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I watched helplessly as the red Ford truck disappeared from sight, the heavy current propelling it downstream like a bottle cap caught in the flow of a storm drain headed toward a distant catch basin. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer, but deep down I knew it was in vain. There was no way she would ever survive.
A minute later, the rain began to subside, and a hint of sunlight peeked through the dark gray clouds. By the time the two police cruisers had come to a stop behind the Jeep, the rain had stopped completely. Deputy Koestner and a fellow officer joined me at the water’s edge, and I explained what had happened. The second officer walked back to his vehicle and called for emergency services. There was barely a hint of urgency in his voice.
Suddenly, from behind me I heard a scream.
“Winona! Winona!”
It was Trentweiler. He was kicking at the inside of the back door of the Jeep, desperately trying to get out. I walked over and unlocked the nearside passenger door, reaching inside to grab the distraught preacher’s left arm, handcuffed to its counterpart behind his back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry. There was nothing I could do.”
Trentweiler sobbed, crying, “Winona. Winona.”
“I’m afraid she’s gone,” I said, verbalizing the obvious.
“I know,” whispered Ron. “She’s been gone for a long time, but I just didn’t want to see it.”