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| The Storm Cellar www.camplittlemore.blogspot.com |
After supper, Robert announced that being stranded had improved considerably.
I agreed. Canned vegetables and meat had never tasted so good.
Robert had stoked the little wood cookstove until it crackled cheerfully. The old kitchen still had a table and enough chairs for us, and we drew them close to the warmth. Rain rattled against the windows, but inside, our damp coats were drying and Mini lay stretched out near my feet.
It was hard to believe that only hours ago we had been staring at a torrent pouring across the road.
Father laid the former owners’ note on the table.
“They couldn’t have known who would need their kindness,” Sister said.
I thought of the root cellar where we had found our supper. In the lantern light, the jars had looked like treasure—peaches, beans, carrots, and preserves, all neatly waiting on their shelves.
I wondered where the owners were tonight, and whether someone was being kind to them.
Robert put another piece of wood into the stove.
“There,” he said. “That ought to keep us comfortable.”
Then Sister opened our Fatima book, and we began our Reading Club meeting around the kitchen table.
Tonight we heard about Jacinta carrying home the branch on which Our Lady had rested her feet. Lucy’s mother would not believe her at first. But when she took the branch, a wonderful perfume rose from its leaves, and everyone nearby noticed it.
I tried to imagine it. Our kitchen smelled of wood smoke and supper. What would it be like if a fragrance from an ordinary branch suddenly made everyone stop and listen?
“Did Lucy’s mother believe her then?” I asked.
“She began to listen differently,” Sister said. “She and the family became gentler toward Lucy.”
I was glad. It must have been terribly lonely to tell the truth and still be scolded.
Then we read about the sacrifices the children made for sinners. Some were so painful that I looked up from the book.
Father noticed.
“Their wish to help others came from love,” he said. “You needn’t hurt yourselves to follow that love. There are plenty of chances to be patient, generous, and helpful.”
Robert glanced at the supper dishes.
“Even washing those?”
“An excellent beginning.”
The part I kept thinking about was the hungry children waiting beside the road. Jacinta and the others gave them their lunches, although it meant going without food themselves.
I looked at my empty plate.
Only a little while ago, I had been hungry. Someone I had never met had left food for us, and now I was warm and comfortable with a full stomach.
“Father,” I said, “the people who lived here shared their supper with us. They just weren’t here to hand it to us.”
He looked at their note.
“Yes, Kathy. They did.”
A sudden gust shook the window. Mini lifted her head, and we all listened as something outside banged twice.
Robert started to rise, but Father held up his hand.
“Stay here.”
He took the lantern and checked from the doorway. A loose shutter swung in the wind.
“Only a shutter,” he reported, coming back into the kitchen.
“Quite enough excitement for tonight,” I said.
Robert grinned and gathered the plates.
“I’ll wash if Kathy dries.”
“I will.”
There was warm water on the cookstove. Sister helped us tidy the kitchen while Father checked the stove and set aside wood for the morning.
Before we finished, I found a scrap of paper and wrote a note to leave beside the owners’ message.
Thank you for helping us. We were very hungry, and your supper was wonderful. We washed everything and left plenty for the next people. We are praying for you.
I signed it from all of us.
“And Mini,” Robert reminded me.
So I added her name too.
When I sat down again, Mini rested her chin on my shoe. The stove gave a little pop, and Father settled into his chair.
We still didn’t know when we would reach Ames. But for that evening, we had a warm kitchen, a good supper, and our book open on the table.
I hoped the owners would someday come home and find our note.
I wanted them to know their kindness had reached us.
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