Gift from the Storm

Gift from the Storm
by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

          Black roiling clouds provided the backdrop for the house as Trisha drove past, then reversed and backed the car into the drive. “Wish Jim would clean out the garage so I could drive inside,” she muttered as she did each time she needed to unload groceries. “Hope I can get them in before it rains.”

          As she rushed from the kitchen to get the last sacks, the phone rang. Trisha paused and glanced toward the extension on the wall before shaking her head. “No, I’ll finish. Whoever it is will have to call back.”

          On the other end of the line, Jim slammed the receiver on its base. “Where is she? She should be home.” He listened to the announcement on the television set on the far wall. “That tornado is heading right for our development. Where is she?” He grabbed the phone again and punched in numbers.

          The cell phone vibrated through her slacks as Trisha set the final two bags of groceries on the counter. She slipped the device from her pocket and clicked it on. “Hello?”

          “Trisha, where have you been? Never mind, have you heard the weather?” Jim’s voice filled her ear.

          “No, I grocery shopped on the way home from work, hauled in bags of food, and tried to finish before the rain soaked everything.” She held the phone to her ear while opening the refrigerator and starting to put perishables inside. “What’s . . .”

          “Never mind all that. Get covers and pillows and get in the closet. A tornado is heading your way! Go now!”

          “What? I have to . . .”

          “Trisha, go now. Nothing else matters. Go! Take the cell with you. I’ll call back in a few minutes. Go!” Jim yelled as he tried to motivate his wife to move. He disconnected, hoping she would react.

          With a frown Trisha stared at the dead cell in her hand before Jim’s words registered. She turned to look out the patio window at the towering darkness. Coming this way? No! She stuck the phone back into her pocket as she ran to the bedroom. Pulling the comforter and quilt off the top of the bed, she grabbed one of the king-sized pillows, which she threw with the covers into the walk-in closet.

          Surely Jim misunderstood. Not another tornado so close. One hit just a mile from here last week. Her thoughts rushed as fast as she moved.

         She ran back to the bed and took three more pillows. In the closet, she spread the two padded covers on the floor, laid three pillows near one side and one at the end. She then lay down on her side on the pillows and pulled the covers over her as she rolled over, until the pillows covered her left side as she lay on her right. The final pillow she placed under her head before tucking the quilt and comforter under her, creating a cocoon. The only sound she could hear was the thumping of her heart.

          Across town, Jim sat glued to the weather programming. The storm chasers sent video of the massive tornado bearing down on unsuspecting commuters heading for homes scattered over the city. Many drove directly into the path of the killing wind. The pictures from the television helicopter revealed debris exploding into the air and disappearing. Jim closed his eyes and prayed that his wife would be safe.

          The mile-wide twister roared forward, harvesting everything in its path. Trees, houses, vehicles, businesses became nothing, as if they had never existed. Sirens screamed in warning as weather commentators on radio and television nearly panicked with their advisories, “Take shelter now! The only safe places are below ground! Take precautions immediately!”

          Some people tried to outrun the monster bearing down on them. Families jumped into cars and pickups, racing, they hoped, away from the killer chasing them. Drivers stuck on the highways and roads sought shelter where they could. Many pulled under overpasses and scrambled up under the concrete roadway above. They huddled together in the angle formed by the bridge over their heads and the support walls against the banks. Marshall Ross wrapped his arms around his wife, Lexi, and the fifteen-month-old girl in her arms, putting his own body between them and the danger rushing toward them.

          When the tiny child whimpered, her mother whispered in her ear, “Shush, it’s okay. Mommy has you.”

          The rushing wind created a deafening roar in their ears and stole the air they needed to breathe. The mother felt the force sucking her from her husband’s arms and her child from hers. She cried as she fought to hold the baby. Her arms felt as if pulled from her body. The pain became unbearable. Still she struggled to hold on to her child. Behind her, she felt her husband’s body batter hers while he fought his own battle. She felt him wrenched away the same moment the force grabbed her baby from her arms.

          “Nooooo!” Her scream became lost in the roar as the monster flipped her down the solid embankment to sprawl broken and battered on the roadside below. Blackness kept her from seeing the purple stains grow on her body and her husband's body or know that he lay with one leg nearly torn off.

          Even with the pillows blocking most sounds, Trisha heard the sound of a train becoming louder as the tornado ate its way closer to her hiding place. Darkness descended, wiping out the dim light outside her hiding place. Her fear mounted as she trembled, knowing that within seconds she would know whether she survived or not. “Oh, dear Lord,” she prayed softly, “please keep me safe. I have so much I need to do yet. Jim needs me.” She felt tears slide down her cheek and into her ear. “Please be with him. Let him know how much I love him.”

          The house groaned as if in pain as the whirling wind caused walls and supports to twist. Trisha clamped her eyes closed as she felt the floor under her heave and tremble. The wrenching of the roof as it ripped off the walls reverberated above the roar of the tornado. The thud of something landing close to her in the complete darkness brought her eyes open to stare at the nothingness. The screaming of the house’s death and the pounding of the storm around her seemed to last forever.

          “Oh, please, God. Oh, please, God,” she whispered over and over.

          The roar of the “train” with its emotionless power and might moved away, leaving chaos behind it in the pouring rain. Trisha moved the covers away from her face. Although she could hear the rain and hail beating on something above, she couldn’t feel the patters.

          When the cell phone rang and vibrated in the pocket under her, she tried to move from under the quilt and comforter, but her legs would move less than an inch in any direction. Moving her hand down the side of her body, she found the covers wrapped tightly around her legs, trapping them. She tried to pull the entrapping material away, but nothing gave. She yanked the covers with all the strength she could manage in close quarters. Her hand slipped and her elbow whacked something hard.

          “Ouch!” She reached to find something wooden with a peak above her. She groped in front of her to find another wooden surface. Carefully turning her upper body, she reached behind her to find the same surface. This feels like a roof. Her hands continued to explore the object. Hmmm . . . support beams. It feels like. . . uh, like one of the roofs over the dormer widows. She felt relief flow through her mind. I’m protected by my own little roof. She slapped her hand over her mouth to smother the giggles that tried to escape. “All I need, to go crazy now,” she protested aloud. “Nope, I won’t. Someone will come and get me out. I can manage to lie here out of the weather. I can do this, just wish I could have reached the phone..” She closed her eyes as the lullaby of the rain relaxed her.

          In his mother’s house outside the path of the tornado, Jim replaced the phone receiver before laying his head in his hands. “She didn’t answer, Mom. I don’t know if she lost her cell phone, or if . . .” He swallowed. “She has to be safe. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s not.”

         His mother laid her hand on his shoulder, “We’ll have to continue praying that she’s safe, Jim.”

          Trisha didn’t know how long she listened to the rain and watched the play of lightning through her closed eye lids before she heard the crying. Opening her eyes she tried to tell where the mewing originated. Hope a kitten didn’t get caught in this. She pulled the covers away from her head and turned her head so that she could hear from both ears. Again the cry carried over the rain.

          “That’s a child,” she whispered. Twisting her face toward the opening where she could see lightning flicker and flash, she called, “Can you hear me? It’s all right. I’ll help you, but you have to come to me.”

          “Mommy. Mommy.” The voice could barely be heard between the rumbles of thunder.

          “Oh, baby, can you come to me? Please come here. I’m under the. . .” Trisha paused. How can I help a little one find me? “Come on. I’m under the little house. Can you find me?”

          “Mommy. Mommy” The voice moved closer. Finally Trisha saw a slight form in a flash of lightning.

          “Come here, baby. Come crawl in bed with me.” Trisha lifted a corner of the quilt. “Come on, It’s not wet in here.”

          The small child crawled into the shelter and under the lifted cover. Sniffles and sobs shook the body Trisha pulled close to hers. “It’s okay, baby. Can you tell me your name?” As she calmly talked, hoping her voice would still the fear coursing through the body shaking in her arms, she used the cover on top to dry the rain and mud, what she could feel, off the little one. Other than twigs, mud, and blades of grass, only a diaper covered the baby. “We’ll take care of each other, okay?”

          The sobs subsided, and the little head nodded against her breast. When Trisha cupped the tiny scalp, curls wound around her fingers. “I think you’re a little girl. Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”

          The soft voice mumbled something.

          “I’m sorry. Would you tell me again?”

          “Me, me.”

          “Mimi?” Trisha asked.

          The head quickly shook a no answer as the child insisted, “Me, me.”

          “I guess my ears aren’t working very well, sugar. I’m sorry.” Trisha rubbed off more of the debris sticking to the child’s skin. Where in the world did she come from? Her poor little body. Aloud she crooned, “We’ll be safe here. I hope you are a little girl, but if you aren’t, it doesn’t matter. We’ll stay snug and dry right here.”

         The baby’s breathing became quiet and even until Trisha knew “she” slept. Poor little thing. She’s exhausted. Well, she’ll be fine now. Someone will find us. There is no way Jim won’t get to us, even if he has to move everything by himself. She ran her fingers through the curls until they encountered a knot behind one ear. When Trisha touched the raised spot, the baby flinched in her sleep.

          Trisha moved her hand to rub the little one’s back, soothing the baby back into slumber, whispering, “It’s going to be okay. You had a rough time, didn’t you, sugar? I bet your parents are about frantic wondering where you are.” She closed her eyes. “If I had a little darling like you, I would be. Listen to the rain. Will it ever stop?” The pattering of rain lulled her to sleep while her arms continued to cuddle the baby.

          In a hospital several miles away, Marshall Ross lay in recovery after surgery to reattach one leg and to tend to multiple broken bones. In the room where her husband would be moved in a few minutes, Lexi stood staring out the windows at the hail bouncing off cars and the rain that flooded the parking lot.

          "Mrs. Ross," a nurse asked as she entered the dimly lit room, "shouldn't you be resting? You have to care for yourself, too."

          Wide, dark eyes turned from the window. "How can I rest when my baby is out there somewhere?" Lexi's eyes closed as she held her broken arm against her chest. "I couldn't hold her. I couldn't. I tried. I tried."

          Not knowing how to address the pain revealed in the eyes and voice of the woman in front of her, the nurse allowed her profession to show. "Weren't you supposed to have a sling for that arm?"

          Lexi's eyes opened to stare blankly at the nurse. Her mind, though, planned her escape to find her baby. I can't stay here. She needs me.

          The baby’s whimpering awoke Trisha. The baby stirred but settled back into an exhausted sleep. In the early morning light Trisha studied the child in her arms. Curls still held some debris. Cuts marred the tender skin of the revealed side of her face and shoulders. The other side of her face, and the side of her head with the bump, lay against Trisha, and the quilt covered the rest of her body.

          Poor baby. I . . .

          “Trisha! Trisha!”

          Trisha looked toward the sunshine filled open-end of the shelter. Jim, it’s Jim. She covered the exposed ear of the child in her arms. “Jim! In here! Jim!” A sob caught in her throat. “Oh, Jim, I’m here.”

          She looked down to see a set of deep blue eyes staring at her. “We’re going to be all right, sugar. I told you Jim would find us.”

          Moments later, Jim knelt at the opening. “Trisha, are you hurt? Thank God you’re safe. I thought I had lost you for good.” Tears streaked his face. “Can you crawl out?”

          “Jim, I knew you would find me. I told the baby you would.” As she twisted her neck to see her husband, tears flowed freely down her cheeks now that help arrived. “I, uh, I’m caught. The covers are wrapped around my legs, and I can’t get out.”

          “Baby?” The started look on Jim’s face brought a grin to Trisha’s. “Wait a minute, you didn’t have a baby when we left for work yesterday.”

          “The storm brought me company, an unexpected gift.” The little girl pulled herself up on her hands and knees to stare at the man.

          “Wait here. I’ll get some help to get this roof off you. We’ll have you out in just a few minutes.” Jim disappeared.

          When the baby started to crawl away, Trisha pulled her back. “No, sugar, let’s wait here for Jim to come back.” A chuckle echoed in the close confines. “'Wait here,' he said. I’d guess so.”

          The child sat and turned her bright eyes toward the woman. “Mommy?” Tears pooled, ready to overflow.

          Trisha gathered the little one into her arms. “We’ll find Mommy. When Jim gets back, and we get out of here, we’ll find your mommy.”

          In less than fifteen minutes, Jim and a crew of men in orange vests returned to lift the remains of the dormer window roof off the two. The one side of the roof, which landed on edges of the quilt and comforter, trapped Trisha, so as soon as the men lifted the roof and set it to one side, she escaped the prison of cloth. She scrambled to her feet to scoop the baby into her arms. Finally she noticed her surroundings.

          “How? Oh, my. . . Where?” Her eyes searched the area where once her home stood. The floor of the closet, two walls joining in a right angle, the small roof that protected her, and the concrete slab remained, and nothing more.

          Jim wrapped her and the child she held in his arms. “I was never so scared in my life. I thought you were gone.” He led her away from the swaying remaining walls, the other three men following. “Thanks for your help,” Jim turned to offer his hand to each man. “I couldn’t lift it by myself.”

          One of the men replied, “We’re just glad we could help. Glad we found them safe and sound.” He smiled at the baby. “Cute little girl. Now, you better get them to the hospital, have them checked out.” He waved as he and the other two trotted away.

          When Jim’s attention returned to Trisha, he found her gazing around her in shock. “Everything. . . Everything is gone.” Her eyes searched in one direction then another.

          Wherever she looked she saw a war zone, a war that the storm won. A few walls wobbled at the edge of the path of the tornado, some debris scattered here and there, but, for the most part, the twister wiped everything clean. No trees, bushes, or houses remained, nothing but concrete slabs where house after house once marched around the winding streets of the development.

          Trisha sagged against her husband. “God looked over me, didn’t he?” As Jim’s arms tightened around her, the baby whimpered. Trisha laid her face against the blond curls. “And how did He deliver you to me, sugar?”

          “I’ll be grateful to Him for the rest of my life. Now, let’s get the two of you checked out like the man suggested.” Jim kissed his wife’s temple. “We have a bit of a walk to get to where I had to leave the car. Maybe I should carry the baby.” He held out his hands, but the little girl wrapped her arms tightly around Trisha’s neck.

          Trisha gave her husband a wan smile. “I guess she decided that since I’m the only comfort she’s known since the nightmare began, she’ll stick with me.” She laid her head briefly against his arm. “I’ll make it, so lead on.” She turned a brighter smile toward him. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

          “What’s that?”

          “I love you.”

          The sound of a horn brought their attention to an ambulance which pulled into a now empty driveway in front of them. Two Emergency Medical Technicians jumped from the vehicle. One ran around the rear as the other announced as he hurried toward them, “We were told we were needed.” He tried to take the baby from Trisha, and the little girl screamed, clinging even tighter to the woman. “Okay, okay, honey, you can stay with your momma for now.” He helped support Trisha, with her now crying burden, on one side while Jim helped on the other. They moved together to the ambulance, where the other EMT had set a gurney on the ground behind the opened rear doors.

          As she sat on the narrow bed-on-wheels with the baby still sobbing, Trisha told the two paramedics, “This isn’t our child. She literally blew in with the storm, I think. She needs help more than I do. But first, do you have a diaper, by chance?”

          An hour later, Jim and Trisha entered the high school gym where people gathered to find friends and family members, to register so that others could find them, to request a place to sleep, and to eat a meal, whether rescue worker or displaced person. The baby, now dressed in a clean diaper and a white tee-shirt that nearly swallowed her, still clung to Trisha. The bandages on the girl's face, arms, and legs covered the cuts.

          Spying a row of folding chairs, Jim suggested, “Why don’t you and Sugar sit over there while I find out what we should do?”

          With a nod of her head, Trisha walked toward a chair. “I can’t believe how wobbly my knees feel. I don’t understand. I’m not hurt, did nothing but lie around and sleep.”

          Jim first responded by hugging her close to his side. “You just survived a massive trauma, maybe not so much physical, but emotional and mental. I’m still shaking inside myself.” As she lowered herself with her filled arms, he touched the bright curls pressed into her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

          When he removed his hand, the baby looked around and watched him walk away, her hands grasping the neck of Trisha’s shirt. Suddenly a scream shattered the quiet buzz of conversations, and heads swiveled toward a woman who half-ran toward Trisha and the child in her arms.

          “Marie! Marie!” Lexi Ross cried, tears streaming down her face covered with blackish-purple bruises. A sling held one arm covered by a cast; the other reached for the grinning little girl.

          Tiny hands stretched for the woman. “Mommy. Mommy.” The girl glanced at Trisha and patted her cheek. “My mommy. See?”

          Later Trisha stood in the shelter of her husband’s arms. “God did deliver Marie from the storm. Who would have believed that she survived such a horrible ordeal?” She heaved a deep sigh. “Thankfully, the whole family will soon be back together.”

          Jim agreed, “Yes, broken bones will heal. So will the cuts and bruises. Marie’s daddy might have to stay in the hospital a while, but he’s alive - they all are.” He blew a breath of air in a silent whistle. “The rest, the hidden wounds, might take awhile longer. The three of them are mighty fortunate.”

          “Uh-huh. So are we. But, whew, so much lost, so many dead or missing.” Trisha wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I dread hearing that anyone we know is on that list.”

          “I know, sweetheart. Let’s go to Mom’s. Her house was missed completely.” He looked across the milling people in the gym. “At least we have a place to stay.”

          As they left the high school complex, Jim drove with one hand as he held Trisha’s in the other. “You know, we’ll find a way to replace the house and most of the contents. Even most of our pictures - my mom or yours has copies. But I couldn’t replace you.”

          That evening Jim, Trisha, Jim’s mother, and his father watched the news reports about the swath of destruction left by the tornado, over thirty miles long and ranging from a half mile to a mile wide. Pictures of cars swept from roads and driveways resting in twisted lumps in trees fifty miles away filled the screen. Homes and businesses left no sign of their existence. Bridges no longer joined both sides of a road in places.

          The familiar voice of a national network news anchor announced, “Miracles are being revealed across the storm riddled central part of the country. A fifteen-month-old girl was ripped from her mother’s arms as they sought shelter from the killer tornado that hit central Oklahoma last night. Scratched and bruised, the twister dumped little Marie Ross in the ruins of a house more than ten miles away. There she was cared for by an unknown woman, sheltered by part of a roof. Although hospitalized, the father survived being slammed against a concrete abutment.

         "The massive storms that hit last night destroyed over one hundred square miles and killed at least fifty people, with at least a hundred more missing. But in the Oklahoma tornado, only three lives were lost, even though that storm was the worst by far. Advance warning is the reason given for the few deaths.”

          As the newscaster continued, Trisha sighed. Thank you, Lord, for allowing this unknown woman to be protected and to be able to keep that baby safe after You delivered the gift from the storm.”