Did she come back as he said she would?
Yes sir, she come back. All in good time. And shows up in church sitting with the boy and singing hymns. She seemed more or less all right, didn’t she, Mary.
Not really.
No?
No.
Well, she seemed all right to me, a man, but Mary’s correct, she must not of been completely all right because two Sundays later the preacher’s boy is sitting in the pew by himself again and we find out the woman has left Dupree and is living across town with Don Leppke, the young fellow that manages the radio station.
I guess people in Holt didn’t care much for that.
No, people didn’t care for it at all. The station lost some advertising.
What became of her?
Her and Don went off to Denver. We’d hear her on the radio broadcasting from Denver now and then. She seemed to have a talent for it.
That happened after I left home, Lorraine said.
Yes. I think it did.
It had grown darker outside the house and suddenly there was a flash of lightning and it began to rain. The wind came up. Thunder rolled across the sky and there was more lightning flashing. In the living room they watched it out the side window. The rain came down hard at a slant.
Let’s go outside and enjoy it, Lorraine said. Come on, Daddy.
They helped him move out to the front porch and stood watching the rain falling on the grass and out in the graveled street. There were already puddles in the low places and the silver poplar trees were dark, streaming with water. Lorraine held her hand out to the rain and patted her face and then cupped both hands and caught the overflow from the gutters and held her hands up to Dad’s face. He stood leaning on his cane, his face dripping. They watched him, he looked straight out across the lawn past the wrought iron fence, past the wet street to the lot beyond, thinking about something.
Doesn’t it smell good, Mary said.
Yeah, he said softly. His eyes were wet, but they couldn’t say if that was from tears or rainwater.
16
THAT AFTERNOON, when the rains came, John Wesley was standing at the counter in the Holt post office mailing a package for his mother. When he was finished he went outside and stood next to an old woman who was waiting under the porch of the little entryway. Cars went by on Main Street splashing up wakes of spray, their headlights on, their windshield wipers going fast. The old woman was staring at him. You’re that preacher’s boy.
My father’s a minister, yes.
I recognized you. She turned and looked out at the wet street. How about this rain?
I wish it’d quit, he said.
Oh no. You don’t know nothing about rain out here. You haven’t been in Holt long enough. You got to want it to keep on.
The rain came down hard and sheeted off the street, filling the gutters, running toward the town pond. Then as they were watching, it stopped as suddenly as it had started. The sun shone out from behind the racing clouds.
That’s it. That’s all we get, the old woman said. She stepped out briskly and walked away up the block.
He watched her. He moved out from under the porch roof and crossed Main Street and turned up Fourth Street. The trees were all dark and dripping, the sidewalk spotted with puddles. In the air was the sweet pure after-rain smell and the smell of wet pavement and wet ground. He was three blocks from his house when the two high school boys pulled up at the curb in a black Ford. One of them said, Hey. Come over here.
John Wesley looked at them.
We want to talk to you about something.
About what?
Something you need to know.
When he turned and went on along the sidewalk, they jumped out of the car and caught up with him.
Where you going? Wait up. Shake hands, son. The first boy put out his hand and when John Wesley only looked at it the boy snatched his hand and squeezed it.
What do you want?
What do we want. He turned to the other boy who was shorter but dressed in the same way, in long baggy shorts.
We want to help you.