The tent door opened. Cool air and moisture swept into the room. Will strode in, closing the door behind him. Water dripped from his hat and coat, creating a puddle at his feet. “The river's still rising,” he said, sloshing across the room and sitting at the table. “Can you get me some socks?” he asked, unlacing his boots.
Jean crossed to his bureau, opened a drawer, and took out two pairs of wool socks.
“It's not looking good. We've got to evacuate families along the river.”
“It's that bad?” Jean set the socks on the table beside him. “I can hardly believe weather like this in July.”
“Yep.” He pulled off his boots. Shucking his socks, he wiggled pink, wrinkled toes. “My feet are so cold, I can barely feel them. These are soaked.” He handed the socks to Jean, then pulled on dry ones—two per foot.
“Do you need anything?” Jean asked, dropping the wet socks in a clothes basket. “I can fill the vacuum bottle with coffee.”
He shoved his feet back into his boots. “Sounds good, but there's not time.”
“Where's Luke?”
“He's waiting in the truck.”
“Daddy, can I come?” Laurel asked.
“I don't know, sugar. It might be dangerous. The river's looking mean.”
“I'm not afraid, and I want to help.”
“All right then. You better get into a slicker and boots.”
“Can I borrow a pair of your overalls?”
“Sure. There's an extra pair in the bottom drawer.”
Will kissed Jean and gave her a hug. “Keep the coffee hot. We'll need it when we get back.”
“It'll be here. I'll be praying. Please be careful.”
“We will,” Laurel said, planting a kiss on her mother's cheek. She followed her father out the door and into the downpour. The mud was deep and sucked at her boots. It was impossible for the trucks to travel into the compound, so she and her father headed for the main road where several pickups and cars were parked and waiting.
Will walked up to Drew Prosser's truck and opened the door. Drew's son, Jason, and Luke were sitting in front. “Can we ride with you?” Will asked.
“Sure.” Drew started the engine, pushed in the clutch, and shifted into gear.
Luke and Jason scrambled into the back, ducking beneath a tarp while Will and Laurel slid onto the front seat. Drew pulled onto the road and headed for the river.
Rain pelted the fogged window. Drew leaned over the steering wheel, peering through a small clear spot on the windshield. “I've never seen it rain hard like this for so long.” He wiped the window. “Tom Jenkins is going to follow us. He's got a couple of men with him.”
They approached the river, and Laurel couldn't repress a gasp. Although it was a good-sized river, the muddy Matanuska had never seemed frightening. Now it had become a swirling brown torrent of branches and logs that grabbed at the floor of a wooden bridge they would have to cross.
“We don't have much time,” Drew said. “If we don't get those folks out, they'll have to hightail it into the hills.” They bumped across the wooden span, the river washing dizzily beneath them. “One of the old-timers was sayin' this is the highest the river's been in fifty years.” Drew peered through the side window. “I don't think the bridge is gonna hold.”
Following a road that ran alongside the river, Drew stopped between two houses. “You and Laurel take that one,” he said, nodding at a log cabin. “And me and the boys will see about the folks in the next one.”
Tom Jenkins's truck moved past. Adam and a man Laurel didn't know sat in the back. Adam peered out from beneath a broad-brimmed rain hat and waved.
Laurel waved back. A gust of wind swept up river, swirling through the trees and bending them toward the ground. A loud crack came from above Laurel. She ducked just as a limb fell from a cottonwood and crashed to the ground beside her.
“You all right?” Will called.
“Yeah. I'm ok.”
“Come on. We've got to hurry.”
Laurel followed her father to the cabin, the wind whipping at her slicker. Smoke rose from a rock chimney, giving an odd sense of warmth and welcome in the midst of the storm. Will stood on a stone porch and knocked.
Almost immediately an elderly woman with shoulder-length gray hair and smiling oval eyes opened the door. “Hello. What can I do for you?”
“Hello, ma'am. I'm Will Hasper, and this is my daughter Laurel. The river's rising fast. You're gonna have to leave. We're here to help.”
The woman glanced at the river. “It's that serious?”
“It looks bad, ma'am. We don't have much time.”
“Come in.” She closed the door, shutting out the howl of wind and rain. “My name's Jessie Harrison. It's kind of you to help.” She smiled, not appearing to be the least bit distressed.
Laurel looked about the room. It was small and cluttered, filled with bookcases that reached to a low ceiling. They were overcrowded with books, boxes, and piles of papers. Lovely paintings of wild flowers decorated free space on the walls. At the back of the room was a door. Laurel guessed it led to a bedroom.
Jessie hobbled into an adjoining kitchen. She picked up a wooden spoon and swirled the contents of a cast iron pot sitting on a stove. “I was just about to have a bowl of soup. Would you like to join me?”
“No, thank you. We've got to go. You can't stay.”
“I've been here a lot of years, and this stretch of river has never flooded. Do you really think we're in danger?”
