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I was nervous about staying at the ranch all by myself. But, I tried not to show it as I kissed Uncle Tom and Aunt Betsy goodbye. They waited years for this cruise.
“Don't worry, I said. “I'll take good care of Rascal, and the chickens too. Can't promise I won't make stew out of that rooster if he attempts to flog me again.”
In my first visit to the ranch, when I was ten years old, I ran screaming all the way into the house, as a flogging rooster chased me.
My aunt replied, “That rooster made the pot the very same day. I know you'll take good care of Rascal, and everything else. Just relax and enjoy yourself. You need a break from the load you took last semester. Your mom's worried you're working too hard.”
I laughed and shook my head. If she only knew. I didn't need a rest from school, but it was the parties that had worn me down. The month out here on the ranch would give me a chance to dry out and do some reading before my senior year. No TV, Cell Service, or Internet would be a challenge, but it was only 70 miles of mostly dirt road back to Roswell, and the “big city lights.”
After hugs and kisses they got onto the pickup and drove away. Rascal watched from the front porch and he looked sad. Rascal was a small Jack Russell Terrier. He was too smart for his own good.
“Are you ready for lunch yet?” I asked. Dumb question. Rascal was always ready for most anything. He followed me into the adobe ranch house. Lunch would be no problem, and I walked into the large pantry to pick out a can of soup for me and a can of dog food for Rascal.
The house only had five rooms, plus a root cellar below the pantry. Uncle Tom built it when he returned from the war. His father ran a large cattle ranch near White Sands. The Army bought it during the war as a proving ground for the atomic bomb. Tom's folks moved to Roswell, and lived there until they both died, within a year of each other. Tom had grown up on the ranch and used his inheritance to buy this 600-acre spread. He had run cattle until two years ago, when he sold all but the 20 acres that the house sat on, to a private hunting club. The final payment financed their cruise.
That night, as I got ready for bed, I looked at the mirror, and wondered if I would ever find the peace and contentment that radiated from my Aunt Betsy.
My mother never found it. She had been married four times and was now alone. She had focused completely on her career. Unfortunately, the newspaper business was going in the shitter, everywhere. Her job as editor for the Roswell Daily Record would soon fail, just like the last three.
In the mirror, I saw a tall, young woman named Ann Richter, with a turned up nose, freckles, short, dishwater blond hair, with hard green eyes. My boobs weren't big, but the guys seemed to like them, and my thighs had no excess at this point in time. I wondered if I would ever find the “right guy.” It seemed I had already kissed too many frogs. And had yet to find a prince.
The days went quickly, and soon the month was half-gone. I had depleted my stock of smutty romance novels, and was planning on making a run to Roswell the next day, to replenish my stock, and check up on the news.
As the sun was setting behind Capitan Mountain, the sky was turning black, and lightning crashed within the clouds. Occasionally, a bolt would hit the ground on the mountain. I sat on the porch swing with Rascal in my lap, and thought that if it was still storming, I would have to delay my trip until it was finished. I was warned about the walls of water that sometimes came down the dry arroyos. The storm raged while, after lying in bed a long time, I went to sleep.
When the first quake woke me up around 7:00 AM, I pulled the covers over my head and held Rascal close. Five minutes later, the big one threw both of us out of bed. I grabbed my jacket and Rascal and ran out the door. Later that morning, we were sitting in my car listening to the static interrupted by scattered news reports. I wasn't learning much I didn't already know. There had been several major quakes, and damage reports were incomplete.
Suddenly the radio died with a squawk and a puff of smoke. The dash electronic displays went dark and I couldn't get the engine started. I was getting scared and ran back into the house to assess the damage. The power was out. There were big cracks around the windows and doors. I went back out on the porch. The sky was black, with lightning flashing everywhere. The wind started gusting and increased. I fled back into the house, grabbed Rascal, a flashlight, and climbed down to the root cellar.
The killer wind lasted for two full days. When it finally eased, I climbed out of the root cellar to a scene of devastation. The walls and roof were still in place, but the windows were all blown out and most everything inside was blown away or wrecked.
The rain came down in sheets. When I went out the next day to check out the barn, I was soaked before reaching it. It was a Quonset Hut structure that was positioned north and south. Other than two blown out windows, it was undamaged. The chickens were still alive in their coop, and I gave them fresh food and water.
Returning to the house, I toweled off, and changed into dry clothes. I had retrieved a roll of plastic sheeting and a staple gun from the barn, and spent the rest of the day covering all the window openings. The sheeting prevented me from seeing out, but it stopped the rain, and let in most of the meager daylight. Although my car wouldn’t run, and had rolled into the fence, it would only be a matter of time before Mom would check up on me. At least I had plenty of food, water, and a dry shelter.
