The Staggerford Flood by Jon Hassler

Author:Jon Hassler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

At noon the five women were standing at the front window watching the water continue to rise when Agatha sensed another presence in the room. She turned and found that they had been joined by her neighbor from across the alley.

“Imogene!” She was shocked to see this unfriendly woman who hadn’t paid her a call in years standing there in her military raincoat. Then, noticing the duffel bag she’d brought with her, as well as the look of desperation in her eyes, she understood. “You poor thing, you’ve been flooded out of your house.”

Imogene nodded curtly. “Water’s coming up in the basement.”

“Well, I have only one flat surface for sleeping left in the house. This couch. But you’re welcome to it.”

Imogene took immediate possession of the couch by sitting on it, in her coat, with her duffel bag at her side. She looked at Agatha accusingly. “I thought you said we wouldn’t have a flood.”

“It seems I was wrong.” This being a difficult thing for Agatha to admit, she quickly introduced her other guests. “This is Beverly, whom you may remember, a friend from years ago. And this is our new neighbor, Linda Schwartzman. You know Janet. And surely you know Dort Holister from Willoughby.”

Although she was greeted by all four of the women, Imogene ignored three of them and centered her attention on Linda Schwartzman. “You’re the undertaker lady.”

Linda gently corrected her. “A funeral director who happens to be female.” Then she added, “I have water in my cellar, too.”

Agatha climbed the stairs to Frederick’s bedroom, leaving the two of them discussing the depth of water in their basements. Janet turned Calista and Beverly’s attention back outside by pointing out her daughter in the yellow sweatshirt working among the sandbaggers.

What a lot I’ve done already and it’s barely one o’clock, thought Agatha proudly as she lay down on the bed and covered herself with the orange and chartreuse afghan Lillian had given her years ago. Early mass followed by four guests for breakfast. I haven’t been this active since. . . . She fell asleep in the act of lowering her head to the pillow.

It was a scream that woke her, a bloodcurdling noise from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a woman’s voice saying, “Where’s Agatha? She’ll settle this.” It sounded like Lillian, but it couldn’t be—Lillian had been trucked off to Berrington and higher ground. Agatha had thrown off the afghan and was sitting on the edge of the bed collecting herself when she heard someone coming up the stairs—a slow ascent remindful of Lillian’s plodding footsteps.

“Agatha, there you are, and I’m at my wits’ end.” It was Lillian, standing in the bedroom doorway, still in her coat and kerchief, holding a grocery bag and fanning her red face with her free hand. “You gave your couch to Imogene and now I have no place to sleep.”

“But I thought you went to Berrington.”

“If only I did. No, I decided to stay here in case you needed help.

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