CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Journey stood on the wide verandah of her great-uncle Myles Victorian home. The wind was blowing so hard, she had to hold onto one of the posts for support.
“I know you’re up there, you stupid moon,” she railed at the dark sky. “Why don’t you show yourself?” Despite her scolding, the moon did not show its face and neither did the stars. The only illumination was one fierce lightning strike after another. When a mighty bolt would rip through the sky, Journey could see the clouds swirling around like they were in the bowl of a huge mixer. “I’m trying, Reno. The weather isn’t cooperating!”
“Mother Nature is certainly putting on a show. You might as well sit down and enjoy it.”
Journey jumped a bit at the unexpected voice. She’d been alone on the porch for thirty minutes, trying to get a glimpse of the elusive moon. “Hello,” she greeted an older gentleman whose name she couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad with names.”
“George Vernon. I’m a first cousin to Myles on his mother’s side.”
“Journey Stanton. I’m his great niece.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” Journey backed up a bit to be free of the blowing rain. “Whew. I’m getting drenched.”
“Come sit on this bench, it’s somewhat protected by this trellis of magnificent purple wisteria.”
“Thanks.” She joined him in the cozy recess. “This weather is crazy, isn’t it?”
“It’s beautiful. I’ve chased these miracles of weather all my life.” His voice sounded wistful. “There is nothing more thrilling to me than seeing the anvil top of a big storm rising on the horizon. To me, it looks like the cloud from a hydrogen bomb.”
“That’s an eerie comparison.”
“They can be equally deadly, for sure.”
“So, you’re a storm-chaser, like on the movie Twister?”
He chuckled. “Actually, I’m a meteorologist. I’ve done everything from being a television weatherman to manning a weather research center in the Antarctic.”
“You’ve led an interesting life. Me? I make essential oil concoctions to sell.”
“I bet your customers are more satisfied than mine. Everybody likes to pick on the weatherman.”
“I guess you’ve seen some monster storms in your day.” The more she encouraged this interesting little man to talk, the less time she had to miss Reno.
“Oh, I have. Blizzards. Hurricanes. Gales. All storms are infinitely fascinating, but to me – nothing beats a good tornado.”
“A good tornado,” Journey repeated what the man said with a touch of skepticism in her tone.
“That’s right. Despite all the study and research, tornados remain mysterious, perhaps more mysterious than we realize. Why, the sight of a funnel can be spellbinding. After all, nothing that big should be moving. Right? And the way they do move is eerie, as if the storm itself is alive and aware. And it may be, who knows?” He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
“I suppose. I’ve never seen a tornado in person, just on television.”
“Your luck may change tonight. Fortunately, for us. Texas has more recorded tornadoes than any other state.”
“Fortunately?” This made her laugh.
“Indeed. Oh, not for casualties. Loss of life is always tragic. But for someone who studies them, Texas and Tornado Alley is heaven on earth. The first recorded tornado of any size was in 1902 in Goliad. One hundred fourteen lost their lives, forty who were hiding in a church. Survivors reported a funnel-shaped cloud charged with fire and huge, rolling balls of lightning.”
About that time, a huge bolt struck a tree not too far in the distance and Journey grabbed hold of Vernon’s arm. “You’ve got a great soundtrack going here.”
He patted Journey’s hand to calm her nerves. “In 1979, there was a whale of a tornado right here in Wichita Falls. A monster with multiple vortices, all twirling like a Spanish dancer, each one the size of a regular tornado. As I remember, there were times when one of the funnels exceeded a mile in width. One man was sucked up and found himself spinning through the vortex of the funnel. Above him was a twirling mobile home trailer with a woman peering out the window. And when a bed flew by, he thought if he could just grab onto it, he’d go right to sleep. Next thing he knew, he woke up in the hospital. For years, he walked around Wichita Falls and told anyone who’d listen his story.”
“I believe you’re pulling my leg, George.”
“All true. I swear.” He glanced at his phone, the light from the screen glowing eerily. “According to the Doppler, we might not have to chase this storm. It just may come a calling.”
This alarmed Journey a little. “Should we go to the storm cellar?”
Vernon held up his phone. “I’ll let you know. I’m watching it carefully.”
Journey let her breathing ease. “I’ve never been to a wake before, much less been through a tornado.” If she’d attended a wake for her parents, she didn’t remember it. “This is a little odd for me.”
“Well, this is an odd situation. Most decent people arrange for their wake to be held in a funeral home. Instead, here we are with Myles holding court in the living room, stretched out in a nine thousand-dollar coffin.”
Journey pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “If we have to go to the storm cellar, will we take him with us?”
Vernon laughed. “Myles was a big man and that’s a helluva coffin. I don’t think we could wrestle them both downstairs.” A zap of lightning lit the porch of up like daylight. “No, we’ll just let the tornado carry him up to the sky like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Oh, no. Poor Uncle Myles,” she said with a giggle, then grew sadly sober. “Lately, I wish I could be carried up
