“Yes,” she said.
“The storm’s still raging there?”
“Yep. I feel like I’m in some sort of weird capsule,” she said. “It’s so strange to know the world is beyond the window and not be able to see it.”
“Yeah,” Ty said. “We don’t have any windows in here. It’s pretty dark.”
She heard something come through the line. She tilted her head, trying to make it out. “Are you guys singing?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You want me to put you on speaker? I might be able to whisper a few more stories, but….”
“You can put me on speaker,” Winnie said, and a moment later, the singing on Ty’s end of the line increased in volume.
Then sings my soul,
My Savior God, to Thee;
How great Thou art,
How great Thou art!
Winnie loved that these cowboys were relying on their faith in this hard time, and she knew she needed to do the same. She closed her eyes again and hummed along with the tune, not quite able to get her voice to sing.
Ty didn’t sing either, and when the song ended, another one started.
Silent Night, Holy Night
All is calm,
All is bright.
Winnie smiled, though Christmas hymns wouldn’t be sung for at least ten more months.
“We’re just singing whatever we all seem to know,” Ty said.
“It’s oddly calming,” Winnie said.
“I agree.” Ty added his voice to the second verse ofSilent Night, and Winnie joined him on the chorus.
She couldn’t believe she felt as calm as she did during this ultra-stressful time, but somehow the singing of hymns had brought nothing but peace.
She was still catching up on her sleep from being sick last week, and she’d had to get up extra early for her training in Amarillo this morning. She hadn’t finished it, and she let her mind wander and wonder if she’d have to come back another time.
A little while later—Winnie wasn’t sure how long—the wind buffeting the car seemed to wane slightly. She lifted her phone and saw that she’d been on the call with Ty for thirty-one minutes.
“Ty?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m still here, sweetheart,” he said.
“I think the storm is stopping.”
“Well, that’s good news.”
Winnie raised her seat, but she still couldn’t see much through the windshield or any of the glass. Because she was so close to the truck next to her on the passenger side and it was black, she could see it, but only briefly in between gusts of wind and all that beige and brown dirt.
“Sweetheart, I’m getting messages from my bosses I need to pay attention to,” he said. “I’m going to let you go, okay? But I promise I’m going to be there really soon.”
“When?” she asked, and she hated the pathetic quality of her voice.
