Alone
Moriah now stood alone on the little island, water sloshing about her knees as she cradled the dog in her arms. She was scared.
The current was growing more treacherous, and the saturated rope stretched like a rubber band. Hoffmeister pulled the line taut and retied it, but he was concerned about the knots on the other side. Moriah was almost his size and weight. Would the rope hold their combined 300 pounds？
He had to test it. He took the dog from Moriah's arms and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. She was trembling. “I'll be right back,” he said. “Don't move.”
Hoffmeister carried the dog across and checked the knots on the far side. They were holding firm. At that same moment, Jason DeCorte, 28, LeeAnn's son from a previous marriage, drove up on the high ground at the front of the house. “I need your help,” Hoffmeister yelled to the young man. “We've got to get your sister！”
Jason stood at the base of the first tree, watching the rope and waiting. “When we get close, you grab her,” Hoffmeister said. He forced his way across the wash once more and took Moriah's hand. She wasn't certain he could actually carry her. “Are you sure？” she asked.
Hoffmeister was breathing heavily, his face and clothes black with soot. “I'll be there,” he said. “Just don't let go of the rope.” He bent at the waist and draped Moriah over his back, her right arm over his shoulder, her left around his stomach. With both hands, she took the rope, and they entered the frothing river, as did Jason.
Halfway across, a surge of water slammed Hoffmeister sideways. He lost his footing in the ooze and went under the rope, taking Moriah with him on the downstream side. She still had both hands on the lifeline, but was on her back, her arms and torso outstretched. The violent flow whipped her body like a flag in the wind.
At the last second, Hoffmeister snared her foot. He dug his toes into the slime and pushed up. “Hold on！ Hold on！” he yelled.
Jason was struggling to help, but the footing was impossible. He slid and grabbed for Moriah. Her fingers were slipping. Knuckle by knuckle, the current was winning this tug of war. I can't hold on, she thought. But she didn't give in to the water's force or to fear. One finger at a time, she re-gripped the line.
In the next instant, Jason seized her at the waist and pulled her sideways toward the bank. They both pulled themselves from the waters that stampeded out of the Ca？ada del Oro.
Hoffmeister was right behind them —— so exhausted he had to crawl out of the water, while coughing up black sludge.
This flood and subsequent rains wiped out Hoffmeister's nursery. After the deluge, many homeowners in the area chose to relocate. The Yankovich family bought a bigger house on a four-acre plot in Oracle Junction. Their new home doesn't have the same trees and greenery as the old place by the wash, but it has something better —— the kind of neighbors you can count on. Vaughn and Liz Hoffmeister have moved there too.
Moriah now stood alone on the little island, water sloshing about her knees as she cradled the dog in her arms. She was scared.
The current was growing more treacherous, and the saturated rope stretched like a rubber band. Hoffmeister pulled the line taut and retied it, but he was concerned about the knots on the other side. Moriah was almost his size and weight. Would the rope hold their combined 300 pounds？
He had to test it. He took the dog from Moriah's arms and placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder. She was trembling. “I'll be right back,” he said. “Don't move.”
Hoffmeister carried the dog across and checked the knots on the far side. They were holding firm. At that same moment, Jason DeCorte, 28, LeeAnn's son from a previous marriage, drove up on the high ground at the front of the house. “I need your help,” Hoffmeister yelled to the young man. “We've got to get your sister！”
Jason stood at the base of the first tree, watching the rope and waiting. “When we get close, you grab her,” Hoffmeister said. He forced his way across the wash once more and took Moriah's hand. She wasn't certain he could actually carry her. “Are you sure？” she asked.
Hoffmeister was breathing heavily, his face and clothes black with soot. “I'll be there,” he said. “Just don't let go of the rope.” He bent at the waist and draped Moriah over his back, her right arm over his shoulder, her left around his stomach. With both hands, she took the rope, and they entered the frothing river, as did Jason.
Halfway across, a surge of water slammed Hoffmeister sideways. He lost his footing in the ooze and went under the rope, taking Moriah with him on the downstream side. She still had both hands on the lifeline, but was on her back, her arms and torso outstretched. The violent flow whipped her body like a flag in the wind.
At the last second, Hoffmeister snared her foot. He dug his toes into the slime and pushed up. “Hold on！ Hold on！” he yelled.
Jason was struggling to help, but the footing was impossible. He slid and grabbed for Moriah. Her fingers were slipping. Knuckle by knuckle, the current was winning this tug of war. I can't hold on, she thought. But she didn't give in to the water's force or to fear. One finger at a time, she re-gripped the line.
In the next instant, Jason seized her at the waist and pulled her sideways toward the bank. They both pulled themselves from the waters that stampeded out of the Ca？ada del Oro.
Hoffmeister was right behind them —— so exhausted he had to crawl out of the water, while coughing up black sludge.
This flood and subsequent rains wiped out Hoffmeister's nursery. After the deluge, many homeowners in the area chose to relocate. The Yankovich family bought a bigger house on a four-acre plot in Oracle Junction. Their new home doesn't have the same trees and greenery as the old place by the wash, but it has something better —— the kind of neighbors you can count on. Vaughn and Liz Hoffmeister have moved there too.