His attempt at humor went a long way to lessen her tension. They clinked glasses.
Cara felt the tannic cabernet slide down her throat, rich and full-bodied. “My mother always believed that somehow this beach house would survive whatever storms came its way. And it did. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t gone through this dozens of times before, right?” she said with enthusiasm she didn’t feel. “We’ll board the house up tight and it’ll be fine. It always is.”
Cara brought her glass back to her lips and drank deeply as from the other room she heard the meteorologist, a specialist in hurricanes, explain again about the hurricane’s rain bands, the clouds moving counter-clockwise up to three hundred miles out from the hurricane. He went on to explain with graphics how the hurricane’s right side was the most dangerous part of the storm because these bands had the added effect of the hurricane’s swirling wind speed.
She leaned against David. He slipped his arm around her shoulders as they stood together, trapped once again by their hunger for news about the monster storm. They both knew that this wasn’t just a hurricane coming their way. If rumors were true, this was the mother of all hurricanes. This was the storm that could sweep Cara’s house away.
TWELVE
August 22, 5:30 a.m.
Freehold Farm, North Carolina
Hurricane makes landfall at Key Largo in northernmost Florida Keys
Hello? Gerta? Are you awake?”
Blinking hard as she held the phone to her ear, Gerta barely recognized Grace’s voice as she turned her head to look out the bedroom window. The red-patterned drapes were open and scant breeze came from the open window. Outside the sky was that hazy gray of dawn.
“I am now.”
“Oh, did I wake you? I’m sorry. I thought you were up with the birds.”
“I took a melatonin last night. I couldn’t sleep,” she added, rubbing the stump of her leg. It still throbbed from the long trip, less now, but enough to disturb her sleep.
“This is a call to action,” Grace began. “I got an urgent call from Katherine Bellissimo. You remember her, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Gerta knew Katherine well. She was a partner of the Palm Beach International Equestrian Center and they often worked together.
“Then you know she’s also one of the founders of the Tryon International Equestrian Center.” Grace took a breath. “Hurricane Noelle is about to make landfall in the Keys. Then it’s projected to go straight up the Atlantic Coast.”
This news brought Gerta wide awake. She lifted herself on her elbows. “Mein Gott.”
“The Gulf area is sighing with relief, but everyone on the Atlantic side who hasn’t already left is running. An SOS is going out to everyone and anyone to help house evacuating horses. TIEC has already opened up their stables for as many horses as they can hold. They have up to five hundred stalls.”
“That many?” Gerta said on a yawn, rousing further. She well understood what it would cost the center to open and house the horses, then clean the stalls again after they left. Her own horses were being boarded there. “That is more than generous. Katherine’s a saint.”
“She needs our help. The first of the horses are arriving this morning. She’s pulled in all the grooms, but they still don’t have enough help. So . . . will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Help feed and walk the horses. Deliver water. Muck stalls. Whatever it takes.”
Gerta heard the force of Grace’s words. She could be a bulldozer when she was on a mission for good. Gerta wanted to say no. That was not the kind of work she did, not anymore, at least. She’d mucked a lifetime’s worth of stalls. Her father had made certain his children would not be spoiled and that they knew every facet of the horse-breeding business. She and her two sisters rose at dawn and went out with the other stable hands, every morning before school. But that was then. Now she hired others to do it.
“But my leg—”
“Right. You won’t have to muck stalls or carry bags of food, but you could walk the horses. I’m sure they’d appreciate your experience. Katherine’s going to be out there too. We all are. It’s all hands on deck. We all want to pitch in.” She paused. “We need you.”
Grace was right, of course. Besides, Gerta could hardly refuse her host.
She took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll help.”
* * *
The highway seemed to stretch clear to the distant peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains. This early in the morning, with the mist settled around them, the mountains were the purple of ripe grapes. The clouds had moved in overnight, but the sun scraped through, allowing great shafts of light to spread out in dramatic beams across the dark foliage.
Gerta rode in the front passenger seat of Grace’s big Mercedes. Her friends Caroline, Cornelia, and Rebecca crowded together in the back. Grace had given her the skinny on the women before they’d arrived at Freehold. They were her nearest and dearest and lived nearby. Caroline and Rebecca were equestrians, but Cornelia bred Wagyu beef cattle. They were bound together by their love of animals, great and small. Caroline was in the same hunt club with Grace, and they all worked on committees with her to find homes for rescued horses, maintain trails, and support the local humane society. All three were outgoing, smart, and warm. Bottom line: they’d all volunteered to help muck out stalls. They were the kind of women Gerta wished she could call friends as well.
A soft rock station played on the radio as they made their way to the Tryon International Equestrian Center. Sade was singing “Kiss of Life” and the women were unconsciously moving in time to the gentle beat.
The news broke the mood when it gave the hurricane update. Hurricane Noelle was approaching the Florida Keys. The meteorologists were giving a history of the destruction in Cuba and the Caribbean. Gerta took a breath, marveling at how, up in the mountains, one could feel so far from the enormous storm heading toward the shore—then, boom, reality broke through the façade and all their attention was riveted back on the coast as their heart rates accelerated.
“Could you turn it up?” Rebecca asked, leaning forward against the front seats and indicating the radio. “Did I hear that right? They said this hurricane might become a Category Six? That’s a whole new category!”
The car went silent as they all zeroed in on the weather update. Hurricane Noelle would make landfall on the Florida Keys soon, then move up the Atlantic coast. The upper southeastern coast was now under a hurricane warning, the meteorologists warned, and preparations should be done—windows boarded and doors reinforced, trees trimmed and dead limbs removed, patio furniture and planters brought indoors to prevent them from becoming missiles in the fierce winds. The news also reported how the evacuation routes leading out of Florida were still dangerously packed. Farther up the coast as well—traffic was jammed all the way through Georgia and South Carolina. It seemed the whole southeastern coast was on the move.
“I worry about the people evacuating getting stuck on the highways,” Caroline said. “What if they run out of gas? I shudder to think what would happen if a hurricane hit while they were all stuck there.”