If It Rains

by Jennifer L. Wright

  “You best be going.” He lifted me into the mouth of the car with ease. I didn’t fight him.

  “Aren’t you coming?” It was a stupid question. And one I already knew the answer to.

  He kicked at the ground and shook his head. “And leave Chelee? Nah.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. Whether it was tears or vomit, I couldn’t be sure. “What do I do?”

  “You just stay quiet, hide in one of those boxes if it comes to it, but you shouldn’t have to. Bulls only bother looking when it’s parked, and this train won’t be parking till it gets to Indianapolis. Guy inside told me so.” He glanced at my face, which must have been white. Or green. “But best to stay low and stay quiet anyway,” he added quickly. “No need to tempt fate.”

  Tempt fate. As if fate had ever been on my side.

  “You keep your eyes peeled for the next big city. When you start to see it in the distance, wait until the train slows to round a curve, and jump. Don’t wait until it pulls into the yard or else you’re done for.”

  His words were foreign. “Done for? Jump? But my foot—”

  The boxcar jolted, sending me flying onto my rear. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing the sides of the doors as the floor beneath me lurched forward. “Mr. Hickory!”

  The old cowboy jogged beside the car. “You got this! Good luck!”

  The train groaned and shook and picked up speed. Mr. Hickory lagged behind. I felt the urge to call to him but found I couldn’t push the words out of my mouth. I wanted to yell at him for putting me on this stupid train, making me more scared than I’d ever been in my life. But also to tell him thanks. He hadn’t quit on me. The only one in my entire life except Melissa.

  But it didn’t really matter. Because when I looked out the train car, Mr. Hickory was gone. I poked my head through the door.

  He had stopped running, but he was waving, his figure growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. “Go find your Wizard, kiddo!”

  At least that’s what I think he said. The wind roared past my ears, drowning out even the rumble of train wheels. Mr. Hickory and the rail yard faded behind me, until nothing was left of either of them. Tired and terrified, I nestled myself into the farthest corner of the car, hidden by boxes, leaving nothing but a sliver as my lookout. I watched Kansas City melt into the green countryside of Missouri and finally allowed myself to cry.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MELISSA

  I waited for almost two hours before giving up.

  Annie had said she’d come back. Maybe she didn’t call me a friend, but she didn’t hate me anymore . . . right? If she’d hated me, she could have ruined me last week. There had to be a good reason she didn’t show today. A very good reason. At least that’s what I told myself as I went into town to find her. I didn’t let my mind wander to the other possibility. That she’d finally decided the risk wasn’t worth it. Or worse, the risk had turned real and Henry had . . .

  No, there was a perfectly logical explanation.

  The sky was blue with mounds of big, fluffy clouds. Perhaps rain later? It was a wish, sure, and a far-flung one at best, but I focused on it as I passed the city limits sign and maneuvered my bicycle onto Murray Avenue.

  Annie’s house sat in the middle of a row of shacks just like it. If I didn’t know her home, how it differed from the others because of a slight droop in the right-side eave and the cottonwood tree hanging on to life in the farthest corner of the yard, how easy it would have been to ride right past, giving no thought to the people inside. People just like Annie. Just like me, only with less money. How ridiculous money always felt in a place like this.

  I leaned my bicycle against the sad-looking cottonwood and scurried up the porch steps. “Mrs. Gale!”

  Silence.

  I knocked again, harder. Maybe she’d overslept. But Annie did not look like a woman who overslept. She looked like a woman who didn’t sleep at all.

  “Mrs. Gale!”

  I yanked open the screen and grabbed the knob, surprised to find it moving under my grip. The interior door swung open with a rude squeak. I took a small step forward. “Mrs. Gale?”

  I covered my nose with my hand to protect it from the stench of diapers and old laundry, then quickly lowered it again, ashamed at my snobbery. I took another step, removing my wide-brimmed hat. The rug was threadbare and pale, the flowers on its surface having lost their . . . yellow? White? It was hard to tell. The walls were covered in fading wallpaper. Ivy. This house must have been beautiful at one time.

  To my right, the hallway creaked, startling me. “Mrs. Gale?”

  A boy of about thirteen poked his head out of the nearest door. His forehead was smudged with dirt, his dark hair wild, but his eyes were unmistakably Annie’s. He was shirtless, his ribs covered by a pair of denim overalls. “Who are you?”

  Who was I? I couldn’t remember.

  The boy’s gaze traveled the length of my dress. Pink. Glaring, eye-burning pink. “You from the church?”

  I nodded. Why couldn’t I speak?

  “Ma’s in the other room with Mary Beth. You need her or something?”

  “Y-yes,” I stuttered. “Please.”

  He gestured across the hall, bored already, then disappeared back into the doorway, my presence obviously not important enough to warrant another minute of his time.

  I hesitated before knocking. Behind the closed door, I could hear murmuring. My ears suddenly felt hot. I wasn’t supposed to be here. But I’d already been seen. I gave a soft rap before easing open the door. “Mrs. Gale?”

  The tension in the room rushed toward me, as thick as the stench of sweat in the air. Annie sat on the edge of the bed but rose quickly when she saw me. Her eyes were puffy, her normally taut face splotchy. “Mrs. Mayfield!” She took a step toward me, then stopped, putting a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I kept the oldest one home from school to help me with things, and I meant to send him—”

  “It’s fine,” I said gently. “Completely fine. I’m not here for that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I wanted to make sure Henry hadn’t gotten to you. “Are you okay? Is . . . ?”

  My words collapsed as I looked over her shoulder. Mary Beth lay on the bed, clutching a lumpy pillow. Her eyes were open but glassy, her skin the same shade of gray as her tangled sheets.

  “Mary Beth!” I grabbed her small hand, flinching at its coldness. She did not squeeze me back. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Annie shook her head. “Been like this for two days, but this morning she was worse.”

  The child shuddered and coughed, sucking in air and spitting it out like poison. I put my hand on her chest, feeling it rattle through my fingertips. “Is it dust pneumonia?”

  “Don’t know.” She looked away. Because she did know, and so did I. You don’t lose a husband—half a town—and not know what dust pneumonia looks like. But saying it, admitting it, was in some ways worse than the illness itself.

  “Has she been to the doctor?”

  “I can’t afford no doctor!” Annie spat, her anger sudden and frightening. “Boise City doc packed up a long time ago, or don’t you know? The good one from Dalhart comes once a week, but only for the richies.” She looked at me sideways, but I couldn’t meet her gaze.

  Mary Beth coughed again. She blinked several times, scanning the room through a fevered cloud. She smiled slightly. “Did you . . . ?” she started, then stopped, licking her lips. “Did you bring the book?”

  I struggled not to crumble. It was so unfair, all of it. If I caught the dust pneumonia, if Henry did, we’d deserve it. But we’d also have every remedy modern medicine could afford on our side. Because we were Mayfields. And this innocent little girl was going to die simply because she was not. I instinctively put a hand to my belly. If I’d married someone other than Henry, would I lose a child to this drought, too?

  Bile rose in my throat. I hated the drought. I hated the dusters. I hated this whole ridiculous world and its per
verted, uneven cruelty.

  Mary Beth’s eyelids fluttered. Her smile faded. She stilled, drifting into a peaceful sleep. Or at least, that’s what I pretended. I knew beneath her quiet exterior, her body was fighting like mad to stay alive.

  “You have to get her to a doctor.”

  “I told ya I ain’t got the money—”

  “I’ll get you the money.”

  “Mrs. Mayfield, you don’t need to be doing that.”

  “And what do I need to do? Sit here and watch your daughter die?”

  The word hung in the air between us. Speaking the thing we both feared made it real, urgent. It was there, in the open now. Mary Beth was going to die. Unless we did something.

  “Is the doctor in town?”

  Annie stared at her child, unable to speak.

  “Mrs. Gale, is the doctor in town today?”

  She snapped her head toward me. “I don’t know! I don’t know! He comes into town once or twice a week, I think. I don’t know what days.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  I tossed the question out casually, not fully understanding the weight of it until it was already out there. After everything the woman had seen, heard, done, I couldn’t possibly expect her to trust me. Except in this moment, she had no choice.

  She clutched her arms to her sides as if trying to hold her body together. Her chin trembled as she gave the slightest nod.

  “I’ll get the money. And I won’t come back without the doctor, okay?”

  I wasn’t sure if she even heard me. It didn’t matter. Standing there shouting at her wouldn’t help. I rushed outside and grabbed my bike. Never had the three miles to my house seemed so long. The wind kicked up, swirling the dust at my feet and forcing one hand onto my hat. It was determined to hold me back, as if it knew what I was about to do.

  Throwing my bike on the ground, I burst into the house. “Henry?”

  Silence. He wasn’t home. Thank God.

  His office was dark and stank of old cigarettes. I never came in here. I never needed to. Henry assured me nothing in the room would interest me. Finances and deeds. Bank statements and receipts. Nothing I needed to concern my pretty little head with. But today it did concern me. Because there was a safe in the room. And today I was going to open it.

  Careful not to disturb the piles of papers on his desk, I pulled open the nearest drawer. Pipes and cigarette cases and pens and more papers. But no key. Frustrated, I yanked open the next drawer. Crumpled receipts and a notebook full of numbers. Still no key. And no key in the third drawer or the fourth.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting back a scream. How stupid I was to think he’d leave the key just lying around. He didn’t trust me. Not anymore. It was probably in his pocket or attached to his truck keys. I slammed the drawer shut and clicked off the light. I had to try something else.

  I swept up the stairs and into our bedroom, rushing past our perfectly polished headboard and ornately decorated bedspread. I pushed aside my perfume bottles and opened my jewelry box. Before Henry and I were married, I’d owned only a single piece of jewelry. Now I needed a whole box. I pulled out a pair of earrings—gold with green stones, the ones that matched my eyes—and started to put them in my pocket. I hesitated. If he asked me to wear them, what would I say? I remembered his face when I told him about the handkerchief. How much angrier would he be over the earrings? They were much more expensive.

  I placed them back in the jewelry box, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. There was only one other thing I could do. I fingered the small cross at my neck. Ma’s necklace. The last piece of her I had. Henry wouldn’t notice its absence. If he did, it would be met with a shrug. One more piece of the Baile problem gone. I clutched it, unable to breathe. No. No, I would not give away my mother’s necklace. It was her, it was her faith, so intertwined I couldn’t separate one from the other in my memory. A faith she’d given me—and one I was trying desperately not to lose.

  But Mary Beth. Sweet, innocent Mary Beth. Will you really let her die, Melissa? Rob her of her future to hang on to your past? Perhaps you are more Mayfield than you thought.

  Disgusted and heartbroken, I pushed myself away from the bureau. Sorry, Ma. I have to do this. The necklace would be tainted forever if I didn’t. I would no longer see God in it, only Mary Beth. It was the right thing to do. The only thing I could do.

  I started out of the room and stopped as the sun caught the edge of something shiny on Henry’s dresser. A glass dish full of cuff links. Dozens of them. I reached for one, feeling the gold warm in my sweaty hand.

  Don’t, Melissa, I scolded myself. It’s too dangerous.

  But there were so many. He’d never feel the loss of one. He’d never even know it was gone. And I could keep my mother’s cross.

  He’ll find out. He always finds out.

  I ran my hand through the pile of cuff links, mouth dry. They jostled against each other, crowded in such a small dish, weight pressing into my skin. Before I could change my mind, I curled my fingers around the closest pair—gold with a black stone in the center—and rushed out of the house.

  By the time I arrived at the doctor’s office, my dress was soaked and my hat was wilted. The sun was high overhead, humidity building. Maybe we really would get some rain later. Parking my bike, I flew up the steps and grabbed the doorknob.

  Locked.

  “No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.” The doctor had to be here. He had to be. I shook the doorknob. It didn’t budge. I balled my fists and pounded. “Help!” I screamed. “Open up! I need help!”

  Despite my yells, the door refused to open.

  Tears streamed down my face, washing sweat into my eyes. I ignored the sting, pounding harder. “You have to be here!” I wailed. “You have to be!” I pounded until my fists were numb; then I switched to scratching. “Open the door! Open! The! Door!”

  “Miss?”

  I spun around.

  A gentleman in his late fifties stood behind me, head cocked to one side. Round glasses perched on his nose and a silver mustache hid his upper lip. It quivered at the sight of me.

  It was only upon seeing the concern in his eyes that I realized how I must look. I smoothed down my hair, feeling the frizz beneath my fingertips, and replaced my drooping hat. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, rolling the mixture of dirt and sweat beneath my palm. Smudges of mascara blackened my fingers and blood oozed from my broken fingernails. I straightened my dress, cringing at the ripped, once-pink fabric.

  “Miss,” the man said again, “are you okay?”

  “Are you—are you the doctor?”

  He shifted a briefcase from one hand to the other. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  I wanted to cry. Or hug him. Or both. “And you’re here? You’re really here?”

  “For the moment. I was on my way back to Dalhart but realized I’d left my stethoscope in the office.”

  I giggled, high-pitched and awkward, relief and disbelief washing over me like the long-awaited rain. He’d forgotten his stethoscope. Pure dumb luck . . . or was God in this place after all?

  The doctor cleared his throat. “So, um, if you’ll excuse me.” He gestured to the door behind me.

  I moved aside. “Of course. Of course.”

  He unlocked his office and stepped inside.

  I followed, uninvited. “I’m so glad you’re here. There’s this girl and she’s very sick. You really must come at once.”

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Miss . . . ?”

  “Gale,” I answered without thinking—or thinking too much—and pulled my hat lower over my face.

  “Miss Gale—”

  “Please, my . . . niece.” Another lie, only it didn’t feel like it this time. “And she’s very sick. Won’t you please—?”

  “As I told you before, I am very busy. I have patients waiting for me in Dalhart. I’m already late as it is. I really must be going.” He grabbed his stethoscope and shoved it in his briefcase, snapping the
latch loudly for emphasis.

  “Oh, please. It won’t take long. Will you just see her?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Gale. I really am. Perhaps next week.”

  “She’ll be dead by next week.”

  He paused, but only for a moment, his small mouth jerking to the side as if trying to conjure another weak excuse. Instead he said nothing and moved toward the door.

  I blocked his path.

  He stepped back, eyes bulging behind his glasses. “Miss Gale, if you please.”

  He was a full head taller than me and at least twice my size. He could have easily pushed me aside. No, he could have pushed Melissa Mayfield aside. But Melissa Baile would not let him get away. I straightened my back and crossed my arms, trying to look hard.

  He sighed. “Miss Gale, I’m sorry about your niece. But please understand that I am just one man, and there is more need in this area than I could ever possibly meet.” He scratched his head and shrugged. “I simply must—”

  “Perhaps these will change your mind.” I dropped the cuff links in the doctor’s waiting hand. The blood on my fingers had dried a dirty shade of scarlet.

  He turned them over in his palms. “Where did you get these?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. I will not accept stolen property for payment.”

  “It’s not stolen,” I said, jutting out my chin. “I swear on my life they aren’t stolen. But I’ll thank you not to ask me again where I got them.”

  The doctor looked back and forth between me and the cuff links, lips pressed flat. I tried to hide behind my mask of courage, afraid he would see the truth through my watery eyes.

  Finally he sighed and put the cuff links in his pocket. “Alright, Miss Gale. You win. Now where is the girl?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  KATHRYN

  I woke up to the smell of fish and kerosene.

  The ground beneath me rolled and shook, and it took only a moment to remember. I was on a train.

  It was dark. Night. I sat up, stifling a yell as weight shifted onto my bad foot, causing it to seize. I had no idea how long I’d been riding, but it was long enough for my foot to cramp up; that was for sure. I gripped the sides of my dress, focusing on my fingers as I waited for it to pass. They were filthy, the nails bitten down to nubs. Oh, how Helen would have thrown a fit to see them. She had a thing about me biting on my nails. She—