her gaze as the two upstairs levels of the farmhouse slid toward us like the top layers of a wedding cake.
We all turned and ran. From a safe distance we watched in disbelief as the entire mass shuddered, then thundered to a heap on the ground.
When the dust had settled, we staggered numbly to the debris and stared into its mass—boards, pipes, plaster, furniture, clothes and bathroom sinks. The huge chimney had fallen, and though parts of the farmhouse living room walls remained upright, there was no longer a ceiling or a roof. Nothing was left but a pile of rubble and bricks.
It was Dana who pointed out that the ground was no longer shaking. “Do you feel that? It’s stopped.”
We stared at each other, a mixture of relief and fear in each face.
“It’ll start again,” Grace said. “When it’s this big, there are hundreds of aftershocks.”
“She’s right,” I agreed.
I didn’t want to admit how frightened I was. Authorities in Seattle had been warning for years that the Big One was coming, and if this was it, there would be hundreds, perhaps thousands of aftershocks, and possibly even tidal waves, the dreaded tsunamis. I wondered how close the epicenter was.
My gaze swung to the kitchen wing, which was new and one-storied. It was still standing, though windows had popped out and parts of the roof had caved in.
“Listen,” I said.
Grace looked in that direction, her voice sharp. “To what?”
“It’s too quiet in there.”
Everyone turned that way.
“Oh, my God, Timmy!” Amelia cried. She swung around to Grace. “You should have let me go to her!”
“I saved your ass, old lady,” Grace shot back, hands on her hips. “You could be under that rubble with them.”
Amelia flushed, her face red and tear-streaked, hands shaking. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
I broke in. “Stop it, both of you! For God’s sake!”
“It doesn’t look all that bad,” Dana said softly. “They could be okay. But what about Jane and Kim?”
A wave of fear swept over me. Had they—had anyone else—survived?
“Timmy can’t be all right,” Amelia said querulously. “She would be here by now, checking on us. Something’s happened to her, or she’d be here by now!”
We no longer had access from the front. Heading at a run around the side of the house, we made for the back kitchen door. Slowing down as we reached it, Dana held her arm to staunch the renewed bleeding, and Grace rubbed a finger beneath her nose, which only smeared the blood that had been coagulating there. My legs shook, and I could see that Amelia was none too steady. I reached out and took her arm, urging her to lean on me.
The kitchen door stuck, but we were able to force it open despite the objects that had fallen against it. Once inside, the scene stopped us in our tracks. Though parts of the roof were indeed unscathed, there were huge, gaping holes. The entire inside ceiling had fallen, as had the skylight. Glass was everywhere, on cupboards, tables, in the sink, on the floor. Copper pots, which had hung gleaming on the walls only moments before, lay in a pile. Dishes had flown from cupboards and were strewn from one end of the room to the other. The huge stainless steel refrigerator had slid and lay on its side halfway across the room from where it had stood for years. Its door lay open, and jars of home-preserved jams had fallen out and broken. Reddish-purple streams of blackberry and raspberry jam flowed like blood onto the floor.
It was this that caught my attention first. I thought it was blood, and I ran to it, then realized my mistake. At the same time, I heard a moan.
“Quiet!” I yelled at Grace, who was issuing orders to Amelia and Dana to search through the rubble. “There’s somebody here.”
We lifted the heavy appliance together, all four of us at one end, and pushed it out of the way. The person under the fridge was Lucy, and as her condition became clear, Amelia began to cry. “Lucy…oh, poor Lucy.”
I checked her pulse, though it wasn’t necessary. Lucy’s neck was broken, her head twisted at an odd angle to her body. “She’s dead,” I said quietly.
“Poor, poor thing,” Amelia whispered, rocking back and forth on her knees and touching the other woman’s face as if to bring her back to life.
“For God’s sake, woman!” Grace said. “It’s not like she was your best friend!”
Amelia’s breath caught on a sob. She looked around frantically. “Timmy? Where is Timmy?”
“I heard a moan,” I said. “If it wasn’t Lucy—”
We began to toss debris aside, and in a corner we finally found Timothea, semiconscious, her eyes closed.
Amelia gently touched her face. “It’s all right, it’s all right, all right…” she murmured over and over.
I stroked the gray hair back from Timmy’s forehead, which was smeared with blood. Dana went to the sink for a wet rag. When she turned on the faucet, nothing came out.
“Damn!” She rummaged under the sink for bottled water, then in the open cupboards. Finally, she uncovered a bottle in the wreckage on the floor.
“Not too much,” I warned, as Dana wet the rag. She looked at me questioningly.
“We don’t know how long we’ll be without, or how much more we’ll find,” I said. “We’d better ration it.”
Dana nodded and screwed the cap back on the water bottle, handing me the dampened rag. I wiped the blood from Timmy’s forehead, and she opened her eyes. They registered shock, then comprehension, then worry.
“Is everyone all right?” Her voice was shaky, but her grip on my arm was strong.
“We don’t know about Jane and Kim, yet,” I answered. “The rest of us are fine. How do you feel?”
“Sore. Sore all over.” She tried to sit up. “Lucy? She was over—”
I pushed her gently back down. “Just rest, Timmy.”
“But Lucy—”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. We can’t do anything for her.”
Understanding came over Timmy’s face. “Oh, no. Oh, no. Dear God.” Tears welled in her pale blue eyes.
“We don’t know about the cottages, yet,” I said, “but the entire upstairs and parts of the living room have collapsed. I’m sorry.”
Timmy squeezed her eyes shut briefly, then nodded. “I’m all right. I really am. Help me up, will you?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Just help me up!” she said angrily. Her mouth trembled, as did her entire body. “I have to take care of things!”
She put a hand on my shoulder to pull herself to a sitting position. Reluctantly, I helped her to stand, then turned to Dana and Amelia. “Will you take her outside? Stay with her?”
I turned to Grace. “Come with me and we’ll check out the cottages for Jane and Kim.”
Two hours later there were seven of us on the dark lawn, wrapped in blankets, with salvaged pillows and bottles of water beside us. Just that afternoon there had been ten women at Thornberry. We couldn’t know the fate of the two assistants who had left for Whidbey, but here on Esme Island, one of our number was now dead.
We had wrapped Lucy’s body in a blanket scrounged from the debris, and laid her to rest, temporarily, under what Timmy told us was her favorite tree. We didn’t know how long that “temporary” status might last. There was no law or rescue service on the island, and neighbors in