If It Rains

by Jennifer L. Wright

  Warmth enveloped me. A feeling of relief. Warm, sour . . . relief?

  I pulled away from Bert, recoiling. His eyes were downcast. A wet spot darkened the front of his tweed pants. He had peed himself.

  I made my way back down the ladder without looking at him. I didn’t slip this time, my hands and feet steady on the quivering rungs. I landed with both feet inside the train car, barely even noticing the pain. Respite faded to grief with every passing second. Melissa’s handkerchief was gone, my last thread of home now swirling somewhere along the Illinois countryside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  MELISSA

  “Do you really have to stop?”

  Mary Beth was alive. She was weak; she was coughing; she was still coming down from her fever. But she was alive. And she was not happy I had stopped reading.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Annie did it for me. “Yes, she does. Doc said you need rest. And I know you ain’t gonna rest with Mrs. Mayfield blabbing on about Dorothy and Toto and a Wicked Witch.”

  Mary Beth’s mouth turned down slightly. “But we’re almost done.”

  Her room was dim and suffocating, still reeking of illness. But I was grateful to be sitting on her lumpy mattress, straw poking my legs through the thin sheet. I squeezed her hand, ignoring its clamminess. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

  Lowering her chin to her chest with a sigh, she allowed her eyelids to flutter and close.

  I tucked the book under my arm and followed Annie out of the room. Clicking the door softly shut behind me, I smiled. “She seems to be feeling better.”

  “She’s getting there. Doc said it could take a while, but he thinks he caught her just in time.” Her voice thick, she refused to meet my gaze. “Maybe in a week I can get back to workin’. I’m sure your house is a mess.”

  I put my hand on her arm. The dusty, coarse fabric of her dress was different from my own and yet so familiar. She stiffened beneath my fingers and I realized it was the first time I’d ever touched her. “There’s no rush. The job will still be there when Mary Beth is ready.”

  Annie’s eyes drifted to mine. They were tired, as always, but tinged today with something like humility. “I didn’t ask for any of this, you know? The job, the reading, the doctor.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “But the money for the doc—”

  I looked down. I hadn’t told Annie about the cuff links. I couldn’t. At first, it was because Mary Beth’s health was all that mattered. And now it was because of the way she looked at me. Like maybe I wasn’t a monster, like I’d finally done something good. I couldn’t bear to think of what she’d say if she knew how I’d done it. “It’s nothing.”

  My answer was incomplete. Inadequate. But Annie turned away and walked toward the back of the house anyway. I followed. Two steps into her small kitchen, I wished I hadn’t. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead at the stench of simmering carrots and stewed rabbit. I covered my face, but the smell had already burned into my nose and soured my throat.

  Annie stood at the stove next to a large copper pot, her wooden spoon frozen mid-stir. “Mrs. Mayfield?”

  I looked around frantically, trying to swallow what would not be swallowed.

  “Mrs. Mayfield?”

  I burst through the back door, barely making it into her yard before releasing the contents of my stomach. I retched until my sides hurt, until I was afraid the baby was going to come right up with it. It was only after the worst passed, when I was wiping my nose and mouth with the folds of my dress, that I was aware enough of what had just happened to be embarrassed. I glanced up from my mess slowly.

  Annie stood on the steps, fingers drumming on her hips. “I know you richies eat better than we do, but I didn’t know my cookin’ was enough to make you sick.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Gale, please, you know—”

  “I’m teasing! Them babies let you know who’s boss, even before they get here.” She settled on the porch steps, her gray dress riding high over her ankles. She was not wearing stockings. “But I thank you for not doing it all over my kitchen floor.”

  Knees still wobbly, I stood, suppressing what I hoped was just a belch.

  “You told that husband of yours yet?”

  I tucked my arms in at the sides, shaking my head slightly.

  “And he ain’t figured it out? He think you’re just puking for the fun of it?”

  I sat down next to her, thankful she didn’t suggest going back inside. “He hasn’t been home much. Mr. Mayfield Sr. is . . . not well.” I rubbed a finger over my chapped lips. I wasn’t supposed to be talking about this. But I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. Mr. Mayfield’s condition was the least of my secrets. “Henry spends a lot of time in the main house with him.”

  It was the truth, but only half. True, I hadn’t seen very much of my husband lately, but there had still been plenty of chances. I didn’t want to tell Henry because that would mean accepting the baby was half his. Half Mayfield. More than half, really. Because once Henry was involved, she would know nothing else. A Mayfield to the core.

  She. It was going to be a girl. There was no way to tell for sure, of course, but I knew. Somehow I just knew. Like my mother had known. And the thought of raising my daughter as a Mayfield . . . I should be grateful. Instead, I only felt sorrow.

  Overhead, the wind whistled through the dead branches.

  “You know,” Annie said finally, “he’s going to find out eventually.”

  A pause, loaded and heavy as the static building in the dusty air. Not just about the baby was what she really meant. About her. About us. We both knew this couldn’t last. It was too risky. And not simply because of my husband. We had crossed a line. She was just supposed to clean my house. And yet here we sat.

  The sound of her hands slapping her knees broke the moment. “Well,” she said, standing. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You got vomit all over your shoes and mascara running down your face. You look worse than those whores down at the train depot.”

  I laughed and wiped at my cheeks. My fingers came back black.

  “But we need to hurry. You best be getting home. Duster’s a-coming. My arthritis don’t lie.”

  I’d barely made it out of town when the wind died suddenly. No birds chirped. No grasshoppers clogged my path. Not even a single stalk of wheat shuddered. That was always the first sign. Nature knew what was coming before we did. I pedaled harder. Sweat dripped down my chest, soiling my dress and intensifying the smell of vomit. We hadn’t gotten it all. But I didn’t have time to worry about that now.

  I had just pulled onto the long drive when I saw it. In the distance, a black wall rose from the ground, as if from the stampede of a thousand angry horses. The first blast of wind hit me—a warning shot—pushing against my bicycle and rendering me immobile. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the dirt roll painfully over them. I’d never make it home before the real thing hit.

  I abandoned my bike next to the nearest tree and took off on foot, blindly making my way toward the big house. It was closer but not close. Patches of dead grass slowed me, rising out of nowhere to snare my feet. But I pushed on. I could see it now. Faint lights in the distance.

  The blackness screamed forward. I had only minutes.

  Dust tainted my tongue, gagging my still-tender throat. My eyes were slits, burning and watering in the haze. Almost there. Almost there. Steps on wood, metal in my hand, and I pushed into the living room just as the cloud slammed into the house. The walls groaned and shifted but stood their ground. Outside, the storm raged, furious.

  I collapsed on the floor, panting.

  “Melissa?” Henry stood over me, blocking out the glare of the overhead light, a shadow obscuring his face.

  I scrambled to my feet, trying to brush the dust from my hair. “Honey, I—”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Not “Are you okay?” Not “Thank goodness you’re alright.” No, from my husband, all that came was annoyance
and suspicion. “I was returning from town and got caught in the storm.” I smoothed down my dress and took a wobbly step.

  Henry grabbed my arm to steady me. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed. What were you doing in town anyway?”

  I swayed, feeling dizzy. “I . . . I . . .”

  Henry’s grip tightened. “Melissa?”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Mayfield?”

  He dropped my arm as a voice came from the other room. Immediately I was forgotten. For once, I was grateful to be of such little importance.

  Henry disappeared, hushed voices leaking from behind the closed door, giving me time to concoct a believable excuse. It wasn’t Wednesday, so Ladies Auxiliary was out. My allowance for the week was gone, so I couldn’t have been shopping. The library. Yes, I’d tell him I had gone to the library. But why no books? It was closed for lunch. Yes, and I’d been riding around town waiting for it to reopen when I saw the duster blowing up. I nodded to myself, satisfied. It would have to do.

  “Melissa?”

  Consumed in my own lie, I hadn’t noticed the two men walk over to me. I blinked, trying to return to the present.

  “Melissa, this is Dr. Goodwin. He’s been seeing my father once a week.”

  A beefy man with a silver mustache wiped his hands on his pants before offering me one. At least I think he offered me his hand. I was too busy fighting the urge to run.

  Dr. Goodwin. The doctor.

  His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, a black stethoscope around his unbuttoned collar. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Mayfield. I’ve heard so much about you!” His hands were moist as he cupped mine in his. “Mr. Mayfield Sr. speaks so highly . . .” He raised his chin, voice trailing.

  I withdrew my hand and looked down, cheeks burning.

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Mayfield, have we met?”

  I could feel Henry’s eyes on me. Outside, a sudden gust of wind sent dirt against the windows, scratching like a creature trying to get in. I wished it would. “I don’t think so,” I whispered.

  “I swear, there’s something so familiar—”

  “Dr. Goodwin, I’m sure you see a lot of women who look like me.” I twirled my hair around my finger, careful to keep my chin down and voice low. Maybe it would pass for modesty. “Lot of Irish in these parts, after all.”

  The doctor tapped the side of his nose. “To be sure, yes. But you . . .” He patted his pockets. “If I could just find my glasses . . .”

  I grabbed his hand. It was as sweaty as my own. “Please. Please . . . how is Mr. Mayfield? We’ve all been so worried.”

  His shoulders relaxed, the glasses momentarily forgotten. “Not well, I’m afraid. I was just telling your husband we’ve reached the point of no return.” He clucked his tongue softly. “If you’ll forgive me for being so graphic, ma’am, there’s blood in his lungs now. You can see it when he coughs. And soon it will . . .” He sighed, patting my hand. “It’s only a matter of time, dear.”

  The roar of the wind died suddenly. All around us, the house shuddered and popped, trying to right itself after the assault, thunderous in the sudden quiet.

  Dr. Goodwin squeezed my arm, causing me to jump. “Well, that’s that. I must be going now. It was lovely meeting you, Mrs. Mayfield, though I do wish it were under happier circumstances.”

  I gave a slight smile. Yes. Happier circumstances.

  He turned and shook Henry’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

  Henry nodded.

  “Keep him hydrated. Water. Soup. Anything he’ll take. And telegram me if he takes a turn for the worse.”

  “Of course. Yes. Thank you again for coming.”

  Dr. Goodwin shuffled to the front door, taking his hat from the rack. “And if you find my glasses anywhere . . .” He grabbed his coat and then, on second thought, rehung it and began to roll down his sleeves. When he reached the end, something fell from his cuff and hit the ground with a sound much too loud for such a small object.

  Something gold.

  “Here, let me help you.” Henry bent over and scooped the object from the floor.

  Ice wrapped around my heart. Oh no. No, no, no.

  “Goodness,” Dr. Goodwin said with a chuckle. “How clumsy of me.”

  Henry pushed the object around in his palm, tracing the black stone with his finger. He didn’t look at me. It was somehow worse than if he did. “Beautiful,” he said quietly. “I have a pair just like these. They were passed down to me, my great-grandfather’s originally. Rare. Priceless, really.”

  All the blood drained from my body. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Wherever did you get something so exquisite, Doctor?”

  “One of my patients. Here in town, actually. Payment for a sick child. Though, perhaps if what you say is true, they quite overpaid! Thank you,” he added, picking the cuff link from Henry’s palm and pocketing it. “What was the name again? Gane? Gile? Gale, maybe? Is there a Gale in these parts?”

  “Yes,” Henry said, still not looking at me. “Yes, there is.”

  “Well, I’m off.” The doctor pulled on his coat, oblivious to the beast he had just awoken. “I’ll see you in a few days.” He nodded at me once and disappeared out the front door, taking the last of the air along with him.

  Henry stared at the closed door, his jaw moving slightly from side to side.

  “Henry, please. I can explain.”

  He rushed toward me, veins straining beneath his skin, and pushed me backward with a single shove. I landed on the floor with a painful gasp. “Explain? Explain what? How you stole from me? Lied to me? Those cuff links were a family heirloom!”

  I cowered beneath his shadow. “Please, please—”

  “I knew it was a mistake to marry below me! I knew it!” He kicked at the wall, causing a dent in the baseboard.

  I winced, covering my face with my hands. I was next. Only the blow never came. I peered between my fingers to find him pacing, opening and closing his fists. The muscles in his forearms flexed with each movement.

  “All the guys said I was crazy, taking up with you. When my father suggested it, I laughed in his face. I really did. But you were so beautiful, Melissa. So sweet. So good.” He looked at me accusingly. “Innocent and perfect, despite that hole you were livin’ in with that bum father and retarded sister—”

  “Don’t you talk about my sister like that!” It came out before I could stop myself.

  Henry charged me, hand raised.

  I shrank back, wishing the floor would swallow me, bracing for the pain. But once again, his violence remained suspended.

  “It’s the only way, he said. The only way to get James Baile to sell.”

  I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly, trying in vain to form a question. What was he talking about?

  “Never mind the stubborn old coot was barely making ends meet as it was. He wasn’t going to sell to anyone. Anyone, that is . . . except family.”

  He hovered over me, sweat dripping down his forehead. He smelled faintly of cloves, remnants of the bay rum aftershave he’d used that morning. It seemed a lifetime ago I’d found the scent alluring.

  “From the moment I saw you, I had to have you. The land . . . well, the land was important, but you . . . I thought I could fix you up right by getting you out of that dugout. Make you worthy of the Mayfield name. That’s what I get for thinking with my pants instead of my head.”

  I pulled my legs up, wrapping my body around itself as if to shield from the blow. But it was useless. This kind of cruelty tore at me from the inside, made more savage by the confusion swirling in my brain. “But why . . . ?”

  Henry laughed, sprouting goose bumps on my arm despite the sweat dripping down my back. “Come on, Melissa. You can’t possibly be that naive. The spring! The only freshwater spring left in the whole doggone county!”

  My body trembled but it was my heart that broke. It was finally out there. The truth. The entire marriage had been a lie. The whole fairy tale I’d once believed, the
illusion that I’d been lucky. That we’d fallen in love despite our differences. True love in the face of all odds.

  But it had never been about love at all. It had only been about the drought. I was just a bonus.

  Henry was pacing now, his hands fluttering at his sides. “We thought it would take months for him to trust us enough to sell, but we got lucky—he packed up and fled after only weeks. Dangled a few dollar bills in front of his face, and he was so desperate he took the bait—hook, line, and sinker.” He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Joke was on us, though, right, Melissa? That spring—the magical spring my father said would fix it all, would keep us afloat—it’s dead. We barely got two months of irrigation before it went dry, like everywhere else in this godforsaken county.” He rushed at me suddenly, his breath hot on my face. “Did you know? Did your family know it was almost dry when we got married?”

  “No!” I brought my hands to my face, voice quivering. “Henry, I swear, I didn’t—”

  He pushed himself away from me, not hearing—or not caring about—my answer. “And now he’s dying!” He flung his arms in the air, gesturing wildly toward the closed bedroom door. “And you . . . you . . .” His eyes narrowed, his breath at a pant. “You’re all the same, aren’t you? This whole county. A bunch of weak, lying, lazy thieves.”

  I pushed myself up from the floor, tears blinding my vision, covering my stomach with my arms.

  “You were supposed to be the queen. You could’ve ruled this county with me. But you chose the other side. Was it worth risking everything to help some poor piece of gutter trash who ain’t never gonna be able to give you anything back?”

  I knew the answer. I didn’t need to say it.

  An inhuman growl escaped his lips. He punched at his legs. “Doggone it, Melissa! Answer me!”

  My eyes snapped back and forth between him and the door. If I hurried, maybe I could make it. But he was faster than me out in the open. I wouldn’t get far. And even if I did, where would I go?

  But staying . . . staying would be worse.

  “Melissa!” He was running out of words. Any minute now, he would use his fists instead.