Tamara L. Stagg

Ada’s House

Chet Lampkin stole glances at the burning wilderness behind him. Flames exploded and danced across a ridge less than a mile behind his Los Alamos home. The inferno would knock at his backdoor before sundown, if not within the hour. Urgency tightened his chest as he soaked his property with a water hose.

Oh, Ada! If I lose this place, it will be like losing you all over again.

For over 30 years, Ada was the caregiver of their modest white rambler, filling it with smiles and love until it became a home their two children loved so much they never wanted to leave. She initiated tickle parties, tea parties, and popcorn parties in rooms he now watched fade with smoke.

“They will remember me when they come to this house,” she said. “Here is where they will want to visit me, not at some graveyard.”
Furious tears burned his eyes, and his throat grew tight. He looked up to the smoky heavens, ignoring the flecks of debris that rained down on his face.

“Are you watching this, Lord? Are you there? For the love of Ada, stop this fire!”

A door slammed. Chet adopted a brave stance and turned to see who was still around.

Across the street behind him, a lanky, old fellow hoisted a box with one arm and tapped a walking stick against the ground with the other. The new neighbor, whom Chet knew only as “the legally blind man,” ambled toward the open trunk of a dirty white sedan.
Chet turned back to his own task. With the full force of water from the water hose, he soaked tree branches as high as the glistening spray could reach. Wind swept half of the water away. He raised his chin.

“You control the wind, Lord. Make it stop!”

The wind seemed to grow more violent, as if declaring war.

Another door slammed. Chet instinctively glanced behind him. Then he stared. The blind man pulled a suitcase on wheels. His steps were slow and uncertain.

If Ada were here, she would drop everything and offer assistance. That is precisely why I should stay put, Chet thought. Ada was too giving. Now I have a chance to do something for her, and she is not here to stop me.

A loud snap jerked his attention. He stiffened, then watched in horror as a home a block up the street exploded into an inferno. The flaming house shriveled and fell, piece by piece, to the ground. Hot embers shot out of the house, igniting new fires in yards and on rooftops nearby.

“God, please help me!”

Chet wasn’t sure if he had heard the blind man’s voice or his own. When he looked at his neighbor, down on his knees beside his packed sedan, the answer was clear.

“I’m sorry, Ada,” he said. “Your children won’t visit you here. I have to do one of your good deeds.”

Chet bolted to his own packed car, grabbed two boxes from the trunk, and wobbled quickly across the street. His blue eyes swam in tears of anguish.

He lowered his boxes to the ground in front of his neighbor.

“Got room for two more boxes and a driver?”

“Who are you?”

“Chet Lampkin. I live across the street.”

“I’m Tom Farris. I thought all my neighbors were gone.” He stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “I must look like an old fool. My vision is gone bad, and I can’t get used to it. That explosion sounded close.”

“It was close.” Chet heaved his boxes onto the backseat of Tom’s car. “Isn’t someone helping you?”

“My phone is dead. My brother lives behind me, but he is on vacation. I’m on my own.”

“I’ll take you to a shelter.” Chet started the engine, then backed out of the driveway. He stopped in front of his house. Red embers littered the yard.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked.

Chet tightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked at the kitchen window. He could almost see Ada’s face peeping between the lace curtains.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again,” he said in a cracked whisper, then pushed his foot on the accelerator.

Two weeks later, before dawn touched Santa Fe, Chet sat at his daughter’s kitchen table. Layers of insurance claim forms covered the surface. One neatly typed question had taunted him all night: Do you plan to rebuild?

“You’d better drink that fruit punch or your grandsons will be hurt.”

Chet turned to see his daughter Renee robed in white terry cloth, eyes warm and assessing. He looked away.

“I was reading Mom’s Bible before bed last night,” Renee said. He heard her turning pages and cautiously turned toward her. The leather Bible was worn from years of use.

“Where did you get that?” he asked.

“It was in one of the boxes you brought—the ones you haven’t opened since you got here.” Her eyes glowed with purpose. “Here is a verse that was underlined.”

With some reluctance, he stretched out his hand and looked at the verse: “Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.” (Ps. 37:3).

“Hmph,” Chet grunted.

“What is it?” Renee asked.

“Did you know that your mother cried when I got the job in Los Alamos? She didn’t want to leave her family, and she hated the house we bought. She wanted a brick house, like the one she grew up in.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t. By the time you were born, she had our house looking like a family treasure—with love in every room.”
Skinny legs skipped into the room.

“Good morning, Grandpa. What’s for breakfast, Mom?”

“Oh, no,” Renee groaned. “I forgot to buy milk last night.”

Chet stretched his arms and pushed his chair back. “I’ll go. I’m tired of reading these claim forms.”

Inside the grocery store an image on a magazine cover caught his eye. A red brick house with a porch and hanging plants stared back at him—the house Ada had dreamed of. The image evoked other images—Christmas lights, grandsons squabbling over who should push the doorbell, a fire in the fireplace—everything Ada would want for her family.

“Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.”

He picked up the magazine and turned to the first page. “To order plans, see page 153.” He pressed the magazine to his chest.

“Can I help you find something, sir?” asked a friendly voice.

Chet didn’t look up. “No, thanks. I’ve got what I need.”