Arriving at Their New Home
It had taken the three vehicles four hours to detour around the flooded creek and drive--very slowly--over the long-unused roadways. In the "old days" it was a 40-minute drive from Lawton to the Jenkins home. The drivers had to maneuver around two landslides where the hills had collapsed completely. Several of the group had said silent prayers when they came across a car on its side at the bottom of a ditch. Its long-dead occupants, a small family, had been trying to escape south to Mexico and never made it.
According to the deejay's directions, their destination was actually in a small valley surrounded by hills. He even jokingly said that years ago that people referred to the site as a "holler." Once the man had mentioned that, J.D. realized that he did remember the hills outside his uncle's house.
Laura hadn't known what to expect when J.D. had described Cornelius Jenkins' homestead to her and the others. She had secretly envisioned Tara, or Southfork, or the huge Victorian frame house in "Giant," or even the Ponderosa or the Waltons' farmhouse. But she didn't envision to what they drove up. Laura later supposed that J.D., as a child, had viewed the place as much bigger than it actually was.
True, it was technically a two-and-half-story L-shaped frame home with wood siding. But the third floor was just an attic--there weren't even windows, just vents. The "addition" that J.D. had mentioned was simply another room added in the 1970s, probably an office, off the kitchen. Part of the wraparound porch was caved in. The exterior obviously hadn't been painted since long before Cornelius died, and the cheery yellow paint that J.D. had remembered was faded and peeling. Several windows were broken.
The barn's roof had collapsed, but the floor was still there. J.D. figured it could be torn down eventually and the lumber used for either another project or for firewood. He had a vague memory of being told by Uncle Cornelius not to go into the barn, although he couldn't remember why. The vegetable garden was a hopeless mess of frozen mud, slush and weeds from previous summers. The infamous outhouse had fallen over completely. What had been a pretty brook along the edges of the back yard during J.D.'s childhood was now a fast-running stream with its edges threatening to cave in.
But...
Cornelius' wise heirs had covered all the furniture inside with sheets after his death. Although the sheets, the baseboards, the windowsills, the mantel, the kitchen appliances and counter were covered in pre-storm dust, everything looked to be in remarkably usable condition. The stairs going up to the second floor and to the basement were intact, although they were both home to huge dusty cobwebs. Even the pull door with its little steps going up to the attic worked, although it squeaked horribly and the door had to be pried open.
The one thing that really pleased J.D. was that the antique water pump in the kitchen actually functioned. One item that they had brought along with them was a bottle of WD-40, and after considerable spraying of the liquid onto the pump handle, he was able to move it up and down. He gave Peter the job of pumping, and to the boy's joy, after a few minutes some brown muddy ugly water came out. Then Fred took over, pumping harder than ever. It took a while, but the water began to clear. It was bitter tasting well water, and it would have to be boiled, but it was running water. That sight lifted their spirits immensely. Now they wouldn't have to go the stream for water.
Most amazing of all was that the plum tree had somehow survived. There were tiny buds all over its branches. Perhaps its close affinity to the house had protected it a little. The group saw two plumes of smoke--one to the east, the other two the south--indicating they had neighbors. But what cheered Laura and Judith and the others the most was the return of Mother Nature. Yes, there was frozen mud, slush and remnants of snow everywhere. But up against the house were three stubborn small yellow daffodils. The grass in the front yard wasn't dead, only dormant. And there were birds singing everywhere. None of them had realized until now how much they had missed the ultimate sound of spring--robins and sparrows and cardinals communicating with each other. Spring was coming--the humans could even smell it in the air.
During their initial tour of the run-down house, Brian couldn't resist making one snide comment . He raised his right arm over Sam, pretending to hold a butcher knife and squeaking "Eek! Eek! Eek!" like the sound effects in "Psycho." Sam just rolled his eyes and pretended to ignore him, but Laura laughed.
By the end of a quick 10-minute tour of the place, all the rooms were already claimed. Elsa and Jeremy got the large master bedroom on the main floor, with plans to put the baby crib in the corner. Fred and Judith took the other downstairs bedroom. J.D. claimed the "office" off of the kitchen--despite the dark 70s wood paneling that was coming loose from the walls, there was a couch in it long enough to stretch out on, a small closet and an exterior door.
There were three bedrooms upstairs and a large open area at the top of the stairs. The second-floor front room was huge--it had obviously been two bedrooms at one time, but the wall in between had been removed and the large room had been what? a studio? a music room? a small ballroom? J.D. couldn't remember and there were no furnishings in it for clues.
Jama decided for all of them what the room was to be used for. She had originally thought that she would share a room with her daughter, and Maria would share one with Peter, but Jama decided that this would be the combination children's bedroom/playroom for Peter and Binata. Elsa (who had read way too many 19th century novels) was delighted by the thought of a genuine nursery for her baby.
That left two upstairs bedrooms. Jama and Maria took the one, Luther and Brian took the other. But what about Sam and Laura? J.D. went back down into the living room and uncovered the couch. It was a 1970s avocado green, but he remembered something else from his childhood. During one of his visits to his uncle's, he had slept one night in the living room, more as a joke than anything. Yes, the couch was as he recalled--it was a sleep sofa, and he pulled it open, its hinges squealing in protest. The sleeper had hardly ever been used and it still looked fairly new. Sam wasn't too happy, but the living room became his and Laura's domain. At least they had their own fireplace!
Then they all returned to the front yard. Lucy looked satisfied--at least, as satisfied as she could be--she was still worried about leaving all of them, but Jack looked grumpy again. Much to J.D.'s and Sam's annoyance, the professor started barking orders again.
"Your first priority isn't the house or the garden," he reminded them. "It's the outhouse. You need to get the shed propped up again, and you need to make sure the hole is deep enough." (He smirked as he saw the others wrinkling their noses or making faces.) "And you'll eventually have to dig another hole and build another one, because there are so many of you. The bathrooms in the house are just going to be storage closets. One of you is also going to get chamber pot duty."
Lucy walked up to pregnant Elsa. "It's you I'm most concerned about. I know you're going to feel guilty if you don't help out as much as the others, but I want you to take it easy. Women have been having babies outside of hospitals since the beginning of time, but none of you are really prepared for this. I'll be in touch with you and Maria every week, and when it gets closer to the time for the baby to come, I want to hear from you more often than that."
Elsa suddenly looked frightened, and Lucy hugged her. "You'll be all right. All of you will. I know that now." Lucy smiled broadly at everyone, especially at her son, daughter-in-law and foster son. Dr. Hall wasn't worried anymore. This new place had serious flaws, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with lots of time and patience.
There was so much work to be done that none of them knew where to begin. As Jack had advised, the first thing several of them did was to try to prop up the outhouse. The task wasn't as easy as it looked--getting it positioned and stable took longer than they expected. The rest of them spent the next two days going through the house, inventorying everything, cleaning as much as they could (it seemed to Laura that she spent the entire time boiling water), and bringing in their supplies from the vehicles. It was at the end of the second day that Laura finally felt at home. She had cleaned the living room closet and then moved her and Sam's meager sets of clothing into it. There were a few hangers there, and she hung up his other pair of khakis, their T-shirts and their worn wool coats. Putting them on hangers was such a novelty to her that she grinned when she did it. How long had it been since she'd had a chance to actually hang up clothes neatly?
On the third morning, a message came over Jack's short wave radio. It was from the new White House--the City Building in Houston. President Becker had decided he didn't want to chance his Secretary of Climatology and one of Houston's new physicians driving across two states accompanied only by three National Guards and a Secret Service agent. He was sending a helicopter to pick up the Halls later that day.
Lucy had thought they would be staying at least another 24 hours and she was distraught at having to leave early. The helicopter arrived sooner than anyone had expected and suddenly none of them were ready to say goodbye.
As the helicopter came toward them, Sam smirked a little, remembering that he and this same group had waited for this same chopper months ago. He even recognized the pilot when the helicopter landed. But, no, this time the situation was different. Most of them weren't going to board.
To Sam's surprise, Jack didn't walk over to him immediately. Instead, his father first went to Luther and Judith.
"Are you sure you want to watch over all these kids?" he asked the two of them.
"Hey, I'm sure," Luther answered, nodding. "Judy here'll keep them in line."
"You know how librarians are--we can intimidate people when we want to!" Judith responded with a little laugh.
"Just smack 'em if they don't behave!" Jack cracked. He shook Judith's and Luther's hands, then walked over to J.D.
"I, I'm not the best with formal thank you's," Jack told J.D. "But Lucy and I really do appreciate what you're doing. If you need anything, be sure to contact us."
"I will, sir," J.D. said, as Jack shook his hand as well.
"Oh, and I have a housewarming gift for you," Jack said off-handedly. Sam looked up, thinking his father was speaking to him, but Jack was still facing J.D. Jack leaned over and pulled a box out of the paraphernalia he was taking to Houston. It was his short-wave radio, which he handed to J.D. "Sam'll show you how to use it. He used to play with it as a kid."
Sam couldn't figure out why his dad was giving his friend the radio instead of him, but Jack then said to J.D., "Since you're the head of the household now, I figured I'd give this to you." Then Jack looked at his son and said, "Sam, I hope you don't mind."
Sam was too annoyed, and a little envious, to say anything, and just shrugged and shook his head no.
Jack finally came over to his son. Sam wanted to say something to his father, but he never got the opportunity. He and Laura and Peter had already said goodbye to Lucy, who was now in the helicopter. Jack simply lightly hugged Sam and Peter, kissed Laura on the cheek, and then turned away before anyone said anything.
Sam was a little upset that his father hadn't said anything special to him and that the man had on his "mask" again, looking stern. Jack walked away, his face turned, and he didn't look back when he climbed onto the helicopter. Sam never knew that his father was trying hard not to cry.
