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Chapter 1
I sure picked a hell of a time to come home. Charlotte O'Brien, or Charlie as her friends called her, sat in the darkened living room of her family's bed and breakfast, The Victorian Rose. Outside, Hurricane Andrea raged with gale force winds exceeding 110 miles per hour. As expected the hurricane arrived in the northeastern part of Massachusetts in the early morning hours. While it was not the first hurricane she had experienced in her life, it was the fiercest she could remember.
She could hear the howling winds outside as they caused the branches from nearby trees to slam into the side of the house. A constant deluge of rain pelted the windows, which rattled from time to time under the onslaught. Frequently she'd see debris fly by the window. The most recent object looked like siding from a nearby house. So far her family and their home remained unscathed, but what about the rest of the town? Charlie reached for the battery-powered radio and switched it on. After several tries she got a local AM station to come in. The faceless voice of the radio announcer filled the silent room. “Severe flooding is already being seen on Church Street.”
This announcement came as no big surprise. It had poured almost every day the previous week and the waterlogged ground and swollen rivers couldn't accommodate this new round of rain.
The sound of shattering glass, followed by a crash, filled the room and blocked out anything else the radio announcer may have said. Without a second thought Charlie jumped to her feet and yanked her mother off the couch in front of the windows and pushed her toward a chair in the corner. At the same instant her brother Sean burst into the room.
“A tree just went through the dining room window. Take Ma into the basement.” After giving his order Sean disappeared upstairs, his huge Irish Wolfhound, Max, following at his heels. She hated to admit it, but she should have thought of that sooner. The basement was the safest place during a hurricane.
“Come on Ma, let's go.” Charlie grabbed the battery-powered radio and flashlight next to her and stood.
“What about Sean?” Maureen O'Brien sat perched on the edge of a chair, her face pale and her hands gripping the arms of the chair.
For half a heartbeat anger and resentment surged through Charlie. Why couldn't the woman ever do anything she asked? It was always about Sean. Almost as soon as the emotions came on they disappeared. Circumstances outside everyone's control had created a much tighter relationship between her mother and older brother. It wasn't fair to either of them to resent it—it wasn't as if her mother didn't love her. Sean was her mother's rock and had been since that day seventeen years earlier when her dad walked out on them. That day Sean became the man of the house. “Sean wants us downstairs now. He'll be down soon.”
With some reluctance Maureen came to her feet and, as usual, Charlie felt like a giant standing next to her mother. At five feet eight inches she towered over her mother who barely reached five feet. Despite the height difference there was no mistaking them for mother and daughter. Both had thick red hair, and hazel eyes that seemed to change colors depending on their mood.
Using her flashlight, Charlie led her mom through the dark house toward the basement door, a door she could have found even without the bright beam of light. Having grown up in the old Victorian she knew every nook and cranny of the house. Without even thinking she instinctively flipped the light switch then felt like an idiot when nothing happened.
“Be careful,” Charlie said over her shoulder as she started down the steep wooden stairs.
The beam from her flashlight bounced off the rock walls as the familiar scent of the basement enveloped her. She hadn't stepped foot in the basement in years, yet she would have recognized the smell anywhere. Since the basement remained remarkably dry her mom hung fresh herbs down there making it constantly smell like basil and rosemary. Some things just never changed.
Behind her she heard the bottom step creak, as it had for years, letting her know that her mother had safely made it down the stairs.
“I hope everything is all right out there.”
Was her mom serious? A hurricane raged outside. Though a smart reply was on the tip of her tongue, Charlie held it back. When her mom was upset she had a tendency to ignore the obvious. So instead of saying anything she headed over to a partitioned-off section of the basement where her brother kept his pool table and several folding chairs.
After taking down the battery-powered lantern on the shelf and turning it on, Charlie sat in one of the stiff plastic folding chairs and listened to the news reports coming over the radio.
“Reports are coming in that the Stonefield Dam shows signs of giving out. Anyone living near the dam or along the river should leave the area immediately.” The faceless voice came through the radio, causing a ball of dread to form in the pit of Charlie's stomach. The area around the river and dam was heavily populated. If the dam let go a lot of people could be hurt. Unfortunately, there wasn't a thing she could do about it. Instead of focusing on what she couldn't control, Charlie thought about the things she could. Right now that meant keeping her mom safe and calm until the storm passed.
“I noticed that you repainted the living room. It looks nice.” Idle chatter would help her mom pass the time and focus on something other than the hurricane and Sean's absence. Drumming her fingers on her leg she waited in the semi-darkness for her mom to answer.
“It hadn't been done in a long time. Sean thought it was a good idea,” Maureen replied as the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs alerted them to Sean's arrival.
Before Charlie could comment further all six feet three inches of her brother appeared along with his giant dog. Immediately the smell of wet dog assaulted her senses. No wonder it had taken Sean so long to get down there. He'd gone outside. What had he been thinking?
“You two okay? The big maple near the shed just went down. The roots were ripped right out of the ground.” Sean pulled a chair next to Charlie's.
***
Charlie blew a strand of hair which had escaped from her bun out of her face and rolled her shoulders. Sweat trickled down her back causing her
t-shirt to stick to her skin. More than anything she wanted a hot shower to wash away the grime and sweat covering her body.
Since early morning she'd been systematically going through town with the other volunteers checking on its citizens and assessing the damage. It wasn't a pretty sight. The once picture-perfect New England town looked as if a Navy bomber had dropped a missile on North Salem, Massachusetts. The most severe damage was down by the river where the dam once stood. The entire area now sat under several feet of water. Charlie and several others were slowly working their way to that end of the town. Toppled trees and downed power lines made the trip slow and dangerous. On the positive side though, there had been very few serious injuries reported. Most of the ones she'd seen or heard about involved gashes from breaking glass and thrown-out backs from moving tree limbs and other debris. With any luck it would stay that way.
Rolling her shoulders Charlie looked around at the other volunteers. Many of them leaned against trees or sat on the rain-drenched ground oblivious to the mud as they took a much-deserved break. Like her, most had started working hours earlier, the minute the storm passed. Despite the fatigue clawing at her body, Charlie didn't join the others. She needed to keep working. When there was work to do, she couldn't rest. After taking a long drink of water, she tossed the bottle back in her backpack and walked over to Tony Bates, the town administrator’s son.
“I'm gonna check on Mrs. Mitchell. No one I've talked to has seen her since before the hurricane.” Without waiting for a response she navigated her way across the minefield of fallen trees and debris toward the old widow's house. She had no idea how old Mrs. Mitchell was, but she guessed she had to be close to eighty. According to her mom, Mrs. Mitchell had been living alone since her daughter moved to North Carolina the previous summer.
The single-story ranch looked exactly as Charlie remembered when she'd taken piano lessons in the fourth grade. White paint covered the exterior while black shutters, several of which were missing, framed each window. The only differences were the shattered glass windows and the fallen trees. An empty hole occupied the spot where the doorbell should have been so Charlie pounded on the front door and waited for a response. When no answer came, Charlie looked through the nearest window but all she saw was an empty living room.
Maybe she went to the basement. Charlie took the steps two at a time. She'd spent enough time at Mrs. Mitchell’s house to know that the only way into the basement was through the bulkhead around the side of the house.
When she reached the bulkhead she found a young oak tree lying across it, making it impossible for her to open the door. Getting down on her hands and knees she pounded on the metal door. “Mrs. Mitchell it's Charlotte O'Brien,” she shouted. “Are you okay?”
“I can't get the door open,” a familiar soft voice answered, sounding frazzled.
Relief washed over her. The elderly woman was safe. “There's a tree covering the door. Are you hurt?”
