, where are you taking him?”

  “Stand back, miss.” The paramedic spoke kindly but firmly as they slid the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

  His face now white, Mr. Johnson gave a feeble wave. He’d already said he was sorry more times than she wanted to count. The EMT finally asked him to concentrate on breathing, assured him that someone else would take care of his daughter.

  Mellie had not set them straight on that account. If being his daughter made it easier for him and for her to get information later, so be it. Having a dad like Mr. Johnson was one of her dreams anyway, an easy replacement for the man who’d given her life and then tried to beat it out of her more than once.

  She held Lissa close in her arms, the little girl wide-eyed at all the commotion.

  What will we do now? The thought plagued like an infected splinter.

  “If you want to follow us, miss, we’re going to the St. John’s Medical Center in Longview.”

  “I … I can’t.” Her look must have communicated the terror she felt, for he paused.

  “You can’t?”

  “I can’t drive. That’s why he … ah … brought us down here.” One wouldn’t call one’s father “Mr.” That would be a sure giveaway.