with its sparkling brilliance.
“You can stay as long as need be,” Emma said the next morning as she handed Stephen another chocolate-covered doughnut—his and Emma’s version of breakfast. Stephen champed down on the drippy confection, leaving a wide ring of chocolate around his mouth.
The Prager General Store had been spared. Except for a leaky roof where a few shingles dangled, and a strip or two of missing tin, the sturdy old building was still intact. And so it was the natural place for the townspeople to gather and talk about the storm that had swept over the area. Dana wasn’t the only victim, although from all the talk, her place had probably sustained the worst damage.
“She’s right, Dana,” Harvey Mize, one of the old-timers, said from his perch on a tall vinyl-covered barstool. “We’ll all do what needs to be done, to help you out.”
Dana looked around the cozy store. She should feel safe here, among these good people she’d known all her life. She was thankful and appreciative, but she also knew she’d have to do most of this on her own. “You’re all very kind,” she said, taking the cup of coffee Emma shoved in her hand. “I just don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to salvage the house. And I don’t have the money to build from scratch.” Thinking of how tired she was, she added, “Maybe I should sell the place.”
“What about insurance?” Frederick asked as he rocked back on the heels of his worn work shoes.
Dana looked down at the planked floor. “It’ll cover part of the damage, but I’ve already got a second mortgage on the house….”
The explanation was left hanging, just as the storm had left her hanging, in limbo, unsure and unprepared. Needing to be away from the pitiful looks and shifting eyes of the townspeople, she called to Stephen. “Finish your doughnut, brother. We need to go back out to check on the livestock.”
“Need a hand?” Harvey offered.
“No. I’ll call if I change my mind though,” Dana told him with a wave as she headed out the door. She’d gotten a cell phone a few months before, to keep her in touch with Stephen and Mrs. Bailey at all times. It would come in handy now, too, she reckoned.
A few minutes later, they turned the old truck in to the rocky lane leading to the shattered house. Dana saw the spot where she’d wrecked the day before, her hand automatically going to her bruised head. Thoughts of the man named Bren played through her weary mind, the memory of how he’d protected her in the storm warring with the uncertainty of her future. Stephen’s hushed words brought her mind back to the task at hand.
“It’s a mess, ain’t it, Dana? Don’t like a mess.”
She stopped the truck near the ripped, gaping remains of an ancient oak tree. In the brilliant, ironic sunlight, the damaged house looked forlorn and still, as broken as Dana’s spirit. Funny, for years before her parents’ death, she’d wanted so much to get away from this old house, to go out in the world, to find a place of her own. Right now she’d gladly give anything to have the old farmhouse back, for Stevie’s sake, if nothing else. The boy loved their home.
“Yep, it’s pretty much gone,” she said as she slammed the steering-wheel-mounted gears into park. So this is it? she asked God. This is my future? No plans for a husband and a family, no hope for a normal life like her parents had? Just a mundane existence, here in this sleepy town, waiting and wondering, hoping and praying that she could save this pitiful old farm? Was this how it was meant to be, she had to wonder.
“We still got each other,” Stephen said, his soft green eyes watching her face. “You got Stephen. Stephen’s got you. Each other, Dana.”
Seeing the solid fear in his eyes, Dana chided herself for being so bitter. Taking his hand in hers, she forced a smile. “Yeah, we sure do.” Then, looking down in the floor of the truck, she added, “And your prized Ruby Runners!” She’d forgotten all about those shoes.
Stephen’s face lit up. “Can I put ’em on?”
“They’ll get all muddy.”
“Oh, okay.” He hopped out of the truck. “But I am, when we get back to town. I am. I am.”
Relieved that he hadn’t thrown a tantrum, Dana followed. As they neared the house, she realized something was terribly wrong. Carefully making her way up onto the torn porch, she saw it immediately.
The side of the house that the storm hadn’t destroyed had been ransacked. It had been hit, but not by a storm.
“What in the world!” she shouted, her frantic words carrying out on the constant, moaning wind.
Startled, Stephen looked up at her. “What’s the matter?”
“We’ve been robbed,” she said, each word ground out between a held breath. “Somebody looted what little we had left.”
It was true. The kitchen drawers were torn out of their sockets. Silverware had been strewn all over the soggy wooden floor. Dishes were shattered, clothes strewn, closets left open and emptied, books tossed about. Nothing had been left untouched. But even more odd, nothing much had been taken.
Looking up at a fluffy white, overstuffed cloud, Dana shouted to the wind, “I can’t take much more, really I can’t!”
Stephen started to cry, the tears full-bodied and rushing, but the sound soft and keening. “I’m scared, Dana.”
Rushing to where he stood in the middle of a heap of torn books and strewn clothes, Dana pulled him into her arms. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Stephen buried his tousled head against her chest. “I miss Daddy, Dana. I wish he’d come back. He’d know what to do. And Mama, too. She’d—” he hiccuped “—she’d have this place fixed, wouldn’t she?”
Dana’s own tears tasted bitter in her mouth. It was little comfort to know that no matter how fiercely she loved her brother and wanted to protect him, she could never take the place of their parents. “Yes,” she said on a raw, torn whisper. “Yes, Stevie, Mama and Daddy would know what to do, and I’m sure they’re watching over us. But they can’t help us now. We have to take care of things ourselves.”
Lifting his head, she wiped a fat tear away from his chubby cheek. “You know I love you, don’t you?” At his bobbing nod, she continued, “And you know I’ll always, always take care of you, no matter what, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, running his T-shirt sleeve over the embarrassing tears, his eyes as bright as a summer stream. “And you do a good job. It’s just that—”
Dana finished for him. “It’s just that we’ve had one too many raw deals. This is the last straw. How could anyone rob us when it’s obvious we’ve suffered enough?”
As if by instinct, she looked toward the white brightness of the Universal Unity Church. Why did she get the gut feeling this attack had been deliberate? Maybe it was the creepy feeling in the pit of her stomach, maybe it was the memory of Caryn Roark’s unguarded expression when she hadn’t seen Dana watching. Maybe she was just going crazy. No, she wasn’t crazy. This was very real.
But why?
Was this someone’s way of kicking her while she was down? The
