Albert stood near the forge hammering a piece of orange glowing steel on an anvil to shape it into a part he was making. On the other side of the shop, Vince held a hand-powered breast drill against his chest, leaning into it as he cranked the handle to turn a drill bit. Small bits of metal flowed from the hole he drilled in a thick piece of flat stock. I grinned, I'd heard the ancient looking drill called an eggbeater drill, and the name fit perfectly. I removed my gloves and opened my coat. The shop was warm. It was a great place to be in the winter, but hell in the hot, summer humidity. Both tradesmen acknowledged me with a nod and a smile but continued to work, so after a while I zipped my coat, pulled on the gloves, and left.
Kira and I were up before dawn, as usual, the next morning. Tentative knocking at the door interrupted our breakfast of bacon, eggs and the last of the potatoes from the root cellar. I removed the two stout beams holding the door closed and opened it. Verlie stepped inside from the light snow. A cold blast of air carried flakes inside with it until I closed the door tightly. The near zero temperature kept the snow dry; it was light and fluffy, and at least four inches had accumulated in the past hour. Verlie stomped her boots before she turned toward the table. In the dim light cast by the flickering flame of a single candle, tears ran down her cheeks.
Kira ran to her and clasped her shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"It's Doc. I checked on him this morning. He died during the night. He's stone cold."
I hugged both women tightly. "I hate to lose Doc, but at least his suffering is over. We'll have to clean him up, put clean clothes on him and put him back in bed. This evening before dark, we'll have an hour long visitation for everyone to stop in and say their good-byes."
Seven-year-old Kat ran barefoot to Kira and clung to her for attention as she rubbed her eyes.
Kira said, "Sorry we woke you, baby. Come to the table and sit on my lap to stay warm."
To both I said, "It's too cold to bury Doc. We'll let the fire die in his cabin and leave the body there until the ground thaws."
I poured Verlie a cup of chicory and wheat grain coffee "I made his casket two months ago along with two extras. After the service, we'll put Doc in it and lay him in the back room. That portion of roof stays in speckled shade and should help keep the body frozen. That's all we can do for now. It's early March. In another month, spring will roll in and the frost will leave the ground."
The visitation was held that evening. Most people came with their children and stayed about fifteen to thirty minutes to visit. Toward the end, approximately ten adults and their children squeezed into Doc's bedroom with a small overflow in the living room. John Alton read several passages from the bible he'd begun toting around. Most of the group sang four old hymns I recognized from attending church forty or so years before, back when I was about six. When the mourners were gone, Shane and I placed Doc in the wood casket and set it on the floor in his patient treatment room. I'd hidden the remainder of our elderberry wine in Doc's medical cabinet earlier. I retrieved it, and we sat on Doc's pine casket. As Shane and I traded stories and remembrances of our years with Doc, we toasted his memory until the quart jar was empty.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The late March temperature turned warmer, and the ground thawed enough to dig. Shane and his son Larry joined me and my son-in-law Mitch to dig Doc's grave. His gravesite was a hundred yards from the cabins on a small rise above the riverbank where Doc had often sat in good weather. Anthony Margherio and Marilyn Jarnigan were interred nearby. With four strong, willing men, it was only a few hours work. The surface dirt was wet and muddy, but the deeper we dug the firmer and drier the soil became. After lunch, our entire group gathered for Doc's burial ceremony. It was a long ceremony because so many of his friends had testimonials to recount about their interactions with Doc. John Alton read from his bible to the accompaniment of several "Amens." Copious tears ran down sad faces as the unadorned wood box was lowered into the excavation with ropes. All four of the excavators stuck around after the service to fill the hole with the dirt removed only hours earlier. We finished stomping the dirt down before I hung my head and said my own version of a prayer for Doc. Lastly, a wooden marker was driven into the soft soil to mark his final resting place.
Shortly after dawn several days later, I partially filled one of the huge steel wash kettles with clear river water and then built a roaring fire under it.
Shane rode off as I lugged the final buckets of water up the riverbank. He planned to spend the day, and maybe another, hunting deer and wild hogs. We'd talked several times about becoming suppliers of meat to the other survivors in exchange for their services, and we were close to implementing it with an announcement to all our friends. It was time for each family to start taking responsibility for themselves. They'd have to develop their own skills to trade for the meat we'd furnish.
Our three kids played with several others near their age while Kira stirred the dirty clothes submerged in water and lye soap. We'd taken
