I think my old lady’s got some leftover tortillas in the back of the bus that might taste pretty good to them young’uns of yours. Whady’all think?”
Shannon looked puzzled. “Tor-tillies? Is that real food?”
But it sounded marvelous to Melinda. Wiping her tears, “God bless you all!” she gulped. “Thank God for sending you! Thank God, thank God! We’ll-uh—look into a tow truck for our car tomorrow.” Another lie. Dear God, when could she stop being afraid? When could she stop lying?
Jeremy stared at these strangers and the bus. “Yes, sir,” he decided soberly, “God must’ve sent you. ‘Cause the devil wouldn’t be writing Jesus’ name all over a bus, now would he?”
A few minutes later Melinda, her children, Shannon, and the mewling new pet managed to find a place inside the well-packed bus, along with piles of quilts and pillows, toys, boxes of beauty shop supplies, more fully-stuffed garbage bags, and who knew what else. Plus Mr. Anderson, the driver who was already revving up his engine and pulling back out onto the pavement, and his family.
Immediately Pete’s wife SueAnn pulled out towels to dry everyone off. Next she opened Noah’s first aid kit, with elastic bandages for Melinda’s sprained ankle, and antibiotic salve and a roll of clean gauze for poor Shannon’s hand. Plus ice packs for both. After all wounds were cared for, everyone introduced themselves. Melinda, her foot propped up on a picnic cooler, had a hard time keeping it all straight. Mr. Anderson (“Noah to my friends, ma’am”) had left the Kentucky mountains years ago after service in the U.S. Army, headed for golden California. But when his old jalopy died in Iowa, he decided to join some migrant workers there until he’d earned enough to repair his car. He never left. For one of those workers was shy, dark-eyed Silvia Martinez, newly arrived from Mexico.
Romance blossomed along with the strawberry plants. Later came marriage, citizenship for Silvia, and three children. After working and saving for many years, they were finally able to buy their own little piece of land and go into truck farming for themselves. “We call it ‘Noah’s Park,’” Pete explained, grinning.
His father laughed. “Yeah. It’s back down that-thar county road you’uns just passed, a few miles ‘tother side of that crazy Osborn place. Lordy, I sure wish Rev. Osborn’d clean up that dump. My kids used to call it ‘A Stinking Whale of a Garbage Pail’. Them guards at the gate’s none too friendly, either. Once forced my bus right off the road. Ruined a prime load of my strawberries, but they just laughed. Told me if I didn’t like it, to go back where I come from. You ever seen the place?”
Had she?!!!
“Funniest thing,” Pete added, “coming down that road tonight, just before the highway, we found a huge pile of bundles smack dab in the middle of the road, along with some bales of hay. We hit the brakes, or we would have crashed right into them. So we picked up everything we could, ‘cause we didn’t want anyone else to plow into them and have a wreck.”
“Would you believe it?” chimed in Pete’s wife. “Now, potatoes or ears of corn falling off trucks—even hubcaps— are common as grasshoppers around here. So are straw hats and gym shoes. But not bags full of brand-new clothes and quilts. All hand-sewn. No idea where they came from. But we didn’t want anything to happen to them. So we shook the hay and gravel off ‘em the best we could and piled them into the Ark along with everything else. The hay we pushed to the side of the road; I’m sure someone can use it.
“Anyway, Noah’ll take the packages to Sheriff Shelton’s office in Lincoln County tomorrow after the market closes. If no one claims them, the Rescue Mission can always use them. We’re going there, anyway, tomorrow to take all these clothes donated by our church. Honest, that’s what’s in those garbage bags you see. Not,” laughing, “real garbage!”
Melinda learned more facts along the way. Pete, the oldest, helped his father on the farm part-time, along with managing the Anderson Alley Used Car Lot in Big Bend. He and his wife SueAnn lived in Big Bend, where she taught elementary school, besides caring for lively seven-year-old Sean and five-year-old Brittany. Noah’s two grown daughters, Rosita and Lourdes, didn’t live on the farm anymore, either, but stayed in Big Bend with Silvia’s never-married sister, “Conchita” Martinez, hard-working owner of “Conchita’s Casa”—a small combination beauty salon and general store. Quiet, petite, twenty-two-year-old Rosita worked at The Gondola, a local Italian restaurant, and attended Big Bend Community College part time. Her younger sister Lourdes, nineteen—tall, gorgeous, and bubbly—was a nursing assistant at Mercy General Hospital.
Or at least that’s what Melinda thought they were all telling her, over the sound of a lively Christian radio station, the roar of the bus engine, complaints of sleepy chickens cooped up on the bus roof, gulps from everyone on bottles of water, and the giggles and shouted suggestions from Jeremy, Amber, Brittany, and Sean over what to name this new little kitty. The precious pet now safe in Noah’s Ark, just as they all were. Finally, by general consensus, “Miracle” won out. Holding up her bandaged hand, Shannon joined in the vote.
After a while they reached a large, well-lit sign announcing “Sunshine Roadside Park, State of Iowa.” With a smaller one adding, “Overnighters, please park in the back.” Soon they were all loudly and comfortably digging into an impromptu picnic of tortillas, beans, corn on the cob, and milk (pulled out of the cooler). The happy kitten got a saucerful too.
“My, look at the time!” SueAnn exclaimed. “We’ve got to get you children to bed if we’re going to pull out of here before daybreak tomorrow. Everyone grab a pillow and blanket out of the back and pick your own seat, no sharing.”
“Mommy, could we listen to the radio a little while first?” her young son asked. “Please? So we’ll have some music to go to sleep with?”
His mother looked at Melinda. “It’s the one we were listening to earlier—a Christian one. Do you mind?”
A Christian radio station. Mind? Until tonight, she hadn’t been able to hear one in years! “That would be wonderful.” The program they turned on seemed to explode with joy. Soon they were all singing along to some delightful praise songs, old and new. Except, of course, for Shannon and Jeremy and Amber, who had never heard any of the songs before—but were thrilled with the music, just the same.
Soon Pete turned the back inside lights down, and lowered the radio volume. Within minutes, the exhausted children slipped away into dreamland.
Suddenly static erupted on the radio. Followed by an announcement, “We interrupt this program for a special All Points Bulletin! The Lincoln County Sheriff ’s Department reports a kidnapping of three children, one boy and two girls, by their babysitter. The children are wards of the Rev. Harvey Osborn, head of the Osborn Christian Ministries compound near Cottontree. The babysitter, Melinda Currie, is reported to be mentally unstable and a pathological liar. She may pretend to be wounded. She may also be armed and dangerous. It’s believed she murdered her own husband. The woman and one of the girls have long blonde hair. The boy and other girl have dark hair. We have no vehicle information. We repeat: This is an APB. Anyone who sees this woman or these children should contact the nearest police or sheriff ’s department immediately!”
Melinda’s heart seemed to stop. Pete turned off the radio grimly, “All right, Miss, whoever you are. You owe us an explanation!” Noah’s smile had disappeared, as well. Pulling a long rifle out from under the driver’s seat, and setting it squarely on his lap, “And it better be good, ma’am, or I’m reporting you to the Park Ranger right now!”
Chapter Eight
Praying as she’d never prayed before, Melinda replied softly, “My name is indeed Melinda Currie. And I don’t really have a car. But the rest you just heard is all lies. Jeremy and Amber are my own birth children, born to my husband and me during our years back there on the Osborn place. Shannon Obermeyer here is our dear friend and my