The Personal History of Rachel DuPree_ A Novel - Ann Weisgarber [39]
Nobody said anything. They all—even Liz—looked to be still turning over in their minds what had happened in town. “You did?” I finally said.
“Yes, ma’am. We had ourselves an adventure.”
“What happened?” Mary said.
Isaac gave Mary a quick look of appreciation. “We were just minding our own business, heading home. John had the reins.” A sparkle worked its way into Isaac’s eyes. “I believe we were talking about how well he handled the horses when all of a sudden he said, ‘Look over there—it’s a tornado!’” Isaac had the children’s attention now; even Liz was listening. He let his voice turn serious. “It was a surprise, I’ll tell you. The sun’s shining and here comes a tornado. Right for us. Spinning faster and faster. ‘Take cover,’ John yelled, and you never saw two men move as fast as we did getting under the wagon. We covered our heads—we were ready. But girls, that tornado stopped right in front of our very eyes and turned into a—” He paused. “John, you tell them.”
John frowned, shaking his head.
“What was it?” Alise said.
Isaac looked to the left, then he looked to the right. Alise hunched down in the flatbed. Liz tightened her hold on my leg. Isaac cleared his throat, shaking his head. “No, can’t tell you. It’s too scary. But I’ll say this. It had a tail that stretched from here to the house.”
The girls’ eyes widened.
Bucky blew and sputtered, shaking flies from his eyes, startling the girls. “What was it?” Liz whispered. Isaac looked over his shoulder and then back at Liz and Alise.
“A dragon!” Isaac said, his voice booming. The girls all jumped, screaming. Mary laughed and then Alise and Liz did too. Not John, though. His head was down, hurt, I knew, by what had happened in town. Hurt too, maybe, that Isaac looked to be making light of it. But Isaac had to. A man was a man in the West, that was what he believed. It didn’t matter if that man was black or white. Work hard, pull your fair share, and people couldn’t help but respect you. Isaac, I knew, couldn’t bear it any other way.
By then, Isaac was reaching for one of the supply boxes. It scraped like sandpaper as he pulled it along the bottom of the wagon’s bed. Groaning some, he hoisted the box to his shoulder. Nothing more, I knew, would be said about Mrs. Svenson. I could ask Isaac from now until midnight about the particulars of what had happened, but he’d only shake me off saying how it amounted to nothing. Mrs. Svenson, Isaac might say, didn’t get along with anybody, not even her husband.
Maybe. All the same, it happened to Isaac. I said, “Let’s get these groceries in.”
It wasn’t until the two wooden boxes were unpacked that I realized there were just enough supplies for four weeks. I counted the tin cans again and refigured the two sacks of cornmeal and flour. I tried to make it come out different, but I was right the first time. Four weeks.
A year ago we’d had a tall stack of dollar bills in our savings account at the Interior Ranchers and Merchants Bank. Now, after buying Mabel Walker’s land, there must be nothing, not even a copper penny. It gave me a hollowed-out, sick feeling.
Isaac came up behind me, startling me. “I’ve got good news. Heard it’s raining in the Black Hills and it’s blowing this way.”
“That’s real good,” I said, but I was checking those supplies again. And even if I hadn’t been, I wasn’t about to let myself get all stirred up with hope. The Black Hills were some seventy miles west, and rain clouds were prone to drying up between there and the house. I couldn’t count the number of times this summer when Isaac had felt rain in the wind, seen it in the clouds, and smelled it in the air.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
“What on earth?”
“Just close them.”
I did. I heard him pat his clothes.
“Well,” he said, “could’ve sworn I had one more thing.” He patted a pocket again. “Well,