Flood Friday by Lois Lenski
Loud bumps could be heard downstairs. Things were banging around. Sally wondered what time it was, but the electric clock had stopped when the lights went out. She heard a bell ringing.
“That’s the phone,” said Daddy downstairs. “Ringing under water. Somebody’s trying to call us.”
“Uncle Paul from Burlington, I expect,” said Mother. “He’ll be worried about us.”
Then the town siren went off, long and loud. The children put their hands over their ears.
“That’s the signal for everybody,” called Daddy. “We must go. We’ll have to wade to the car. I left it at the end of the driveway where it’s higher.”
“But the water!” Mother looked out the upstairs window. “It will be up to our waists, it’s rising so fast.”
Daddy looked up the stairs. He was standing in the water below. The downstairs rooms were already half full.
“We can make it,” said Daddy. “We’ll carry the children on our backs.”
Suddenly a man’s voice called out, “Quick! Get out of your house, Graham. There’s no time to lose.”
“We’re coming!” shouted Daddy. He called to Mother, “Al Barker and some of the firemen are out there. They’ve come to help us.”
“Just in time,” said Mother.
“Come to the upstairs window over the porch,” Barker shouted. “We’ve got a boat.”
“Thank God,” said Mother softly. “Grab your clothes, children.”
Karen picked up one of Bobby’s coats, tied a scarf round her head, and picked her big rag doll up out of its bed. Sally put on an old jacket of her mothers and her father’s old hat. The little boys couldn’t find their shoes. It happened so quickly in the dark.
The next minute Daddy was upstairs.
“Quick,” he said to Mother. “I’ll go first. You hand the kids out to me.”
He picked up the baby and crawled out the window onto the porch roof. It was all so sudden, the children made no sound. Taking what lay nearest at hand, they climbed out the window one by one, with Mother’s help. They slid across the roof into Daddy’s arms. First the little boys, then Karen with her rag doll and Sally. Then a suitcase of clothes and the basket of food. Mother came last. Al Barker helped them down. The next minute they were all sitting in a boat—all but Bobby.
“Bobby, come on!” called Mother. “What are you doing?”
Bobby crawled out the window, with a piece of cardboard in his hand. He slid to the edge of the porch roof, leaned over and pinned the card to the porch post. Then he jumped into the boat.
The card had words printed on it in black crayon. In the dim light, Daddy read it aloud and laughed. “ ‘NOBODY HOME BUT WE’LL BE BACK.’ That’s the right spirit, son.”
“Oh, we forgot Rusty!” cried Sally. “He’s asleep under my bed.”
Daddy whistled and called. The dog heard, jumped on the window sill and barked. Daddy crawled up and brought him over. Rusty tumbled into Sally’s lap. All the children patted him. They could not leave old Rusty behind.
Fred Joruska, another volunteer fireman, had lashed a rope around the trunk of the elm tree to anchor the boat by the porch. The wind was blowing, making rough waves, and it was still raining hard. Fred released the rope and took up the oars. Al Barker tried to start the outboard motor, but it was wet and would not spark. Mr. Graham helped Joruska with the oars. Bouncing over the rough water, the boat carried the Graham family to safety.
“I never saw such a big river before,” said Jack.
“Where are we going?” asked Tim. “To Maine?”
“Hush!” said Mother. The baby began to cry and Mother held her close.
Soon the boat pulled up on a rise of dry land. Everybody got out. They looked around bewildered. It was still raining hard.
“Where are we?” asked Sally.
There was a house on a small hill. Sally knew it at once. It was the Boyds’ house. It was where Barbara, her girl-friend, lived.
2
AIR RESCUE
THE BOYDS’ HOUSE WAS dark.
“They’re not awake,” said Mrs. Graham. “It must be very early.”
“They’re lucky to live on a hill,” said Mr. Graham.
“Where we going, Daddy?” asked Tim. “To Maine?”
“If we had our car,” said Mother, “we could go to Uncle Paul’s in Burlington.”
“We should have started an hour ago,” said Daddy, “instead of moving that furniture. Then we could have had the car. Now it’s full of water.”
“Couldn’t we go in the Boyds’ house?” asked Sally. “They’d let us.”
“There’s no light,” said Mother. “They must be gone. We couldn’t go in anyway. We’re soaking wet.”
The men in the boat called to Mr. Graham and he hurried over. Mrs. Graham stood waiting, the baby in her arms and the children huddled around her. Bobby held Rusty in his arms. Daddy came back.
“They need me to help,” he said. “We’re going to see about the Dillons and the Marcianos and the Meyers and all those people. It’s low there—they are all under water. They were warned in time, but we are not sure they’re all out. Will you …”
“We’ll be all right,” said Mother. “Go and help them. Don’t worry about us.”
“Try and get a ride to Uncle Paul’s,” said Daddy.
“We will,” said Mother. “Somebody will take us, I’m sure.”
The men had started the motor now. Mr. Graham got in the boat and they rode off. A block below the Boyd house, in a hollow, stood the Dillon house. It was surrounded by water. The motorboat passed beyond to houses lower down.
Sally held her little brother by the hand. She kept looking at Mother to see what she would do. Karen and Bobby held to Mother’s arms, half asleep.
A car came up and a strange man got out. He wore a Civil Defense helmet. He went to the Boyds’ door and knocked loudly.
“Get out!” he called. “The river’s rising.” There was no answer.
He came over to Mrs. Graham and she told him her story.
“You’re lucky to get out,” he said.
“Could somebody drive us to my brother’s in Burlington?” asked Mrs. Graham.
“No cars available,” said the man. “Too many bridges out. Better not try it. If you have friends up in the hills, go to them. Plenty of people are sleeping in their cars up in the hills.”
“Our car—it was under water,” said Mrs. Graham. “We left it standing in the driveway.”
“It’s down the river by now,” said the man. “They’re taking in refugees at Union School. Can’t you walk? It’s not too far.” He knocked at the Boyds’ door again.
A light flickered inside. The door opened and there stood Mrs. Boyd. She was up and dressed after all. Barbara stood beside her. The man repeated his warning. He told the Boyds to get out.
“Oh, but we’re on high land,” said Mrs. Boyd.
“We’re warning everybody,” said the man. “Stay at your own risk.”
“Are the Dillons out?” asked Mrs. Boyd, pointing to their house.
“They can’t get to them,” said the man. “The current is too swift. Their house is going to go. They were stubborn and waited too long.”
“Oh, that poor woman,” said Mrs. Boyd, “and all those children, sick with the flu. There are seven of them. They’ll be drowned. Can’t I help get them out?”
“You can’t do a thing,” said the man. “You’d better get out yourself. Go while you can in your car. The river will be up here in half an hour, if that dam up north breaks through. The whole Bend will be flooded.”
Mrs. Boyd looked at the man.
“We’ll go,” she said, “but not till the Dillons are out.”
The man turned his back. He hurried to the houses beyond.
“Hi, Barbara!” called Sally. “Hi, Barbara!”
Mrs. Boyd had not noticed the Grahams before. She turned to look at the little family group.
“Is that you, Carrie?” she called
“We’re wet to the skin,” said Mrs. Graham. She told of their narrow escape.
“Oh, I’m so glad you made it,” said Mrs. Boyd. “Come in and get dry. I’ll fix breakfast.”
Sally helped Barbara set food out and soon they were eating. It was good to be with Barbara again. Mrs. Graham put the baby and the little boys down on a bed, and soon they were fast asleep. Karen and Bobby fell asleep, too, and even the dog, Rusty.
“I was awake all night,” said Mrs. Boyd, “waiting for Jim to come home. He’s been out since noon yesterday. I guess I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t see you folks out there at all.”
“It’s good you live on a hill,” said Mrs. Graham.
“I don’t think the river will come up this far,” said Mrs. Boyd. “Most of the River Bend houses are so low. They should never have been built in that hollow at all. They were flooded in 1936 and now again.”
“I remember,” said Mrs. Graham. “They were just summer cabins at first.”
It was morning now, but not much brighter, for the sky was heavy with black clouds and it was still raining hard. Mrs. Boyd said she would be afraid to drive the Grahams to Burlington, because the radio had reported so many bridges out. Then, too, she did not want to leave until the Dillons were rescued.
Barbara listened, while the women washed dishes and talked. Then she saw Dan and Ronnie Boyd run out the door.
“Let’s go with them, Barbara,” said Sally. The girls followed.
“There goes a boat,” said Dan. “Let’s go see them rescue people.”
“It’s going to the Dillon house,” said Barbara. “They must be still inside.”
“Maybe the house will wash away,” said Ronnie.
Sally’s heart skipped a beat. What had happened to their own house since they left it? Could a house really be washed away?
The children went down to the water’s edge and watched. The old river banks could no longer be seen. The river was like a great wide lake. Three rows of houses in the lower Bend were half-covered with water. The river was rushing madly downstream. Uprooted trees were floating, also boxes and trash and lumber. Over by the Dillon house, the current was strong.
Two houses came floating down the river. They smacked into each other and one of them broke in half. The broken half hit a floating tree and part of it went under.
The boys laughed. “Look at old Half-and-Half!” they cried.
Sally held to Barbara’s arm.
“It’s somebody’s house,” she whispered. “It’s somebody’s house.”
“Maybe they got out like you did,” said Barbara.
The children watched in silence. A strange-looking airplane appeared in the sky. It had two whirling propellers on top. The children had never seen one like it before.
“Gee!” cried Ronnie, who was only seven. “It looks like a giant eggbeater!” The girls laughed.
Only Dan knew what it was. “A helicopter!” he said.
“It’s coming right over the Dillons’ house,” said Barbara.
“I see somebody at the upstairs window,” said Sally. “Maybe it’s Tommy—or Mike.”
Sally began to tremble. She had stood at an upstairs window herself. She knew what it was to watch the water come up higher and higher. Now the same thing was happening to Tommy Dillon, whom she hated. Why didn’t Al Barker and Fred Joruska come in their boat and take them out, too?
The helicopter, a small one, hovered over the flooded houses. The man in it did not seem to see a small figure waving a white towel at the window of the Dillon home. Soon the machine disappeared in the murky, cloudy sky.
“I thought helicopters were supposed to rescue people,” said Dan in disgust. “But this one never did a thing.”
“The Dillons will just have to swim out,” said Ronnie. “Only Mike—he don’t know how. He’s afraid to even get his toes wet.”
Sally remembered all the mean things Tommy Dillon had done to her. But now he was in trouble. How could she go on hating him? Still—he’d better give that compact back, or else … There was Mike, too, just Karen’s age. The older girl, Mary, had just come home from the hospital, and Helen was in High School. Besides, there were the little ones. What if their house got washed away, with all of them inside?
The children watched in silence. Then they heard a put-put-put sound. A motorboat appeared. Two men were in it, one a policeman. The motor sputtered and died, and the men could not start it again. The boat bounced up and down on the waves. The men tried to row it, but the current was swift. They could not make any headway. It tipped over twice and they righted it, then climbed back in.
“They are trying to get to the Dillons,” said Barbara.
Several cars drove up and people got out. They stood and watched, too. Among them was a River Bend neighbor, Mrs. Toska and her daughter Annabelle.
“Whose house is that?” asked Mrs. Toska.
“The Dillons’,” said Sally.
“Are they in it?” asked Mrs. Toska.
“Yes,” said Barbara. “They’re all sick with the flu. That’s why they didn’t get out earlier.”
“Tommy’s not sick,” said Sally. “He was well enough to swipe my compact yesterday.”
“Too bad they didn’t go sooner,” said Mrs. Toska. “I heard the Webbs’ house went. I hope they got out in time.”
“There won’t be a single house left in River Bend,” said Annabelle.
The boat could not get near the Dillon house. The men had beached it now on an isolated rise of land near by. One of the men started casting with a fishing rod. Now Mr. Dillon, who could be seen at the upstairs window, caught the line. A rope was tied to the other end and Mr. Dillon pulled it in. The men shouted back and forth. They tied their end of the rope to a tree on the hill.
“That’s to keep the house from going,” said Mrs. Toska.
The men on the little island got in the boat again. They rowed over to the road and got out. The Civil Defense man came up in his car and they got in with him. They all drove off.
“Well, I like that!” cried Dan in disgust.
“Are they going away and leave them?” cried Sally. “Why don’t they help?” Though she hated Tommy, she desperately wanted him to be saved.
“What can they do?” said Barbara.
“They must be going to radio for help,” said Mrs. Toska.
“The house is starting to move,” said Dan.
“The rope will hold it,” said Barbara.
“Help! Help!” Mr. Dillon called from his window. Behind him, the white faces of his wife and children could be seen.
Sally hid her face in her hands. She could not look any more. Just then, a whirring, buzzing sound was heard.
“Another helicopter!” cried Dan. “A bigger one this time.”
Excited now, the children watched.
“It’s going to save the Dillons,” shouted Dan. “It’s coming down to their window.”
But the machine did not come down. It hovered over the house, with a long rope dangling. The rope came down in front of the upstairs window. After a while, it moved away. Mrs. Dillon hung to the rope, with the loop around her arms and shoulders. The youngest child, little Frank, clung to her, his arms around her neck. The machine and the figures moved through the air.
“They are coming this way!” cried the spectators.
Sally and Barbara did not wait. They ran back to the Boyd house.
“Mother! Mother!” they cried. “Oh Mother, do come quick!”
The two women came rushing out of the house.
“The Dillons are being rescued,” said the girls, pointing.
The women looked up and saw the helicopter coming over.
“Oh, that poor woman,” said Mrs. Graham. “Do you suppose they’ll bring all those children over like that?”
They watched the machine. It came down closer and closer. The man in it was making gestures to the people on the ground.
“He wants to land her here,” said Mrs. Boyd.
“Yes, it’s coming lower,” said Mrs. Graham.
The two women rushed to Mrs. Dillon as her feet touched the ground. She had fainted and now fell into Mrs. Boyd’s arms. Mrs. Graham took little Frank. The Civil Defense man, who had returned, took the rope off them both.
“I want my baby! I want my baby!” cried Mrs. Dillon. The child was put in her arms again.
“Won’t you come in my house and lie down?” asked Mrs. Boyd.
“Oh, my children! Where are they?” cried Mrs. Dillon.
Two by two the Dillons were rescued. Clinging to the long rope, they were carried through the air and brought down to safety—to friends.
Mrs. Boyd brought Mrs. Dillon and sick Mary and the ailing babies into her house. She gave them coffee and milk. She found pillows and blankets for them and they lay down to rest.
All but the boys, Tommy and Mike. They stayed outside and talked about their ride through the air.
“I bet you were scared,” said Sally.
“No, I liked it,” said Tommy. “It was fun.”
He did not sound like the old Tommy she had known before.
3
SCHOOL BY DAY
THE CHILDREN CROWDED ROUND the Dillon boys in the rain. It was exciting to see a boy who had had a helicopter ride. Tommy did not act silly today. His face looked white and he was serious.
“Why didn’t you folks leave your house before?” asked Dan.
“We got home real late last night,” said Tommy. “Me and Mike and my Daddy went to a movie, and when we got home we went to bed.”
“Couldn’t you hear when the policeman banged on your door?” asked Dan.
“They came once and told us to go back to bed,” said Tommy. “They said they’d watch and see how high the river came and come back and tell us. My father was up at two o’clock. The water was going down then, so he went back to bed. At three o’clock the water came back up again, but the police never came to tell us. They must have gone to sleep in their duck.”
“No,” said Dan. “The men have been rescuing people all night in boats, my father, too. That motorboat tipped over about four times, trying to get to your house. We watched it.”