Duane worked for quite a while beside the tank.
I watched him from the kitchen window.
The truck was parked near the back of the farmhouse, with its delivery hose connected to the white tank.
Mom sat in Dad's recliner.
She had barely moved since breakfast.
Every now and then, she looked toward the window to see whether Duane had finished.
I could tell she wanted the house warm again.
She just didn't want to admit how badly she needed it.
Eventually, Duane came back to the kitchen.
He removed his gloves and checked the delivery paperwork.
"The tank is up to eighty percent now," he said.
I nodded.
"How much did you put in?"
"Three hundred and seventy-five gallons."
I looked at the total.
The price was $2.09 per gallon.
The delivery came to $783.75.
I took out my credit card.
Duane used the payment reader he carried in his coat pocket.
I paid the bill at Mom's kitchen counter.
Nearly eight hundred dollars.
I didn't hesitate.
There was no point thinking about the money while Mom was sitting in a fifty-one-degree house.
The important thing was getting the furnace running.
After the payment went through, I asked Duane another question.
"Can you put this tank on automatic delivery?"
He looked at me.
"You mean our keep-full program?"
"Yes."
Mom turned her head.
"What is keep-full?"
Duane explained it to her.
The cooperative could install a small monitoring device on the tank.
It would transmit information about the propane level to their office.
When the supply dropped to thirty percent, they would arrange another delivery.
Nobody would need to remember to call.
Nobody would have to keep checking the gauge.
The cooperative would monitor it and schedule the truck.
Mom listened carefully.
"Does that mean they'll come without me asking?"
"That's right," Duane said. "We'll keep an eye on it."
I looked at him.
"And the bills?"
"They go to the account holder."
I had already opened the new account that morning.
"Then put it under my name."
He nodded.
"That'll be fine."
I watched him make the necessary arrangements.
The little monitoring device was fitted to the tank.
From that point forward, the cooperative would track the level and arrange deliveries automatically.
There would be no more guessing.
No more relying on someone remembering to place an order.
And no more waiting until the tank was nearly empty.
When Duane finished, I thanked him.
He glanced toward Mom again.
"Take care of yourself, Mrs. Heinz."
"I will, Duane."
He put on his cap and left.
I remained in the kitchen for a moment.
Then I walked toward the hallway.
The old Honeywell thermostat was still set at fifty-five degrees.
I moved the pointer to seventy.
Nothing happened immediately.
Then I heard a mechanical sound from below.
A click.
A short pause.
Then the burner ignited.
The furnace had started.
I stood still.
The familiar vibration traveled through the floor.
A moment later, the blower began pushing warm air through the registers.
It sounded exactly as I remembered from childhood.
That low rumble.
That brief mechanical pause.
Then the steady movement of warm air.
I closed my eyes for a second.
The house was breathing again.
Mom heard it, too.
She looked toward the floor register beside Dad's recliner.
For the first time that day, her expression changed.
She didn't say anything.
She simply rested her head against the chair and closed her eyes.
About an hour later, the thermometer showed sixty-eight degrees.
The frost on the windows began melting.
Small trails of water appeared on the glass.
I watched Mom remove her gloves.
Then she took off her knitted hat.
Her white hair was flattened against her head.
She used one hand to smooth it.
After that, she slowly unbuttoned her brown coat.
She stood carefully, using the armrest for support because her knees were never very good.
Then she walked into the kitchen.
I watched her approach the hooks beside the back door.
She took the coat off completely and hung it up.
For a few seconds, she stood there with one hand resting against it.
Then she spoke.
"I'd almost forgotten how nice this feels."
I didn't know what to say.
I wanted to hug her.
I wanted to cry.
Instead, I walked over and put my arms around her.
She leaned against me.
We stayed that way for a moment.
That evening, Mom went to bed in her own bedroom.
The house was warm.
The propane tank was full.
The automatic monitoring system was working.
For the first time since arriving, I could finally relax.
But there was still something I needed to do.
I had to tell Rob and Dean.
I sat at the kitchen table and sent both of them a message.
I explained that Mom's propane tank had been filled and that I had moved the account into my name.
I also told them that future contributions should come to me.
I didn't mention the delivery ticket.
I didn't explain the five-percent reading.
And I didn't mention Pam.
I wanted to discuss everything face to face.
Dean called almost immediately.
"Connie, what's going on?"
"Mom is fine."
"Why did you say you changed the propane account?"
"Because I did."
"Was something wrong?"
I looked toward the living room.
The furnace was running.
"Dean, I'll explain at Easter. I want all of us together."
He went quiet.
Then he asked something I hadn't expected.
"Does this have something to do with Pam?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"Let's talk at Easter."
He understood that I wasn't going to explain everything over the phone.
Rob called later that evening.
He had been feeding cattle when he received my message.
He was always a quieter man than Dean.
He usually preferred to listen before speaking.
I told him the same thing.
Mom was safe.
The tank was full.
The account was now in my name.
He waited.
Then he asked one question.
"Was she cold?"
I looked at the old recliner.
"Yes."
"How cold?"
"Fifty-one degrees in the house."
There was a long silence.
"She was wearing her winter coat," I added.
Rob exhaled slowly.
"All right," he said. "We'll talk at Easter."
I hung up.
Both my brothers knew something had happened.
Neither knew the full story.
And I still hadn't spoken to Pam.
Five days later, she called me at work.
I was sitting at my desk in the school district office, processing payroll.
Her name appeared on my phone.
I stared at it for a moment before answering.
"Hello?"
She didn't greet me.
"The cooperative called."
I stopped typing.
"They told me Mom's propane account was changed."
"Yes."
"To your name?"
"That's right."
There was a pause.
Then she spoke again.
"You did that without telling me?"
I looked down at my desk.
"I opened a new account."
"Why?"
I could hear the tension in her voice.
I decided there was no reason to avoid the truth.
"Because I found Mom sitting in Dad's chair wearing her winter coat. The tank was at five percent, Pam. The house was fifty-one degrees."
Silence.
I waited.
"Pam?"
Nothing.
I could hear people talking in the background.
Someone at the clinic called her name.
Then I heard her breathing.
"You went behind my back," she said.
"I went to the cooperative."
"You could have called me."
I didn't answer immediately.
She was right about that part.
I could have called her.
But I had been standing in Mom's freezing living room, looking at the frost on the windows and wondering how long the remaining propane would last.
I had made a decision.
And I wasn't going to apologize for making sure Mom had heat.
"Pam, I needed to know Mom would have fuel."
She didn't respond.
I waited for her to say something else.
Instead, the call ended.
She had hung up.
I placed the phone beside my keyboard.
For several seconds, I couldn't concentrate on the numbers in front of me.
I knew she was upset.
I knew she felt I had taken control of something she had managed for four years.
But I also knew what I had found.
A nearly empty tank.
A pink delivery receipt.
An eighty-two-year-old mother sleeping in a winter coat.
I kept telling myself that I had done the right thing.
Still, I couldn't stop thinking about the silence at the other end of that phone call.
Pam and I had grown up together in that farmhouse.
We had shared rooms, chores, holidays, and family responsibilities.
She had been the sister who always knew what needed to be done.
Now we weren't speaking.
And I had no idea what she would say when we finally sat together at Easter.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: Eleven Weeks of Silence Separated Two Sisters Who Had Shared a Lifetime, While an Old Pink Receipt Continued to Trouble Me
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 4 of 12
