THE FLOOD…PART 1:

AUTUMN ANEMONES

By Jo

Maximus sat on the wooden bench just inside his front door, pulling on his tall boots. After a day and a half of straight, steady rain he was worried about their pond. His land lay in what was almost a series of large terraces coming down from the foothills of the mountains to the west. Several small streams flowed into the main, big pond, nestled in a wide dip in the center of the second to bottom terrace. The bottom terrace contained his main pasture with a rise at its far end leading up to his stables and barn. The house and the Greenery lay on higher land beyond that. He'd been out on Legion earlier in the day and was concerned about how close to the top of the earthen edge of the pond the water was rising. Cort was already out in the stables, getting his horse saddled while East resaddled Legion for the General.

Joimus watched as he strode down to the stables, glad for the scattered rays of sunlight that had broken through the thick grey clouds. It had rained lightly for two days even before the heavier downpours had come, keeping her from completing a project she had in mind. At the far end of the top terrace near where the Meridius land joined Travis' station, she had discovered a band of autumn anemones growing in a narrow swath along the bank of a stream so small it was more of a trickle than an actual stream. When Travis' cattle had gotten lose on Meridius property, they had trampled about half of the plants and she had had the plan ever since of transplanting some of the remaining ones down to the greenhouse. She'd even devised a special carrier that hung much like saddlebags over Buttermilk for use in containing their dirt and roots as horseback was the only way to get up to that rather remote location.

Standing in the doorway still as Maximus and Cort rode out, her eye settled on the carrier propped against the garden wall. Once again she noted the sunbeams, which seemed now to her to be brighter and more numerous, and so she made the decision. Usually East would have Buttermilk saddled for her, but today he was tending a mare who was foaling breech. He was aware she was taking Buttermilk out, presumed she would be following the General, and didn’t watch as she rode off, didn’t see the plant containers she put across her horse.

She enjoyed riding Buttermilk but the Greenery had kept her so busy she had had far too few chances of late. The air was still heavy with the week's moisture, but a wind blew her hair back. She'd forgotten to put it up in the long pony tail she usually wore when riding.

Maximus' wheat grew in the highest terrace and she rode through its narrow path, smiling because it was just so perfect that he was able to grow wheat once again. Reaching the fence line, she followed along it, then up a steep, rocky ridge, riding through a sparse copse of trees and coming out where the little rivulet ran. Still mounted, she studied it. "Not a rivulet today, Buttermilk," she said aloud. The tiny stream was running red with soil, running fast, and much wider and deeper than she'd ever seen it. The streambed lay 15 feet down in the bottom of a rather steep ravine. The anemones grew, scattered through the wild grasses and several large outcroppings of rock on the Meridius side.

Dismounting, she left Buttermilk to graze, took her plant carrier, and walked into the anemones. More of them had been damaged than she'd thought at first and she decided to gather as many of them as she could. She had one pouch filled and about half the other when the sky darkened again. The clouds were rolling down out of the mountains, heavy with rain, blown quickly by a stiff wind. She sighed. "Well," I'll just hurry up and fill the last pouch and be on my way."

Maximus and Cort strode back and forth along the edge of the big pond. "It will not hold more," the General said, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky, "not if it rains again."  As if on cue, the first large raindrop hit his cheek. "Better go back and tell Paul to bring out the small bulldozer. We are going to be needing to move some rocks and earth as fast as we can."

Cort nodded and rode off toward the stable. "Tell Mac to come, too," Maximus called after him. Cort waved his hat in acknowledgement and kept going.  Maximus mounted Legion and rode slowly along the far edge of the terrace, looking for the easiest mounds of rocks for the dozer to move over to the end of the pond.

THE FLOOD…PART 2:

JUST A LITTLE MORE…

Joimus liked saving the plants she could. They were delicate things, with long, thin stems that bent in the strengthening wind and those which had survived the cattle had already been beaten down rather badly by the recent pounding rains. Their petals were fragile, almost transparent, and she wanted to transplant them to a more sheltered area. A particularly large, fine plant grew between two big slabs of rock right at the edge of the bank. That one she wanted to save especially as she was studying pollination and the production of her own seeds.

She'd already slung the carrier over Buttermilk's back because the rain had started to pelt down in earnest, but when she saw that one plant, she figured she might as well get it, too, as she couldn't get any wetter than she already was. "Wouldn't you know," she said to the plant in that way she had of often addressing inanimate things directly, "that you'd be growing in the most awkward place of all."

Indeed, she had to go right to the edge of one of the rock slabs and lean down to dig carefully around the plant’s roots with her trowel. "Just a little more...," she murmured, stretching to dig on the far side of the flower without damaging it.

The rain paused, not more than a hiccup of a few minutes, but it encouraged her to reach further. The sodden ground under the rock slab gave way and she, the anemone, the rock, and a huge portion of the bank all slid abruptly down toward the stream. Everything was a whirl of motion, punctuated by a sharp blast of pain, then she found herself lying on her back, almost completely upside down, the top of her head mere inches from the stream.

Blinking, she tried to make sense of what had happened. The wet dirt of the bank covered her up to her collar bones and atop that lay the slab itself. The deep layer of dirt acted as a buffer between her and the weight of the rock, but her right arm seemed to be pinned beneath her body. Her left was free and she pushed at the rock, a futile effort as it was a foot thick and almost four feet long.

"HELP!" she hollered several times, but knew she was way too far away for anyone to hear. The yelling hurt, too, hurt the middle of her body and she figured she must have bruised several ribs. At least that's what it felt like.

Then the rain began again and the entrapment yielded a new and more terrifying horror. The rain sluiced down the relatively smooth top of the flat rock right into her face. Quickly she covered her lower face with her hand, pinching her upturned nose shut, trying to make a tent with her palm so that she could still get some breaths of air through her mouth. The rain poured over her hand, across her eyes, forcing her to shut them and making her hair stream downwards into the swirling red of the waters below.

Minutes passed, long drawn-out minutes, and the rain only grew heavier. The minutes became an hour, then two, then three. She felt on the verge of passing out but knew if she did, she would simply drown, drown upside down in the rain. So she willed herself to stay aware, fought for it with each heavy minute. From time to time her arm cramped, letting her hand slip and her mouth and nose were flooded with water.

Paul drove the bulldozer and Maximus, Cort, and Mac used shovels, desperately trying to raise the level of the ground along the end of the pond. They worked steadily in the pouring rain, backbreaking hour after backbreaking hour. The rain simply would not stop and the streams feeding into it brought with them the downpours from the mountains as well. Their boots slid in the mud and Maximus' leg began to throb with a deep ache. Night came and still they worked in the beams of battery-powered lights.

Losing his footing, Maximus fell heavily to his knees, and Cort gripped his upper arm. "Maximus, you can't do this all night!" he shouted over the roar of the bulldozer and the pounding rain. "Let Paul and the dozer keep on if you must, but you've got to rest...at least for a little while...let Joimus feed you something."

Maximus looked up at Cort, whose face was streaked with mud, lined with fatigue. He sighed. "Perhaps you are right, my friend. For just a moment, though. Just a moment."

They rode side by side back to the stable. "I shall check on the foaling before going up to the house," he said once they were inside and unsaddling. When the horses had been rubbed down and settled in with grain, Cort walked with Maximus back to where East
was proudly watching over the just-born foal. Maximus smiled wearily, pleased that the difficult birthing had come out well. "We shall be going up to the house for something to eat," he explained to East. "I am sure Joimus will be relieved to see us."

East was surprised and asked if Joimus had come back with them. "No, she was not with us," Maximus replied. "Is she not in the house at this time of night?"

East explained how she'd saddled Buttermilk some hours ago and that he'd thought she was riding after them. Maximus strode to Buttermilk's stall. Empty. His hand gripped the top rail tightly. East had been tending the mare, had not seen her ride away, had no idea of the direction she'd taken, only that she had not come back. He hadn't worried, presuming that she was with Maximus and Cort. Silently, his jaw set grimly, Maximus turned back to Legion.

THE FLOOD…PART 3:

EDGE OF THE HIGH BANK

It was harder in the night. The waterfall over the rock came in darkness, making her feel entirely isolated, entirely entombed. She was getting very tired and the pain in her middle seemed to be growing as the hours passed. Then, too, the water just below her head was rising as it carried rain down from the mountains. She could feel it touching the top of her head now. Frantically she tried to wriggle her body, but the weight of the rock atop the dirt permitted her no movement at all.

The rain kept up all night. There had never been a night so long. She'd feel herself begin to drift, her hand would fall away, and instantly she'd be choking and gagging. I am going to hang on, she willed. I am!  Maximus would not find his wife dead. No, she would not have that. Not him. Not…again.

Maximus was exhausted, yet he rode all night long, shining his light into the darkness. Where would she go? Why? His head jerked forward and he found Cort afoot, retrieving his light. "Sorry," he mumbled, taking it from Cort's hand. He'd fallen asleep in the saddle.

Cort knew better than to suggest they wait for daylight. If Joimus were out here, then Maximus would be out here. They were riding slowly now through a broader expanse of woods that would put them out nearer the house again. "Just check," Cort suggested. "Maybe she's come home."

At the gate, Maximus assented and they went inside, going from room to room, calling her name. It was empty except for Merry, who had peed on the kitchen floor and had shredded five of Cort's socks. While Cort let her out and then fed her, Maximus brewed some coffee, filling two thermos bottles. Stuffing some bread and cheese into their mouths, they led their mounts down to the stables to check there. Buttermilk's stall was still empty and East was gone, out looking for Joimus himself. The distant sound of Paul's bulldozer came to Maximus' ears, but he'd stopped caring about the pond. He had to find Joimus. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. Mounting, he found himself thinking of his desperate ride from the Danube to Spain. No, this night’s journey would not be like that, would not end like that. There were no Praetorians paralleling him. There was merely the rain. He would find her and she would be fine, but he could not seem to keep his teeth from gritting together as he rode.

He and Cort went back toward the wheat field. They'd been there once, finding no trace of her, but were running out of places to look. The rain was still steady, but somewhat less heavy as dawn came, a weak, watery, grey dawn with no color to it. Maximus shivered, soaked to the bone. Had she found some shelter, he wondered? At least in some trees possibly? There was that one area of trees up the ridge beyond the wheat they hadn't checked yet. Could she have gone that far? Why would she go there? What could...? Then he remembered the carrier she'd been making for the anemones and spurred Legion to a faster pace.

There in the middle of the wheat stood Buttermilk, still saddled. Maximus practically flung himself off Legion. "Joimus!" he called. "Joimus!" He reached Buttermilk and looked all around for some sign of his wife in the wheat. Had she fallen? But there was only her horse, nothing else.

"What are these?" Cort asked, touching the carriers across Buttermilk's back. The containers were filled with plants, beaten by rain, and muddy water dripped in a constant flow down the horse's sides.

"For her flowers," Maximus whispered. "She was gathering plants." It was what he'd thought just a moment ago. He broke one of the blossoms off, looking at it, not knowing its name. She'd spoken to him of some sort of wild flower she'd seen up near that far copse, how she'd wanted to save them before they were all ruined. Lifting his head, he looked in that direction, barely able to make out the trees in the far distance. "Up there," he said, his voice hoarse. "That is where these grow. Up there." His chest tightened.

Buttermilk had been on her way home…without Joimus.

The two men mounted, Cort leading Buttermilk, and headed quickly along the path through the wheat. Before they reached the copse, the rain stopped and a single finger of morning sunlight poked through.

It took a minute for Joimus to realize the rain had stopped. She was so exhausted, so foggy by then, so enclosed into the tight little world of her own mind, of her concentration on the effort of surviving the night, that the ability to breathe through her nose again seemed absolutely removed from her reality. Finally she blinked her eyes open, greeted by the sight of the one sunbeam. She almost smiled, but then realized
the stream waters had risen up to her eyebrows. As she waited, she could feel it steadily creeping higher and knew she'd be forced to close her eyes again soon. Then what? She'd survived the waters from above her. Would she now drown in the waters from below? There was nothing she could do to prevent that, not like she had with the waterfall off the rock.

"Maximus," she murmured, spent. "Oh, Maximus." Oh, God…not a second time, not for him. Her left arm fell to her side, her forearm and hand floating on the water by her head. She couldn't fight any more, not even had there been something for her to do. Too worn even to be afraid, she let her will go, let it float away with the other debris on the red current, her head lolling to the side.

Maximus and Cort reached the edge of the high bank above the rivulet, which had become a swiftly-flowing stream. They dismounted, looking both ways along the banks, seeing nothing. Maximus sank to one knee in the grass, covering his eyes with his hand, Cort standing immediately to his right. Suddenly Cort sucked in his breath with a sharp gasp, gripped Maximus' shoulder, his fingers sinking deeply into flesh.

"There," he said, his grip tightening even more.

 

 

THE FLOOD…PART 4:

THE WETNESS ON HER FACE

Maximus dropped his hand, his eyes following Cort's pointing finger. "Oh, gods," he moaned. It was worse than anything he'd conjured in his mind. All he could see was her face and her arm, but it was her. Springing to his feet, he dashed upstream along the bank toward her, stopping where the rock ledge had broken loose. From straight above, he couldn't see her at all, so he went to the side a little bit and he and Cort slipped and slid down the bank into the stream, now mid-thigh on them.

She looked dead to him and as he waded toward her, his heart was turning to lead. Her long blonde hair floated out toward him on the current, as did her arm. Very little of her was exposed, only part of her face, her neck, her upper shoulders and the one arm. A little

sogged piling of leaves and small bits of debris mounded against her right temple where the current had lodged them.

"J...Joimus," he groaned, lifting her head as much as he could so the water didn't cover her eyes, brushing away the leaves. Almost hesitantly he sent his other hand to her throat, his knees nearly giving way when he felt signs of life there.

"She's alive?" Cort asked.

Mutely, he nodded. His gaze fastened on the large rock. Cort already had his fingers curved under it, trying to lift it, not succeeding. It would take both of them, if not more. Maximus knew he'd have to let go of her head, knew that would mean letting it go back into the rising waters. They would have only moments to get the rock off her before she drowned. His eyes locked with Cort's, both of them silently understanding. Carefully he lowered her head, his jaw clenching and a muffled little ‘ooo’ escaping his lips as he saw her eyes disappear again beneath the red.

Moving beside Cort, he pushed against the rock, trying to lift it enough to flip it over off her. His shoulders and arms screamed with the effort of it, his feet slipping in the mud of the streambed and the awkward position he was in next to Cort. His face turned red, neck muscles cording, teeth sinking into his lower lip. He must do this thing. He must!

The rock budged a little, coming loose from its wedged place on the steep bank, sliding an inch more down toward her face, horrifying him that it would continue downward, crushing her. Maximus and Cort gathered themselves again, pushing harder, and with an ugly, sucking sound the big rock rose up and started to flip. Maximus gasped for a breath, pushed again, and the rock arced almost in slow motion away from where it had lain. That left the sodden earth beneath it free to slide again down the bank, taking Joimus with it, and before they could fully let go of the rock and grab her, she'd gone with the dirt into the stream and was being carried headfirst with the current. She was so limp she merely floated along atop it like a piece of flotsam with the branches and other bits of debris.

"NO!" Maximus bellowed, letting the rock fall. He turned, launching himself into the water, half-swimming, half-falling, grasping desperately for her. She went about 20 feet before snagging on a fallen trunk. Reaching her, he grabbed her up into his arms, collapsing onto the base of the bank. Cort came up, standing quietly as the General rocked back and forth, holding his wife in his arms, his tears adding to the wetness on her face.

THE FLOOD…PART 5:

SWEPT ALONG

For a while Cort wasn't sure if Joimus had survived the removal of the rock and the time in the stream, but after a few moments she stirred in Maximus' arms and the General pressed her to his chest, burying his face in her wet hair. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at him, not realizing what had just happened, seeing only the tears on his cheeks. She wanted to touch the tears but didn't seem to have the strength to raise her arm.

"Love...love you," she managed to murmur. She had no idea how she'd gotten into his arms, only that she was and that the fighting to live was over, the dying had not come.

Maximus could barely speak, hoarsely whispering endearments into her hair, kissing her face. Finally he was able to ask, "Are you injured, my darling?"

"I...I think maybe...my ribs." There was a definite pain in her right side. She saw his jaw tighten and added, "Not...not bad. Just tired."

Indeed, she was so worn it was difficult to remain awake despite the fact that her legs were still in the cool water rushing past where he sat. Maximus turned his head, looking up the steep, muddy bank behind him. His eyes then found Cort's. "We have to get her up
that," he said with a heavy sigh. He was already past the end of his own strength, operating now on will power alone.

The bank here was not quite so high, maybe only eight feet, but completely saturated with water. A few rocks and one or two fairly large roots jutted out here and there. Cort studied it carefully. "Let me go first," he suggested, "and then you can hand her up to me."

He put his boot on a small, low rock, intending on using it as his first stepping stone, but as soon as his weight went on it, it came loose from the soil, sending him stumbling back, almost falling into the stream. Gritting his teeth, he tried again a few feet further upstream, and practically clawing his way, slipping and sliding, he made it to the top, rolling over the edge. He lay there a moment, gasping, completely used up by the events of the last day atop this sudden burst of extreme effort. Then he turned onto his knees and scrabbled down until he was directly above where Maximus sat. "I'm here," he called down, lying on his belly, stretching his arms toward them.

It took Maximus a while to get to his feet with her in his arms. He tried to find a firmer place to stand, but there simply wasn't such a thing. The rising stream had eaten away the base of the bank and there were only slippery rocks and a tiny bit of mud on which he
could put his boots. Looking at her face, he whispered, "I am going to have to lift you up, my darling, and I fear it may strain your ribs."

She smiled weakly. "It must be done."

A sharp sound burst from him. "After all these years you are becoming quite a stoic."

"Some things are...necessary," she replied.

He was holding her at his chest and began to lift her higher. His left boot slipped and in saving them from a fall into the stream, he jerked both of their bodies sharply. Gasping in pain, he squeezed his eyes shut a second, opening them to find she'd passed out. Clamping his jaw, his arms trembling with fatigue, he lifted her as high as he could toward Cort's straining arms. Cort managed to get a grip on her at last and with Maximus pushing from below, pulled her up beside him.

Maximus needed to sit down again but the little place he'd sat while holding her had crumbled into the water and he was left with nothing to do but stand thigh-deep in it, leaning his back against the bank, his chin resting on his chest. After a couple of minutes, he sucked in several deep breaths. Now he, too, had to make it up the bank. He turned, looking up at Cort's concerned face staring back.

"Do you think...," Cort began.

"It must be done," he said. He struggled up about four feet, then the ground gave way and he fell backwards into the stream. Unable to gain his feet immediately he was swept sideways along in the furious current. With a shuddering jar his left hip impacted an uprooted tree and he grasped at it, leaning over it finally, not able to move for a time as the waters swirled around him. He felt his fingers sliding, losing their grip on the wet bark, and he gritted his teeth, determined he would not be swept further from Joimus.

A large branch banged against his lower back, held there a second by the current, then dragged away, curving around the top of the fallen tree.

Cort had run along the top of the bank and where Maximus was now, some fifty feet further downstream, there was a dip in the height of it, taking it down a mere two feet above the water. He slid down it on his boot heels, wading out to where Maximus was and grabbing him under his arms, not at all sure he had the strength to help the General from his position. Maximus, though, shoved himself up, then steadied by Cort made it to the bank where the two of them fell over together, sprawling in the mud.

It took about five minutes before either of them could move, then supporting one another, they staggered the fifty feet back to where Joimus lay on her back in the muddied grass. Maximus fell to his knees beside her, touching her face, assuring himself that she still lived. Lifting his head, he whistled, and Legion immediately moved toward him, followed by Buttermilk and Cort's horse, when Cort, too, whistled. Neither man needed to say it. They had to get her back to the house and that meant getting her up on Legion so Maximus could hold her. Talking at this point took too much effort. Cort led Legion close to Maximus, who stood, resting his forearms across the saddle a moment, his head down, gathering himself to mount. He slid his left boot in the stirrup and when his weight went on that leg, it began to tremble, but nothing was going to keep him from getting up on his horse.

When he had his seat, Cort lifted Joimus up so Maximus could take her in his arms. Cort stood there a moment, his hand against Maximus' side as the General swayed, blinked, then shook his head. Going then to his own horse, Cort heaved himself into the saddle, gathered up Buttermilk's reins, and the bedraggled little procession headed carefully down the ridge toward the path that led through the wheat.

Joimus roused somewhere halfway through the second terrace, finding herself in his arms again. "Where...?"

"Home," he said, bending to kiss her face.

She sighed, leaning her cheek against his wet shirt, closing her eyes, letting herself drift off because he had her and she was safe.

The fields were sodden, huge puddles of water lying everywhere. Much of the wheat would be lost he knew, but didn't really care. She was in his arms and he had not lost her. Anything else could be replaced. As they descended to the third terrace, he vaguely
noticed that a section of the jury-rigged dam had given way and when they skirted the edge of the main pasture below, about two-thirds of it was underwater. The stables, though, were high enough that the pond had not reached them, but the ground all around
was so saturated from the rain that their horses' hooves sank deeply into it.

He reined Legion just outside the stables, aware that East, Paul, and Mac had all come to its entrance and were staring at him. He had no idea, really, of the picture he presented, entirely wet, covered with mud, his shoulders curved with fatigue, his head hanging
down as though it were too heavy for his neck, his wife lying limply in his arms.

"East," he croaked, having to clear his throat before he could add, "I am going to ride Legion up closer to the gate by the house. Will you follow me and take the horses back to the stables?"  He turned the horse's head and rode slowly up the hill, swaying once in the saddle.

THE FLOOD…PART 6:

SO WE CAN SLEEP

Afoot, all three men had followed him and Cort up to the gate. It was a good thing as neither he nor Cort had the strength to take Joimus from his arms and dismount. His men were all too respectful of the General's obvious exhaustion to ask him questions yet
about what had happened. Mac and Paul simply quietly received her into their arms and East steadied Maximus a bit as he slowly dismounted. His boots on the ground again, he leaned his right shoulder against Legion’s side, closed his eyes, and put his left hand over his face. East’s forehead creased in concern. He’d never seen the General like this.

As they entered the house, Paul offered, "Road's flooded, General. Three, maybe four foot of water's got it blocked for maybe a quarter mile. No way we're going to get the Missus to the hospital right now. Phones are all out. 'Fraid we're stuck here for a bit.
Heard on the shortwave that Coffs is pretty well cut off, too. Nobody gettin' in or out. Where you want us to lay her?"

"On our bed," he said, knowing there was no way he himself could carry his wife up the long flight of stairs. Holding onto the railing, dragging himself up each step, he followed them to the master bedroom, Cort right behind. Pausing outside the door, he put a hand on Cort's shoulder. "You have my thanks," he whispered, "for everything."

Cort went down the hall to his own room, dropped his clothes in a muddy heap on the bathroom floor, and stood for a while in the shower, letting hot water stream over his head and body, watching vaguely as the muddy flow gurgled down the drain and some sense of warmth seeped back into his bones. Drying himself after a fashion, he walked across the carpet and fell, still naked, into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillows.

Paul and Mac were hesitant to lay the muddy Joimus on the exquisite spread on the large bed. Maximus pulled a quilt off a chair back to cover it. Not that he himself was concerned with the spread at the moment, but he knew Joimus liked it and for the sake of that alone he covered it.

"I can take it from here," he said, even his voice weary. "Thank you both."

Paul looked at the General, aware the man could barely stand, but this was his wife and he had no right to offer advice. So he and Mac left for the stables to help East with the three horses.

Maximus sat on the edge of the bed, cupping his hand around Joimus' cheek. She roused again, blinking her eyes open, looking up at him. "I...," she began, but then shivered.

"We must get these wet clothes off," he said, wanting only to lie beside her but knowing there was more that must be done first. He felt very cold himself. They were both completely filthy as well. "I should get a basin," he suggested, thinking to wash her off a bit.

"I'm beyond that," she said, looking down her own torso. "Do...do you think...," she looked toward the open door of their bathroom, "that we could manage the tub?"

He was surprised at her suggestion, but the thought of soaking in hot water seemed good. "Just a moment," he said, going into the bathroom and starting water running into the big tub. He stripped his clothes off, not an easy thing as they clung wetly, sticky with mud, to his body, then came naked back to the bed.

She looked at him, managing a weak smile. "You are a dirty General but you are, even so, the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

Standing was a big effort, so he knelt beside the bed, pulling her boots off. She tried to help with her clothes, but the strain of it made her grimace. When her shirt was off, he saw a long bruise was forming over her right side. "As soon as possible, we shall need to get that x-rayed."

"But now," she said, "we need to get this dirt off so we can sleep."

"Sleep," he repeated. "Ah, yes. Sleep."

With him supporting her, they managed to get to the bathroom and into the tub. She lay against him as he washed her body, her hair, himself. The warm water felt marvelous and he let the muddied fill flow out while they remained in the tub, then refilled it with fresh, clean, warm water. He rested his head against the edge of the tub and she lay atop him, the back of her head on his shoulder, his arms around her. And they both slept.

THE FLOOD…PART 7:

WHAT HAD NOT BEEN LOST

Maximus woke as the bathwater cooled. Lifting his head, he saw that Joimus was still asleep, but he was concerned about her getting chilled as the water cooled further, so he touched her cheek, waking her.

"Mmmmm?" she murmured sleepily.

"Time to retire to the bed, beloved," he said, kissing her brow.

She sat on a stool, letting him dry her. As he turned a bit sideways at one point, she saw a large bruise on his hip. Very, very lightly she touched it. "How...?"

"I was swept down the stream some ways," he replied, continuing with his careful drying. "A fallen tree stopped my progress."

She looked up at him, realizing how much she did not know of recent events. "We need to talk."

"In bed," he smiled. "Let us dry ourselves first."

He went to the closet to pull out a nightgown for her, but she said, "No. I want nothing between you and me. I...I was so very...alone there...for so long. I need the feel of you beside me."

Once he'd removed the muddy quilt, he pulled back the covers and they both slid gratefully beneath them. Finding positions that did not hurt her side too much nor his hip, they lay together, his length warm against hers. She told him of the one large plant and her attempt to dig it up, of how the bank had given way and she'd found herself trapped beneath the rock. "The rain," she explained, "flowed down over the rock, into my face like a waterfall. All the rest of the day, all night, I fought to breathe. I saw your face," she
rested her palm on his cheek, "and holding on to the sight of that, I knew I must survive."

Because the rain had stopped by the time he found her, he hadn't thought of how the water would have streamed into her face. The realization of what she had endured went through him and he gathered her more closely to himself. If only he'd known where to look sooner, had been able to spare her even a moment of that. How close, how terribly close he'd come to losing her. Then he told her of the fight to keep the pond from overflowing, of discovering only very late that she was missing and how they'd looked all night for her in the pouring rain. He told of finding her and of their struggle to move the rock and get back up the bank.

And when each knew of the suffering and the pain of the other, they lay quietly, wrapped together, her listening to his heart beat, he to her breathing, and knew the gift they had been given of the continued presence of the other. Not once, not ever in their seven years
together had that been taken for granted, but there were times, as now, when the reality of vulnerability , the fragility of life, was utterly, utterly present. For now, they would sleep, nested in what had been given, what had not been lost.