Mostly heard, to be honest. His sermon was good, about the rain, about the need to hold together no matter what storms came, to remain faithful and with our feet on the solid rock.
But Isaak did not preach long. As he was midway through the preaching, lights from a vehicle pulling in to the Beiler yard could be seen through the rain-spattered windows. A few moments later, three soldiers dressed in rain gear entered by the back, and one signaled the attention of Bishop Schrock.
There were words, not whispered but inaudible in the din, and Isaak stopped his preaching for a moment. Those gathered sat quietly, with little whispering and wondering. Bishop Schrock came forward to Isaak, and their heads drew close to each other, and they conferred.
When they were done talking, Isaak raised his voice to almost a shout so that all in the room could really hear him.
“These soldiers have come to tell us that they have heard there may be a hurricane coming up the East Coast, and it seems to be coming straight for us. They do not know how strong it is, or how strong it will be, or even how soon it will get worse. It is hard to tell in these days. But the radio reports from the military say it is a very strong storm.”
There was murmuring around, as many of us still remembered Sandy, and how fiercely she had come through all those years ago.
Bishop Schrock chimed in, his deep voice booming. “It may not be safe to return home if we wait much longer, or if we continue on through our time of fellowship. We give thanks to our friends for bringing us this news and in braving the elements to tell us this, and we should act upon the news we have been given.” He nodded to the soldiers, who nodded back.
We sang one more song, raising our voices together, but we only sang about half of the verses. Then, a prayer, and the womenfolk bustled to gather up what had been brought while the menfolk went out to get the buggies hitched.
The soldiers left as we did so, their truck disappearing quickly into the blinding rain. If anything, the wind was howling even more fiercely, and I was glad of the soldiers and their warning.
Nettie was even less eager to leave the barn, and there was a wild nervousness in her eyes as I coaxed and urged her out in the rain. I’d seen her spooked before, and I almost began to wish that I’d brought Pearl instead. After time at the plow, though, she needed her rest. Every creature needs their Sabbath.
Jacob and I hitched her up, and this time Jacob sat back with his mother and his sister as I drove Nettie homeward. She was struggling, I could feel it in her, but she kept on, as I muttered prayers under my breath. It was a harder ride back, though I’d not have thought that quite possible.
The wind snapped and shoved at the buggy, sometimes coming from one direction, sometimes from another. It knocked at the sides, and several of the gusts felt like they would almost knock us over, they were so fierce. Others caught the buggy from the front, and it buckled back on the leafsprings, and Nettie strained all the harder to pull us forward. Leaves and branches flew through the air.
In the back of the buggy, my little family clung to one another. Even Jacob, who had thought this all a great adventure, seemed less excited by the storm and more eager to get to our home.
In places, the water poured across the road, flowing deeper and deeper, splashing around Nettie’s feet as if we were fording a stream. She has never liked water, and I wished even more that I had hitched up Pearl.
Once, and then again, I had to stop to move a fallen branch from the road, and by the second branch—which was quite large—even the parts of me that had been a little dry were soaked all the way through. Each time, it was harder to get Nettie going again.
Finally, she just stopped, about a mile from the house, as the driving rain and the howling and the intermittent peals of thunder became too much. I goaded and cajoled, but I could tell that she was terrified, and I have never been one to bring a whip too hard to bear on one of God’s creatures.
It was not so cold, and I was already soaked to the skin, so I got out of the buggy, and went around to Nettie. She was wild-eyed under her blinders, nervous and barely containing herself. I petted her neck for a few moments, and talked to her for a little, my body in close against her head. Her breath came hot and tense against the wetness of my collar.
She calmed a little, I could tell. I took the reins and she followed behind me, pulling the buggy at my walking pace. It was hard to see, as the wind battered, but I just put one foot in front of another. My hat helped shelter my eyes, and it stayed on by some small miracle, but it has always been snug and perfect fitting.
It was a long mile.
We were glad to be home, when we finally arrived. Although I usually have Jacob stable Nettie, I had them go into the house, and I made sure she was in secure with Pearl before I made my way back.
IT IS STILL STORMING now, as I write here by candlelight. Dinner together was good, and although we were all a little disappointed that we did not have a chance to spend time with the Beilers and the other families, the pies were delicious.
We took a time for family prayer together after the meal, and all of us prayed for the storm to spare those who were not aware of its coming, and for those who are living near the sea. If it is like this here, it must be more terrible there.
The wind has grown all the stronger, and the house groans and creaks, and I can feel it shifting and moving slightly. Upstairs, water has been forced in past some of the windows, and Sadie and Jacob have been sopping it up with towels before the puddles on the floor spread too far.
Hannah and I spent much of our time after dinner in the dimly lit root cellar. It’s by the barn, built into the earth to keep it cool, and we use it for storage and for growing carrots and beets in the winter. But when the rain comes up, the water weeps in, and while that is fine sometimes, this did not look to be one of those times. By the light of a hurricane lamp, with the storm shaking the door, she and I began to move perishables higher on the shelving. Rice and grains must be kept dry, and already the moisture was streaming in here and there, pooling on the floor, as it does whenever we get a long rain. We moved bags and boxes and containers to higher shelves. It should be enough, and we can work to clear out the water when the rain has stopped.