If It Rains

by Jennifer L. Wright

  “He told me you were a pistol. Guess he was right if you made it all the way here on your own.” He chuckled. “Said you had more get-up-and-go than most able-bodied girls. Only time you ever sat still was when you were reading. The same book over and over, he said. Your mother’s. What was it again?” His mouth clicked. “Oh yes, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I used to have a copy myself around here somewhere . . .”

  Stop it. Just stop it.

  “He got a real funny smile on his face, talking about it. Said you were coming all this way to see the Wizard.” He chuckled again. “I’m guessing that means me.”

  I pulled my knees together, wincing. My father went to his grave knowing me as nothing but a pigheaded, foolish little girl with notions of a Wizard. There was no Oz. There was no Scarecrow, no Tin Woodman, no Lion. And this man sitting before me was certainly no Wizard. He was just a man. And I was just a girl with a crippled foot. Alone. And a long way from home.

  “I have to go.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I can’t . . .” My voice cracked. I did not want this man to see me cry. “I have to go home. I ain’t supposed to be here. I don’t know why I came.”

  A scratch and the smell of sulfur as he lit another match. His face was once again illuminated. I wanted to pretend he looked wicked. But the smile on his face was kind. “You came for your pa, Kathryn. And now he’s gone.”

  The dam burst. I couldn’t hold it any longer. He’d said it with such finality, such truthfulness. I’d come for my pa. And he was gone. He was gone. I slid down the tree, not caring when the bark ripped at my skin. He was gone. Nothing else mattered. Not my skin. Not my foot. Not even this man staring at the ground, pretending like I wasn’t wailing right next to him. I’d come all this way for a ghost.

  “I’m sorry your father passed, Kathryn,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

  I sniffed dry tears. “What do you know? It does! It changes everything.”

  A hand on my shoulder. Gentle. “You also came here for you. Don’t you see? Your pa is gone, but you are here.” Dr. Barrett leaned down, so close I could smell him. Tobacco and mint. “I can still help you. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Pa had asked me that same question before we left. And here I was a thousand miles later and still without a clear answer. What I wanted more than anything was to see my father again. To be in Oklahoma, laughing with Melissa, cussing out the jackrabbits, praying for rain. Watching the wind blow the wheat as Pa worked on his plow and Melissa swept the floor and I gathered beans in my apron. I wanted to have not killed my mother, to have not disappointed my father, to have not been a burden to my sister. I wanted all of those things very, very much. But I couldn’t have any of them.

  What I could have, however, was a fixed foot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  MELISSA

  I didn’t sleep that night. Instead I paced the front room, every nerve in my body tensing at the slightest sound. By the time the sun finally broke over the eastern plain, my fingernails were bloody, bitten to the quick.

  The way I saw it, I had two options.

  The first: I could stay. Wait it out, pray to the Lord for mercy, and hope that time or—at the very least—pride would change Henry’s mind. A scandal would be disastrous, especially now when Henry was working so hard to take on the Mayfield mantle. Maybe his arrogance would allow us to live, if not in peace, then at least in a stalemate. Henry could keep his dignity, and I could keep my child.

  It would not be an easy life. It would be a life filled with fear, forever wondering if my next sin, no matter how small, would be my last. I would never feel safe. I would never find happiness. I would never know the love of a man.

  What I wasn’t willing to do, however, was live out the rest of my days as a Mayfield, in the absence of the true God, expected to worship at the feet of a man while my faith withered and died like the Oklahoma grass. And that’s why my first choice was not really a choice at all.

  So then there was my second option.

  At ten past six, I pressed myself to the front window and watched for signs of movement at the big house. Sure enough, right on cue, a shape emerged. Henry. Many things had changed, but his schedule had not. I watched him walk down the porch and climb into his truck. From this distance, I could not make out his face. Perhaps it was lined with stress, dark circles under tired eyes. Or maybe he wore the confident smile of one who makes his own future. All I could tell from my place at the window was that there was no change in his stride. No sense of impending doom. He was the senior Mayfield now, and there was business to attend to. Dust rose from his tires as he headed down the long drive toward Boise City. He was not thinking of me. And I planned to keep it that way for as long as I could.

  I forced myself to count to a hundred before stepping outside. I did not change my clothes. I did not take a bag. The coon dogs howled at my appearance, sounding the alarm, causing me to jump. Mayfield to the core, those three.

  I grabbed my bike from the side of the house and then stopped. Henry had not bothered to visit our house in days, but I was sure he was keeping an eye on things. He would notice if my bicycle was missing from its usual spot. Walking would take longer. But walking it would have to be.

  I stuck out my tongue at the dogs as I crossed into the barren field but did not let myself look back at the house. It was never home, no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I wished. Like the rain we’d begged so hard to fall, love had abandoned this land long before we realized it was gone. I cupped my hands around my tender middle. The what-ifs meant nothing; there was only the what is.

  Sweat beaded on my skin, dripping down my chest and causing the cross at my neck to cling to my flesh. September had arrived hot, our prayers for fall rain unanswered yet again. What few rows of wheat dared to grow did not rustle as I passed. Clumps of dirt collapsed under my feet, crumbling into dust and rock. No birds soared through the sickly gray sky. No grasshoppers fluttered from dying blade to dying blade. Everything had given up.

  But me.

  I ran toward town. When the baby in my womb demanded I slow down, I walked. But I never stopped. The fields gave way to barren lots and, soon, abandoned stores. The fastest route would have been straight through town, but I couldn’t risk Henry—or anyone else—seeing me. I crossed Main Street and kept to the alleys. The roads were quiet, most of the houses still dark. Under the cloudy sky, Boise City’s usual hush felt less like a small town and more like a graveyard.

  “Mrs. Mayfield! What are you doing here?”

  My eyes darted over my shoulder. I wished she hadn’t said my name so loud. Even in this neighborhood, it wasn’t safe. “Mrs. Gale, please, can I come in?”

  I didn’t breathe until the door clicked shut, the smell of coffee rushing forward to meet me. Annie took a step back, one hand clutching the front of a tattered housecoat. Her slippered feet scraped against the threadbare rug.

  I suddenly remembered it wasn’t yet seven in the morning. “Mrs. Gale, I’m sorry. I—”

  She shook her head. “Ain’t no need. No need. Just come in here. The kids ain’t up yet. And I’d like to keep it that way.” She led me toward the kitchen. “You want coffee? Something to eat? We ain’t got much but I could—”

  “No thank you.”

  “Well, if we’re gonna bypass the pleasantries, then you wanna just tell me why you’re here?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m leaving. Today.”

  “Whatchu mean you’re leaving?”

  “I’m leaving Henry. Getting out of Boise City. Today.”

  Her hands tightened around her chipped mug.

  I cast my eyes to the floor. There was a crack in one of the wooden planks. “Mrs. Gale, I . . . I haven’t been honest with you.”

  “Whatchu mean?”

  “I was paying you from my allowance; that much is true. But Mary Beth’s treatment . . .” My throat threatened to close. “I . . . I stole a pair of
cuff links from Henry’s dresser to pay for it. I didn’t have the money to cover it, and I couldn’t just let her die.” I licked dry lips, still not meeting her eyes. “I thought he wouldn’t notice. Thought they were just one in a dozen. But they were a family heirloom. Valuable. Really valuable.”

  “So that’s what he was talking about at the funeral.” She raised her chin, appraising. Connecting dots she should never have had to connect.

  I nodded. “I told him you had no part in it. You didn’t ask me to steal; you had no idea I’d done it.” I picked at a hangnail until it bled, trying to shift the pain away from my chest. “I don’t know if he believes me. All I know is he’s angry, and I don’t know what will happen to me if I stay. What will happen to her.” My voice faltered as I ran my hand over my middle. I lifted my head and finally met her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gale. I never meant for you to get dragged into this.”

  She took a long sip, draining the rest of her coffee. The seconds ticked by loudly though there was no clock in sight. When at last she spoke, her voice was neutral, with no trace of anger. But no trace of forgiveness, either. “So where you going?”

  I paused. “Indianapolis. That’s where Kathryn and my pa went.”

  “It’ll also be the first place he’d look for you.”

  My posture sagged. I already knew that, of course, but still I hated to hear her say it.

  “That is,” she added, “if you think he’ll come looking. You really think he would?”

  “Yes. He doesn’t want me, but he’ll want the baby.”

  Annie’s fingers drummed against the side of her empty cup. “Even if it’s a girl?”

  “Even if it’s a girl. It’s the best way to get back at me. I . . . I took something from him. Something even more precious than his stupid cuff links. I took his pride.”

  Annie rose suddenly and walked to the window, staring out at her dead backyard. I could see her face reflected in the dirty glass, her lips pressed together, cheeks drawn in. Somehow, seeing her that way made me feel even more ashamed of what I’d done. Not to Henry. But to her.

  “Mrs. Gale—”

  “Sounds like you need a new plan.”

  I wrapped my arms around my body, swallowing a wave of sickness. I hadn’t eaten that morning, and my daughter was not happy about it. Or perhaps the nausea had nothing to do with the baby at all. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  She turned around, chewing the inside of her cheek for a few moments. “But you do. The same place everyone in this dried-up town has gone. California.”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s too obvious. If that’s where everyone else is headed, he’d look there, too.”

  “And what he’d find is thousands of Okies.”

  “But he’s Henry Mayfield. He isn’t like you and me. He has friends, resources we can’t even imagine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a private investigator in his pocket. He would find me.”

  “Easier to hide in a crowd than it is on your own, don’t you think? Easier to become someone new, too.” She leaned her head to one side.

  She was right. With so many migrants headed west, no one would notice me. I’d be just one more fool trying to escape the dust. The handbills promised work and land. I could start over. Me and the baby. Cut my hair, change my name. Become a nobody once more. But even then . . .

  “He’d still find me.”

  “So you don’t stay with the rest of them. All them Okies settling in the south, you go to California and head north.”

  “North?”

  “I got a cousin lives outside Santa Rosa. She—”

  “Mrs. Gale, no.” My heart broke under the weight of her compassion. “I can’t. I can’t have you involved.”

  She snorted, rubbing one hand across her brow. “Mrs. Mayfield, I’ve been involved from the moment you knocked on my door. Ain’t no turning back now.”

  I slumped in my seat, trying not to look at the woman in front of me. This woman with her ripped housecoat, unwashed hair, and skin weathered beyond her years. She hadn’t asked to be put in the middle of any of this. And yet here she stood. Helping me. “Mrs. Gale, I really am sorry.”

  “I know you are. You was just trying to help. Me, the kids. And Mary Beth, she might not even . . .” She shook the words from her lips, afraid to even taste them. “You done it wrong, but you done it with a right heart. And I think . . . I think I finally understand your book now.”

  “My book?”

  “The one you was reading to Mary Beth. About Dorothy. You read something about Oz being a good man but a bad wizard. And it didn’t make no sense. Till now.” She stared out the window again, speaking more to her reflection than me. “With this drought, these dusters, the world ain’t so black-and-white no more. It’s just all different shades of brown.” She turned. “And you . . . to the Henry Mayfields of the world, you may be a bad wife, but I think you’re a good woman.”

  I covered my face with my hands, unable to look at her.

  “Mrs. Mayfield,” Annie said quietly, crouching in front of me. “Mrs. May—”

  “Melissa,” I hiccuped. “Please. It’s Melissa Baile.”

  She bit her bottom lip and gave a slight shake of her head. “Alright, Melissa.” The tiniest of smiles played across her lips. “I’m Annie.”

  Fresh sobs welled up in my throat and I moved forward, needing to embrace her.

  She backed away. “Mrs.—Melissa. There ain’t no time for that now. You best be getting a move on. Henry . . .”

  The thought of my husband dried my tears on my cheeks. “Right . . . right.” I stood, pushing my chair back with a creak. “I need to leave.” But my legs refused to move. And my eyes refused to leave my friend’s face. “Annie, I . . . I don’t know what Henry will do once he finds out I’m gone. It might not be safe for you.”

  She let out a short burst of air through her nostrils. “You ain’t gotta worry about that. Henry won’t lay a finger on me or my children.”

  “You don’t know what he’s capable of. How can you be so sure?”

  “Because we’re coming with you.”

  “What?”

  She leaned back against the counter, body sagging. “This place been killing me for a long time. Even before it took Jeremiah. No future on the horizon; nothing here but heartache and memories. That ain’t no way to live. And maybe I don’t have to no more.” Her voice thickened. “Got one of those brochures from the Resettlement Administration. They want us to leave. They’ll even give you money if you do. I’ve been saving up some of my own as best I could. Ain’t got enough. Not nearly enough. But I got my cousin. And I got—”

  “Annie.” Pain filled my chest, choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to laugh or cry or yell or all three. “But what if he finds us?”

  “What if he don’t?”

  Her smile was tired, nowhere close to beautiful. And yet it was the most stunning thing I had ever seen. My vision blurred once more.

  “No time for that! Help me get the kids ready. My husband’s old truck is in the shed. It runs on prayers, but maybe we’ll have enough to get us away from here.”

  I nodded, struck dumb. I not only had traveling companions; I had a way to get there. This was all happening. And by golly, it just might work. There was only one loose thread. And it was a big one.

  “There’s something I have to do first.”

  Annie inhaled sharply.

  “It won’t take me long,” I said quickly. “Get the kids ready and the truck loaded. I’ll meet you at the old mill on the west side of town. You know where I’m talking about?”

  “’Course I do, but—”

  I grabbed her hand. “You have to promise me that if I’m not there by nine, you’ll leave anyway.”

  “Melissa—”

  “Please, Annie. Promise me.”

  I was being reckless. Foolish. But just in case. I had to do this just in case. Because I was willing to leave everything behind . . . except for my sister.r />
  Annie gave me a small nod. I squeezed her hands, rough and dry inside my own, and took off before she changed her mind.

  Henry’s truck was still gone when I finally reached the Mayfield homestead for the last time. A good sign. The air was dense, leaving everything suspended and noiseless. Except the coon dogs, of course. They howled, hackles raised, and strained against their ropes. As if they knew I wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.

  I ran up the stairs, ignoring the cramp in my side, and pushed my way into the bedroom. Unexpected nostalgia stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t been in this room since our fight, and the memories woven into those blankets hit me like a brick. Our marriage bed. I’d been such a child when he’d first brought me to it.

  But I wasn’t a child anymore. I pulled a small green object from under the mattress and hurried down the stairs without looking back.

  Fatigue settled into my muscles, but I wouldn’t allow myself to stop. I burst through the back door and climbed the rusted barbed wire to the pasture. There hadn’t been cows for months. It no longer even smelled like livestock, the ancient white patties crumbling into the surrounding dirt. I dodged them anyway, keeping my eyes set on the horizon.

  The wind murmured life through the dead grasses, tangling them at my feet and carrying whispers across the plains. Clouds lowered, blocking the rising sun but trapping the stifling air. An unfamiliar smell drifted on the breeze, somehow both musky and sweet.

  The journey seemed longer now, every step heavy. I was wasting precious time, each second increasing the risk of being found out. But then, finally, there it was. The dugout. Our dugout. Mine and Pa’s and Kathryn’s. And yes, even Helen’s. It still looked exactly the same as it did that day I broke down on the hilltop all those weeks ago. But I was not the same. And this time I would not let heartache keep me from doing what I came to do.

  Spiders and grasshoppers scurried beneath my feet as I stepped inside. It was dingy, darker than I remembered. But the stove where I burned dung to keep the house warm was still there. The table where I tried to teach Kathryn to write was still there. The cabinet full of dishes, most of them cracked—Kathryn’s fault—was still there, too.