“Word just came in by radio,” Joe Quigley spoke up. “There’s been a big rain over Goshen way.”
“I could have told you that last night,” Mrs. Lear replied, undisturbed. “Knew it when I seen them big clouds bilin’ up.”
“You oughter get out o’ here right away,” added Silas Malcom. “That dam at Huntley Lake ain’t safe no more, and when all that water comes down from Goshen it ain’t too likely she’ll hold.”
“Are the people of Delta leaving for the hills?” Mrs. Lear asked coldly.
“Some are,” Quigley assured her. “We’re urging everyone who can to take the morning train. A few stubborn ones like yourself refuse to budge.”
“Oh, so I’m stubborn! I suppose you’re leaving, Joe Quigley?”
“That’s different. I have a job to do and I can’t desert my post at the depot.”
“And the Burmasters? Are they leaving?”
“We’re on our way up to the estate now to warn them.”
“I’ll make you a bargain,” Mrs. Lear agreed, a hard glint in her eye. “If Mrs. Burmaster goes, then I’ll go too. But so long as she stays in this valley I’m not stirrin’ one inch!”