The Parting Glass. Emilie Richards
bottom, and at the sight of them, he looked relieved. “I don’t think anyone was buried in the rubble,” he said in a low voice. “There’s no sign anybody was that close. Some people were hit by flying debris. There’s some blood and some bruises, but none of the injuries are life-threatening. We’re doing a head count now.”
“Nick, there’s no exit.” Megan stepped aside to let Peggy and her aunt by. “There’s a tree blocking the kitchen door.”
“Jon told me.”
“Maybe it’s better if we stay inside until the fire department can get to us. Outside must be as bad as in. Wires must be down, trees are down. If nobody’s seriously hurt here—”
“Megan, a couple of people claim they smell gas.”
She couldn’t breathe again. She was angry at herself for succumbing to fear, but anger was not inflating her lungs.
“Take it easy,” he said, spotting her dilemma. “Let yourself go limp. Don’t think about breathing….”
She obeyed as well as she could. In a moment the light-headedness passed and air was moving again. “What’s wrong with us?” she gasped. “Why didn’t we have the radio on? Why didn’t somebody warn us?”
He ignored her question and began to catalogue their options. “We can’t get out through the front. The roof is precarious. If we start moving debris, more of it could fall, and somebody could be injured or killed.”
“We put a steel door in the kitchen two years ago after that carjacking. There’s no way we’ll be able to break it down, not with a car and a tree in front of it.”
“Are there other exits? Anything I don’t know about?”
She tried to think. There were no windows on the sides of the building. “Kitchen window?”
“Too small for most of us, and blocked besides. The tree did a lot of damage.”
Now she understood why no one had allowed her near the kitchen.
“We might be able to get the smaller children out that way if we have to,” he continued.
Megan had often fantasized about a picture window over the side work counter. She had told herself she would put one in someday, even if the view was mediocre and she had to add bars for security. “The fire department must be on the way,” she said.
“I don’t think we can count on them coming quickly. I’m sure we’re not the only casualty.”
“There’s a hole in the roof.”
“No help.”
“The gas won’t build up, will it? Even if there’s a leak, it’ll dissipate.”
“I’d rather not find out.”
“Are the phones—”
“Dead. And so far nobody’s gotten a cell phone working. The local tower might be down, or the system could be flooded with calls.”
Jon arrived. “Rooney’s missing.”
Megan looked at Niccolo, searching his eyes. “Did you see him recently? Do you remember? The last time I saw him, Aunt Dee had him tucked under her wing, but she was upstairs with Kieran when the tornado hit.”
“He was with your uncle Frank,” Jon said.
“Is Uncle Frank—”
“Fine. But he lost Rooney after the tornado.”
“Were they in the front?”
“No, in the back. He should be safe, but he’s disappeared.”
“Anyone else missing?” Niccolo asked.
“Not that we’ve discovered. Unless somebody was here alone with no one to vouch for them.”
Megan frantically tried to think. “Where could Rooney be?”
“Upstairs?” Jon asked.
“No, we were just up there. Maybe he’s hiding. In the kitchen or behind the bar?”
“We checked.”
“Storeroom?”
“Checked it.”
“The cellar,” Megan said. “Did anybody check the cellar?”
The cellar door was located—inefficiently—inside the kitchen pantry. The cellar itself was tiny, damp and unpleasant, and only used for storing kegs or a temporary overflow of canned goods.
“I can’t imagine he’d go down there,” Jon said. “Will he even remember the cellar’s there? I didn’t.”
“It’s hard to tell what he remembers. But for a long time the saloon was his life. He knows every nook and cranny.”
“I’ll check.” Jon turned away, but Megan stopped him.
“No, let me.”
“I’ll come with you,” Niccolo said.
“Shouldn’t you and Jon stay up here and try to figure out what to do?”
“It will only take a moment.”
They started through the throng of guests toward the kitchen. Megan was impressed with everyone’s calm. She heard weeping, and coughing from the dust, but order had been maintained. She comforted people as best she could and promised they would know what to do shortly. When she reached the kitchen, she saw the old maple tree lying in front of the window, heavy branches like arms lifted imploringly toward the sky. Greta and another kitchen staff member were waiting for them.
“I don’t know why this window’s still in one piece, but it is,” Greta said. “Do you want us to knock out the glass?”
“Not yet,” Megan said. She couldn’t imagine anyone escaping that way. Perhaps a small child would fit, but no one could know what awaited a child outside. For the moment it was better to keep everyone together. “Greta, have you been here the whole time? Since the tornado hit?”
“I ran out into the saloon right afterwards. We all did. To see what happened.”
“You didn’t see Rooney come in here, did you?”
“I wasn’t paying attention.” Greta sounded contrite, as if she should somehow have had her wits completely about her during the crisis.
Megan was fighting panic. “I smell gas,” she said. “Very faint, but noticeable.”
“The stove is off,” Greta said. “And I blew out the pilot light. That was the first thing I checked when I came back in here.”
“We’ll check the furnace when we go downstairs, but it’s fairly new, isn’t it?” Niccolo asked.
“Last winter,” Megan said.
“Then it should have a safety shutoff. That’s probably not the problem.”
“Let’s find Rooney. One thing at a time.” She put a hand on Greta’s shoulder. “Hold the fort, okay?”
“We’ve got clean towels, and we still have water. We’ll help people clean up as best we can.”
Megan headed for the pantry. The cellar was so rarely used that boxes of supplies partially blocked the doorway, taking advantage of every inch of room. The saloon had always needed more storage area. Now it would need so much more than that.
“I guess he could have gotten through without moving anything. If he stepped over these, opened the door a crack and squeezed through,” she said, pointing to the boxes.
“The electricity’s off, so there’s no light down there.”
“We’ve always kept a couple of flashlights on a rack in the stairwell. I never go down without one. I’m