2019
R. Linda:
Ah, yes! Yesterday's headlines were THIS: Torrential Rain Inches Closer! More Rain Expected Later Today! - Monster Nor'easter Slams Coast; See Timeline! - How Much Rain Will We See? - Wind Gusts Topping 40 mph Batter The NH Coastline! - Possible Power Outages!
I awoke to a spring, or what is also called a farmer's rain. Light, misty stuff. The wind was calm, but would gust gently and disappear. I sighed. All was right with Gabe's world. I had no clue if the headlines were honest or just sensational. I purposely didn't turn on the local news. I was quite content not to know whether anything was going on. Because in my world, everything was fine.
I was enjoying me coffee and croissant when, in the back of me mind, the image of Freddie, the squirrel, clinging to the kitchen window screen came back. I got up and looked out. All was quiet, no birds, no chipmunk, no Freddie. Hum. Well, that doesn't bode well, I told meself. But the weather wasn't threatening; it wasn't something that would keep one indoors, surely.
About lunchtime, Mam was complaining of headache and arthritis flaring up. The arthritis usually does that on humid days, but the headache - now there's a barometer if ever there was one. Headache usually means bad weather. I looked out; no wind to speak of, but it was raining, not a heavy one, no pouring or pounding.
"Where's this big storm we were supposed to get?" Tonya asked.
We were having afternoon tea, and there was no rain, no wind, just overcast weather.
"Probably not happening. It reminds me of a soft day in Ireland. We have lots of this," and I pointed out the window at nothing happening outside. I even heard a bird calling when I let the dog out.
"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," Mam said. "Me head be better, but dat can mean some Scottish wetter coomin' in."
"What? Scottish what?" Tonya was confused.
"In Donegal, dey git da Scottish gales frum across da sea. Dey are pounden' rain, an' the wind can howl like a wolf around da hoose. Dat's why I call it sooch."
"Okay. I thought you were from Newry; that's on the other coast." Tonya was still confused.
"I've lived all o'er Ireland, I haf. Donegal the longest. Dose gales were ferocious, let me tell you."
All went quiet over the teacups. No one said a word for a long time. Each of us was deep in our thoughts.
The only ominous thing is the way the dog, cat, and Mam are acting. She is very quiet, and she stops what she's doing to listen. I don't know what she's listening for. The dog is sticking to her like glue. Everywhere she goes, he goes. Even her cat is acting strangely. It doesn't like the dog, but it's sticking with them both.
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| This was at 10:54 a.m. today. Dark! |
Some of us slept all day; that would be the kiddos. Mam decided to make jelly, and Tonya was catching up on the TV programme The Traitors. I did some work I had left from the office, and nothing much was happening outside.
Sam rang; he asked to come over. He said he got his chainsaw repaired and since we were all trapped indoors by the "monster storm", he might as well come over and get that branch.
I have a dead tree limb that's about to fall into the driveway, and I need the chainsaw for that. But really? Today we were going to take out a tree limb? I thought he was joking, just looking for an excuse to be with company, so I quipped that he was welcome, but to watch out for falling trees and floods on the way. Sam reminded me that this storm is the usual for us, and he too wonders why the news and weather stations are making it a big deal when it isn't.
Sam arrived with his chainsaw at the ready. I was gobsmacked. The man saw no problem with going out in the wind and rain to cut down a dead tree limb.
"Wot are ye doin' wit dat?" Mam pointed at the chainsaw as he dropped it in the mudroom.
"Thought I'd take that dead limb down for you."
We stared at him. He was serious.
"During a nor'easter?" I said.
Sam looked over his shoulder at the rain.
"Gabe, I've showered in worse than this."
Ma'am spoke up, absolutely forbidding us from doing anything with a chainsaw outside in "da wetter."
Sam thought that was ridiculous. I sided with him because the storm was a joke. As this "discussion" went on, Tonya came in and overheard us all arguing.
"Are your mother and I the only two who have the sense to realise that two grown men standing under a tree with a chainsaw, in wet weather, is precisely how local-news stories begin?"
"Neider one of ye be toocing dat tree," Mam announced.
Sam looked at me, and I looked at Sam.
"Why not?" I asked.
Mam stood looking at me with her jelly spoon clutched in her white-knuckled hand like a weapon she wasn't afraid to use on either of us.
"Because dere's wetter coomin'."
Sam glanced through the kitchen window.
"There is weather, Mrs O'Sullivan. It's called drizzle."
"Mock me if ye like."
"I'm not mocking you."
"Ye are!"
"I'm mocking the weather people."
"Same ting. Poot dat machine away." She pointed at the chainsaw sitting in the middle of the mudroom.
Sam leaned towards me. "Is she always like this?"
"Today? She's actually fairly relaxed."
Mam pointed the wooden spoon at both of us.
"I heard dat. I be standin' roight 'ere."
Mam went into her Scottish weather prediction and headache, coupled with arthritis, and then the animals' reactions being off from their normal ways. Those arguments did nothing to allay any trepidation Sam may have harboured. He picked up the chainsaw and started for the door. He called the dog, but the dog refused to go outside. The cat bolted out of the kitchen like we'd ask it next.
"Come on, boyo," I called.
The dog backed farther into the kitchen.
Sam stopped and didn't open the door. He looked at the dog and said, "Huh."
"What?" I said to him.
"Nothing."
"No, no. You don't get to 'huh' after spending ten minutes telling me there's no storm."
"I didn't say there was a storm."
"You just huh'd."
"Dogs are weird."
"You huh'd, Sam."
I walked past him, opened the door and signalled him to follow.
While we were looking at the limb, the wind stopped. Completely. Sam observed that the trees weren't moving. The rain was falling straight down. No birds, no sounds, nothing. For the first time, Sam wasn't joking around; he was deep in thought.
"Gabriel and Samuel," Mam called from inside the screen door, and I think I heard her mutter to herself, "Dat rhymes it does."
"Yes?" I shouted.
"Get in a hoose, ye two eejits."
Sam looked at the sky, then at me.
"Maybe we'll do the branch another day."
I grinned. Mam got to him.
"What happened to 'I've showered in worse than this'?"
He gave me a rueful smile.
We went inside; Mam had returned to her jelly. Tonya was in the lounge watching The Traitors. I poured cups of coffee for Sam and me. We both glanced at the chainsaw resting in the mudroom. It hadn't been more than ten minutes when a tremendous CRACK sounded outside. We all froze. Sam and I ran to the window.
 |
| The dead limb Sam was about to stand beneath was lying across the driveway. |
Mam's voice came from behind us.
"Aye."
Neither of us turned around; we looked at each other knowingly.
"Not one bloody word, Mam." I threw behind me.
"I dint say nuttin'".
Sam looked at me and whispered, "She knows something. She's saying it with her face."
"She does that."
We looked around at her. There she was, calm as can be, stirring the jelly.
Gabe
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