releasing the rest of the children. They scattered, looking for air. Only the littlest girl, Cheyenne, stayed with her arms around her grandma.
Mrs. Gibson reached down and picked her up. “Oh, that’s my little girl.” She held on tight as Cheyenne wrapped her arms and legs around as far as she could, which wasn’t nearly all the way. There was plenty of Mrs. Gibson to hug.
“My little precious girl.” Mrs. Gibson closed her eyes. She didn’t see Weldon, Janet, and the rest of them turn to look at the house. She didn’t notice their expressions of disbelief as they realized there was nothing left but rubble.
They straightened their faces and wiped their eyes quickly as Mrs. Gibson set Cheyenne down and cleared her throat. “How bad are things around at the neighbor places?”
Weldon gave Janet a guarded look. “It’s bad, Mama,” he admitted finally. “The radio said there were twelve tornadoes reported so far, all over the tristate area, some almost a mile wide, and on the ground for nearly an hour. The state’s never seen anything like it. The one that hit Poetry came from Kansas City, halfway across the state.”
I didn’t hear what Mrs. Gibson said next, some kind of prayer, I think. From Kansas City, halfway across the state, repeated in my mind. Daddy took Nate out of school this morning, and they were headed to the cattle auction in Kansas City. . . .
My head reeled. I felt Weldon Gibson grab my arm. “Jenilee, are you all right?” He looked at me with the same concern he had always shown when I came into the pharmacy to fill Mama’s prescriptions . Jenilee, are you all right? he’d say, and he’d look right at me, like he knew things at home were anything but all right .
“Weldon . . . I . . .” I clawed a hand against my forehead as my vision dimmed. “I’ve . . . got to get home. Daddy took Nate to Kansas City this morning to the cattle auction. They might be” —in trouble, hurt, dead— “trying to call.” I pulled from Weldon’s grasp, shaking my head to clear the darkening images. “I’ve got to get home.” It was my voice, but it felt as if someone else were saying the words, as if I were standing outside somewhere, watching a movie too horrible to be true.
Weldon came after me with his hands out, like I was going to fall and he was going to catch me. “Jenilee, wait.”
“I’m all right,” I said, unhooking the winch line from the fallen tree and climbing blindly toward the tractor. “I’ve got to go home to wait for Daddy and Nate. If you hear anything, will you let me know?”
Weldon nodded, regarding me with a mixture of pity and concern. “I’ll let the sheriff know about your father and brother, and if I hear anything, I’ll come tell you. The phone lines are down from St. Louis all the way to Kansas City, into Kansas and Oklahoma.”
I pulled the choke on the tractor.
“Thanks for saving Mother and Lacy, Jenilee.” Weldon shifted from one foot to the other, like he thought he ought to say something more.
I nodded, but I wanted to tell him I hadn’t saved her, just helped her out of the cellar, and I couldn’t even do that without knocking myself out cold. “She hit her head pretty bad,” I told him as I watched Mrs. Gibson being helped into the car by her daughter-in-law. Lacy was standing beside the car, staring across the ruined field through glassy silver eyes. “I don’t think Lacy’s hurt, but she hasn’t said much since we got out of the cellar.”
“We’re trying to call her mother in Tulsa,” Weldon replied, glancing at Lacy as if there were more to it than that. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of them. You let me know if you hear from your family.”
“I will. The tornado didn’t hit Springfield, did it? I think my brother, Drew, is still working there.”
Weldon shook his head. “I haven’t heard about any damage down that way, but the news is still real sketchy.”
Strangely, I didn’t feel relief, just numbness.