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The lightning struck the tree with an ear splitting force. I wasn't around when the tree fell, but I know it made a deafening sound. It had been the tree I climbed as a little girl. A tree my father had climbed when the farm was his. I didn't think anything could destroy it. I didn't think it could become part of a trail of destruction.
I had gone shopping with my husband, then to a matinee and out to dinner. We knew a storm was coming, but nothing of any magnitude - or so we thought. We live out of town, (so small you could barely call it a town), but it had an old theater, some quaint shops and one nice restaurant. Forty minutes of driving back into the boonies, it was nearly dark. Almost six o'clock. As we pulled down the long drive and rounded the curve, we both looked at the charred remains of a house, still smoldering. We just sat and stared, unthinking, unfeeling.
I heard the car door open and realized my husband was walking through the deep snow, so far still from the house it hadn't melted. It must have been ten degrees by then. The wind chill was more than thirty below. I slowly regained use of my muscles and opened the car door to a harsh, bitter unwelcome.
The light remaining from the setting sun and the climbing full moon illuminated a hideous sight. I held tight my arms to my body and trudged through the snow until it became melted streams of black. I heard the sounds of crackling here and there as I approached. My husband had made a full circle around the foundation, stepping over the fallen tree that was lying over what would have been our bedroom.
He came up to me, but didn't speak. We stared in dismay and silence. He walked away and went to the car. I didn't know it then, but he had gone to get his cell phone. He called the volunteer fire department in the nearest town, the one we'd shopped in only hours earlier. The roads were too treacherous to get here with any speed, especially as darkness was falling rapidly. And there was not really much of a point anyway. Not any more.
We waited in the car with the heater running. In silence. The first sound to break the silence was the siren of a truck in the distance. It grew louder, until it was deafening. I realized there was more than one siren. That didn't matter either. The trucks pulled up and somehow found water to spray at the remains of a lifetime. I didn't really notice how they did it. My husband was out of the car, but I stayed behind, lifeless.
I don't know how long it was before he came back. He put the car into gear, and slowly backed down the driveway. I saw then that the firemen had turned off their lights and were leaving. Other cars were pulling away too. I didn't remember that any had arrived. Somehow, he got me into a hotel room. I don't know where. He helped undress me and put me in the bed. The last thing I remember was the sound of the shower running.
The next morning I awoke with a start as the clock radio belted out monstrous music. My husband pulled the cord right out of the wall. I awoke again about ten to his gentle nudging. He had doughnuts and coffee on the table. When had he left the room?
The weather had gotten colder. A front had moved in. Even in the daylight it was below zero, the wind chill hovered around forty below. We drove back to the house, and arrived by noon. I was hoping everything was a bad dream. Too many burritos. Too much drink. But we'd eaten pasta, and neither of us drinks. The house was now a shambles of a foundation. Few boards stood anywhere to create some kind of frame. We peered at the rubble in the cold, looking for anything that was recognizable. I couldn't tell where my Christmas tree had been. I wasn't even quite sure where the living room had been.
I knew that people would be coming by to offer encouragement at some point. They'd all expect our homeowner's insurance to cover this mess. The truth that they wouldn't know, is that we'd canceled the homeowner's insurance when the farm was taking a beating, about five years ago. We had never thought to renew it.
As I walked the perimeter I was dumbstruck. How I didn't think of it immediately, I couldn't say. Our dog. Duke. (My husband named him.) Where was he? Had he gotten trapped in the blaze? We certainly didn't not make him stay outside in this weather. Frozen to the bone, I circled to where there used to be a back door. And steps to the basement. The steps were still there. I looked down into the inky blackness and saw water.
I walked back to the car with a more determined pace and grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment. Circling back around, my husband gave me a worried look from thirty yards away. He saw me start down those stairs. The look of horror that crossed his face did not deter me. The stairs held and I made my way into the basement.
Old furniture sat in three inches of water. The photographs I was going to put in an album sat in a water soaked box on the floor. A spare pair of shoes floated with other debris. I turned and went into the laundry room. A few boards had fallen from the ceiling, but it looked safe to keep moving. I shined the light up and down and over the room. And that's when I saw it.
Duke's tail was there, sticking out of a pile of cold, wet dirty laundry. I waded across the room and knelt down into the water. Most of his body was out of the water, his head nuzzled into some towels. I ripped off my gloves and felt his body. Was I crazy or did I feel a bit of warmth? Was that a faint heartbeat or a pipe dream into insanity? I moved all the clothes away from his face. His eyes were closed, but I was sure he was still alive.
I guess when he was trapped by the fire, he tried to run for safety. The clothes would have provided a filter for the toxic fumes. Some must have gotten to him, enough to weaken him. He would have climbed up the stairs to fresh air, if he'd been able. I gently lifted him into my arms, not noticing the icy water that was saturating my clothes. The light went out. I realized I'd set my flashlight down into the water.
I'd lived in this house thirty-five years. I figured I could find the stairs in pitch black. If nothing else, follow the cold. I bumped into a few things, and almost tripped on something floating by me. I heard a groan above my head. I knew I'd better get out of there. As I made it to the third step, my husband saw me. I could see him thinking he'd relieve me of Duke and help, but I only said "no." He hesitated at the top, but in the end, did heed my words. Duke weighed forty pounds. That was forty more than had gone down these stairs. My husband's weight added to that would not be a good idea. On the second step from the top, the wood bowed under my feet. I almost dropped the dog, but my husband was there to steady me.
We didn't speak at all. Walking straight to the car, he opened the door for me, and I put Duke in the back seat. I squatted down on the floor board and stroked him. By this time I was sure he was breathing, at least faintly. It was a long, bumpy ride to the veterinarian's. My husband pulled into a spot, got out and ran into the office. A minute later, he and a man in a white coat ran back with urgency. They opened the door, and the man leaned in with a stethoscope. He checked some things, then scooped the dog up and they took him inside.
On the table, under a warm light, he worked on our dog. Looking up he saw that my clothes were drenched. My jeans were stiff from icy water. "Why don't you go change clothes and I'll do my best to save your dog. Get a bite and come back in a few hours." I just stared blankly at him. I was vaguely aware that I had no other clothes. He looked at me intently and raised his eyebrows. His words must have occurred to him too, because he flushed, then stepped out of the room. He said his assistant would be back with some clothes shortly, and he laid a blanket over me. Then he pulled my husband aside and talked to him in a hushed, concerned voice. My husband's face looked anguished, then he nodded. Who knows what they were talking about? Then, there were other men, also in white. They gave me some kind of shot. I thought it was a sedative. Looking back, you wouldn't give a hypothermic woman in shock a sedative. But I didn't know. I didn't know anything.
I woke up in a bright room. If I'd been wearing my glasses, I could have seen the details. I heard muted voices somewhere, and then soft footsteps coming nearer. The person gasped, and I heard the footsteps take off in a run. Then there were more people, wearing pink or peach. They lifted my wrists and poked and prodded and kept saying, "it's all right, you'll be fine now." Whatever. I just wanted my glasses. I wondered if I'd hit my head or been in a car accident. Maybe they had me on really weird drugs.
I'd dreamed my house burned down. I dreamed my dog was dying. "Duke." I guess I said that aloud, because some woman's voice said, "Honey, Duke will be ok. Everything will be fine. You just get better now. The whole town's taking up a collection, sweetie. You just rest, and eat and get stronger. You almost died."
I slept some more. I kept hearing her voice. Slowly, I got stronger. I understood what had happened. I found out about the fund set up by neighboring towns to help us, and the clothes that had been donated. I found out we hadn't lost everything that mattered, just mere possessions.
My husband pushed the wheelchair to the front of the hospital doors. The car was waiting right out front. People applauded as I got up and walked to the car. I didn't know why. "Why are these people clapping? Since when does losing your house or freezing to death make someone a hero?"
My husband smiled. "Honey, they're not applauding that. They're offering support and encouragement, and they're amazed that you went into those ruins and came bag with a nearly lifeless dog in your arms. You made the national news, babe. The donations that have come in surpassed the homeowner's insurance we used to have. And it just keeps coming. The whole world's fallen in love with you."
"But I don't care about money - not even fame. I just wish I could have saved him. I wish I could have gotten there sooner - have gotten there in time. If we'd only stayed home . . ."
"If we'd stayed home, love, we'd be under that tree - dead and cooked to a crisp. God was looking down that day. It wasn't our time."
"But I didn't want it to be his time either," I yelled. And then the crowd parted. And there sat good old Duke, a little thinner, wearing a sign around his neck that said "Welcome Home, Mom!" I fell to my knees and hugged that big, old lug of a dog. As tears fell down my cheeks, I thanked God. My husband bent down and we all hugged. We were back, and back with a vengeance. That fire would not burn up my spirit. I leaned up and kissed my husband, my arms around his neck. Cameras flashed, applause exploded. I didn't even notice.
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