A roar, as loud as a train, reverberated through the valley. And just like a locomotive was near, the ground shook with the storm’s vibrations. In the storm cellar, some of the paneling that lined the walls creaked and groaned, making their haven feel even more precarious. Above their heads, the lamp swung wildly back and forth, casting flashes of light into the shadows.
John eyed it worriedly. He momentarily considered standing up and lifting it off the hook, but ultimately decided against it. Though he was trying hard to act unflustered, the deafening roar above them was scaring him something awful.
Beside him, Mary flinched as they heard a crash.
“Do you think that was the house?” Abel asked. “Do you think that was our house coming apart?”
Though John ached to tell the boy what he wanted to hear, he was even less willing to give him false hope. Only God knew what was happening above them.
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was just some shingles.” As more debris thumped above them, and the ground continued to shake, John added more loudly, “Abel, Mary, I’m afraid this sounds bad. You might want to prepare yourselves for the worst.”
The noise got louder. Tears filled Abel’s eyes as he curled into a ball, hugging his pillow to his chest. Holding Mary’s hand, with his other, John reached for Abel’s. To his relief, Abel unclenched his fist enough to take John’s hand.
Then they sat in silence as the world seemed to destruct above them.
Minutes later—or perhaps it had only been seconds—the dizzying shriek quieted, replaced by the sound of pounding rain.
Slowly Mary pulled away. “Do you think it’s over?”
“I hope so.”
Tense, the three of them raised their heads. John got to his feet and stood closer to the storm door. Sounds of branches ripping from trees, then crashing to the ground, reverberated around them. John felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
“Come back, John,” Mary pleaded.
“I’m okay. I won’t open the door. I’m trying to listen to see if anything’s changed.”
But of course, it was a futile proposition. The rain continued to pound and the winds still shrieked. As debris scratched against the shelter’s door, John looked at it with worry. More than anything, he hoped no trees or boards from the house or barn would fall directly on the door. If they were trapped, they’d have to rely on being found, and that scared him half to death.
Now pings of hail clanked above them. Mary winced in response. “John, please come back.”
As he glanced in her direction, guilt besieged him. He should have put Mary’s needs first and held tight to her hand instead of giving into curiosity.
“Of course. I’m sorry,” he said. But now simply holding her hand didn’t seem enough. Unable to stop himself, John wrapped an arm around her back, holding her close. He looked at Abel. The boy was holding his pillow tight against his chest again and was staring into space.
In the flickering light, Mary looked at her son worriedly. After a moment, she said, “Abel, John, right at this moment, our future seems to be in the Lord’s hands. Because of that, there’s only one thing to do. We must pray.”
“Do you think it will even help?” Abel asked.
“It can only help, jah?” Mary countered. “We must pray for our safety and the safety of others.”
Immediately, Abel’s head tucked. John bowed his head, too. Mary’s words rang true. At the moment, he’d never felt more helpless in his life. All he was able to do was hold on to these two people and ask the Lord to watch over them.
“God, please be with us,” he said out loud. “Please watch over us and the animals and our family.”
“And watch over our friends,” Abel added.
“I know you are always with us,” Mary finished. “Please protect us now.”
Above them, it sounded like the rain was lessening. Perhaps the worst was over.
While Mary and Abel sat in silence, John spoke to God silently. “I know there’s not much to me, Lord. But I finally feel like I’ve found the right place for myself. Please don’t let me lose it now.”
Just then, the air stilled. John gasped, half expecting another rush of wind to blast through the valley. Half expecting the frightful roar of another tornado to come barreling forward.
But instead of loud noise, there was only sudden silence.
Mary loosened her hand from John’s grasp and straightened her back with a faint groan. Tilting her head to one side, she listened. Finally, she looked at Abel and smiled. “It sounds like the high winds are gone. The storm has passed.”
Abel lifted his head. “Maybe we’ll be okay after all.”
Abel’s voice was so full of wonder, Mary exchanged a smile with John. “Yes, son. I think so.”
John stood up. “Your mother’s right. We made it.”
Mary beamed. “Our prayers were answered.”
Abel got to his feet, too. Staring at the storm cellar’s thick oak door, he said, “I wonder what it looks like outside.”
John motioned the boy forward. “Let’s go check, Abel.”
Mary scrambled to her feet. “Nee. Not yet. Maybe we should wait a bit?”
He knew Mary was nervous and feared for Abel’s safety. John didn’t blame her. But he also knew that staying underground like an ostrich wouldn’t help things, either. He wanted to see how the animals were doing, and check for the possibility of fire as well.
But because he didn’t want to scare her, he kept his thoughts to himself. “We’ll only take a peek,” he said, carefully. “If things look bad, we’ll stay here a bit longer. If not, it will be nice to stretch our legs, don’t you think, Abel?”
Abel nodded.
Slowly, John unhooked the latch and then pushed up on the wood.
It didn’t budge.
Fear coursed through him. If they were trapped, it could be hours or even days before they were rescued. His pulse racing, he motioned for Abel to stand beside him. “I’m going to need your help to push. Okay?”
“I’m strong.” He made a muscle. “I can help.”
“All right then.” John shifted a bit more so that the boy was more fully situated under the lowest part of the door. “On my count of three, we’re going to push. Got it?”
“Jah.”
“One . . . two . . . three!”
Arms strained as together the two of them pushed upward with all their might. At first, nothing happened, not even a smidge of movement.
But then something did. The door opened half an inch. Relief coursing through him, John raised his voice. “Abel, that’s great! Now, let’s push harder. Let’s push and get this door open.”
Rearranging their hands, Abel looked at him again. “On three?”
“On three.” After another count, John pushed with all his might. The muscles in his back screamed in protest. Drops of sweat formed on his brow.
Then, with a creak and a groan and a snap, they pushed the door open.
Before John could warn him, Abel scampered forward, going up the ladder with ease.
When he disappeared from view, Mary leapt to her feet. “Abel! Be careful!”
“I’ll go after him,” John said, already halfway up the rungs.
But just then, Abel crouched down. And pointed. “Look at this branch. It was blocking us in.”
John noticed the branch was freshly split in two. “We broke that getting out.”
“We did it together.”
John understood what the boy meant. This boy—this boy who struggled in school and had fought the idea of his mother finding new love—had finally realized that he was terribly important and needed. In addition, he’d also learned that John valued him, too.
It was going to take all three of them to make their future a success, and there was room in all their lives for another person to love.
“We did do this together,” John said. “Abel, I couldn’t have lifted the door without you. You gave me the added strength I needed. Abel, your mother and I couldn’t have gotten out without you.”
After a brief pause, Abel stared at him with a new resolve—and acceptance—in his eyes. “And, Mamm and I wouldn’t have been all right without you, John,” he said.
They were still staring at each other when Mary climbed up the ladder and stood by their side.
“Let’s go see what the storm brought us,” she said.
He smiled at her, then grinned when he saw that her house was intact, all except for a few pieces of missing siding and shingles.
But when he turned toward the barn, he felt himself sway.
And literally could think of nothing to say. Because there was a gaping hole in the side of the barn.