Kansas, 1929

From the kitchen window Martha Masterson saw the Kansas sky had that heart-stopping black look. The way the wind buffeted against the window made her hand lift out of the hot dish water and clutch her throat. She dropped the washcloth and ran to the kitchen screen door that faced the west, out over the picket fence and barn. The clouds were even darker in this section of the sky. A bright flash of lightning slashed at the distant horizon. Seconds later, thunder rolled large in her ears. She looked toward the south fields and wondered if John had looked up from plowing and seen the western threat. Her mouth parted when she saw a telltale funnel twist down from the dark clouds; it touched the ground, wobbled around, then disappeared back up into its source.

At that moment Belinda began a hungry cry. Martha entered the baby's room, picked up her two-month old daughter, sat down on a settee and unbuttoned her blouse. As she did so her voice rose above the sound of the bowling game in the sky.

"Clyde! Go see if your pa's comin' in from the fields."

Clyde, his fifteen-year-old face set in frustration, clambered down the stairs from his bedroom and faced his mother. "I'm right in the middle of something big, mom. Can't Barton do it?"

"I asked for you. Now go and do what I tell you. And on the way out just take a look at the western sky. Maybe then you won't be so contrary."

"Ah, shucks, mom. I've seen a western sky before."

"Not like this one. Now, go!"

He hesitated until another scowl from his mother's face stirred his blood. "All right." He muttered something as he pushed his way through the kitchen screen door and disappeared from her view.

More thunder, closer now, rolled their way.

Moments later she heard a pickup truck grind to a stop outside the kitchen window. A knock on the screen door was followed by its hinges squeaking open as heavy footfalls fell on the wood floor. They stopped.

"Mrs. Masterson?"

She yelled an appropriate reply and the footsteps approached the doorway. The large worried face of their handyman, Rusty Glade, crimsoned when he saw the baby suckling a full breast. He turned his eyes away.

"What is it, Rusty?" Martha said.

Keeping his eyes averted from the maternal scene, Rusty spoke at the door frame. "Looks like a tornado might be comin' our way."

"I saw it. Wasn't you with John?"

"No, ma'am. He sent me to get a new disc for the plow. On the way back the sky looks exactly like the gusty one we had four years ago. It blew away a whole town up yonder."

"I just sent Clyde to gather up John."

"Maybe they need help, ma'am. I'll see to it." He scurried from the doorway and clomped out of the house. She heard the gears grind as the pickup roared away.

By the time the baby gorged its fill and had her diaper changed, Martha heard the powerful engine of the disc plow coming toward the concrete pad where John usually parked it every night. The thunder seemed closer now. Lightning cracked the damp sky as a film started to drench the roof of the house. The baby burped and fell fast asleep before she was settled into the crib.

Boots scraped on the dirt bar near the kitchen door. John, Clyde, and Rusty entered the house and met Martha in the kitchen. John, tall at six feet four inches, looked worried. His overalls were smudged with dirt, as was his face and large calloused hands.

Everything outside seemed to be quieter than a graveyard. Nothing stirred, except the building wind shuffling the shutters.

John spoke to his wife, though he meant it for everyone there in the warm kitchen. "Martha, you better gather everything you'll need in the storm cellar. We got the plow anchored down. Hopefully, it'll ride it out. Are all the children here?"

She gripped his arm and stood close. "Yes. Lucky there was no school today."

"Good. Get them started. Everyone should know the drill by now." He turned to Clyde. "Make sure the oil lamps are lit in the cellar before we get there. Haul your stuff in there first, and then stay put. Make it fast."

Clyde ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

John now turned to Rusty. "Help Martha get everyone ready to leave the house. We may be there for an hour, maybe less. Don't really know which way a tornado will turn."

Soon, they were all outside, except Clyde and Rusty. Simon, the youngest son, carried the cat. Barton carried the puppies as their mother barked and leaped below her litter. Ruthie squealed with glee as her father held her hand tighter than normal. Martha, who cradled the baby in her arms, crept down the stairway into the cellar. Turning her head, she and John saw the black funnel touch ground at the same time. Closer now, larger, it seemed to be coming right at them, tearing up their entrance road that came from County Highway 82. Dust swirled upward and outward from the bottom of the tornado.

John yelled at the house. "Hurry, Rusty! It's coming like a runaway train!"

Martha stepped down into the cellar and sat down on a long plank set up to hold more than six people against the wall on her left. Clyde was already sitting on the plank, reading Dreiser's An American Tragedy by the light of two oil lamps that hung apart on two nails overhead on the same wall. The others piled in and settled down to wait out the storm. Barton and Ruthie started to play cards on the concrete floor. Simon thumbed through Winnie the Pooh and studied the pictures. Rusty closed the cellar door and rammed the two steel bars home, to hold the door from flying up into the sucking power of the tornado, if it passed close to the house.

Martha covered the sleeping baby's face. John sat down next to Martha and smiled at his tiny daughter. "We forgot the chicken," Martha said suddenly.

"No mind, honey. Chickens are cheap."

Martha laughed. "That's what their young say: cheep, cheep, cheep." Then she laughed again. She felt nervous. The laughter seemed to help set aside what was about to roar over their heads.

Rusty, sitting on a stool against the opposite wall, lit his corncob pipe and puffed the blue smoke up into the concrete ceiling. "I hope it don't hit us too bad, John."

John glanced up at Rusty. "We'll know soon enough, I reckon. Hope those new chains can hug down the plow."

"They should," Rusty said. "They cost a pretty penny. Harve didn't have anything bad to say about their strong suit."

"Harve's been known to exaggerate a truth or two."

Through the air duct the sound of the approaching tornado increased. To Martha it sounded like a distant train roaring its way toward them. Huge rain drops splattered against the pipes that poked out of the ground above them. Minutes later, dust filtered into their space. Lightning cracked like a wild whip gone mad. The ground vibrated as the noise became so loud everyone tried to lessen its din by covering their ears. Suddenly, the cellar door shook violently against the heavy duty hinges. Martha heard something heavy scrape on concrete above. She closed her eyes and worried about the cost of repairs.

When the reverberations began to subside after several hectic minutes, Martha watched John leave the bench and look through the periscope eyepiece he had designed while constructing the storm cellar. She held her breath as he turned the device in a complete circle. His face, a gloomy mask of disbelief, turned and stared at his wife of twenty years.

"What is it, John?"

He sat back down on the plank and wrung his hands together. "There's nothing left. A total loss. All our buildings have been torn from the ground, the barn, storage shed. Only a small bit of the house still stands."

"And the plow?" Rusty asked.

"It's gone. Totally worthless, I reckon."

"Which way is the tornado heading?" asked Martha.

John took her hand and held it tight. "Toward Miller's farm. No telling if it'll come close to their buildings. I hope not." He nodded at his immediate surroundings. "We'll have to call this home for awhile. Good thing we stocked it."

"Think anyone will come out this way?" Martha asked. Other than walking for miles, they were completely cut off from any type of communication. Three days of stores would not be enough. Only Belinda had an endless source of liquid nourishment.

Rusty puffed on his pipe thoughtfully, watching the two owners air their concerns. After a few moments, he interrupted them. "Rest assured, someone will be here shortly. While paying for the new discs, Walter Gates told me the radio was keeping a good log on the tornado's path. A few farmers called in their sightings and Walter marked them on a wall map. So he's got everything organized to help those who live along the tornado's wake."

"Then our worries have been needless," John said.

Martha thought their problems were just beginning

After John opened the cellar door, the rain splattered down on the stairs as Martha climbed up with the rest of the family to the spoiled ground. Everywhere she looked the total loss of everything they had worked with their hands had been destroyed. Their property was now an ugly-looking garbage dump. Tears started from her eyes. She was speechless as the pain of loss filled her body. Covering the baby's face with the blanket, she ignored the pelting rain on her own face. Then something deep and splendid rose up and warmed her soul. Her thoughts now became more alive than before. When she glanced up at her husband, who looked worn but undaunted, he said what was already in her mind.

"Guess we got to build all over again."

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Charles T. Alling: I am a published fiction (two short stories) and nonfiction (one history book) author, thanks to the completed fiction writing courses at the following colleges: University of Iowa; University of Florida.