“Come on, Martha. We’re almost there. Push,” Dr. Saunders said.

Martha Dalton raised her head and stared at her obstetrician. “I’m sick of hearing that,” she gasped. “You’ve been saying the same thing for the last twelve hours.”

Martha looked over at her husband who was standing beside her holding her hand..

“William, what is wrong with this child?” she asked. “Why can’t I deliver?”

“He’s a fighter, Martha, just like you,” William Dalton replied. The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“The baby’s crowning,” Dr. Saunders called out. “This is it, Martha. Push hard.”

Martha groaned with the effort.

“Harder, Martha,” Dr. Sanders said.

William Dalton rushed to the foot of the bed. “He’s coming, Martha. He’s coming,” he said in a voice choked with emotion. “One more time. Give it everything you have,” he said to his wife.

Martha Fielding Lee Dalton summoned her remaining strength and pushed. The veins in her neck stood out in stark relief. Her face was the color of plum. “Have mercy,” she screamed as she collapsed with the effort.

A moment later a high pitched wail filled the delivery room.

“Congratulations,” Dr. Saunders said, as he handed Martha her baby. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

“A girl,” Martha breathed. She was beaming as she looked up at her husband. Suddenly, a frown crossed her face. “William, she needs a name,” Martha said. “We never talked about girls’ names.”

William Dalton was in a panic. He was having trouble catching his breath, and felt like he might throw up.

“I never thought we’d have a girl, Martha,” William said. “I don’t know anything about girls.”

“No kidding,” his wife replied.

William Dalton stared at the baby as he tried to catch his breath.

Martha Dalton sighed, and said, “Calm down, William. I know what to do, and you’ll figure it out. Now, what should we name her?”

William Dalton looked at his new daughter, and then placed his finger in her hand. “She’s got a strong grip. She’s a real fighter,” he said to his wife.

Martha Dalton smiled. “A name?” she repeated.

A smile crossed William Dalton’s face as he gazed down at his family. “Don’t you remember, Martha?” her husband said. “You named her right before you delivered her.”

Martha Dalton looked at her husband in confusion.

“Mercy,” William Dalton said. “Her name is Mercy.”

Mercy Lee Dalton listened to the story of her birth for the umpteenth time.

Smiling, Mercy said, “You never get tired of telling that story do you, Daddy?”

William Guydell Dalton grinned sheepishly. “I guess I don’t,” he said.

“Good thing,” Mercy said. “Cause I never get tired of hearing it.”

Mercy loved visiting her parents. She liked her job and the people that she had met in Virginia, but she missed her hometown of Columbia, South Carolina. Every year, Mercy spent a week in January and another week in July with her family. She enjoyed a respite from the winter cold and occasional snowfall of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. And she loved Columbia’s summers. Picnics at Sesquicentennial Lake, and day trips to Myrtle Beach were indescribable when the temperature hit triple digits.

“Do you remember what time I was born?” Mercy asked her father.

“Of course,” William Dalton replied. “9:01 on a Tuesday morning.”

Mercy shook her head in amazement. “How can you remember that?” she asked her father.

“How could I not?” William Dalton replied.

William Dalton looked around, and said, “Where’s your Mama, Mercy?”

“She’s in the kitchen, Daddy,” Mercy replied. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

William Dalton lowered his voice and said, “Have I ever told you about your middle name?”

Mercy shrugged. “What’s to tell?” she asked. “Lee is Mama’s maiden name. It’s a family name.”

Her father nodded. “ That’s true,” he said, “but it’s not the only reason I wanted that to be your middle name. You’re a fighter, Mercy. You have tremendous strength and character. I knew that from the minute you were born.”

William Dalton paused and looked directly at his daughter. “I named you after General Lee,” he said.

Mercy stared at her father in stunned silence.

“Always remember that, Mercy,” William Dalton said. “And, don’t tell your Mama. She doesn’t know, and I’m afraid it would hurt her feelings.”

Martha Dalton stuck her head in the room. “Dinner’s in five minutes,” she said.

“It smells wonderful,” Mercy said. “I’ll bet you’ve been cooking all day.”

“No,” her mother replied, “but Diane Rhodes down at the Publix deli has.”

“I did make a peach pie.”

“Canned or fresh peaches?” Mercy asked.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I said I made it,” she answered.

Mercy laughed. “Just checking,” she said.

After they ate, Mercy helped her mother clear the table.

“You’re leaving in the morning?” Martha Dalton asked her daughter.

Mercy nodded. “First thing,” she said. “It’s a six hour drive and I need to catch up on my mail and laundry when I get back.”

“I made another peach pie for you to take with you,” her mother said. “I hid it from your Daddy.”

Mercy smiled.

“I guess your Daddy told you the story again about the day you were born,” Martha said. “ He must be getting senile. He tells you that story every time he sees you.”

Mercy laughed. “ He just likes telling the story,” she said. Mercy hesitated, and then said, “Actually, this time he told me about my middle name but, of course, I already knew it was a family name.”

Martha Dalton snorted. “Mercy, I can read your Daddy like a book. You were named in honor of Robert E. Lee. The fact that my maiden name was Lee was just a happy coincidence.”

“Have you told Daddy?” Mercy asked.

“No,” her mother said, “and I never will. You can’t tell your Daddy about this, Mercy.”

“Why not, Mama?” Mercy asked.

“I don’t want to hurt his feelings,” Martha Dalton replied.

#

“That’s your weather. I’m Mercy Dalton.”

“We’re clear,” John Reynolds announced. John was the news director for Channel 24, the local ABC television network affiliate.

“Good job, Mercy,” John said. “ You hit all your marks tonight. The camera angles and shots were really solid.”

“Thanks, John,” Mercy replied. “I guess I’m finally starting to get the hang of it after three years. I wish I could get as comfortable with the production aspect of the broadcast as I am with the weather information that I report.”

John Reynolds smiled and said, “Mercy, when that happens you’ll be working for The Weather Channel, and I’ll be telling people here that I knew you when.”

“Mercy, can I see you for a minute before you leave?” Darrel Wilson called from across the room.

“Close the door, Mercy,” Darrel Wilson said as she entered his office.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” Darrel said. “You know, of course, that Tom Andrews sold the station a couple of months ago to Digital Communications Group.”

Mercy nodded. She knew that Tom Andrews had been forced to sell the station due to his wife’s illness. Tom loved the television business, but his health insurance did not provide coverage for his wife’s condition. He had been left with no choice.

“Your contract is up for renewal at the end of this month,” Darrel Wilson continued. “Digital has decided not to renew it. I’m sorry.”

Mercy was speechless. “Darrel?” she said.

Darrel Wilson stared down at his folded hands and took a deep breath. “It wasn’t my decision, Mercy,” he said. “I’m just the messenger.”

“Why?” Mercy asked.

“Digital has been evaluating everybody since they bought the station, Mercy,” Darrel said. “I’m the general manager, and I still don’t know if they plan to renew my contract.”

“Why, Darrel?” Mercy repeated.

“They want someone who’s more polished in front of the camera and doesn’t speak with a regional accent,” Darrel Wilson replied.

“What a great idea,” Mercy exclaimed. “Let’s ignore the quality and the accuracy of the information that’s being reported from the weather desk. Let’s focus instead on presenting an homogeneous diphthong free roadcast that sounds like it’s coming out of southern California instead of southern Virginia.”

Mercy paused to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding..

“What are you doing?” she asked Darrel, who was rummaging through his desk drawers.

“Trying to find a dictionary so I can look up homogeneous and diphthong,” he replied.

“Not funny, Darrel,” Mercy said.

“Aren’t you going to tell me anything about my replacement?” Mercy asked.

Darrel Wilson nodded. “Jennifer Parsons,” he said. “She just graduated in May from the University of Nebraska.”

“What was her major?” Mercy asked.

Darrel Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She did a double major in English and Journalism,” he said.

“So, you’re hiring someone with a Bachelors in English, right out of college, to do the weather. And, you’re firing someone with three years of television experience and a Masters degree in meteorology.”

Darrel Wilson remained silent.

Mercy snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it,” she said. “We’re following in the great tradition of Willard Scott and Al Roker. Hire a liberal arts grad with no backround in the sciences and no understanding of meteorology.”

“You don’t need to be sarcastic,” Darrel Wilson said.

“Of course I do, Darrel,” Mercy replied. “A ridiculous decision certainly deserves to be ridiculed.”

“Well,” Darrel said.

Mercy’s shoulders slumped. She felt completely exhausted. “Whatever,” she said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Darrel.”

As she opened the door to leave, Mercy turned and said, “I’ll train her if you like.”

“That would be great, Mercy,” Darrel said in a soft voice. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you, Darrel,” Mercy replied. “I’m doing it for our viewers because they deserve better. And, I’m doing it for this girl right out of college who you’re setting up to fail.”

Mercy was surprised to discover how much she liked Jennifer Parsons. The girl had the look of a runway model with a face that belonged in a beauty pageant. She was also smart – smart enough to realize that she was being used.

“They hired me as eye candy, Mercy,” Jennifer had said soon after they met. “I know that. They would love for me to do the weather in a halter top and a pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs.”

Mercy had doubled over with laughter because that was exactly what she had been thinking.

The next three weeks passed quickly. Jennifer was a quick study, and Mercy enjoyed working with her.

On her last day at the station Mercy knocked on Darrel Wilson’s door.

“Come in,” he called.

“Do you want me to give you a rundown on Jennifer before I leave?” Mercy asked.

“ Please,” Darrel replied.

“Well, given her backround, she has certainly exceeded my expectations,” Mercy said. “She’s particularly good in front of the camera.”

“Does she understand the science?” Darrel asked.

“She has the terminology down pat and knows how to use it in the correct context,” Mercy said.

“We’ve done several mock broadcasts,” she added.

“But, does she really understand meteorology?” Darrel asked.

“Of course not, Darrel,” Mercy said. “She’s an English major. “She understands weather science about as well as I understand the allegorical subtleties in The Divine Comedy.”

Darrel Wilson nodded his head. “Any suggestions?” he asked.

“Don’t refer to her as a meteorologist,” Mercy said. “That’s a serious misrepresentation of both her knowledge and scientific credentials. Call her a weather reporter or announcer, something like that. Also, discontinue the viewer call in segment where people can ask weather related questions. I don’t know what you’ll do if you have a significant weather event and have to broadcast live for an extended period of time. Just remember that she doesn’t have the backround to analyze, interpret, or explain weather systems.”

Darrel Wilson rose from his chair. “Thanks for everything, Mercy,” he said.

“Good luck to you.”

“Good bye, Darrel,” Mercy said. “I hope this doesn’t blow up in your face.”

#

“Mercy, I’m so sorry,” Sarah Jane Howard said. “I feel like it’s my fault that you’re in this position.”

“Don’t be silly, Sarah Jane,” Mercy replied.

Mercy had met Sarah Jane Howard at the 2004 U.S. Olympic Equestrian Trials in Camden, South Carolina. Mercy had made the team as an alternate. Although Sarah Jane failed to make the team, they formed an instant friendship. When Mercy returned from the Games in Greece there was a voice message on her phone from Sarah Jane. Channel 24 had an opening for a meteorologist. The timing couldn’t have been better. Mercy had just completed her Masters at the University of South Carolina and was looking for an opportunity to put it to use. She and Tom Andrews hit it off immediately, and within two weeks she had found an apartment and was living in Virginia. The icing on the cake was Sarah Jane’s offer as a part time equestrian instructor at Wild Pony Ranch. She loved being around the horses and teaching the students, especially beginners. Best of all, she was able to board her own horse at Wild Pony Ranch. Mercy spent at least a small part of each day riding and grooming Vanilla Bean.

“Well, if there’s a silver lining to this, maybe now I can talk you into being a full time equestrian instructor at Wild Pony Ranch,” Sarah Jane said.

“Thank you, Sarah Jane, but I don’t want you to offer me something out of charity or a misplaced feeling of guilt,” Mercy said.

“Are you kidding?” Sarah Jane asked. “I have a chance to have a member of the 2004 U.S. Olympic Equestrian Team come to work for me full time giving riding lessons, and you think that’s charity?”

Mercy laughed. “Since you put it that way, thank you. I accept.”

“I haven’t told you before,” Sarah Jane said, “but since you’ve been working here part time I’ve received inquiries from about twenty advanced level riders that want to work one on one with you.”

“I had no idea,” Mercy said. “I’m flattered.”

“I have them on a waiting list,” Sarah Jane said. “I can pay you twenty five dollars per student per lesson. That works out to about five hundred dollars a week for twenty hours. For the other twenty hours, I’ll want you to help me with group lessons. I can pay you ten dollars an hour for that. We’ll continue to board Vanilla Bean at no charge, and I’ll also cover the cost of her food.”

“That’s very generous, Sarah Jane,” Mercy said.

“Well, I’m sure it’s not as much as you were making,” Sarah Jane said.

“It’s pretty close,” Mercy replied. “I can keep my insurance through the station for eighteen months. The community college has also hired me as an adjunct instructor for the upcoming semester. I’ll be teaching two evening classes in weather science.”

Sarah Jane laughed, and said, “Maybe this Jennifer Parsons will be one of your students.”

“She wants to do a good job, Sarah Jane,” Mercy said. “I actually think she would take the class if it didn’t conflict with when she was doing her broadcast. I sort of feel sorry for her.”

“You’re a kind and generous person, Mercy,” Sarah Jane said.

“I don’t know about that,” Mercy replied.

#

Mercy loved the new direction that her life had taken. Working on an individual basis with her advanced riding students was very gratifying. A couple of them had a chance to become national class equestrians, and Mercy was proud to be involved with their development. At the same time she enjoyed working with groups of beginners, opening up a whole new world to them. But, the best part of the longer days that she was working at Wild Pony Ranch was the extra time that she was able to devote to Vanilla Bean. Mercy had ridden the gentle chestnut thoroughbred mare in competition for the past six years. During that time they had formed a powerful bond. They were more like sisters than horse and rider..

Classes had started at the community college. Although she had never considered a career in teaching, Mercy was delighted to have the opportunity to stay involved in the study of meteorology. Since she had taken the position primarily for the money, Mercy was surprised to discover that she liked teaching. She attributed this to the fact that she was teaching a subject that she had expertise in and that she loved. Also, the classes were electives rather than courses that were required for graduation. That meant that her students wanted to be there.

Mercy’s approach to teaching was practical rather than theoretical. She had a text for her classes, but she used it only as a general reference guide. She wanted her students to learn about the science of meteorology rather than worrying about obtaining a certain grade. As such, each class was devoted to providing a local weather forecast. The students were expected to discuss the forecast in detail based on their study of local weather information from television news broadcasts, The Weather Channel, the Internet, and other sources. Mercy was delighted to watch her students grow in their knowledge of weather terminology and systems. The added benefit was that it required her to study the same information in detail, a task that she enjoyed.

She spotted it the first week in November. None of her students caught it, which was not surprising. What disturbed Mercy was that neither The Weather Channel nor The National Weather Service were talking about it. A cold front had stalled and it had started raining. A system of dry air from the Midwest was expected to reach them in the next day or two and clear out the rain. This was the forecast that was being reported as part of the national weather. Channel 24 was simply repeating this forecast. The problem was that they were wrong. Mercy was sure of it. Today was just the beginning of a potentially catastrophic weather emergency. A ridge of moisture was sweeping down from Canada. Mercy expected it to collide with the front moving in from the Midwest and dump torrential rains on southern Virginia. Worst of all, she expected the system to stall. If this happened they would need dry air moving in from the south or the east to push out the rain. Studying the weather maps, Mercy was not optimistic that this would happen anytime soon.

Mercy had immediately called Darrel Wilson and urgently explained the potential threat to the community. Darrel had listened politely, but refused to change their forecast or even mention the possibility of this scenario on the broadcast. Mercy slammed the phone down in frustration, and then dialed Channel 6, the local CBS network affiliate. Derek Morgan, the Channel 6 meteorologist agreed to review his data and call her back.

An hour later Derek called. He disagreed with her forecast, but acknowledged the possibility. Channel 6 required that forecasts deviating from the National Weather Service forecast had to be approved in advance by the station’s general manager. Channel 24 had the same policy. Derek had requested approval for a deviation, but had been refused. Mercy suspected that Darrel Wilson had made a phone call. In desperation, she had called Jennifer Parsons to update her on the situation.

“Darrel’s already spoken to me , Mercy,” Jennifer said. “He said you might call.”

“I’m sorry, Jennifer,” Mercy said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Jennifer snorted. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “Darrel’s got no leverage over me and he knows it. Once I leave he’s got nobody to do the weather.”

“Do you plan on leaving?” Mercy asked.

“I’ve got my resume out everywhere,” Jennifer replied. “My only plan is to accept any offer that’s less ridiculous than an English/Journalism major working as a weather girl.”

Mercy laughed.

“Anyway, I would be glad to go with your forecast on the air. The only problem is that John Reynolds told me that he would have to pull the plug on the broadcast if I did. Orders from Darrel.”

Mercy swore in frustration. “What is his problem?” she asked.

“Job insecurity, I think,” Jennifer replied. “Also, he strikes me as a small minded, ethically challenged person.”

“ Apparently so,” Mercy said. “Thanks anyway, Jennifer.”

“ Keep me in the loop, Mercy,” Jennifer said. “I’ll help you if I can.”

Mercy hung up the phone and stared off into space. Finally, she picked up the phone again and dialed.

“Hey, Mercy,” Sarah Jane said when she answered the phone.

“Hey, Sarah Jane,” Mercy replied. “Is Cowboy, around?”

“He’s out mending fence in this mess, if you can believe it,” Sarah Jane said.

“Can I give him a message?”

Sarah Jane listened with a frown on her face. “I’ll tell him, Mercy,” she said.

Thirty minutes later John “Cowboy” Howard entered the kitchen.

“You look like you’ve been swimming with your clothes on,” Sarah Jane said.

John Howard grunted in reply.

“Mercy wants you to call her immediately, John. She says the weather’s going to get really bad.”

John Howard glanced out the window and said, “ it already is.”

“She said to tell you that we’re going to get what she called ‘cowboy rain.’”

Sarah Jane jumped as John Howard sat down hard at the kitchen table. The color had drained from his face.

“John?” Sarah Jane asked in alarm.

John Howard remained silent.

“What is this cowboy rain that Mercy’s talking about?” Sarah Jane asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

John Howard roused himself and said, “It’s an old country expression. You don’t hear it anymore, but anyone who grew up on a farm or ranch knows what it means.”

“Well?” Sarah Jane asked.

“It’s when it rains continuously for days, or even weeks. All the roads get washed out, bottom land is underwater, mudslides, flash floods, and anything else you can imagine,” John Howard hesitated. “Sometimes people and animals die,” he added.

“Why do they call it cowboy rain?” Sarah Jane asked.

“Because nothing can move,” John Howard said. “The roads are flooded or washed out altogether. That means no cars, buses, trucks, emergency vehicles or anything else are on the roads. The only way to get around is on horseback. And, even then, only expert riders can handle such weather conditions. Cowboys.”

John Howard got up from the kitchen table and went into the den to call Mercy. Fifteen minutes later he came back into the kitchen.

“It’s bad,” he told Sarah Jane. “Neither of the television stations will air Mercy’s forecast. Darrel Wilson has seen to that.”

“I don’t understand,” Sarah Jane said. “People’s lives could be at stake.”

“Well, he certainly showed that he didn’t care about the quality of weather news when he got rid of Mercy,” John Howard said. “I guess he doesn’t care about the people of this community either.”

“What about the newspaper or Internet?” Sarah Jane asked.

“This week’s paper just came out. It’s six days until the next edition, and that’s too late.”

“What about the Internet?” Sarah Jane repeated..

“Can’t count on enough people seeing it,” John Howard replied.

“ So, what’s the plan?” Sarah Jane asked.

“Mercy’s on her way over,” John Howard said. “We’re going to put together a list of the ranchers and farmers in the area and begin calling.” John paused, and said, “That’s as far as we’ve gotten.”

“I have a couple of ideas,” Sarah Jane said. “If this really does turn into a cowboy rain then, at least initially, the only way to reach people that are in trouble will be on horseback,”

John Howard nodded in agreement.

“Take your list of ranchers and farmers and identify, let’s say, the top ten riders from that group. Make them the community’s First Response Team. Have them come out here to the ranch for a full briefing. Also, I think it would be a good idea for you and Mercy, and maybe a couple of the others, to target homes and businesses that are in low lying areas. Go door to door and talk to these people face to face.”

“Fantastic,” John Howard said. “I knew I married you for a reason.”

Sarah Jane rolled her eyes.

John Howard frowned. “How will we know if people need help?” he asked.

“They won’t know to call us.”

Sarah Jane thought for a moment. “Get Mercy to call Jennifer Parsons at Channel 24. Mercy said that Jennifer wants to help. She can contact us with any information that comes into the station. Also,we need to call the 911 dispatch, the hospital, and EMT to let them know that we are ready to respond.”

John Howard smiled. “I think we just might have this thing covered,” he said.

The rain continued unabated. Mercy, John, and Sarah Jane worked feverishly. Two days later they felt that they had a solid plan in place.

The next morning Mercy called Sarah Jane. “Jennifer and I are going to take a ride over the mountain this morning.”

“How come?” Sarah Jane asked.

“I want to get a closer look at the James,” Mercy replied. “I also want to check out the dams at Glasgow and Coleman Falls. I’ll call you when I get back.”

Later that afternoon Mercy called.

“How does it look?” Sarah Jane asked.

“Marginal ,” Mercy replied. “You need to close off the lower pastures and keep the horses away from there.”

“What else?” Sarah Jane asked.

Mercy drew a deep breath. “We need to start calling and knocking on doors again,” she said. “It’s time for people in the flood zone to get out.”

The phone woke Mercy the next morning. The clock read 5:08.

“Mercy, this is Jennifer. A call just came in from the State Police.”

Mercy shot up out of the bed. “ What is it, Jennifer?” she asked.

“The dams have broken,” Jennifer said in a trembling voice.

Mercy’s heart leaped into her throat. “Which dam?” she asked.

“Both,” Jennifer replied. “Glasgow and Coleman Falls.”

Mercy tried to catch her breath.

“There’s something else,” Jennifer said. “The police said there are some campers stranded at Little Otter Campground. Maybe, twenty or so. They can’t get back across Wild Pony Creek.”

Mercy disconnected the call without a word and hit the speed dial.

“Hello,” John Howard answered in a groggy voice.

“Call the team, Cowboy,” Mercy said. “They need to get to the ranch now. Tell them to bring chainsaws if they have them.. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

The riders were all assembled when Mercy pulled into Wild Pony Ranch thirty minutes later. She quickly briefed them on the situation.

Sarah Jane had already saddled Vanilla Bean for Mercy. As they rode toward the campground Sarah Jane asked, “How long before the floodwaters from the dams hit Wild Pony Creek?”

“Well, Wild Pony Creek is a tributary of the James River,” Mercy said. “No more than an hour, I would guess. We need to work fast.”

The riders reached the ridge overlooking Little Otter Campground and carefully descended the muddy trail. The creek had become a river, and the campers on the other side look terrified.

“I need two teams,” Mercy hollered over the roar of the water. “The best riders will take care of the campers. That’s me, Sarah Jane, and Cowboy.” Mercy looked at the ten horsemen. “I want two more,” she said. “The best two. You know who you are.” The riders looked at each other. “We don’t have time for this,” she yelled.

Mercy looked over at John Howard and said, “Pick ‘em, Cowboy.”

“Harland and Randall,” John Howard said without hesitation.

“I want the rest of you to make like beavers and see if we can dam up the creek enough to at least slow the current,” Mercy said. “Just like you did when you were kids. Branches, limbs, large rocks, anything you can find,” she said.

Mercy turned Vanilla Bean into the water and headed across the creek.

Despite the makeshift dam the water ran faster, and Wild Pony Creek continued to rise. The riders worked as quickly as they could, but it was slow going.

Mercy and John Howard were crossing with the last two campers when they heard it. The roar was as loud as a jet taking off from the airport.

“Here it comes,” Mercy screamed. “Everybody out.”

Horses and riders and the rest of the campers scrambled up the ridge. Mercy and John reached the other side in time to see a wall of water bearing down on them. Suddenly, Vanilla Bean slipped and fell back into the water. Mercy held on and pulled back hard on the reins as the mare’s head went under. The horse began to thrash, and Mercy was knocked from the saddle. Mercy lunged for the Chestnut, but was grabbed by John Howard just as an enormous wave crashed through the campground.

“VB,” Mercy howled in anguish.

The gentle horse looked back one last time before it was carried around a bend in the creek and out of sight.

John helped Mercy to the top of the ridge. The rest of the team were helping to take the campers back to Wild Pony Ranch where they could get out of the rain and get something to eat.

The two of them sat on the ridge in the driving rain and looked down at the flooded creek bottom.

“Who is that?” John Howard asked in amazement.

Mercy followed John’s gaze down the far side of the creek and saw a lone figure emerging from around the bend.. Mercy gasped. “Jennifer,” she screamed.

Jennifer Parsons looked up.

“Hang on,” Mercy yelled. “We’ll get you across.”

Suddenly, Mercy whispered, “My god.” Tears ran down her face. Coming slowly around the bend behind Jennifer was Vanilla Bean.

John Howard had already mounted his great stallion, Jubal, and was preparing to cross the creek.

“Giddy up, Jubal,” John Howard shouted as horse and rider plunged into the torrent.

An hour later Jennifer Parsons and John Howard, and two exhausted horses rejoined Mercy at the top of the ridge. Mercy hugged Jennifer and her horse like she would never let them go.

“How did you do that?” Mercy asked.

“I found a footbridge further downstream that hadn’t been washed out,” Jennifer said. “I was coming across to tell the campers about it when that wave of water hit. I saw your horse come around the bend in the creek and, luckily, she got caught up on some limbs and debris. I was able to grab her reins and pull her out.”

“I can’t believe you were able to do that,” Mercy said.

Jennifer smiled and said, “I know I look like a girly girl, Mercy, but I was born and raised in Nebraska farm country. I know my way around horses.”

“Hey,” a voice called out.”

The three of them looked up to see, of all people, Darrel Wilson walking toward them, all decked out in Channel 24 rain gear.

“I heard what happened,” he called.

Without a word, Mercy ran up to him and knocked him to the ground.

“What’s the matter with you, Mercy?” Darrel yelled as he climbed to his feet.

“I’ve got a right to be here.”

“No you don’t, Darrel,” Jennifer and Mercy said in unison.

Darrel Wilson glared at the two women and then turned to John Howard. “Don’t you have anything to say?” he asked.

John Howard walked over and knocked Darrel Wilson to the ground again. This time he didn’t get up.

#

“Price Johnston, please. Mercy Dalton calling.”

“Ms. Dalton?” the voice on the other end of the line answered.

“Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Johnston. I’m wondering if you are aware of what’s been going on in our community?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” Ms. Dalton. “I have spoken at length with Mr. Wilson and others at Channel 24. I fired Mr. Wilson yesterday.” Price Johnston paused, and then added, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Then don’t, Mr. Johnston,” Mercy replied. “My purpose in calling is to let you know what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Price Johnston repeated.

“Yes,” Mercy replied. “Beginning tomorrow, I have a conference call scheduled with Virginia’s Attorney General to talk about the possibility of filing charges against Digital Communications Group and you personally for criminal negligence. I am also meeting tomorrow afternoon with a group of farmers and ranchers who suffered property losses, and two families who lost someone in the flood. You can expect a flurry of lawsuits,” Mercy said. “Finally, we will be calling and visiting the station’s advertisers to relate to them the details of this whole sordid affair and your role in it. I’m sure they will waste no time in switching their advertising dollars to Channel 6.”

Price Johnston was silent for a moment, and then said, “Why are you telling me this? What do you want?”

“I’m telling you this, Mr. Johnston, so that you will understand that Channel 24 will never be anything but a weight around your neck for as long as you own it. I also want you to appreciate how much damage I can do to you and Digital Communications Group if I decide to spearhead this effort.”

“What do you want?” Price Johnston repeated.

“I want you to transfer ownership of this station back to Tom Andrews,” Mercy said.

“Under the circumstances I would be willing to sell the station back to Mr. Andrews,” Price Johnston said.

Mercy laughed. “What you need to be willing to do, Mr. Johnston, is give the station back to Tom Andrews along with a check for, let’s say, one hundred thousand dollars for the damage that you have done to this station and this community in just six short months.” Mercy paused. “ If you do, then I will not pursue any of the actions that I have mentioned, and a lot of your problems will go away.”

Price Johnston sighed. “ It will take me a couple of weeks to get Board approval and draw up the contract,” he said.

“ You have until noon tomorrow,” Mercy replied, and hung up the phone.

#

The last year had passed quickly. Tom Andrews had seen Mercy’s hand behind the ownership transfer of the station and the check from Digital Communications Group. Tom had immediately resold Channel 24 to Mercy for the grand sum of one dollar. His only condition was to be allowed to work part time selling ads. More importantly, he made himself available to Mercy as a sort of mentor/voluntary consultant. Vanilla Bean continued to live and thrive at Wild Pony Ranch. Jennifer was thrilled to have the opportunity to ride her, and Mercy was pleased to see that she did, indeed, know her way around horses. Mercy promoted John Reynolds to general manager, and moved Jennifer into John’s position as news director. She also made her co-producer of the evening news. The station had regained its reputation. Advertising sales were growing, and their news broadcast was taking market share from Channel 6. The only unresolved issue that remained was finding a qualified meteorologist to do the weather.

John Reynolds came up to her and said, “I’ve been through the resumes, Mercy, and I’ve got three good candidates. They’re all degreed meteorologists.” He spoke quietly since they were on the news set and the broadcast was in progress. “ When do you want me to schedule the interviews?” he asked.

“Let me check my schedule,” Mercy replied. “There’s no rush.”

Mercy looked at the clock in the newsroom and held up one finger. One minute remained for the broadcast, and the news anchor began to wrap things up.

“We have time for a final check on the weather,” he said.

The meteorologist smiled into the camera. “Sunny and mild in store for tomorrow with a high of seventy five degrees. It’s going to be a beautiful day. That’s your weather. I’m Mercy Dalton.”

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About Ronald Paxton: Ronald Paxton is a writer of short fiction living in Charleston, South Carolina. His work has been published online by a number of literary magazines, including Literary Road, Piker Press, Muscadine Lines, Quill and Parchment, and Imitation Fruit. His goal is to publish a print collection of his stories.