everything.
"I'm real sorry, Miss Dye," the sheriff walked up and patted her lightly on the shoulder. "The FEMA people will be here to help out tomorrow. If you need a place to stay, the church has set up shelter, and the Angel Food Ministry is working with the food bank in Shawnee to help out."
She wanted to reply, to say it was going to be all right, but she couldn't seem to make her voice work. And then she found a torn corner of paper with Mack’s name on it. The Lemmalu picture.
She picked it up, inexplicably smoothing it like doing so would make everything better. And then she started crying big, silent tears of regret and loss and desperation.
"She's going to be staying out with us on the Triple Eight," Jed said, touching her shoulder to give her comfort. But she couldn’t accept that from him. She stepped away, thought about telling him he was wrong. Stearns, Oklahoma might've felt like a stopping place, but it wasn't. And this time, whatever fate controlled the universe had made sure she knew that truth.
Pete stepped up then, a little hitch in his walk. He'd been working for hours on the cleanup, and it was evident in the tired lines on his face. But there was something else. Something that didn't make a whole lot of sense.
Hope.
"Darkest nights bring brightest mornings," Pete said when he saw her tears. And all she could think in answer to that was she sure should be seeing some amazing mornings in the near future.
Around her people from all over town were helping the cleanup at Pete's. The man with the small children whose wife was in the Shawnee hospital saw her and walked to her side.
"I can't thank you enough for helping last night," he said.
He had a reason to cry. But he wasn’t. He was here, helping her and Pete and everyone else on the square. Clarissa brushed away her tears as she shrugged off his thanks, feeling embarrassed. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?” Jed wouldn’t let her words stand. “I heard all about that nothing. You worked for hours at the church helping others even though you'd lost everything. That's sacrifice, and it's mighty amazing sacrifice at that."
The warmth of recognition, of being told she’d done a good thing, soothed her aching soul. Clarissa stood in the midst of life destruction on more than one level, and yet, these people saw her as someone worthy of praise. It had been a long time since she’d seen appreciation or approval. It had been a long time since she’d felt worthy.
A warm gust of wind blew, and Clarissa saw something fluttering where it was stuck under a piece of splintered wood.
She reached down, grabbed its edge and started to tug, surprised anything had made it through this mangled mess.
When she shifted the wood slightly, she gasped. The one thing she wanted, and it was in pristine condition. The only photo she had of her grandmother.
She picked it up and held it to her chest, and as she did she heard her Gran's soft, sure voice. Fate's fickle, God's eternal. You'll be okay, baby girl. You'll be okay.
If only she could believe. One way or the other she was starting over. Maybe the tornado hadn’t been a sign to leave. Maybe it had simply wiped her slate clean.
Back at the Triple Eight, Susie Dillon took a tray of cookies out of the oven and acknowledged that her husband was right. Jed was more than a little interested in Clarissa Dye.
And Paul was right about something else. The wariness in Clarissa's eyes came about from something dark and troublesome.
"She' s hurting, she doesn't trust and she's not sure about sticking around here, you can tell that," she said.
"I imagine she's a lot like the barn kittens. Scared to death to get close to anyone," Paul agreed, his blue eyes sad and sure. Susie remembered those eyes back when they were bloodshot and unfocused morning after morning. When they were hiding truths. When they were bitter and angry, and she felt alone against the world with a gift of a baby boy and a ranch to take
"I'm real sorry, Miss Dye," the sheriff walked up and patted her lightly on the shoulder. "The FEMA people will be here to help out tomorrow. If you need a place to stay, the church has set up shelter, and the Angel Food Ministry is working with the food bank in Shawnee to help out."
She wanted to reply, to say it was going to be all right, but she couldn't seem to make her voice work. And then she found a torn corner of paper with Mack’s name on it. The Lemmalu picture.
She picked it up, inexplicably smoothing it like doing so would make everything better. And then she started crying big, silent tears of regret and loss and desperation.
"She's going to be staying out with us on the Triple Eight," Jed said, touching her shoulder to give her comfort. But she couldn’t accept that from him. She stepped away, thought about telling him he was wrong. Stearns, Oklahoma might've felt like a stopping place, but it wasn't. And this time, whatever fate controlled the universe had made sure she knew that truth.
Pete stepped up then, a little hitch in his walk. He'd been working for hours on the cleanup, and it was evident in the tired lines on his face. But there was something else. Something that didn't make a whole lot of sense.
Hope.
"Darkest nights bring brightest mornings," Pete said when he saw her tears. And all she could think in answer to that was she sure should be seeing some amazing mornings in the near future.
Around her people from all over town were helping the cleanup at Pete's. The man with the small children whose wife was in the Shawnee hospital saw her and walked to her side.
"I can't thank you enough for helping last night," he said.
He had a reason to cry. But he wasn’t. He was here, helping her and Pete and everyone else on the square. Clarissa brushed away her tears as she shrugged off his thanks, feeling embarrassed. "It was nothing."
"Nothing?” Jed wouldn’t let her words stand. “I heard all about that nothing. You worked for hours at the church helping others even though you'd lost everything. That's sacrifice, and it's mighty amazing sacrifice at that."
The warmth of recognition, of being told she’d done a good thing, soothed her aching soul. Clarissa stood in the midst of life destruction on more than one level, and yet, these people saw her as someone worthy of praise. It had been a long time since she’d seen appreciation or approval. It had been a long time since she’d felt worthy.
A warm gust of wind blew, and Clarissa saw something fluttering where it was stuck under a piece of splintered wood.
She reached down, grabbed its edge and started to tug, surprised anything had made it through this mangled mess.
When she shifted the wood slightly, she gasped. The one thing she wanted, and it was in pristine condition. The only photo she had of her grandmother.
She picked it up and held it to her chest, and as she did she heard her Gran's soft, sure voice. Fate's fickle, God's eternal. You'll be okay, baby girl. You'll be okay.
If only she could believe. One way or the other she was starting over. Maybe the tornado hadn’t been a sign to leave. Maybe it had simply wiped her slate clean.
Back at the Triple Eight, Susie Dillon took a tray of cookies out of the oven and acknowledged that her husband was right. Jed was more than a little interested in Clarissa Dye.
And Paul was right about something else. The wariness in Clarissa's eyes came about from something dark and troublesome.
"She' s hurting, she doesn't trust and she's not sure about sticking around here, you can tell that," she said.
"I imagine she's a lot like the barn kittens. Scared to death to get close to anyone," Paul agreed, his blue eyes sad and sure. Susie remembered those eyes back when they were bloodshot and unfocused morning after morning. When they were hiding truths. When they were bitter and angry, and she felt alone against the world with a gift of a baby boy and a ranch to take
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