Chapter Two — When the River Took the Bridge

By noon, Bell Hollow had become an island surrounded by mountains and water.

The road south was flooded.

The road north was buried under fallen trees and snow.

The river had swallowed the bridge.

The mill was damaged.

The general store had only a few sacks of flour left.

People gathered inside the church, arguing about what to do.

“We have enough grain for maybe two weeks.”

“Three, if we ration.”

“What about the children?”

“What about the livestock?”

Nobody had an answer.

Then old Reverend Cole asked a question.

“Who has food stored at home?”

Several hands rose.

But not many.

The flood had destroyed the lower farms.

Some families had only a few days’ worth of food.

Others had been depending on the mill and the store.

Martha stood silently near the back wall.

She finally spoke.

“I have potatoes.”

Several people turned.

Mr. Harlan frowned.

“How many?”

“Enough for a while.”

“A while isn’t an answer.”

Martha looked at him.

“It is when you don’t know how long the winter will last.”

They followed her to the cabin.

When Martha opened the cellar door, nobody spoke.

Sacks filled the underground room.

Potatoes were stacked almost to the ceiling.

Small ones.

Ugly ones.

Scarred ones.

The very potatoes everyone had laughed at.

Mr. Harlan stared.

“How long have you been saving these?”

“Since harvest.”

“You bought all of them?”

“Almost.”

Someone whispered,

“Good Lord.”

Martha did not smile.

Instead, she looked toward the river.

“These won’t last forever.”

That night, she gathered the town elders around her kitchen table.

“We cannot simply eat them,” she said.

“We need to make them last.”

She explained her plan.

Potatoes would be divided according to family size.

Children and the elderly would receive additional portions.

Potato skins would be saved and cooked into soup.

Nothing would be thrown away.

Some potatoes would be reserved for planting in spring.

The healthiest ones would never be touched.

Mr. Harlan shook his head.

“You’ve been planning this all along.”

Martha looked into the fire.

“No.”

She paused.

“I’ve just been afraid of a winter that never came.”

Nobody laughed.

The next morning, the town began working.

Women peeled potatoes.

Men repaired the damaged smokehouse.

Children carried baskets.

The blacksmith built iron hooks for hanging food.

Martha taught everyone how to store the potatoes properly.

For the first time, the people of Bell Hollow discovered that the woman they had considered strange understood something they did not.

Survival was not about having plenty.

It was about wasting nothing.

But the river continued to rise.

And beyond the mountains, another storm was coming.