was a little girl, I’d never seen that happen. But I’d also never seen rain like this, either. Lightning was unusual for a winter storm.
At dusk, as Eva’s dog, Hobo, and I stood on the back porch watching the storm, the blown mist swirling around us, I was glad for all the canned vegetables in the pantry and for the cords of firewood split, stacked, and dry. Beside me, Hobo whimpered and nudged my hand with his damp nose. Rain undulated across the fields like a living thing, in wild, flapping rows.
Two
The Yield
The next morning, well before dawn, a flash of lightning woke me. Immediately, darkness returned and thunder vibrated the windowpane. The drumming of rain followed as I rolled away from the bed’s warmth and groped for the lantern and a match.
After I dressed, I put on my uncle’s oilcloth coat and a leather hat, then went out to the barn. Lester had been dead for years now, but the recent dampness brightened all odors. As I went about my morning chores, the smell of his sweat and tobacco lingered around his clothes.
By the time I’d finished my work in the barn, the rain had slowed to a steady soft sprinkle, giving me an opportunity to check the drainage outside the house. That odd gathering of runoff I’d seen the day before made me uneasy. It was too close to the house. I couldn’t risk a flooded basement or a compromised foundation.
I stoked the stove, draped a fresh set of clothes and a quilt over the dining chairs nearby, then headed for the front yard. The storm had uprooted a small tree, washing it against a clot of dead leaves and blackberry bramble. Overflow from the field backed up the shallow ditch that normally drained down to the railroad tracks.
When I’d finally extracted the last branches, the plug of debris broke. The freed water plunged twenty feet to the tracks below. Not convinced that the tree, hardly more than a sapling, and a bunch of dead leaves and vine could account for such a backup, I shoveled the newly drained trench. The exertion warmed me, but my hands were wet and cold. I looked forward to the warm stove and my dry clothes as I slogged around the house toward the back porch. Hobo barked a greeting from the steps.
But something caught my eye. The ridge where the land rose a foot before plateauing into the fields had collapsed in one spot. Red lumps of clay lay tumbled down onto the roots of the apple tree below. I walked along the edge of the rise. The ground felt solid and gave no more when I pressed my foot at the edge. But it needed support. There were old fence posts and some planking in the barn. Daddy or Joe would have to help me, or maybe even Cole. He was probably over the flu by now.
Despite the rain’s pause, the horizon remained dark and mobile in all directions. There would be more rain very soon. Beyond the fresh-washed barnyard stretched the unbroken brown of bare trees and the rust of the earth. The air felt clear and cold, as if it had never been breathed.
Leaning slightly forward, I listened. Hobo leapt to the ground and took a quick trot around the yard. He bounded around the barn, then skidded to a stop a few yards away, his nose to the ground. His tail uncurled and he sniffed and whined.
I stepped toward him. He jumped back, barked at me, and then circled as if avoiding something on the ground. He pressed himself against my leg and whined again. I reached down to pat him. The ground was slightly depressed before us. I’d never noticed rain puddling there before.
“It’s just a puddle, boy. Just water.”
Hobo danced beside me, bumping my leg, not taking his eyes off the ground.
I squatted and skimmed my hand over the water. Fat, sparse raindrops spattered the ground.
Hobo barked sharply, then muttered a low, startled growl. I petted him with one hand and fanned my other hand through the puddle. The water was not more than an inch deep, opaque and rust-red. I meant only to reassure the dog, but saw that something was down there. Something round stuck up out of the puddle, solid like a rock, but the texture of it was unusual.
For balance, I kept my hand on Hobo as I stretched farther; the thing in the puddle gave when I pressed it. Instantly,