Part 4 continued

With Savalli out of the room Rockrider asked his grandmother, “Do you remember any of the things he has said?”

“Things were different everywhere,” she said, “I try not to remember. “

“Why?” her grandson asked.

Leila answered, “That was the day I lost your grandfather, which is enough to remember.”

“You never talk about what happened to grandpa. Was he killed by the terrorist?” Rockrider didn’t expect her to answer but Savalli’s story had awoken an interest in him that had not been there before.

Leila looked at her grandson. She could see so much of Russell in him. She had never told Rockrider how much he favored his grandfather, not only in appearance but also his personality, his inquisitive nature. How she wished they had known each other.

As he expected she did not answer his question, “If the rain doesn’t stop soon our guest may have to spend the night. Would you bring some blankets up from the cellar, please?”

Another loud clap of thunder signaled that the rain wasn’t ready to stop anytime soon. Savalli entered the room just as Rockrider was standing up. When he saw the old man he sat back down, ready to hear more of this man’s story.

“I feel much better, now where was I?” Savalli said with a smile.

“You were in Vermont.” offered Rockrider.

“And about to tell us about a certain ‘her’.” Leila added.

Savalli smiled, looking at his small audience. “I don’t think I was quite there yet, Vermont or to talk about her. A good story begs the patience of its audience.”

The wind outside intensified, shaking the cottage. A loud crash rang from outside as the wind threw some unknown object against the house. Titus jumped to his feet and barked at the sound. It was Rockrider this time that calmed the dog with words of reassurance.

Savalli asked, “Do we need to check that out, it sounded awfully loud?”

Leila looked at Rockrider, “Do you have any idea what that might have been?”

“Not one that you want to hear. I hope it wasn’t part of the greenhouse. I can’t think of anything else that would be able to make that loud of a sound. Unless it came from somewhere else, the wind is strong enough.” Rockrider continued, hoping to comfort his grandmother, knowing his own suggestion that it may have been part of the greenhouse had disturbed her, “Yeah that’s it. I am sure it must have come from somewhere else.”

Leila thought of the Nivellie,even though the plant was more than twenty years old, she feared its delicate structure would never survive the ravage of this weather if the greenhouse’s protection was even partially torn away. Common sense was the only thing that dampened the sense of urgency to run and check on the greenhouse. If the wind could carry the heavy walls of the greenhouse imagine what it would do to her.

“Maybe we should look; perhaps we can see what it was through a window.” It was Savalli who broke the silence.

Rockrider ran to the front room of the cottage and pulled the heavy drapes away from the front window. The rain ran down the panes in dark rivulets.  Like a small child peering through the frosted window of a Christmas Shoppe Rockrider cupped his hands on either side of his face and placed his nose on the glass. Titus had followed Rockrider into the living room and stood beside him, front paws on the window sill, looking outside.

“Can you see anything” Leila asked.

Thirty seconds passed before Rockrider answered, “I can, but I can’t tell what it is. But I don't think it is not part of the greenhouse.”

“Thank God!” Leila rejoiced.

The old preacher had joined the boy and the dog at the window, “Do you mind if I take a look?” he asked. Rockrider stepped aside and let Savalli take his place. More time passed before the old man said something.

 “Well I’ll be damned. I haven’t seen one of those in years.” He laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Leila and Rockrider both asked at the same time.

“It is an old Schwinn Continental bicycle. Or what’s left of it anyway. I had one just like it many years ago.”

Leila took her turn at the window and saw the old bicycle leaning against the house, positioned as if someone had stood the bike on its handlebars. The rear rim, there was not tire or tube left on it, spun in the wind. For the first time since the storm had begun Leila thought of hurricanes. She had lived through two hurricanes in her lifetime, but none had ever traveled this far in land. She and Russell had been vacationing at Virginia Beach once when a hurricane had unexpectedly turned back towards the coast; it was a vacation she would never forget.

Savalli asked, “Is it your bike?”

“No,” Leila replied, “But I think I know where it came from. There is a Schwinn Museum in Roanoke; the storm must have carried it in.” She was careful not to use the word hurricane, no need to add more worry to the day.

“All the way from Roanoke? That would be on heck of a storm.” Rockrider pointed out.

Savalli, not as concerned about worry said, “There is probably a hurricane, although it seems late in the year for the tropics to churn up such anger.”

Leila waited to see her grandson’s reaction to the little man’s statement. After a minute and no response she decided that it was a good time to change subjects.

“Well I believe you still owe us a story Savalli. Should we return to the kitchen or stay here and enjoy Mother Nature’s show in the background?”

“I was just thinking how comfortable and inviting that overstuffed rocker looks. I vote we stay here.” Savalli said with a smile.

Leila scooted into the kitchen and returned with the water bottles and a tray of cut vegetables. Rockrider prompted Savalli, “So what happened after you learned about the resistance fighters?”

“So you were listening! Very good Rockrider, you will make a good storyteller, the world can never have enough storytellers.”

 Savalli closed his eyes, paused for just a moment and then continued,” The news of fighters brought hope to our camp, but you soon discover that hope alone is not enough when the human spirit, or in this case—spirits, face challenges they are unaccustomed to. Things that we had taken for granted— food, shelter and even bathing had suddenly become scarce. A leader for our own group had not yet materialized. Many turned to me but I am not that man. Yes I had been the pastor of a church, a position of leadership, but a pastor leads by following God and quite honestly it had become increasingly difficult to find God in all that mess.”

Savalli’s voice had cracked on the last few words; Leila saw tears running down the old man’s face. No attempt was made by him to hide them or wipe them away. Behind the tears she could see the pain of loss, the agony of realizing an unwanted truth. She touched his hand, silently comforting and encouraging.

Rockrider asked him, “But you did; didn’t you?”

Savalli looked at the boy, “Did what?”

“Find God.”

“No.” Savalli uttered a small laugh, “He found me.”