refuge. I climbed aboard an army trunk and shouted, “Kelli! Kris—go back downstairs!”
Kelli broke into tears, and Kris, the color of putty, grabbed her sister’s hand. I yelled again. “Get away! Run!”
Kris raced toward the stairs, pulling her sobbing sister after her. I could hear their leather soles clattering down the wooden stairway.
I forced myself to think. What had run out at me? The snake? A roach? I hadn’t gotten a good enough look to identify the source, but the way I reacted must have made Kris and Kelli think a tyrannosaurus rex was loose in the attic.
Instantly I regretted my emotional outburst. My poor children were going to be paranoid wrecks by the time they were grown. Neil had often accused me of passing my fears onto the kids, but I didn’t mean to—after all, how did I know what was slithering around on my attic floor? In my hasty flight, I’d dropped the flashlight. I spotted the beam shining on the floor. I saw nothing but dust bunnies in the intense light.
I eased off the trunk and cautiously approached the enemy zone. When I didn’t see anything of the snake, I banged on a box of tinsel and scrambled back onto the trunk. Nothing happened. I could hear Kris and Kelli at the bottom of the stairway, crying.
“It’s okay, sweeties!” I called. “Don’t let anybody in the house!”
Quivering, high-pitched voices replied in unison, “We won’t, Mommy.”
I doubted perverts kept these late hours, and I’d drummed into the children repeatedly not to accept rides from strangers, and to never, ever let anyone in the house without permission, including friends and neighbors. Of course, not taking candy from strangers was a given.
Minutes passed, and the snake failed to show its—whatever. I debated my options, worrying my lower lip with my upper teeth. I could lock the attic door, seal it tight with duct tape and call the exterminator in the morning, but I knew neither I nor the girls would sleep a wink knowing what lay in the attic.
Buck up, Kate. You’re a big girl now.
I took a swipe at unanticipated tears and could almost hear Neil saying, You’re head honcho now, babe. Take care of the ranch.
Head honcho. Head coward was more like it. I didn’t want to be head anything. I stepped off the trunk and carefully approached the largest box. I tugged and slid the carton away from the wall, then grabbed my bat and waited.
Nothing.
I tackled the next box.
Nothing.
I systematically moved boxes, poised for swift justice. Would I actually beat the thing to death? I’d never gotten close enough to a wild animal to be lethal. My insides churned with hot tar. Soon all the Christmas decorations were sitting in the middle of the attic floor, and still no sign of the snake.
I sank back down on the trunk to think. The kids’ crying had fizzled to an occasional hiccup. I pictured my sweet, innocent children huddled below, confused. Worried. Lord, why am I such a poor role model?
Why such a wimp and worrywart? Maybe being an only child had created the condition. Mom and Dad had been protective—overly so. Maybe I came by the trait naturally. I thought of all the imagined horrors of my youth, and I cringed. I didn’t want Kelli and Kris to grow up afraid of their shadows. Without Neil as a stabilizing force, I would be responsible for how my daughters reacted to fear the rest of their lives. The thought scared me to death.
I had to overcome my uncertainties. I’d prayed about them, but then I would almost immediately revert to my old state. Now that I was alone, I had to change. I had to get a grip. Starting with the snake. Okay. I would shut the attic door, seal the crack and tell the kids not to worry: the snake couldn’t harm us. I didn’t know beans about snakes, but this one sounded as if it might be a common breed. A cobweb grazed the top of my head, and I reached up to brush it aside, praying a black widow wasn’t lurking somewhere in the web. Or brown recluse—that would be more likely.
Stop it, Kate. You didn’t ask to be a widow at thirty-two, but you are. It could be Neil left alone, with two children, and I knew, deep in my heart, between Neil and me, God had chosen the right one to take home. Why? Because he couldn’t have taken care of kids, the house, baby-sitting and his job. Oh, he could, but it would have been so foreign to him.
I stood up and reached for the butterfly net and flashlight. And then I felt it—something heavy dropped from a rafter, right at my feet.
Peering down, I tried to locate it. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. The snake lay directly in front of me.
Faint now. I was too scared to scream. Hysteria rose, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. Instead, I jumped back, batting at the reptile with the butterfly net.
Stumbling across the attic floor, I engaged in a silent one-on-one war. My heavy shoe trapped the head and I stood frozen. Yewoooooo. I knew I was going to be sick. The snake squirmed and wiggled, thrashing its long body.
“Mommy?” Kris called.
“Yes,” I squeaked. The reptile’s tail thrashed and whipped back and forth.
“You okay?”
Get a grip, Kate. You don’t want them scared of their own shadows.
“Fine,” I chirped. My hand tightened on the butterfly net. I couldn’t hit the snake—it wasn’t in me. Besides, if I missed I would panic and go to pieces.
God, You’ve got to help me. I cannot do this alone.
I bent over and carefully draped the mesh around the reptile’s head and then scooped the writhing snake into the net. Once I had him trapped, I gained power. What now? I could hear Kelli and Kris clumping up the stairs.
The snake was still an alarming sight, even net-trapped.
With a false calm, I snatched the net up and hurried to the east window. Paint had practically sealed the pane, but I discovered strength I didn’t think existed. Kris and Kelli reached the top of the stairs about the time I jerked the window open and flung the net, snake and all, outside, praying the mesh wouldn’t lodge on the shingles. I slammed the window shut and turned around, smiling as they hit the doorway.
“Hey, guys.”
Kelli and Kris hesitantly crept toward me. “Did you find the snake?”
“Taken care of,” I said, pretending to wash my hands of the disdainful matter. “Anyone interested in a cup of hot chocolate?”
The kids stared in wonder, relief filling their faces. Kris smiled, and I realized I hadn’t seen her smile in weeks. “You got it?”
“I got it.”
And I prayed that I had it. A lifetime, my children’s lifetime, was an awesome responsibility. I hoped I was up to the challenge.
It was after eleven o’clock before the house settled back to normalcy. I switched out the lamp and climbed into my pallet. Kelli’s soft breathing reassured me I was richly blessed, even if I cursed my circumstances.
Streetlight filtered through the eyelet curtains. I rolled to my side and covered my ears with my pillow,
