“I was eight. I was playing outside when I called my first rain.” I rubbed my shirt over the faded lines along my ribs.
“The sheriff came to the saloon that night and told Mama I had to leave the next day. The town gave me a horse and some supplies. Mama didn’t want me to go, but she knew the rain wouldn’t stop if I stayed. I’ve been on the move ever since.”
“Do you ever go back to see your Mama?”
I didn’t answer right away. Finally, I blew out a breath. “I was too late. I was angry for years, feeling like she cast me out. When I finally knew better, I went back. But she’d moved on. I’ve haven’t found her or heard from her since.”
We sat in silence for a while. I thought about the lives lost in the Great Flood, including my father’s. I thought about my mama and the family she had sacrificed for the rain. What did the preacher say? A hard hand, indeed.
The preacher picked up his fiddle and played quietly. I watched the stars twinkle in the black sky, some dropping from time to time in long trails across the horizon.
In the gray early light before dawn, we shook off the gritty layer of red dust that clung to our skin and clothes. Peter had three hard-baked eggs and thick slices of bacon we warmed in the last embers of the campfire. The preacher handed us tin cups of lukewarm well water, and I wished for some strong coffee or hard whiskey to get me moving. He smiled and raised his cup toward me in a silent salute.
We watched the townspeople riding out on horses and carts, noisy and cheerful, loaded with food and camping supplies. I guess they’d decided this was some kind of revival. Well, in a way, it was. I directed them to set things up away from the base of the rise, and the preacher got everyone praying and singing.
He came over and handed me a small, heavy pouch. I didn’t open it. I never told a town how much they should pay. I nodded my thanks and tucked it into my gear.
I walked up to the top of the rise alone and lifted my arms to the sky. “God, here I am again. These good people need the rain. I’m ready to make the sacrifice for them,” I said loud enough for them to hear. It didn’t really matter, but folks liked to see me do something, or they didn’t feel like they were getting their money’s worth. But God provided the real show.
I never knew how long it would take. Once, when I was about twelve, clouds rolled in ten minutes after I started, and the townspeople tried to hold back my pay, saying the rain had already been coming. I’d learned my lesson and collected up front since then. Folks didn’t like it, but I always promised to return it if I didn’t bring the rain. I’d never left a town empty-handed.
I walked in circles up on the rise through the morning, praying out loud for God to send the rain. He would in His own good time. I just hoped it would be before the townsfolk got too frustrated. A hawk flew up from the brush and circled high over me. Folks pointed to it, wondering aloud if it were a sign. There was only one sign I was waiting for. Only one that counted.
Peter brought up a tin cup of water every hour or so. I could see everyone in front of me, but he took his role to heart and reported on the crowd’s mood and activities. This early in the day, they were all pretty hopeful. Some were praying and singing, while others set up tables for lunch.
At noon, the preacher brought two plates up to me, and we sat cross-legged in the dirt and ate.
After we finished, we sat in silence for a while under the cloudless sky. Scuffing my heel against the hard clay, I said, “They say God is good and merciful. They say things happen for a reason, even if we don’t know it. My father called rainmaking a gift from God. He said it was an honor to be the sacrifice to bring the rain.”
I turned to find him watching me. It had been a long time since I felt kinship with anyone. I didn’t usually get enough time. Or maybe I just didn’t meet the right people. I wasn’t used to the feeling. The words piled behind my lips, but I swallowed them down. All I said was, “Preacher, it’s likely I’ll need your help to move on when this is over.”
He stood and reached down a hand to help me up. “I know, son. I remember. Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure everything’s taken care of.”
I left the rainmaker on the hill and took our plates back down to where the women had set up a kitchen area. They rolled their eyes as I cleaned up, but I was used to taking care of myself. They had enough to do, preparing food for everyone and watching the little ones playing around our impromptu camp.
Through all the chatter and prayer and song, people kept a close eye on the rainmaker. I remembered what happened with his father in Nacogdoches, though, and I kept an eye on the sky. When the clouds rolled in, things would happen plenty fast. There was just no telling how long that would take.
I went from group to group, leading prayers and reassuring folks that their faith was well placed in the rainmaker. We carried on through the long, hot day without a single cloud to mar the sky. By dinnertime, I could feel the rising doubt and frustration running like a river current through the crowd. I called everyone together and got the choir leading them in songs.
I took a couple of cups of water up the hill. The rainmaker and I sipped slowly, gazing out across the town camp, the red dust that stretched to the hills on the horizon.
“They’re losing faith, huh, Preacher?” he said with a knowing smile.
I shrugged. “Faith’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”
His eyes widened with surprise. “I wouldn’t expect to hear that from you, Preacher.”
“Who better to question faith than someone who’s made it their life’s work?”
He nodded slowly and sipped his water. “Well, Preacher, how’s your faith?”
I smiled and took his empty cup. “Son, I don’t know you from Adam, but I have complete faith in the Lord.”
He gave a shout of laughter that turned heads below us. I tipped the empty cups to salute him and headed back down to lead my people in prayer. The rainmaker was sacrificing himself for us. We had to be ready to welcome God’s gift with open arms when it came.
Twilight lasted a long time on the open plains. When darkness finally came, it fell fast and absolute, wrapping us up in the velvet, starry sky. People lit fires and settled down, playing music and cards and telling stories. It was a rare day out of time, everyone together and away from our usual routines of home and work.
The rainmaker had been on his feet the whole day, except when I brought him lunch and supper. Peter was the only other one willing to go up the hill to take him water, and I appreciated the boy’s kind heart and clever mind. He reminded me of myself, and perhaps the son I never had. He sat with his mother and Sally. I didn’t judge them, nor anyone. Every one of us had to walk our own road to reach Heaven’s gate. Some were harder than others, that’s for sure.
Peter came over and sat by me a while, and we joined some of the choir singing evening hymns. He leaned against me and asked quietly, “Preacher, why don’t God just make it rain?”
I held back a bitter laugh. The boy asked aloud the question I had hidden in my heart. I hadn’t known what to expect all those years ago in Nacogdoches. Now I dreaded what was coming, as much as I knew we needed the rain.
“I don’t know, Peter. I guess God’s the only one who knows that.”
He tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars. “Maybe because we don’t live like He wants us to. He needs a sign from us to know we still believe in Him.”
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. “You’re wise beyond your years, Peter. Go on back over with your momma now, okay? I’m going to check on our friend.”
Peter stood and turned his head toward the rainmaker. “He’s our friend even though some of the people here don’t trust him much. Why, Preacher?”
I followed his gaze. “Takes a whole lotta love in your heart to be a sacrifice for people who don’t trust you, don’t you think?”
Peter nodded thoughtfully. “Guess we’ll have to be his friends then, Preacher, so he knows it’s worth it.”
I ruffled his hair. “That’s right, son. Now, go on.”
I slept fitfully for a couple of hours before dawn, dreaming of Nacogdoches. I flung myself upright and out of sleep, breathing hard. Twisting in my bedroll, I saw the rainmaker still standing at the top of the rise, his arms raised high. My gaze shifted to the cloudless sky, and my heart constricted as dread and hope churned inside me.
I smelled coffee brewing and headed for the kitchen campfire. Over the ladies’ protests, I filled two pitchers and carried them around to everyone already stirring. As I poured coffee, I listened to their fears and reassured them that God would answer our prayers. Finally, I took two steaming mugs up to the rainmaker.
He sipped the coffee and said, “I smell it, Preacher. Storm’s comin’.”
Dawn was just spreading reds and golds up from the horizon, but the sky was still barren. He smiled as I scanned the sky. “Don’t lose faith now, Preacher. After all these years, if there’s anything I know, it’s when the storm approaches. Can’t you smell it? Feel it in the air?”
I shook my head helplessly. He finished his coffee and gestured down the hill. “When it starts, tell everyone they should move back a mite. The other side of the camp should be fine. I don’t recommend the ladies or children watch, but seems they always do. Will you ask Peter to saddle my horse? That’ll keep him occupied, at least.”
I put my hand on his shoulder and marveled that he was comforting me, not the other way around. “Son, I remember everything from when your father called the rain. This town is going to survive because of you. You will always be welcome here.” I tried to quiet the feelings in my heart. It wasn’t up to me to question God’s ways.
He took my hand and shook it with a firm grasp. “Preacher, you been the closest I had to a friend in a long time. I thank you for that, in case I don’t have the chance to say goodbye later.”
I gripped his hand in both of mine and went back down as the light roused the last of the late sleepers.
“Rainmaker says rain’s comin’ soon,” I told everyone. “We got to be ready.”
“How long we got to wait, Preacher? We got work to do. We can’t stay out here forever,” Tom Miller grumbled. He’d been the one to storm out of the church, and I wasn’t surprised he was one of the first to complain now.
“This is a waste of time.” Tom threw his pack on his shoulder and turned toward the horses. Others agreed, anger and frustration swirling through the crowd.
I stepped in front of Tom, searching for words to sway him. He pushed past me, knocking me off balance. As I fell to the ground, the crowd’s angry mood spilled over. I don’t know who shoved first, who swung a fist, but suddenly the men were fighting, and the women were pulling children out of the way. I scrambled to my feet, shouting. “Stop! All of you! This isn’t the way—”
Thunder rumbled across the sky. Everyone froze in mid-motion. Then dark clouds roiled across the western sky. I called out, “People, look west! There’s storm clouds gathering. God’s answering our prayers at long last. We got to move ourselves back from the rise.”
The crowd’s anger evaporated in new excitement. I urged them to move to the far side of our camping area. Glancing back to the rainmaker as I moved through the makeshift camp, I saw he’d pulled off his shirt and was unbuttoning his pants. Some of the ladies tittered. Some of the men started toward him. I reached out a placating hand, urging them to continue away from the rise. “No point in him wasting those clothes. Ladies, don’t look if you’re easily offended. Folks, let him do his job, and let’s get out of the way.”
They grumbled but continued with me to the far side of the camp. I saw some of the women peeking back. More than one man grabbed his wife by the arm in consternation. Didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be sticking around to cause any trouble.
Peter ran to my side. “Preacher! What can I do to help?”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “You go saddle the rainmaker’s horse. Give it some hay and water and tuck a water skin into the saddlebags, okay? He’s going to have to get moving when the rains come, or they won’t stop.”
Peter’s eyes grew wide at the thought. He took his charge seriously and ran off toward the horses. I was glad the rainmaker had thought of sending him away, sparing him the shock of what was coming. I wished I could spare him. I turned my face to the darkening sky. Why, Lord? Why?
The clouds raced across the dawn sky, hiding the rising sun. Chased by thunder, they hung dark and low, heavy with rain. We all watched in awe. It had been so long, and I had forgotten how beautiful, how powerful thunderstorms could be.
The clouds filled the sky, but the thunder rumbled to eerie silence. A wild energy filled the air, making it hard to breathe, and the hairs on my arms stood on end, a feeling I still remembered after all these years. I called out, “Here it comes! Shield your eyes or look away!” I knew they wouldn’t—I couldn’t.
The first lightning bolt struck the rainmaker full on the chest, surrounding him in a shower of white and gold sparks. He arched back, and the lightning speared through him into the ground.
Even from this distance, I could smell burning flesh and hair. Bile and anger filled my chest. Several ladies screamed, and children hid behind their parents. Some of the men shouted and even moved toward the rise. I held up my hands and called out over them all. “Keep back! We got to keep back!”
Another bolt followed the first. It struck the rainmaker on his shoulder, and he spun around and doubled over. The next speared his back, and he flipped up and arched like a bow till I thought he would fall to the ground. The sparks filled the air around him, bright as a fireworks display.
Two more bolts struck at once, and I swear flames flickered all along his body and dropped down to the ground. They disappeared in the blink of an eye. He stood with his arms outstretched, suspended in midair for a moment. Then he collapsed. No one moved.
Out of the silence, thunder rolled across the plains. The rain came down. Gentle drops at first, single splatters that exploded up from our dry skin, the dusty ground.
Dear old Ms. Alma raised her hands and voice in worship. “Praise God! Rain!”
The rain fell harder, a steady pour. Everyone moved at once. They were dancing, shouting, laughing, kissing. No one spared a glance up to the rise.
I pulled free of grabbing hands and headed to him. Sally came out of the crowd and met me on the way up the hill. She was white as a sheet, but I recognized that determined look on her face and didn’t waste breath trying to turn her away. When we reached him, she gasped. “Is he dead, Preacher?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
He lay unconscious, stretched out on his back in the rain. His hair was burnt, and it had burned completely off his arms and chest. Sparks still flared along the fresh lightning streaks that glowed a fierce red across his chest and arms. Old lines ran all over his stomach, his legs. They’d be on his back as well.
Sally dropped to her knees and reached out a hand, hesitant to touch him. Her eyes filled with tears. “What can we do for him, Preacher?”
Peter came running up the hill and stood stock-still when he saw the rainmaker’s limp body. Too late to spare him now. He stared, wide-eyed, and held out a small tin. “Mama said to put this on him, Preacher. She got it from the cook.” He shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think there’s enough…”
I opened the tin. Precious aloe salve. It must have cost the cook a small fortune. I breathed a prayer of thanks for unexpected generosity and handed it to Sally. “Can you rub this on the new marks? Just a little, so you can cover all of them.”
Peter was staring at the rainmaker’s body. “Wow,” he breathed. “They’re kind of pretty, ain’t they, the way they run all over in loops and squiggles like that. Jeez, he’s even got them on his—”
“Peter,” I interrupted. “Why don’t you go get his horse and lead it up here. And see if you can find a bedroll sheet that will be softer than a blanket to wrap him in.” He raced off down the hill.
Sally cried out, and I spun around. She pointed as the rain washed over his skin. Where the water touched, the sparks flickered out, and the angry red lines began to fade. Sally lifted the jar of salve in inquiry.
“Let the rain wash over his skin first, then rub a little of the aloe on,” I advised. She nodded agreement, bending over the rainmaker’s body in the rain as she gently traced the salve with one finger over the new lines. How long would it take him to heal, I wondered? Perhaps not as long as I’d thought. Another of God’s gifts. He didn’t abandon His sacrifice after all.
Feeling helpless, I walked over to where he had neatly folded his clothes. He wouldn’t be putting them on any time soon. When I picked up the pile, a pocket watch dropped to the ground. I snapped it up, and the front popped open. There was a tintype of a beautiful woman who looked like him. I remembered his story and thought she must be his mother. Pressing it against my shirt to dry the raindrops, I gently closed it and tucked it more securely into his pants pocket.
Sally had carefully covered all the fresh lightning strikes on his chest and legs. I helped her roll him over to attend to his back. We both gasped at the sight. The fiery marks ran across his back and crisscrossed over his buttocks and down his legs. Even with the rain and the aloe, he’d be in agony riding like that.
By the time Peter walked the rainmaker’s horse up the rise, Sally was crying in earnest as she traced the lines, covering them with the precious salve. “Preacher, we can’t run him out of town like this! It ain’t right!”
I grimaced in frustration. The rainmaker had made it plenty clear what had to happen.
Peter thrust a sheet and the horse’s reins in my hand without a word and ran back down the hill. I didn't blame him for feeling overwhelmed. I was feeling some strong emotion myself, tightening my gut and constricting my chest. I thought I might be angry at God, and I didn’t want to examine that too closely yet. I was supposed to be grateful for His blessings. His mercy. But where was mercy for the rainmaker?
Lawless Lands: Tales from the Weird Frontier Page 34
