Dyeing Season Read online

  Together, Quinn and I got Dottie into her wheelchair and raced to the front door, Chuck at our heels. It sounded like a freight train was bearing down on the little house.

  "Where is it?" I yelled as the wind whipped my hair into my face.

  "Over there!" Dottie said, pointing to two peeling wooden doors in a shallow frame under a pecan tree about ten yards from the house. The rain felt like buckshot against my face.

  "We'll have to carry her down!" I said as we raced over to the two doors. Quinn flung the doors open, exposing dusty steps. The wind brought a smell of earthiness as Quinn and I lifted the chair. The steps were uneven, and not wide enough for two of us and the chair.

  "I'll take the bottom!" Quinn yelled, descending a few steps and grasping the chair just above the front wheels. Chuck followed her down.

  A branch flew off the pecan tree with a loud crack; as I took the first step, it glanced off my head. I didn't dare look up.

  Together we plunged into the earthy darkness, about six steps down; the roof was so low there was no room to stand. We got the chair down, and Quinn and I hurried back up to fasten the doors. One was flapping in the wind; as I reached to grab it, it slammed into my arm. The train noise was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. I could hear someone yelling behind me, but the wind snatched the words away. Another branch came down as I threw myself onto the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled.

  The wind was fierce. It took all my strength to pull the door shut; as I did, the last thing I saw was a mailbox flying through the green-tinted air.

  "How do we brace it?" I yelled to Dottie.

  "There's a two-by-four at the bottom of the steps," she yelled back, her reedy voice wheezy.

  Quinn carried it up to me; as she clung to the doors, trying to keep them from blowing open, I threaded the two-by-four through the metal handles. With a brief prayer that the doors would hold, we stumbled down the now-slick steps and retreated to the deepest part of the cellar.

  It smelled of earth and decay and dust and rain.

  And fear.

  "Did it hit the house?" Dottie asked, gripping my hand with her bony one. I had to put my ear right next to her mouth to hear her.

  "Not that I saw," I told her, squeezing her hand. "But it was close." As I spoke, there was a loud crack, and the doors shuddered. The pecan tree? I wondered. Or part of the house? Chuck quivered against my legs, and as I stroked him with my free hand, my mind strayed to Blossom and Gidget and Hot Lips and the new babies and the rest of the animals. Were they safe in the barn? What would I come back to? Or would I come back at all?

  I said a silent prayer as the wind grew louder and more things slammed into the doors. Would they hold? Or would the wind rip them off and then pluck us out of our hole in the ground?"

  Dottie squeezed my hand so hard her rings bit into my flesh, and I could feel Chuck whining as he trembled next to me. The roaring intensified, and the doors rattled so hard I was sure they were going to fly off or crack open.

  And then the sound began to fade. The doors settled down; the rain still beat against them, but the sound of the freight train was receding. Which direction was it going? I wondered, but there was no way to tell. Was my farm going to be okay? Dread gathered in my stomach.

  "How long do we stay in here?" I asked.

  "Until we can't hear it anymore, to my mind," Dottie said, her voice strained and tired. "They double back sometimes."

  "Have you been through one of these before?"

  She nodded, her bony hand still gripping mine. "Twice. Tore up the pasture and some of the trees by the creek. The second one landed a pecan tree on the corner of the house. It took six months to repair it."

  We sat in silence, listening as the rushing sound faded into the distance. It was only fifteen minutes or so, but it felt like an hour; the waiting was excruciating.

  The rain was still pounding down in waves, but the eerie wind was gone when I climbed the steps and pulled out the two-by-four. Bracing myself for what might be on the other side, I pushed back the doors.

  The pecan tree was gone... all that remained was a stump half-twisted out of the ground. I felt a twinge for the ancient tree... but at least the house was still standing. I turned to look toward my farm. Although there was no sign of the twister now, the tornado's destructive path had cut a swath straight toward Dewberry Farm. My heart clutched in my chest; were my animals okay?

  "It went right over us," Quinn breathed. "Thank goodness the doors held or we could have been on our way to Kansas."

  "The house?" Dottie asked, voice quavering, from behind me. "Is it still there?"

  "It's there," I reassured her, assessing it. The porch had suffered some damage—two of the posts had buckled, and the porch roof was askew—but the house looked intact. I looked back at Quinn. "Let's get Dottie back into the house. Can you keep Chuck and stay here with Dottie while I go check on my animals?"

  "Of course," she told me. "Let's get her up to the house, and then you can go."

  "What do we do about Eva?" I asked.

  "I'll look for her while you're checking things out. Then we'll look together."

  "Thanks," I said. Ten minutes later, I closed Dottie's door behind me and raced to the truck; Chuck and Dottie were safe inside the house, and Quinn was making tea. The rain had soaked me to the bone, but I didn't care. I hurled myself into the driver's seat, threw the truck into reverse, and a moment later, raced down the driveway at top speed, headed for home.

  Assuming I still had one.

  The house I'd spent my childhood summers visiting was still standing when I crested the gravel driveway, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The barn was there, too... but the roof was twisted up at the front left corner. My breath caught in my throat; were Blossom and Hot Lips and Gidget and the rest of my little flock all right?

  I pulled up outside the barn and threw the truck door open, not bothering to shut it before sprinting over to the damaged barn.

  The siding had been ripped off the front of the structure, and the metal roof looked like someone had tried to peel it off. Inside, the cows and goats were huddled in the back corner, wide-eyed and agitated. Relieved, I did a quick head count... only to discover that two of the kids, Thistle and Cinnamon, were missing.

  Carrot, their mother, was bleating loudly and sniffing around, looking for them. I glanced back at the open corner of the barn, feeling sick to my stomach. Had they been caught in the tornado?

  I hurried out of the barn and scanned the pasture. The tornado had ripped up a line of vegetation and the storm had flattened the rest, but there was no sign of the brown-and-white goats. The fence was down, though. Was it possible they'd escaped after the tornado went by?

  More than anything, I wanted to go looking for them, but I had to make sure everybody else didn't break free while I was out searching the pasture. I was examining the destroyed corner of the barn when a truck turned into the bottom of the driveway. With a surge of relief, I recognized Tobias's truck.

  I was still guarding the corner of the barn when he pulled up next to my truck. "Everyone okay?" he asked as he slammed the door behind him and jogged over to where I was standing.

  "Thistle and Cinnamon are missing," I said, "and the fence is down."

  He scanned the interior of the barn. "We've got to get them secured; and this barn doesn't look like it's in great shape."

  "How?" I asked.

  "Rope," he said after a moment. "We'll tether them. The goats will probably chew through it, but at least it will buy us a little bit of time. Do you have harnesses for them?"

  "I do," I said. "Thank goodness they didn't blow away."

  We spent the next twenty minutes securing the cows and goats. Tobias spoke in soothing tones that calmed the anxious animals down... everyone but Carrot, that is, who was frantically searching for her kids.

  "We'll find them," Tobias assured me.

  "I didn't check the chickens," I realized when we had the last goat
tethered.

  "Go check," he said. "I'll see what I can do about the fence."

  "Thanks," I told him, and hurried out to the chicken coop. Although the hens were all tucked away in a corner, burbling anxiously, everyone appeared to be accounted for. I refilled their food and water and stepped out of the coop, my heart sinking as I surveyed the fields Quinn and I had attempted to protect with row cover.

  My livestock might be okay, but my vegetables weren't. The tomato cages were scattered around like children's toys, and the fledgling plants they'd been protecting had been flattened or torn out of the ground. The row cover we'd carefully laid down had been ripped up and strewn all over the place, and the baby squash plants I'd been nurturing had been shredded.

  From the perspective of vegetables, it looked like a total loss.

  I took a deep breath and tried to look on the bright side. The tomatoes and squash hadn't been in that long; it was a little late to replant, and the yield might not be as high, but it wasn't irrecoverable. I hurried back to the barn, trying not to think of how much work had been lost—and how much I would have to do to clean things up. Tobias, bless him, was busy righting fence posts and stapling wire.

  "How bad's the fence?" I asked.

  "I can patch it for now," he said, "but it could use some work. The barn's going to take a bit to repair, too. How are the chickens?"

  "All accounted for," I said, "but my vegetables are toast."

  "All gone?"

  "Pretty much," I told him. "I'm going to have to start over again."

  He grimaced. "Is it too late in the season?"

  "It's a little late," I said, "but not too late. At least I hope not." I was past the time for maximum yields, I knew that, but maybe I could still eke out something... "The timing's bad, though. I heard some of the land next door might be up for sale. I'd like to pick up some extra acreage, but that might be difficult if I'm short on cash." I sighed. "The main thing is, the animals are okay and my house is still standing. And I'll probably get a little extra income from the rental house."

  "Dottie is selling?"

  "Her kids want to move her to an assisted living place in La Grange."

  "That's too bad," he said. "I hope your new neighbor is as nice."

  "The way things are going, it's likely to be a weekender."

  "There do seem to be a lot of those here recently."

  "I kind of feel funny about renting out a guesthouse, myself," I said. "I want Buttercup to be more than just a tourist destination, or a weekend spot for city folks."

  "It's not like you're not here year-round, and contributing to the community." Tobias sighed. "But it's hard to lose the old-timers. Dottie's spent her whole life here. The prospect of moving has got to be hard."

  "I know. I wish there were some way to keep the home health aide twenty-four seven. Quinn and I went over when the storm started, to make sure she was okay. In fact, I should probably get back there; I kind of left Quinn stranded."

  "Are all your buildings all right?"

  "The porch roof of the little house is a bit messed up, but overall everything seems to be okay."

  "So both you and Dottie managed to avoid the worst," Tobias said, his eyes straying to the fence line between my property and my neighbor's. "It'll be sad to see her go. So many of the old-timers seem to be dying off lately." He turned and smiled at me. "I'm glad you came back."

  "Me too," I said with a smile.

  He gave me a quick kiss and said, "Why don't you go check on Quinn? I'll finish patching the fence, and then we can go look for the kids."

  I'd almost forgotten about Thistle and Cinnamon. "Think they're okay?"

  "I'm sure they are," he said. "They probably just got separated. We'll find them."

  "I hope so," I said.

  "Go get Quinn, and we'll track them down."

  "Got it," I said as he righted another fence post. "And thanks."

  "Anytime," he said as I kissed him on top of the head and then hurried to the truck.

  3

  When I got back to Dottie's house, Quinn was inspecting the porch roof. Chuck ran over and jumped up to greet me; I bent down and stroked his silky ears, then gave his warm, wiggly body a hug. "Everyone here okay?" I asked as I released the poodle.

  Quinn tucked a red curl into her bandanna and nodded. "It's going to take a little bit of work to fix the roof, but it could have been a lot worse. I got Dottie back into bed, and made us chicken salad sandwiches. How's the farm?" she asked.

  "The house is standing, but two of the kids are missing," I said.

  Her face clouded. "Which ones?"

  "Thistle and Cinnamon," I said.

  "Oh, no... they're only a month old!"

  "I know. Tobias thinks they haven't gone far; I hope he's right, and they weren't sucked up by the storm. Carrot's really upset."

  "I'll bet," she said. "Everything else okay?"

  "The barn's a bit messed up, and the row cover was a loss; it might have protected against hail, but the wind took it all off. All the crops are flattened; I'll have to start over."

  Quinn winced. "Flattened?"

  "The wind ripped everything up," I said. "The tornado must have touched down right on the corner of the barn."

  "I'm so sorry, Lucy."

  I sighed. "It's a setback, but at least most of the animals are okay, and my house is still standing. It's still early in the year; I can replant."

  "I'll help," she said, glancing back at the house. "For starters, let's see if we can get some sandwiches together, and then one of us can go look for those kids."

  "And Eva," I said. "Her car was at Dottie's, but she'd been gone for an hour when the tornado came."

  "That doesn't sound good," he said.

  "I know," I agreed. I had a bad feeling about Eva's disappearance, but I hoped I was wrong.

  Thirty minutes later, I'd combed my property, but there was no sign of Thistle and Cinnamon.

  Or of Eva.

  Quinn had stayed with Dottie, and Tobias had started his search in the other direction. Since I hadn't heard from him, I was guessing he was out of luck, too. I'd called Quinn to check on Dottie and see if Eva had come back. Still no word. Eva wasn't answering her cell phone, and she hadn't come back to the house.

  "I hope she didn't get caught in the tornado," Quinn said.

  "Me too," I said. "It's weird that she was gone an hour before the storm came through, though. That doesn't seem like her; from everything I've seen, she was devoted to Dottie."

  "I know," Quinn agreed. "I can't imagine she would have left her for so long. Especially with a storm coming in."

  "It was a pretty fast-moving storm, though. Maybe she got caught by surprise?"

  "Maybe," Quinn said. "But why did she leave in the first place?"

  "That's a very good question." I sighed. "I'm about to go through the gate into Dottie's property," I told her. "I'll keep an eye out. Are you still okay?"

  "I'm fine," she said. "Apparently the cafe didn't get hit—the tornado missed downtown altogether—and Fannie's going to go let Pip out into the back yard for me. Take all the time you need."

  "Hopefully we'll find everyone before that!" I said, trying to ignore the little coil of fear unfurling in my stomach as I hung up the phone and stepped through the gate.

  Dottie's property was lush and beautiful, with the exception of the narrow track left by the tornado. Several cedar trees and a few oaks had been corkscrewed out of the ground, showing where the twister had come through. A storage building had also been in the track; what looked like a rusted-out tractor and maybe even a spinning wheel were now exposed, thanks to the back wall being ripped off. Whose spinning wheel was it? I wondered as I walked by. Dottie's?

  Still, most of it was intact. Dottie's family had raised cattle for decades, but unlike many ranchers, who had grazed their land until there was nothing left but compacted soil and prickly pear cactus, they had always rotated their livestock and tended to the ecosystem to keep the pastu
res healthy. I knew Dottie had also been interested in restoring native grasses and plants; in fact, because she loved to spin, dye, and knit wool, she had completely fenced off an area dedicated to native tall-grass prairie plants and native plants traditionally used for plant dyeing. The area she had reseeded with little bluestem, Indiangrass, buffalograss, and sideoats abutted my property. She'd allowed me to harvest some of the seeds and scatter them on my own land; I had a few bunches of bluegrass coming up here and there, and hoped I could keep the goats from annihilating them. A few purple prairie verbena popped up here and there among the grasses, as did baby bee balm and evening primrose, all three of which I knew Dottie had used for dyeing. I'd wanted to gather some for my own natural egg-dyeing packets, but it was too early in the season. Next year, I told myself.

  I looked at the soft green growth coming up through last year's bleached grass. Next year... if there was one. If Dottie sold her property, would the new owner preserve what she'd worked so hard to create, or just run too many cattle over all of it until her years of husbandry were destroyed?

  Pushing the thought out of my mind, I scanned the area for any sign of the kids... or Eva. "Thistle!" I called. "Cinnamon!" And then, a little bit louder, "Eva!"

  Nothing.

  I pushed forward onto Dottie's land, avoiding a small huddle of cattle gathered around a stock tank. Live oaks dotted the rolling pasture, along with a few cedar trees, and several bright green sycamores and cottonwoods were clustered down by the creek, which I could hear rushing along its banks after the rain. I walked along the fence line, a few yards into Dottie's property; I was planning to double back and walk the property in lines so that I covered everything.

  Another torn-up pecan tree lay in my track. As I stepped over it, a glint of metal caught my eye. I reached down and picked up a large, tarnished silver locket attached to a slender, broken chain. As I did, a chill swept over me. I looked around, wondering if there'd been a sudden breeze, but the grass around me was still. I flipped open the locket, exposing a lock of faded yellow-orange hair. Whose was it? One of Dottie's ancestors? I wondered.