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“Lord, John,” I said.

“He’s telling the honest truth,” Mary said.

“You should have heard Rounder and Big Blue howl,” John said. “The fireball went back up the pipe, sizzling and popping, sparks flying everywhere, and then it was gone.”

“Gone?” Liz said.

“Gone.”

Pleased with his story, John sopped up the last of his beans with a piece of bread.

Isaac said, “When I was in the army I heard about those fireballs. It’s a bolt of lightning that runs down a piece of metal. I’ll tell you what, it took awhile getting the children settled down after that. It was something else.” He ran his fingers up and down one of Emma’s short braids. “Al, Mindy, and I sat up through the biggest part of the storm. Been so long since it’s rained, none of us wanted to miss it. It was a beaut of a storm.”

“Yes,” I said. I had nearly lost Jerseybell. I was bleeding. I had been worried sick about him and the children. But Isaac was right. The storm was a beaut.

“Daddy,” Mary said, “you haven’t forgotten, have you? About the letter?”

A shadow crossed Isaac’s face and suddenly he looked tired again. He scraped his fork over his empty plate like he expected to find something more. He lowered his voice a notch. “There’s a letter for you.” My throat tightened. He said, “Al was in Interior; he picked it up for you. It’s in my knapsack on the porch. John, go get it for your mother.”

I swallowed past the lump forming in my throat. “Who’s it from?”

“Looks like your sister’s hand.”

“Aunt Sue?” Liz said. “But it’s not Christmas.”

Mama, I thought. Something has happened to Mama. I got up and took Isaac’s and John’s empty dishes. Mary got up too. An unexpected letter, I believed, most likely carried sorrowful news. I put the dishes in a shallow pan of water. When John brought the letter to me, I didn’t look at it. I put it in my apron pocket, ignoring the disappointed looks the children gave me. Isaac and I always read our letters when we were alone. That way we had time to mull over the news. That way we had time to decide what parts to read to the children and what wasn’t meant for their ears.

Isaac said, “As soon as things dry out, I’ll go back to the Mc-Kees’ and bring home the wagon. Any sooner in this mud and the horses’ll sink to their knees. I’ll get your patch tilled and you can put in your fall garden.” He tightened his arms around Emma for a moment and then put her down on the floor. He got up. There was work to do.

Isaac stepped close and put his hand on my arm. He whispered, “You all right? You don’t look yourself.”

My hand went to the letter in my pocket. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be in the barn,” he said.

I nodded.

The rest of the day I found myself fiddling with the letter in my pocket. It was thick; more than a page or two. From time to time when nobody was looking, I studied the envelope. The handwriting was runny like it had gotten wet, but Isaac was right. It was from Sue.

That evening it stopped raining long enough for me and Isaac to sit on the porch. It was cool, and I had on my blue shawl. It had gotten dark early, and I couldn’t do my mending. I didn’t mind, though. It felt good to give my eyes a rest.

Isaac said, “Read Sue’s letter yet?”

“Haven’t had time.”

“Maybe it’s good news.”

“Maybe.”

“Want me to read it first?”

“No.” I wasn’t ready to know what was in it. I couldn’t bear any hard news from home. To stop thinking about the letter, I said, “How are the McKees holding up with this drought?”

“About like us.”

“You didn’t tell them about Liz, did you?”

Isaac looked at me.

“About the well?”

“No.” Isaac leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got some news.” He paused. “Al’s joining the army.”

“What?”

“That’s right. Can hardly wait to get to the front lines. Figures he’ll show the Germans what Americans are made of.”

“But why?”

“He wants to do his part.”

“But what about those three little boys of his?” I said. “And Mindy? He can’t take off like that; he could be gone most of the winter.”