by Marta Perry
Seth watched, riveted, as the most endangered areas were outlined. The entire Susquehanna River basin was in the worst flood threat zone.
He flipped to one of the local channels, to find that it had given up normal programming to focus on the storm. Water was inching toward the top of the flood walls in Wilkes-Barre, volunteers were asked to report for sandbagging, and every downriver town was in danger.
Including Oyersburg. Chloe. The creeks would flood first, before pouring into the river. The whole lower end of Oyersburg was vulnerable, including Chloe’s cottage, with the creek on one side and the river on the other. And Chloe was blithely ignorant of just how bad it could get.
Snatching up his phone, Seth hit her number even as he yanked a hooded water-resistant jacket from the closet. The call went straight to voice mail. Praying that meant someone else was already calling a warning to her, he left a message, telling her to get out as quickly as possible. Grabbing his keys, he hastened to the door.
The rain drenched him the instant he stepped outside. Ducking his head, he ran for the car, slid in, and spun out of the parking lot. The rain pounded the roof of the car, so loudly he could hardly think. Only one thing was clear—he had to reach Oyersburg and get Chloe out of that cottage. She had no idea how fast the creek could come up or just how dangerous it could be.
Muscles tensed as he gripped the steering wheel. There was a vivid picture in his mind of a flood that had hit when he was a teenager. He’d been among the group of Amish who’d spent days in Oyersburg helping with the cleanup. It seemed he could still smell the mud they’d shoveled out of basements. And that had been minor, as floods went. People still talked about the big one in 1972 that had devastated up-river towns.
And Susanna—he’d forgotten about Susanna in his anxiety over Chloe. Her shop was in the flood-prone area, too. Still, she’d lived in Oyersburg long enough to be aware, and no doubt her partner’s family would be there to help her.
The windshield wipers worked furiously, but visibility was still terrible. He found he was leaning forward, as if another inch or two might make him see more clearly. The wind had power lines swaying. A branch flew across the road, striking the hood and skittering off again.
Seth’s apartment was in a complex near the interstate, about equidistant from Pleasant Valley and Oyersburg. Pleasant Valley would probably see some stream flooding, but Mamm and Jessie would be all right—there was nothing near enough to endanger them.
Not daring to take his eyes from what he could see of the road, he felt for his cell phone and tried Chloe’s number again. Still straight to voice mail. Where are you, Chloe? Are you safe?
Flashing red lights ahead alerted him, and he slowed to a crawl as he approached. He stared, appalled, at the water flowing freely around the edges of the bridge over a creek so small he didn’t usually even notice it was there.
A yellow-slickered figure approached his window. He lowered it, getting a splash of cold water in his face.
“Where you trying to get to, sir?” The kid looked barely old enough to be out of school, his thin face tense with the importance of his job. He’d be volunteer fire police, probably, more used to directing traffic at parades than dealing with a flood.
“Oyersburg. No chance of getting across here?”
“Nope. Creek’s eating the ground away on this side. They’re saying the bridge will go for sure this time. Your best bet’s to go round by Jefferson.” The crack of a branch breaking punctuated his words, and he glanced toward it, looking scared for a moment before getting his emotions under control. “The bridge there’s a little higher. You know the way?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Seth was already turning the car as he punched the button to shut the window, tires squealing on the wet, leaf-covered road. Jefferson was a good ten miles out of his way, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t find the bridge closed when he got there. He did a quick search of his mental map and came up empty. It would be even farther if he took the interstate, and there was every possibility the exit there would be closed.
He snapped on the radio as he sped along the back road and found the local station in Oyersburg. They’d obviously switched to emergency mode, as the announcers gave up playing pop music to read off strings of closings and warnings that would only be comprehensible to people who knew the area. Apparently people were calling the station, reporting on a flooded street here or a bridge closing there. The local radio station was a lifeline at a time like this.
Listening to the string of reports, Seth felt cold fear growing. This was going to be bad—he was familiar enough with the Susquehanna River Basin to know it. The Hurricane Agnes flood in 1972 had supposedly been a hundred-year storm, but it sounded as if the next big one was arriving ahead of schedule.
Jefferson was hardly more than a hamlet. Seth slowed as he went through. Slicker-clad volunteers were evacuating families from the houses closest to the overflowing creek, loading belongings into pickups and people into cars. One family trudged along the road, probably heading for a neighbor’s house, the father carrying a toddler while the mother clung to the hands of two little girls.
Seth reached the bridge and braked. Maybe they were too busy with evacuations to post a man here. A yellow DANGER sign leaned drunkenly against a sawhorse, but it didn’t block the bridge. Still—
His breath caught when he took a good look. The water, brown with mud and impossibly high, surged within inches of the bridge deck. Tree limbs, brush, logs, and unidentifiable debris floated downstream. Already they were piling up against the bridge, adding their weight to the force of the water. The bridge would go; the only question was how soon.
If he didn’t get across now . . .
With a silent prayer, he stepped on the accelerator. He thought he heard a shout from behind him as he shot forward. His tires hit the bridge deck, and he felt it shudder, tremble, sway—
Then he was over. He sped up the hill on the opposite side, risking a glance in the rearview mirror. A massive tree stump hit the bridge. With a groan that he could hear even with the windows shut, the bridge broke apart, letting the stream flow on triumphantly.
Clenching his teeth, he sped on. Surely, by this time, Chloe would have realized the danger. But he couldn’t take that for granted. He had to see for himself. And what that said about his feelings for Chloe—well, he wasn’t ready to admit.
* * *
Curled
up in the corner of the living room sofa, Chloe grimaced at the computer open on the coffee table in front of her. She’d had good intentions of getting work done this rainy day, but it seemed everyone she knew had decided to call her.
So she didn’t get much work done. She’d had a nice long chat with Kendra, her closest friend and colleague at the museum from which she was technically on leave. Kendra had, as usual, been full of humorous gossip about the ins and outs of museum life, and they’d chatted endlessly about anything and everything.
With one exception. Chloe hadn’t mentioned Seth, and Kendra, with unusual tact for her, had respected that omission.
Chloe had still been smiling from Kendra’s call when the phone sounded again, but Brad Maitland’s voice had wiped the amusement from her face. Brad, a close family friend and a favorite of her grandmother’s, had been a sort of honorary uncle to her most of her life.
Brad had sounded grave, but then, when didn’t Brad sound that way? He was concerned about her grandmother, he’d said. She seemed to be failing, and he thought it was time Chloe came home. His tone had conjured up images of her imperious grandmother frail and weak, calling for her.
She’d nearly said she’d drive back at once, but she was only too aware that Gran wasn’t above using Brad for her own ends. She’d get a second opinion before she raced back to Philadelphia.
Her call to the house in Chestnut Hill was answered, as Chloe had hoped, by Nora, the housekeeper.
“Chloe, it’s nice to hear your voice.” Nora had known her since she was a baby and considered Chloe as much hers as Gran’s. “Are you having a good time? Are you eating enough?”
Chloe laughed at the familiar question. A spray of rain hit the window on the side of the cottage, loud enough to distract her for an instant. “I’m eating fine. My sister makes sure of it. How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” she said. “But you’ll want to talk to your grandmother.”
“Not yet,” Chloe said quickly. “How is she? Dr. Maitland called to say she wasn’t well. What’s wrong?”
“I wouldn’t say she’s sick, exactly.” Nora’s tone was cautious, reminding Chloe that, after all, Gram paid her salary, and it was to Gran that Nora’s first allegiance went. “Just a little more broody than normal.”
Chloe heard an imperious voice in the background, demanding to know to whom Nora was speaking. Nora responded soothingly, and in a moment Chloe’s grandmother came on the call.
“Chloe? Why were you talking to Nora?”
“Just asking how she is,” Chloe said. “And more to the point, how are you? Brad Maitland called to say I should come home, implying you were ‘failing,’ as he put it. You didn’t by any chance put him up to that, did you?”
“Failing?” Gran sounded outraged. “Nonsense. I’m perfectly fine.”
Oddly enough, that troubled Chloe. If her grandmother was attempting to manipulate her, she’d surely be more likely to plead illness.
“I’m glad to hear it. I was worried.”
“There’s no need to be.” Gran’s tone was tart. “Not that I wouldn’t be happy to see you give up this foolishness and come home where you belong.”
“Gran . . .” Did she really have to go over her reasons for being here again?
“Yes, I know, you’re writing a professional paper. But you could do that anywhere.”
“Susanna is helping me,” she said mildly, vaguely aware of an unusual level of noise from outside her cottage. “I’m settled here now. But I am thinking of coming for a short visit. Lydia suggested it,” she added.
Silence for a moment. “How is she?” Gran’s tone was grudging, but at least she asked the question.
“She’s blooming. Expecting another baby this winter, and they’re hoping for a girl this time.”
“And the other one? Susanna?” Gran asked the question in an offhand tone that didn’t fool Chloe.
“Doing better, I think. She’s getting used to the idea of having sisters.”
“Since they’re doing so well, there’s no reason you can’t come home.” That sounded more like Gran.
“I said I’d come for a short visit,” Chloe said, trying to hang on to her patience. “Maybe toward the end of the week for two or three days.”
“Two or three days?” Gran’s voice rose.
The noise, like a muffled roar, seemed to be coming from behind the cottage. She rose, carrying the phone, and walked toward the door that led onto the deck.
“I think—”
Her voice died as she looked out the back. The creek—the little stream that normally trickled musically over the rocks—had become a sullen, swollen brown torrent, slapping at the deck. The sound she’d heard was the roar of water, and it was amplified a hundred times, it seemed, when she slid the glass door open.
“I have to go, Gran,” she said quickly. “I’ll call you later.” She snapped off before her grandmother could protest and stuffed the phone in her pocket.
This was incredible. She could only stare, mesmerized, at the scene. Adam had mentioned something about the creek flooding, but she’d never imagined it could be anything like this.
She’d better get the deck furniture inside if she didn’t want to see it floating away. She stepped out onto the deck, feeling the boards beneath her feet vibrate to the roar of the water. She took another step, reaching for the nearest chair. The deck groaned.
“Chloe!” The slam of the front door punctuated the word, and Seth raced through the house toward her. “Get inside. Quick.”
“As soon as I get the chairs—”
An alarming crack cut off her voice. The deck swayed, the movement almost reluctant. And then the floor was collapsing under her, crumbling into bits, taking her with it—
Seth grabbed her arm, his fingers biting into her skin. Water, shockingly cold, swallowed her feet, pulling at her, dragging her away.
But Seth was stronger. He hung on to her arm, and she realized he was clutching the door frame with his other hand, stretching out over the chasm that had opened in front of him.
“Jump!” he cried, and even as he yanked, she leaped toward him. He grabbed her, both arms around her as they toppled back into the kitchen.
For a moment all she could do was bury her face in his jacket, while a wave of thankfulness for his presence warmed her. She turned back toward the door just in time to see the deck, with an agonized shriek, break away from the house and crumble into the creek.
Seth’s hands were strong on her arms. “What were you doing? A couple of deck chairs aren’t worth your life. Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I tried to call and warn you.”
The barrage of questions was angry, but under the anger, Chloe could feel his fear. For her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. The owner’s going to be so upset. The whole deck is gone.” She still didn’t quite believe it even though she’d seen it.
“The deck’s the least of it,” Seth said, dragging her toward the front door. “Come on. You have to get out of here. The house might be next.”
“It couldn’t . . . could it?” The depth of his concern was beginning to sink in.
“It could. Don’t you listen to the radio? This whole end of town is advised to evacuate. Let’s go.”
She held back, pulling against him. “All right, but at least let me get my computer, my work . . . and what about my clothes?”
“Right.” Seth took a breath, seeming to settle himself. “I’ll get the computer and papers. You go pack a bag. But hurry. I don’t want to be here when the water starts coming in that back door.”
It was hard to believe that could happen, but a few minutes ago she’d have said it was impossible for the deck to be swept away. Rushing into the bedroom, she grabbed a suitcase and began throwing things into it.
Necessities for a few days, toiletries . . . surely she wouldn’t be gone longer than that. She snapped the suitcase closed. The rain would stop, the creek would go down, and things would return to normal.
“Let’s go.” Seth appeared in the bedroom doorway and took the suitcase from her hand. “I already put the computer and briefcase in your car. Once the car reaches the top of the hill it should be safe.”
Protesting that she wanted to take another look around would probably be futile. She followed him out, snapping the lock on the door. She moved out onto the sidewalk and stopped, shocked at the sight that met her eyes.
Up and down either side of the street, people were working for the most part in a silence that was more frightening than shouts would have been. Some loaded furniture and household goods into trucks and vans; others seemed to be carrying things up to the second floors of houses. All these people couldn’t just be the street’s residents. It looked as if half the town was here.
She pulled the hood of her jacket up against the pelting rain and turned to Seth. “It really is serous, isn’t it?”
He grinned at her, his face rain-wet. “You’re finally catching on. Now let’s go help your sister.”
Susanna. Fear pierced Chloe’s heart. Susanna’s shop was just as vulnerable as the cottage was. They had to help her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Susanna’s
throat was tight with anxiety as she stacked quilted place mats into a box. The water was rising. Incredible as it
seemed, the shop was actually in danger of flooding. All her earlier worries over whether she could buy the shop faded away to nothing in comparison. If what folks were saying was true, there might not be a shop left to buy.
“I’ll put these upstairs, ja?” Dora’s daughter Donna was at her elbow, carrying a stack of paintings she’d taken from the walls.
Susanna nodded, feeling as if her thoughts were spinning out of control. “I think they should be safe there. I don’t know where else to put them.”
Donna hoisted the stack and headed for the steps. “Surely they’ll be all right on the second floor. I can’t believe the flooding will be as bad as they’re saying.”
Susanna couldn’t, either. “Best not to take a chance. It’s wonderful kind of all of you to komm help.”
Donna had arrived a half hour ago. She’d rounded up several other women from the church district, and they’d been boxing and carrying ever since.
“What would my mamm say if I didn’t?” Donna said, her freckled face breaking into her easy smile. “It was all we could do to keep her from coming, too.”
“I’m wonderful glad she didn’t.” Susanna shuddered at the thought of having Dora here to worry about, too.
“I convinced her it made more sense for her to watch the kinder while I came to help.” Donna started up the stairs, edging around another woman coming down. “Not that she can’t outwork all of us when she’s feeling herself.”
“That’s all the candles boxed up, Susanna,” Mary Lapp, one of Donna’s friends, called across the room to her. “What should I do next?”
Susanna looked around the crowded shop, overcome by a sense of helplessness. Usually she loved the cozy clutter of the place, but now she was faced with moving it or perhaps losing it.
She forced herself to focus. What would be damaged most by the water if it got into the first floor?