He nodded. “I miss that too. Maybe we need to find a way to take some time for ourselves.”
“Even with eight children?”
“Especially with eight children. If you and I fall apart, what can we offer them?”
He stroked her hair and brought her face to his. Gently, he kissed her, and all the tension that had crusted over in her heart began to soften and melt slowly away.
D
ENI TRIED TO CONCENTRATE ON HER CHORES ON
M
ONDAY
, but all day long, she could think of nothing but getting to the post office to see if there’d been a letter from Craig. Now that the trains were running, the postal deliveries were expected to come more frequently, but Deni couldn’t wait for the latest bundle to make its way to Oak Hollow. Surely by now Craig had gotten her stack of letters describing what she’d been through trying to get to him. By now, he’d probably written back, something more than that one short page with all his dry, cold facts.
As soon as she finished her work, she hopped on her bicycle and rode to the post office. The doors and windows were all open and the air in the moldy place was stifling. The door to the offices was locked, so she went to the slot that said Metered Mail and called through the hole. “Is anybody here?”
On the other side of the wall, someone yelled, “Yeah, I’m coming.”
She waited for a moment, then saw the postmaster coming toward her beyond the glass doors. The woman looked close to retirement age, and she was wearing a baseball cap and a pair of smudged reading glasses. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“Everybody who slows me down is getting their mail a little bit later. What do you want?”
Deni tried to look contrite. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I’m just expecting some real important mail. It’s very important. Life-or-death stuff.”
The woman shook her head. “I’m not through sorting it. I’m the only one working. And I can’t pay any employees, so as postmaster, it’s left to me to sort out thousands and thousands of pieces of mail, and it’s taking me a while to get it delivered. Every interruption costs me time.”
“I don’t want to do that,” Deni said, “but could I come in and just look through Oak Hollow’s mail and see if there’s anything for me?”
The woman took off her baseball cap and mopped her forehead with the sleeve of her T-shirt. “You got to be kidding. There are twenty thousand people in Crockett and weeks’ worth of mail. I’ve got them sorted by neighborhood, but that’s the best I’ve been able to accomplish so far.”
“But you must have a system. Don’t you even have bags from different places that I could go through? I’m looking for something from Washington, D.C.”
“The mail doesn’t come straight here from Washington, D.C.,” she said. “It all goes to a distribution center, and then it’s sorted out and sent here.”
“Okay, the distribution center then. If I could go through that bag, I’m sure I could find my letter.”
“You’re insane,” the woman said. “That would take days.”
Deni breathed out a sigh. It was hopeless. She was going to have to wait.
But then the woman’s face softened. “Aw, come on in. I’ll let you go through the Oak Hollow mail. I’ve already sorted some of it. If it’s there already, you can take it. But don’t bother me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Deni rushed behind her into the hot office. She thought it must be over one hundred degrees in the moldy place, and there were mountains of mail that the woman had been sorting through. “This is ridiculous. You should have help doing this.”
“Well, I can’t get anybody to come in for no pay. You want to come help, be my guest.”
Deni didn’t think she wanted to volunteer for that, but she sat on the floor in front of the Oak Hollow box and began sifting through pieces.
An hour later, drenched with sweat and drained of every ounce of energy, she finished looking through it. There was nothing there. Craig hadn’t written her again.
She had tears in her eyes as she got back to her feet, dusted herself off, and peered around a mountain of mail at the postmaster. “Ma’am, I’m leaving now.”
The woman didn’t look up. “Didn’t find it, huh?”
“No. I guess he didn’t write.”
The postmaster stopped sorting, took off her glasses, and cleaned them on her shirt. Glancing up at Deni, she said, “Don’t give up on him. It may just not have gotten here yet.”
Deni looked at the woman and realized she wasn’t as hardened as she’d seemed. She swallowed. “Thanks for letting me look. My name’s Deni Branning, by the way.”
The woman stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Deni. I’m Annie Lipscomb.”
Deni forced a weak smile and shook Mrs. Lipscomb’s sweaty hand. “I hope you get some help with all this soon.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Deni pushed back through the glass door and out into the fresh air where it was only eighty-seven degrees. Her bike was hot as she got back on it, but she rode toward home, wanting to deal with her disappointment in the privacy of her room.
M
ARK
G
REEN WAS WALKING UP HER DRIVEWAY WHEN SHE GOT
home, carrying a big box. She didn’t feel like talking, but she saw no way around it. “Hey, Mark,” she said, getting off her bike. “What have you got?”
He grinned. “Something for you.”
She pulled her bike into the shade of the garage. “What is it?”
He set it down on the concrete floor. Opening the flaps, he said, “Take a look.”
She looked inside. “A typewriter?”
He grinned. “Yeah, isn’t it great? I was going through my attic looking for something else, and my mom had it. It’s manual, so it still works. She even had an unopened ribbon in a box nearby. You can have it, if you want it.”
Deni took it out, marveling at its lightness. She pushed one of the keys. It took a lot more effort than a computer keyboard to make it strike the page, but she could get used to it.
“It’ll make your newspaper look a little more professional.”
Her depression slowly lifted. “Mark, this is great. Thank you.”
“There’s something else.” He reached to the bottom of the box and pulled out a big manila envelope. “I found some carbon paper. My mom never throws anything away, and she had some in the back of a drawer in her desk at the house. I mean, it’s so old and brittle that it’ll probably fall apart, but hey, you might find a way to make it work.”
“Carbon paper? Like that purple paper they put in credit card slips? They have that in big sheets?”
“Uh-huh. It won’t save you a lot of time, and you’ll only be able to make as many copies as there are carbons, plus my mom said to tell you that you’re going to have to press really hard on those keys to make it go through very many copies. But it’ll save you a little time.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “I can do a lot with this, Mark.” She sighed and pulled her sweat-dampened hair into a ponytail. “I needed something good to happen today. I’ve been at the post office for the last couple of hours digging through the letters, hoping to find something from Craig. Nothing.”
“He’ll write. You’ll see. Hey, maybe he’s even on his way here.”
She wished that were true, but she didn’t think it was. “No, I doubt he would do that when the trains are going to be transporting passengers soon. If he’s going to come, he’ll come then. I just don’t think he will.”
“Don’t lose faith in him,” Mark said. “If he’s worth his salt, he’ll come. Count on it.”
She wished she could.
“And if he doesn’t come, I might have to go to D.C. myself and beat him up.”
Warmth surged through her. Mark was a good friend.
She wished Craig was more like him.
A
BOUT TWENTY
S
ANDWOOD
P
LACE RESIDENTS CAME TO
Doug’s meeting the next evening, after the Brannings passed out handwritten invitations to all of the families there. They sat on the hoods of the useless cars as Doug paced across the hot pavement. The thick humidity of the afternoon had lifted, and a cool breeze gave some relief. The doors to almost every apartment in the place were standing open. Upstairs, neighbors stood in their doorways or leaned on the rails overlooking the parking lot, curious enough to listen from a distance, but not committed enough to come all the way down.
But that was okay. Doug would take what he could get. “In Oak Hollow, we found a place to dig a well, and it took us weeks, but we finally hit water. You could do the same. I found a clearing in the woods that would be a good place to dig if we clean out the garbage that’s back there on the edge of those woods. But it’s going to take a lot of work. We would need every person who’ll volunteer, and they would need to work through all the daylight hours in one- or two-hour shifts.”
“Sounds good to me,” one of the women said, “but there ain’t that many men here. The ones who are here don’t want to work. They’re lazy whelps.”
“Excuse me, but I take exception to that,” a big burly man with a long beard said. “I’m not lazy and I’m not a whelp. Count me in. I’ll work on that well.”
“Me too,” another man said. “If this thing’s going on as long as they say, we’re going to need a water source.”
“But how do you know we’ll hit water?” one asked. “I mean, isn’t it possible just to dig and dig and dig and never get to the end?”
“No,” Doug said. “If we dig deep enough, through all the different levels of earth and rock, we’ll hit the water table eventually. And if we pick the right place to dig, the water will be clean.”
Some of them listened skeptically as he described how he and the others had built the walls around the well as they went, but others followed him closely, eyes riveted.
“Of course, first things first. We’ve got to clean up the garbage. Besides the stench, it could pollute the groundwater. I know what it’s like to have garbage piling up and not know how to get rid of it. We were doing the same thing in Oak Hollow until some of the older residents explained to us what would work better. First you have to separate it by category, find the things that can be washed and recycled, start a compost pile for anything that will biodegrade. And then you’ve got to find a place to burn or bury the rest of it. I’m willing to help with that work. Does anyone want to volunteer to join me?”
No one stepped up.
He tried again. “I know it seems like a big task, but you won’t be doing it alone. My family and I are going to be out here tomorrow starting that process,” he said, “and I’m trying to get as many people in my church and my neighborhood to help as possible.”
“Last thing we need is a bunch of church people comin’ over here and lookin’ down on us,” someone shouted from upstairs.
He looked up and found the source. A woman sat beside the rail, two toddlers on her lap. “We’re not judging you,” he shouted. “We all started out doing the same things you’re doing. It’s only been a few weeks since the outage. There’s a learning curve, and if we’re to be good neighbors, we need to share what we’ve learned. We can get you started on the well, and we can get you started on the cleanup, and those of you with apartments that have sewage backups, we’ll figure out something to do with that, as well.
“And there’s something else I can help you with. In a week, we’re all going to have some cash. I’m not getting any more than any of you. But if you’ll come down here and listen, I’m about to tell you some ways to make money with what you’re given.”
A few of those from upstairs came down to get closer. Among them was Edith. She sidled up to Aaron and the kids and stroked little Sarah’s curls. Kay moved between them.
Kay and Doug had seriously considered leaving the Gatlin kids at home when they came here today to avoid exposing them to Edith. But then they decided that it might help to bring the kids along. Maybe seeing that the kids had been well cared for would make the neighbors trust Doug more. Besides, Aaron had been insistent on checking on his apartment. He was certain the neighbors were going to break in and clean it out with his family gone.
When everyone who wanted to hear had come down and found a place in front of him, Doug resumed his talk. “As you know, prices are falling pretty drastically. Supply and demand will be what drives the prices. Wise people will start now looking around town to figure out what people need and what they’re willing to spend their disbursements on. Those wise people will purchase a few key items with which they can make things that they can sell or barter. If you’re smart, you won’t squander your twenty-five dollars on spontaneous purchases, because we’re not going to get another disbursement for another three months. My background is in finance, though I’m unemployed now, just like you. But I’ll give private consultations for free if any of you want to talk.”
“What’s in it for you?” Edith asked.
He turned to her, meeting her defiant eyes. “Believe it or not, nothing. I’m doing this because Jesus Christ told us to help each other. I’m a follower of his, so I’m doing what he commanded.”
“We don’t need your kind coming in here and treating us like trash. We can help ourselves without you.”
He felt the blood rushing to his face. “Sometimes we need ideas. I sure did, when garbage was piling up at my house. If someone hadn’t shown me what to do, I’d have had a mountain of it behind my house just like you do now. And if someone hadn’t known about digging wells and how it could be done, I’d still be hauling dirty lake water to my house several times a day.”
There was silence for a moment, and he looked around at the faces of the residents, wondering if this was going to end badly. But finally, the big burly man spoke up. “We appreciate you, Doug. We can use a little guidance. I’ll be here tomorrow night.”
“I’ll be here, too,” someone else said.
Slowly, some of the others joined in. But most of the residents just stared at him belligerently. Maybe between tonight and tomorrow, the recruits would persuade them. It only took a few people to change a community.
“I’ll be here tomorrow night at six,” he said. “I’ll have as many people with me as I can get to come. Together, we’ll start to work on the garbage cleanup, then we can look more closely at the clearing where I think a well might work. I’m not promising you it’ll be easy, but I am promising that it will make your life better, one day at a time.”