A Very Special Delivery

difficult subject.
    “He stayed in Uncle Robert’s camper, the one
he takes to Broken Bow Lake every summer.” She didn’t want any rumors getting started. She had enough of those to deal with. “He’s a good guy.”
    “I think you made an impression on him, too.” A grin split his wide face. “He came by the house yesterday afternoon.”
    Molly wanted to know how Ethan looked, how he was, and what he’d said about her, but didn’t ask. Some things were better left alone.
    “He told me about the cut on your leg.”
    “Clumsy me.” She patted the sweat pants covering the area. “But it’s almost healed now.”
    “Lucky thing you had a paramedic on hand.”
    “Aunt Patsy says Ethan’s presence was part of God’s plan. Do you believe that, Pastor Cliff?”
    More than once she’d wondered what she would have done if Ethan had not been there to help her.
    “I never argue with Miss Patsy. She is a wise woman.”
    Molly couldn’t deny that, but she still struggled to understand God’s hand in all that had happened, not only Ethan’s presence during the ice storm, but baby Zack’s death. A plan that included such a tragedy didn’t make much sense to her.
    They rode along in silence for a while, jostling and straining over the patchy ice and red mud until the farm came into sight. The broken tree limb, looking naked and forlorn, lay in the front yard where she and Ethan had left it. Other limbs had given way and lay scattered about. The yard remained frozen with only patches of dead grass visible beneath the shiny ice.
    “I really appreciate the ride, Cliff,” Molly said as they pulled into her driveway and parked.
    “Don’t you want to check the house before I leave, make sure everything’s in working order?”
    She hopped out, eager to be home, to reclaim the relative peace she’d fought so hard for.
    “That’s okay. The electric company repaired the broken line. If I need anything I’ll have my Jeep.”
    Cliff hesitated. “You sure?”
    “Positive. Tell Karen hello for me.”
    “Come to church Sunday and tell her yourself.”
    Molly grinned and slammed the door. Pastor Cliff would never give up. It was both an endearing and an exasperating quality.
    The truck spun away, mud and water splattering the fenders. Molly waved, then walked carefully across the yard and into the house, eager to get busy. Most of her refrigerated goods would have to be discarded, and laundry was piled high in the basket, so after removing her coat, she set to work.
    Deciding to get the laundry started first and save the more time-consuming clean-ups for later, she went into the utility room and sorted through the stack of clothes. A tiny pink terry-cloth sleeper peeked from beneath the pile.
    Lifting out the baby pajamas, she got a funny catch beneath her ribcage. The memory of Laney’s warm, sweet scent and soft baby skin rolled through her.
    She placed the item in a stack of delicates. Laney needed this, and keeping it would be wrong. She’d have to return it.
    Some perverse part of her leaped at the idea.
    After filling the washer, she pulled the on knob—and heard a deep, airy gurgling.
    Great. Just what she didn’t need. With the power off for such a long time, the water pump must have lost its prime.
    But as she started out the back door to check, another sound took preeminence. Not gurgling, but humming. The humming of an overworked well pump. One look at the yard told her why. Water stood in small lakes and flowed from beneath the house. Not the gentle trickle of melting ice, but a flood that could only mean one thing:
    The water pipes had burst.
    With a sinking heart, she rushed to the main valve and shut off the water.
    Five phone calls later, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and groaned.
    Pipes were burst all over the county. No one was available for weeks.
    Dread weighed her down as she accepted the inevitable.
    “Well, Samson,” she said to the cat who’d trailed her all over the house, curious about her fidgetings. “Looks like you and I are heading back to town.”
    She’d survived an ice storm. She only hoped she could survive the aftermath.
    * * *
    “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Gonzales.” Molly squeezed the old woman’s cold fingertips. “I’ll get someone over to your place to relight the furnace right away. You stay here, have a nice lunch and enjoy yourself until I do.”
    One of Molly’s favorite things about working in the seniors’ center was the relief on a