The Raging River
When the people of Puritan Falls woke to the fifth straight day of rain, several concerned residents walked or drove along River Road to check the level of the water.
"Nothing but more rain ahead according to the Weather Channel," Officer Shawn McMurtry complained in The Quill and Dagger bookstore.
As is often the case in small towns, the weather was the main topic of conversation.
"That could mean trouble," Josiah Barnard, the proprietor of the Sons of Liberty Tavern, remarked. "The river is already inching over the banks."
The two men immediately fell silent as soon as the door opened and Connie Gifford entered the bookstore. When the new customer saw both men turn away with embarrassment, it was not difficult for her to guess what they had been discussing.
Rebecca Coffin, the owner of The Quill and Dagger, tried to dispel the uneasy quiet of the shop.
"I got that new James Patterson novel in today," she announced cheerfully. "I know he's one of your favorite authors."
The retired customer smiled with gratitude.
"That's wonderful. I was hoping to find a good book. In this weather, there's little else to do but read or clean the house."
Nearly four decades earlier, Connie had lived on River Road, but now she owned a house on Naumkeag Hill, which was in no danger of being flooded by the rising water of the Puritan River.
While Shawn McMurtry and Josiah Barnard drank espresso at the bookstore's coffee bar, Connie walked around the shop, examining the new releases. McMurtry changed the subject from the weather to baseball, preferring to discuss the Red Sox's chances of battling the Yankees for the division title than to talk about the likelihood of flooding within Connie's earshot.
When she left the bookstore with James Patterson's latest novel tucked under her arm, Connie immediately put up her London Fog umbrella, but with the strong wind blowing the rain at a forty-five-degree angle, there was little she could do to stay dry. By the time she walked across the street and got inside her Subaru, she was nearly drenched.
The most direct route home from the center of town was to take Danvers Street due west. That would take her in the opposite direction from the rising river, yet Connie found herself heading east. She was not even aware she had turned off Essex onto Gloucester. It was as though a force was pulling her toward the river, a hand reaching out of the past to seize her ....
* * *
The winter of '68 had been a hard one. There were several major snowstorms in January, February and March and a late blizzard in early April. The melting snow, coupled with a rainy spring, caused the Puritan River to overrun its banks. It was not unusual for the water to rise in late April. In fact, the people who lived along River Road often had to pump water out of their crawlspaces and cellars after the spring thaw, so when Connie Gifford woke up that late April morning, she was not worried by the sight of the river encroaching upon her back yard.
She calmly took a shower and drank a cup of coffee, enjoying the peace and quiet of the early hour. Soon Sherry, her sixteen-year-old daughter, would wake up, and the sound of rock 'n' roll music would invade the serenity of her home.
An hour later, Connie was dressed and backing her Ford Galaxy out of the garage. Her mind was on her job and on the news of the war in Vietnam, not on the weather. As she drove away, she never glanced back at the river that was steadily making its way toward the house.
Later that morning Connie sat at her desk, drinking her second cup of coffee and editing the first chapter of a new science fiction novel. Her trusty red pen in hand, she was about to correct the author's error in verb tense when the phone on her desk rang.
"This is Mrs. Gifford," she announced when she picked up the receiver. "May I help you?"
"Hello. This is Enid Carstairs from Puritan Falls High School."
Connie felt an instant rush of anxiety. Had Sherry been hurt in gym class?
"I'm calling to inform you that your daughter isn't in school today," Enid continued.
It was standard practice for the high school office to inform parents of all truant students, even well-behaved honor students like Sherry.
"Thank you, Miss Carstairs. I'll phone home and check on her."
"Be sure you send a note with her when she comes back to school," the woman firmly reminded her.
Enid Carstairs, it was commonly known, was an unmarried, conservative churchgoer who did not hold with mothers who left their children at home and entered the workforce.
"I'm well aware of school procedures concerning absenteeism," Connie replied with a cool tone, for the young widow was a liberal agnostic who did not hold with conservative churchgoers who passed judgment on others.
Connie sighed when she hung up the phone. False modesty aside, she felt she was doing a fine job raising her daughter, especially given the fact that she had no one with whom to share the responsibility. Yet despite the lack of a father, Sherry was an extremely bright, caring and creative girl. She was her mother's pride and joy, the love of her life.
Outside, the menacing dark clouds made good on their threat. There were no tentative showers that slowly grew in intensity. It was as though someone had turned on a faucet, producing an instant drenching downpour. Inside, Connie ignored the storm and dialed her home phone number. After six rings, Sherry picked up.
"Hello," the teenager muttered in a sleepy voice.
"Hi, Honey. It's me. Why didn't you go to school today?"
"Not long after you left for work, I got sick to my stomach."
"There must be a virus going around," her mother commiserated. "We have three people out in the office. You go lie down and get some sleep. I'll check back later to see if you're feeling better."
Reassured that her daughter was not playing hooky—not that she ever seriously considered it—Connie went back to work. By the time she began reading the second chapter of the sci-fi manuscript, the storm had worsened, and the lights in the office flickered on and off with increasing regularity.
"I'm so tired of this rain!" exclaimed Alvina Farrar, a fellow editor who was currently reading through a gothic romance manuscript.
"I kind of like it," Connie said. "It's nice and cozy to curl up on the couch with a good book and hear the rain pattering on the roof."
Alvina shook her head.
"How can you read for enjoyment? Don't you get enough of the written word at work?"
"Here I read what the company tells me to read. At home, I read what interests me."
"Like Peyton Place?" Alvina giggled. "I heard that book was really something."
"Why don't you read it and find out for yourself?"
"My husband would have a fit if he caught me reading such a book!"
"What business is it of his what you read? It's your mind."
"That's easy for you to say. You don't have a husband—oh! I'm so sorry!" Alvina apologized when she remembered that her coworker was a widow.
"Don't worry about it. Besides, you're right. I don't have a husband. Perhaps if I did, I wouldn't be reading so much."
Connie good-naturedly winked at Alvina and then went back to work.
At eleven o'clock, the phone on Connie's desk rang again. This time it was not the school; it was her daughter. In the background, she could hear Sherry's stereo playing. The song was one of her daughter's current favorites, "Incense and Peppermints" by the Strawberry Alarm Clock.
"What is it, Sweetie? Are you feeling worse?"
"No. I feel better now. I just called to tell you that we've got water in the basement."
Connie looked out the window. The rain was coming down even harder.
"Okay. I'll call Uncle Steve and ask him if he can stop by the house with his pump. There's no need for you to worry. Everything will be fine."
* * *
At noon Connie and Alvina stopped for lunch. Not wanting to brave the storm to go to the local deli, they chose to suffer through the overcooked hamburgers and cold fries being served in the cafeteria. In the lunchroom, one of the young men who worked in the warehouse sat down at the next table. He had his transistor radio tuned to a local station.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Gifford," he called to Connie. "Don't you live on River Road in Puritan Falls?"
"Yes, I do. Why?"
"They just announced on the radio that they're going to evacuate people that live along the river."
Connie was not alarmed. Such actions were simply precautionary. Still, she preferred not having Sherry alone in the house if there was talk of evacuation.
"Excuse me, Alvina. I want to go call home."
When Sherry answered the phone, Connie noticed she was still playing her records. Only now it was "Time Has Come Today" by the Chambers Brothers.
"Mom? Is that you?"
"Yes, Honey," Alvina replied, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music.
"Mommy, the whole basement is flooded now. It's creepy down there."
"I know. Listen. I want you to put your pajamas and a change of clothes in a bag, put on your boots and raincoat and walk down to Aunt Polly's house."
Connie's sister lived only a few blocks away. Sherry should not have any difficulty getting there.
"It's so dark in the basement," the teenager continued as though she had not heard her mother's instructions. "I can't see the floor. It's ...."
"Never mind about the basement. Just go to Aunt Polly's."
"Mommy, I'm scared."
Her daughter fell silent. All Connie could hear were the words of the Chambers Brothers.
Time has come today. Young hearts can go their way.
"Sherry? Sherry, can you hear me?"
Can't put it off another day.
"Sherry, answer me!"
I don't care what others say. They say we don't listen anyway.
But there was no reply from her daughter.
Time has come today.
* * *
Connie's supervisor was very understanding when she asked to leave early, perhaps because he had children of his own, or maybe it was because Connie was a good employee who rarely took time off. The distraught mother was so anxious to get home to her daughter that she did not waste time getting her Totes umbrella out of her briefcase. She simply sprinted across the parking lot and was soaked through to the skin by the time she reached her car.
Even with her wipers on, Connie had difficulty seeing the road ahead.
"Just stay calm and drive slowly and carefully," she told herself. "It won't do Sherry any good if I have an accident.
Her palms began to sweat as she tightly gripped the Galaxy's steering wheel. Under the best conditions, it took close to thirty minutes to drive from her office in Essex Green to her home in Puritan Falls. In the deluge, she thought, it would take a lot more time. Time. She remembered that the Chambers Brothers had been playing when she last spoke to her daughter.
My tears have come and gone. Oh, my Lord, I have to roam. I have no home. I have no home.
* * *
When Connie drove down East Essex, she saw the police barricade blocking the road.
"Sorry, Ma'am. The road is closed," a patrolman informed her.
"But I live on River Road," she pleaded.
"River Road is completely under water. A dam broke upriver. If you have nowhere else to stay tonight, you can go to the high school. The Red Cross has set up cots in the gym, and they're serving food in the cafeteria."
But Connie was not interested in either a place to sleep or a free meal. She only wanted to find Sherry, so she turned the car around and headed for her sister's home on Gloucester Street.
Polly stepped out onto the porch when Connie's car pulled in the driveway.
"Is Sherry here?" the anxious mother asked.
"No, she's not. Was she let out of school early?" Polly asked.
"No. She didn't go to school. She wasn't feeling well this morning. I spoke to her earlier and told her to come here. I can't get to the house. The police have the road blocked."
"Come inside, and we'll make a few phone calls."
When Connie was informed that the telephone lines on River Road were down, she called the police, the hospital and the high school. No one had seen Sherry.
"She's probably stuck in the house," the worried mother sobbed, "without heat and power. She'll be all alone in the dark. Just think of how frightened she'll be."
"The police said they'd send a boat out as soon as possible."
Connie spent the night on her sister's living room sofa, but she did not sleep. She remained awake, listening for the phone, which never rang.
Sometime during the night, the rain stopped. The sun was shining the following morning, but the little village of Puritan Falls had been hit hard by the storm. Trees and power lines were down. Many homes were without electricity. Worse for Connie, River Road was still under water. Since the rain had stopped and the wind died down, however, the police agreed to take her out to her house to search for her daughter.
At the sight of her home, Connie gasped. It was completely surrounded by water as though it had sprung up from the middle of the river. The police boat pulled up to the front door. One of the officers had to force the door open against the pressure of the water. Not only was the basement flooded, but there was also at least a foot of water on the first floor.
"Be careful, Ma'am," the officer cautioned as Connie jumped out of the boat and ran into the house.
"Sherry," she called, heading for the staircase. "Sherry? Are you up there?"
There was no reply, and a thorough search of all the rooms yielded no sign of her daughter.
* * *
The following weeks were agonizing ones for Connie Gifford, weeks during which she tottered between hope and despair. Sherry was not found, and the police believed that the teenager had been outside the house—more than likely just setting out on her way to her aunt's house—when the dam broke. The poor girl must have been swept away and out to sea by the raging river. For months, a careful eye was kept on the shoreline, not only in Puritan Falls but also in the surrounding coastal communities. No body washed up, however. Eventually, people lost hope of ever finding the teenager.
Six months after the flood, Polly approached her sister about holding a memorial service.
"You owe it to Sherry," she urged.
"But there's still a chance she's alive," Connie protested, desperately holding on to the last shred of hope.
Polly shook her head.
"You have to face facts, as terrible as they might be. Sherry wouldn't want you to behave like this. She'd want you to get on with your life."
Connie's eyes filled with tears.
"I'll have the memorial service for Sherry's sake and for all those who loved her, but I will never stop hoping that my daughter is alive. And as for getting on with my life, I've lost both my husband and my child. I don't have a life anymore."
* * *
Connie never returned to her house on River Road. Instead, she moved in with her sister, Polly. Years later, when her brother-in-law, Steve, passed away and Polly moved into a condominium in Essex Green, Connie bought an old farmhouse on Naumkeag Road.
Although she had recently celebrated her seventieth birthday, Polly led a very active life. She traveled a good deal with the Golden Years senior citizens group, played golf and even dated a retired history professor from Copperwell. Unlike her younger sister, Connie preferred a quiet, solitary existence. Other than an occasional movie and dinner with Polly, she spent her time reading novels and doing jigsaw puzzles.
It was when her sister had gone on a bus trip to Williamsburg, Virginia, with her seniors' group that the rain began falling and the river started to rise ....
* * *
It was the first time in almost forty years that Connie Gifford had driven down River Road. The house in which she had once lived had recently been renovated, and she wondered if the owners were sitting in the house, fearful of the raging river that escaped its banks and threatened to invade their home. Connie remembered her own indifference to the rising water that morning she left her house and drove to work.
If only she could return to that moment in time.
If only she could have gotten her daughter out of the house before she left for work.
If only ....
How those two words had plagued mankind for centuries.
Bitter regret weighing heavily upon her slender shoulders, Connie turned away from her former home and let her eyes travel to the Puritan River. To her astonishment, she spotted something floating on the surface. Although the current was strong, what appeared to be a body incongruously remained in one place.
Connie ran to the bank where she could get a better look at the corpse. The bellbottom hip huggers and the peasant blouse were familiar. The long blond hair that she knew so well floated on the water.
"Sherry!"
Connie gave no thought to the implausibility of the situation; she did not stop to ask questions. As she ran into the water to pull the girl to safety, from somewhere nearby—probably from her former home—the frantic mother heard the music of the Chambers Brothers.
Now the time has come. Time.
With difficulty, she pulled the waterlogged body onto the muddy yard.
There's no place to run. Time.
She turned the girl over onto her back.
I might get burned up by the sun. Time.
Sherry looked as she had that morning back in 1968 when Connie last saw her at breakfast.
But I had my fun. Time.
It had been more than half a century since Connie was a lifeguard in college and learned how to perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but she instinctively followed the correct procedure.
I've been loved and put aside. Time.
First, she checked Sherry's mouth to make sure the airway was clear.
I've been crushed by the tumbling tide. Time.
Next, she tilted the girl's head slightly back and put pressure on the jaw to open the mouth.
And my soul has been psychedelicized. Time.
Finally, she pinched Sherry's nose and blew quick breaths into the girl's mouth, watching the chest slowly rise and fall.
Now the time has come. Time.
Sherry coughed up water.
There are things to realize. Time.
The girl opened her eyes and looked at her mother.
Time has come today. Time.
Connie collapsed in tears of gratitude and joy.
Time has come today.
She hugged her daughter to her breast as though nothing in heaven or hell could ever part them again.
Time.
* * *
When Officer Shawn McMurtry discovered Connie's Subaru Forester abandoned on River Road, he immediately conducted a thorough search of the area. Sadly, there was no sign of the elderly woman. Police feared that Mrs. Gifford, never having gotten over her daughter's disappearance, had committed suicide by jumping into the raging river. Consequently, a careful eye was once again kept on the beaches.
The subsequent search for the former editor's body was pointless because Connie Gifford no longer lived in the world of smartphones, iPads, Blu-ray players and SUVs with global positioning systems. She and her teenage daughter now existed in a private world where the calendar forever remained at the year 1968: a world of bellbottom pants, peasant shirts, "Incense and Peppermints," Ford Galaxies, the Chambers Brothers and undying love between mother and daughter.
"Time Has Come Today" by W. Chambers and J. Chambers © 2001 Blackheart Records.
Salem is a child of the Sixties—the 1660s, that is!
