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Show Twisters . . . 28 Arthur was so glad for the arrival of food that we almost missed the severe weather announcement coming over the TV. "-in the St. Paul area, just north of Grand Island-" I heard that much. Mom rushed in through the dining area. "Listen!" she shushed us. " . . . in effect until further notice is given. Warnings are being issued for St. Paul, Dannebrog, and surrounding rural areas. Funnel clouds have been sighted near Dannebrog. Persons in those vicinities are urged to take all possible precautions." Mom had her hand over her heart. "St. Paul's northwest, thank God!" Arthur sat up, his eyes round. "Grandpa's farm is east, close to Phillips," I explained. "St. Paul's still too close for comfort," Mom added. "Do we have to go to the basement?" I asked. Now that we were all set for the next show, I hoped not. Mom didn't answer. She had her face right up against our big front window, shielding her eyes trying to see out. Normally she's a lot more casual about storms than Dad is, but she looked worried, "It's pitch black out there," she said, "I've never seen it so dark this early." It was noisy outside as well as dark. Our shake shingles, flapping and smacking overhead, made me think somebody was up there playing a xylophone on the roof. Minerva didn't like the weather, either. She was crouched under Dad's chair with her ears back. No wonder. She'd be carried off like a tumbleweed in one of our stiff prairie winds. I was glad when Mom pulled the drapes for us. |