Darla's Story by Mike Mullin Read Free Book Online Page A

stopped to use the bathroom, which was
lucky, because while I was in there, I noticed the vinyl cove
molding that served as a baseboard in the bathroom. The molding was
about four inches tall, thin, flexible, and strong—perfect for
making a round concrete form. I ripped about five feet of it off
the wall and carried it out to the barn with the end table.
    Saturday morning, I finished assembling the
gristmill—or at least did everything I could do while waiting for
the concrete to set—and Mom and Ruth ground the rest of the corn
we’d harvested the day before. In the afternoon, all three of us
ventured out into the field to harvest more.
    It took me less than fifteen minutes on the
tractor to clear most of the ash off an area as big as we could
pick in one afternoon. I shut the tractor down and hopped off to
help pick the corn.
    Ruth straightened out and looked my way.
“That tractor handles the ash real well.”
    “It’s made for muddy fields. That’s why the
rear wheels are so big. Ash isn’t that different, I guess.”
    “I’ve got to be going soon,” Ruth said.
    “You’re welcome to stay with us,” Mom
said.
    “Oh no, I couldn’t. I need to get to Omaha,
to make sure my Esther, Rachel, and Peter are okay.”
    “They have parents, don’t they?” I said.
    “Well, of course. But Bruce works all the
time. Naomi might need help. And with the phones and Internet down,
I haven’t heard from them in more than a week.
    “I’m sure they’re all right,” Mom said. “The
Lord will keep them in the palm of His loving hand.”
    I looked away to hide a scowl, forgetting
again that the breathing rags hid my face completely. Mom had no
way to know they were all right—in fact, they probably weren’t.
    “You could take me,” Ruth said. She stared at
me with a hungry look in her eyes. “On your tractor.”
    “Take you? To Omaha?” Ruth was nodding as I
went on. “That’s more than 300 miles. And the top speed on this
tractor is fourteen miles an hour. I don’t have enough gas—”
    “I’ll pay for the gas.”
    “Or time. And how were you planning to pay
for gas? If there’s any for sale. Which I doubt.”
    “I brought my platinum card.”
    I couldn’t even think of a reasonable
response to that.
    After a moment of silence, Ruth added, “If
you won’t drive me, how about selling the tractor?”
    “No.”
    “I brought my checkbook, too.”
    “The tractor’s not for sale,” I said, staring
her down.
    She turned to Mom. “I’d pay well.”
    “It’s Darla’s tractor, not mine. If she
doesn’t want to sell, that’s her choice. And she’s right, you know.
You won’t be able to buy anything with a credit card or check.”
    “I’ve got to get to Omaha,” Ruth said.
    “Maybe Darla would drive you into
Worthington. Could be that someone there has a vehicle they’d
sell.”
    “Mom!” I didn’t want to waste half a day
hauling Ruth to Worthington.
    Mom gave me the stare that said, Don’t fight
me on this.
    “Okay,” I sighed. “After the grinder is
finished. And we have all our corn ground. I’m not gallivanting off
to Worthington before we have plenty of food laid in.”
    “But how long will that take?” Ruth asked. “I
was hoping to leave tomorrow.”
    “A few days.”
    “But—”
    “Deal with it.”
    “Darla!” Mom snapped.
    “Sorry,” I muttered.
    “She’s right, though,” Mom said. “In a few
days we can have enough cornmeal laid in that we can send some with
you. Maybe not enough to get you to Omaha, but enough to keep you
fed for a few days.”
    “I wanted to leave tomorrow,” Ruth muttered,
bending to resume picking corn.
     

Chapter 11
     
    We picked corn until it got impossible to
see. The ash had mostly quit falling, but it was still dim and
gray, even in the middle of the day. At twilight, the sky faded to
pure black. Then we sat at the kitchen table for what seemed like
half the night, shucking and grinding corn by candlelight. We were
amassing quite