I didn't sleep that night.
Not properly.
First, I needed to find someone who could help.
I called the Harvey Farmers Cooperative's emergency number.
The recording directed customers to leave a message.
I tried again.
Then I waited.
Eventually, a man answered.
It was around 12:40 in the morning.
"Harvey Farmers Co-op. Emergency service."
His voice sounded tired.
I explained who I was and gave him Mom's address.
"My mother's name is Elsie Heinz. She's eighty-two. Her propane tank is almost empty, and the furnace has stopped running."
There was a pause.
"How much is left?"
"Five percent."
Another silence.
Then he asked a question that made me realize he knew exactly who Mom was.
"Is this Art Heinz's wife?"
"Yes."
"My name is Duane Kessler," he said. "I've been delivering propane to that farm for more than twenty years. I knew your father."
His tone changed.
"How is Elsie?"
"She's awake. She's sitting in her living room wearing her winter coat."
He didn't say anything for a moment.
Then he asked about the road conditions.
I explained that the snow had drifted across the gravel section-line road.
Mom's property was twelve miles east of Harvey, with eight miles of gravel road between the paved highway and the farm.
The county sometimes cleared that stretch only once a week.
Duane told me he couldn't safely bring the delivery truck out in the middle of the night.
He promised to come as soon as the county opened the road.
"First thing in the morning," he said. "I'll get there as soon as I can."
I thanked him.
Then he gave me some instructions.
He told me to lower the thermostat to fifty-five degrees temporarily.
I didn't like the idea.
But he explained that the remaining fuel needed to last until the delivery arrived.
He also told me to move Mom into the warmest room, close the doors to unused areas, and look for an electric space heater.
"Art used to keep one downstairs," he said. "Near the water softener."
I remembered it.
Dad had used it when the well equipment needed extra protection.
I went down into the basement.
The stairs creaked beneath my boots.
The air down there was even colder.
I found the heater behind the water softener.
It was dusty, but the cord appeared undamaged.
I carried it upstairs and placed it beside Dad's recliner.
When I plugged it in, a small heating element began glowing orange.
I checked the outlet and kept the heater away from the blanket and furniture.
Then I shut the doors to the kitchen, dining room, and hallway.
I wanted to keep as much warmth as possible in the room where Mom was sitting.
I tucked Grandma's afghan around her legs.
Then I removed my red parka and spread it over the blanket.
Mom watched me.
"Connie, you don't have to do all that."
"Yes, I do."
She looked toward the heater.
"Your father always kept that thing."
"I know."
She said nothing more.
I pulled a chair close to the recliner, but eventually sat on the floor with my back against its cracked vinyl side.
I kept checking Mom.
Every few minutes, I looked at the heater.
I also checked the thermometer.
It barely moved.
I called Steve to tell him I had arrived.
He wanted to know whether Mom was safe.
"She's awake. I've found a heater, and the cooperative is coming in the morning."
"Thank goodness."
"I'll call you again tomorrow."
"Stay with her, Connie."
"I will."
The rest of the night passed slowly.
Mom eventually fell asleep.
I stayed awake.
Every time the old clock ticked, I became aware of how quiet the house was without the furnace.
I kept thinking about the pink delivery ticket.
Two hundred gallons.
Four hundred dollars.
Seven hundred and fifty dollars from the three of us.
I tried to find an explanation that didn't involve my sister doing something she shouldn't have done.
Perhaps there had been another delivery.
Perhaps the paperwork was somewhere else.
Perhaps the cooperative had made an error.
I wanted one of those explanations to be true.
But I couldn't make the numbers disappear.
At seven the next morning, I heard a county snowplow working its way along the road.
Its orange warning lights appeared through the frosted windows.
I stood near the kitchen entrance and watched it pass.
The road was finally being cleared.
At ten-forty, I called the cooperative again.
This time Marlene answered.
She had worked at the front desk since I was in high school.
"Connie Heinz! Duane told us about your mother. How is she doing?"
"She's awake. Still cold, but we're managing."
"He's getting the truck ready."
I thanked her.
Then I asked something I had been thinking about since finding the receipt.
"Marlene, can I ask you about Mom's propane account?"
"Of course."
"Whose name is it under?"
There was a short pause.
"Pamela Ruff," she said. "Your sister set it up after your father passed away. She's the billing contact."
I looked at the kitchen table.
The pink delivery receipt was still in my pocket.
"Is it possible to change the account holder?"
"Certainly. We need one person responsible for the billing. If Pam agrees, we can transfer it. Or you can open a separate account under your own name."
I didn't need another explanation.
"I want a new account."
"In your name?"
"Yes."
"All right. We can arrange that today."
I looked toward the living room.
Mom was resting beneath the blankets.
Her winter coat was still on.
I thought about the money we had sent every October.
I thought about the delivery ticket.
I thought about how close we had come to losing the furnace completely.
And I made my decision.
From that day forward, I would be responsible for Mom's propane account.
Not because I wanted to take control away from Pam.
Not because I wanted to embarrass her.
Because I needed to know that the fuel was being ordered, delivered, and paid for.
I couldn't leave something that important to an arrangement nobody was checking.
Marlene asked me for the information needed to establish the new account.
I gave it to her.
She processed the change.
By the time I hung up, the account would be under my name.
I still hadn't spoken to Pam.
Mom had asked me not to confront her.
And I intended to honor that request for the moment.
But I wasn't going to let the same thing happen again.
At approximately two that afternoon, a large white propane truck finally appeared in the yard.
I recognized Duane before he even stepped out.
He was sixty-one, with a gray beard and a red face from years of working outdoors.
He wore a Harvey Hornets stocking cap.
When he reached the kitchen door, he knocked.
Mom stood up slowly.
She was still wearing her brown coat and knitted hat.
Duane removed his cap when he saw her.
"Mrs. Heinz, I'm sorry it took so long to get here."
Mom gave him a small smile.
"Oh, Duane. You shouldn't be out in weather like this."
He glanced at the frosted windows.
Then he looked toward the living room.
He didn't argue.
He simply nodded and walked back toward the truck.
I watched him through the kitchen window.
He connected the delivery equipment and began filling the tank.
I stayed beside Mom.
For the first time since arriving, I felt that we might actually get through the day without another problem.
But the pink receipt was still in my pocket.
And the decision I had made that morning meant that the next delivery would no longer depend on my sister's account.
That was going to change our family.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Furnace Finally Started Again, but Taking Over the Propane Account Created a Family Problem I Wasn’t Ready to Face
I Thought My Mother Was Simply Sleeping Through Another North Dakota Winter, Until I Walked Into Her Living Room and Realized Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 3 of 12
