6

The Dramatic Director of Greater Green Theatrical Society, who lives in the Cold Water community, has issued an emergency change-of-plans announcement for the group's summer production. "While we had our hearts set on The Wizard of Oz, we have decided to perform I Told You So, a play written by Green's own Patricia Pullig. Tryouts will be announced after things calm down."

—The Green News-Item

A commotion outside woke me.

"We've got company," Chris yelled from the lobby.

"Don't they know it's rude to pop in on newlyweds?" I mumbled, running my hand through my tangled hair and frowning down at the wrinkled clothes I had slept in. For a split second the memory of the tornado eluded me, skirting around my brain like a wasp looking for someone to sting.

"You're probably going to want to see this," my husband said, louder this time.

"Behold the bride," I said, walking into the lobby, trying to smooth my hair and my shirt at the same time.

"Good morning, wife," Chris said. Wearing a pair of warm-up pants and a Green High Rabbits shirt, he looked like an advertisement for an outdoor catalog while I felt like a candidate for a TV program on how not to dress.

A gargantuan motor home was parked in the newspaper lot, and a crew of people in matching T-shirts scurried around, setting up a satellite dish and a host of items I didn't recognize.The sun was barely up, but the artificial lights made it look like midday.

An attractive, familiar-looking woman was applying lipstick, no mirror apparently needed, and even at this distance I could see her rub her tongue over her teeth and practice a smile.

"What in the world?" I asked. "Who are those people, and why are they in my parking lot?"

"You're the journalist here, but I'm guessing that would be the media," Chris said.

I turned the bolt and stepped outside, distracted at once by the tornado damage visible by daylight.

"Look at my beautiful Bradford pears," I said to Chris."They're split in half." Bloom-filled limbs lay on the pavement."Wonder where the awning from the antique mall went?"

Chris pointed to the paper rack lying on its side in the parking lot, Rose's awning perfectly balanced on top of it. An ice chest lay next to it.

"Were you witnesses to the tornado?" a voice asked from a few feet away. "Did you take shelter in this building?"

I turned to see a young African American man with a clipboard standing near the bottom of the steps. He had the name "Byron" stitched on his shirt, right over a network logo.

"May we help you?" Chris asked.

"We'd like to interview you for a broadcast on the Green tornado," the man said. "We'll be live in five minutes."

I glanced at my watch. It was six fifty-eight, nearly twelve hours to the minute since the sanctuary doors had opened and I had started down the aisle toward Chris. The beauty of the moment flickered across my brain.

"I'm Lois Barker—ummm, Craig—Lois Barker Craig," I said, holding out my hand. "I'm the owner of the local newspaper.You're going to need to move your vehicle because my staff is due any minute."

My voice sounded rude, but I longed for even a snippet of control. Besides, our extra edition wouldn't be out for at least five hours, and I didn't like seeing the competition in my own front yard.

"You'll have to take that up with my boss," the news guy said. "We drove overnight from Atlanta and we're about to start our broadcast. I'm Byron, breaking news producer."

"I believe I'll leave this one to my wife," Chris said. "Lois, I'm going to do a quick check around the area. I'll meet you back here in fifteen minutes."

"Coward," I said into his ear as he reached in to give me a hug.

Rose walked over from her antique shop, around the corner of the gigantic van. "Well, if it isn't the newlyweds," she said."Don't you think the RV is a bit much?"

I could tell she was trying to be cheerful, but she looked worn out and her eyes were swollen.

"The media," I said in an exaggerated snarl. "Can't take 'em anywhere."

"Oh my," she said and held up a grocery sack. "I didn't bring enough biscuits for everyone."

"Biscuits?" Chris said, turning quickly.

"Did you get power back?" I asked. I wasn't sure which of the two thoughts excited me more, food or electricity.

"Gas stove," she said. "I came to check on things at the antique mall. Figured you and Chris wouldn't be sharing a romantic breakfast, so brought a few things. I'm here to help in any way needed."

"Do you have a tow truck?" I asked.

"Ma'am, I need you immediately," Byron said, tapping his foot and eyeing the biscuit Chris was wolfing down.

"I'll be right back," I said.

"Your name again, ma'am?"

"Lois Barker Craig," I said. "Owner of The Green News-Item. I realize this is an unusual circumstance, but you can't block our building."

As I walked with him to the van, one part of my mind surveyed damage and cataloged the extensive chores ahead of me. The other wanted to push the TV crew out of the way and regain control of my little piece of Green.

"And here with me live is . . ." the attractive woman glanced down at the tablet the guy handed her, "the owner of the local newspaper, Lois Craig. Thank you for joining us on what must be a very difficult morning."

"Joining you?"

"Can you tell us about what you were doing when the tornado hit, Ms. Craig?"

"I was serving cake and punch."

"Anything else?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

"I was thinking how much fun the next few days were going to be."

I babbled my way through the ambush interview and realized I must look like one of those yokels I made fun of on national news programs.

At least I used proper grammar.

I cried when my brothers and their families came to the paper to say goodbye.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" they asked. "We'll stay if we can help."

"Your biggest help is giving Chris and me a room at the motel," I said, trying to keep a light tone. With people out of their homes and the influx of members of the media, spare beds were hard to come by, and I wanted to stake a claim on one for us.

"This wasn't the wedding we thought we'd be attending," one of my sisters-in-law said. "But we couldn't be happier for you. Chris is a wonderful guy."

"We like him a lot," my youngest brother said. "Never thought you'd choose such a winner."

Tears rolled freely as they climbed into their rental car. My young niece leaned out the window with the bouquet I had handed her as I walked to the altar. I touched one of the flowers tenderly. The blossoms had opened a little since last night and smelled like a new bottle of perfume.

"Do you want it back, Aunt Lois?" she asked, thrusting it toward me.

"I want you to have it," I said.

"You'd better get back to work, sister," my older brother said. "Mom would be so proud of you."

On a regular day in Green, the good-byes would have taken longer than my wedding, everyone needing to hug every member of my family and say something sweet. Today, the words were quick with a promise of a return visit.

At my insistence, Chris went to check on Mannix before he started his day of hard labor. He returned looking tireder than after an August football scrimmage game. "The vet says he's hanging on, but he didn't bounce back ovenight. At best, he's probably going to lose a leg."

My head hurt as I heard the news and sent Chris off for rescue work, which was to start with a brief prayer service in the Grace Chapel parking lot.

"Give everyone my love," I said. "Tell them I'm thinking of them."

"It'll be one of the saddest church services we've ever had," Chris said.

Getting ready for the extra edition to come from a rented press in Alexandria, the staff rolled up its sleeves with grim determination, worse for wear but committed to putting together a near perfect report. The anecdotes were haunting.

"We were huddled in the hall closet when the roof blew off," a woman on a cot at the school gym said. "I thought we would be sucked right out through the ceiling."

"The hail hit my car so hard it broke the windows out," a young waitress said. "But it hardly touched my boyfriend's car in the driveway next to it."

Community correspondents e-mailed tale after tale, without being reminded.

"Miss Mattie and Miss Hattie West invite anyone needing shelter in the Pear Tree Road area to come see them," wrote one of our regulars. " We have an extra bed and plenty of rooms for pallets," Mattie said. "Hattie said to be sure to let folks know that they are equipped to handle cats."

"A photo album that appears to belong to the Dalzell family has been located in the ditch behind the home of Mary and Pete Nolen. They will hold onto it until you can get by," another correspondent wrote.

"Softball-size hail fell on the other side of Bayou Lake," one volunteer reporter wrote. "Thank goodness we don't have livestock because it could have knocked out a cow."

Nearly all of their reports included a message for me and the staff, offering thoughts and prayers about Tom and announcing their readiness to do whatever they could to help. I knew as soon as the streets were cleared and power restored, trays of homemade food would pour in.

Many stories involved hurt or missing pets, and I held Holly Beth in my lap while I edited them.

"My Colby, the bravest dog ever, shielded me with her body," one elderly woman said.

"Peanut and Pistol are the smartest cats," a farmer said."They hid under the mower in the shed, and we had to coax them out."

"My dog shot from my arms like a rocket," a teacher from Green High said.

"My puppy flew to the top of a tree," I wanted to add.

Katy, with tears in her eyes, painted the names of the dead underneath Tom's name on the newspaper window, adding a word or two about each person.

The first extra edition of the Item since the bombing of Pearl Harbor was trucked back to Green by noon.

The huge headline was in all capital letters and blasted off the page: TORNADO HITS GREEN; SEVEN CONFIRMED DEAD. The smaller head underneath continued the grim news: Dozens of Buildings Destroyed; Thousands Without Power.Most of the page was filled with an early-morning photograph by Tammy of an entire block wiped clean, a tea kettle resting on a set of steps with no house in sight.

The first copies were snapped up by regional and national journalists who seemed to have been airlifted into town by the dozens. Everywhere I or any other member of the staff turned, a reporter thrust a microphone in our faces.

The mayor looked regal as she gave interview after interview.She had changed into a fresh outfit and scarcely showed any strain, even though Alex told me she stayed up most of the night and personally tried to connect with the families of those who died.

Readers lined up outside the building to get copies of the newspaper, and Stan and Iris Jo rounded up a handful of carriers to sell them by the side of the road.

Once the Item was produced and distributed, the staff gathered in the conference room. Necessities were at a premium with most restaurants and stores closed, and Walt appeared with a large array of food and bottled water from a little grocery store about forty miles north. "I thought you could eat the fried chicken now, and save the fruit and chips for later."

"Some lucky woman needs to snap you right up," I said, my stomach growling at the smell of the boxes of chicken.

"Good idea, boss." Tammy gave me a friendly nudge and nestled up against her fiancé.

For a split second, things almost felt right.

Then I remembered Tom and Papa Levi and Mannix and my house and the many who were hurt and hurting. Suddenly the chicken didn't smell quite so good.

"How about if I say a blessing?" I asked. Rarely did a meal start in Green without a prayer. Never was I the one to offer thanks in a group. But if the staff was surprised, they didn't show it. I thanked God for the food and for keeping us safe and begged for strength for the days ahead.

Iris Jo, who had shown up for work before any of the others, looked at me with tears in her eyes. "Thank you for that."

The meal was to the point, like most of our conversations since the tornado hit.

"The hard part for the Item starts today." I wiped grease from my mouth as I spoke.

"Are you telling us last night was easy?" Linda asked."Because if you are, I don't think I'm cut out for the newspaper business."

"The big breaking story is the easy part. Adrenaline flows, and we do what needs to be done. But this story won't be measured in hours; it will be counted in months, even years."

"We need a plan," Alex said. "I'm too old to stay up all night very often."

Tammy rolled her eyes. "Puh-lease. Since when did you get old?"

"Since the town blew away," he snapped.

Usually Tom would have jumped in here, either ramping up the argument or calming them down. I felt his loss keenly, even looked over my shoulder as though he might walk through the door.

"Will we put out a Tuesday paper as usual, or try for another one tomorrow?" Stan asked.

The thought of doing a Monday paper had not crossed my mind, and my spirits soared—then sank. The staff was exhausted after only a day, and we had spent a huge chunk of our minuscule budget on the extra. I looked around the table.

"Let's do another special edition," Katy said. "People need to know what's going on."

"I'll call our main advertisers and see if they'll sponsor it," Linda said. "It'll be a public service."

Molly had been resting her head on the table and looked up. "I can lay it out. School's out for spring break, and I don't have many hours at the Pak-N-Go."

"We're on the priority list for power, so we may luck out," Stan said.

"We have to pace ourselves," I said, "or each of you will burn out within a week. Tammy, organize a photo plan. Linda, list the correspondents and figure out how we can utilize them.Their voices are crucial. Iris Jo can figure out how we're going to pay for all this. Alex, go home and take a nap. See you back at seven p.m. Grab news nuggets anywhere you go."

We would not be outdone by out-of-town journalists thinking they could take over our turf.

I walked over to the command center in the middle of the afternoon to establish my presence as a journalistic force to be reckoned with. The air was crisp and clear, the sun shining. It was about as different from the night before as possible.

The mayor was sitting on a bench to the side of the courthouse, a baseball cap and oversized windbreaker on. Her dressy skirt stuck out from the hem of the jacket, and she had on three-inch pink heels. If I had not found Holly Beth in a tree the night before and seen my house blown away, the sight would have stunned me.

"Running from the law?" I asked, sitting down next to her.

"From the press," she said. "I had no idea you people could be so annoying."

"Sorry. Comes with the territory."

"They're reporting the most outrageous things I've ever heard," Eva said, "and making us look like a cross between The Beverly Hillbillies and Sanford and Son."

"They won't stay long. They have short attention spans.We'll be old news in a day or two. They'll be off to cover a politician in a sex scandal or movie star sighting."

"I sure hope so. We need to feed people, find more drinking water, and get the electricity back on. I don't have time to fool with questions like, 'Mayor Hillburn, what does it feel like to see your town blown away?' What kind of idiotic question is that?"

"You've hardly taken a breath since it hit," I said. "You're handling this like you're a disaster pro, but you've lived here most of your life, have your hand in every part of Green. How does it feel?"

"My heart is broken, and I'm trying to hold it together for people who need me." She glanced around as though to make sure no one was looking. "I'm wearing a disguise to keep from talking to reporters, spilling my guts to my newspaper owner on a bench that wasn't here yesterday, and wishing I could go home and walk Sugar Marie."

"I can't get my mind around how we'll ever get Green back to where it was. Where are all these people going to live? Where am I going to live?" I asked.

"This will take every one of those leadership bones you've got in your body, Lois. Green can't do it without you and the Item."

"We couldn't do it without you," I said, standing. "By the way, where did this bench come from?"

"I have no idea."