Courting Emma (Little Hickman Creek Series #3) (24 page)

Luke lumbered down the steps and picked up the laundry
basket, darting back as fast as his awkward body would allow.
Emma scampered up the stairs behind him, closing the door
just as a sheet of lightning sliced across the angry, black skies,
and an explosion of thunder reverberated off the walls. A second
later, the skies opened up. Emma leaned against the door as if
the weight of her body against it would keep them safe.

"Tarnation! What a storm." She breathed two full breaths
before gathering her wits and pushing herself away from
the door. "Those rascally varmints ran right past you, Luke.
Where'd they go?"

They searched the kitchen and washroom for the skinny,
orange feline and droopy eyed, brown mongrel, bent to look
under the butcher-block table, then moved to the broom
closet.

"They need to go back out," she insisted, looking around
the doors, under the sink, and behind the stove, but with no
luck.

"They can't hurt n-nothin'," Luke protested. "They J 'Just
ascared."

"That may be, but we can't start lettin' them in every time
we have a little storm." Little storm? This was hardly a typical
summer squall, she mused, but she didn't show any mercy as
the rain pummeled the windowsills. She could only imagine
what it was doing to her precious flowerbeds and vegetables.
"Those fleabags will start takin' us for granted." As if they
didn't already. Every day, Luke saved a large portion of his
meals for the critters, and now they'd come to expect it, standing on the back porch like two castaways, which, of course,
they were.

Like flaming arrows, lightning bolts ripped the sky and
instant thunder rattled the windows and foundation. "Land sakes!" she exclaimed, running to the window, the animals put
out of her mind for the time being.

Luke cane up beside her to gaze at the rain, which was
practically falling horizontally now. "How will ny p-p-papa
get hone?"

"Oh, goodness, you needn't worry about that." She put a
reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This storn'll be over before
you know it."

But even as she said it, she felt her confidence waning,
watching her poor corn and tomato plants bend nearly to the
ground, her rose bushes drowning in the waterfall coming off
the roof, and more twigs ripping loose from their branches
and soaring to the earth like wildly thrown darts.

"And what about M-Mr. Wonder and the p-preacher-and
all the others?"

"They're all fine," she said, fighting down the tiny twinge
of worry that erupted in the back of her brain, knowing that
Luke had a sixth sense about such things, somehow managing
to figure out before anyone else when things weren't exactly
right with the world. "Cone now, help me put down all the
windows before this wind knocks the pictures off my walls."

Behind them, the ragtag brown dog whined and plopped
himself in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room,
his eyes darting nervously between Luke and Emma.

She suspected the clog and Luke shared that extra sense.

Blast! He knew he should have stayed at the Sterling's a few
more minutes. He could have waited out the storm with them
and enjoyed another oatmeal raisin cookie and just one more
cup of Mary's coffee. But Bill and Flora Jarvis were expecting hint and so he'd tried to stay ahead of the storm. Instead, here
he was, stranded in a dark cave just west of the fork at Sugar
Creek and Little Hickman Creek Roads. Jupiter was hitched
to a tree situated in a cluster back on the creek bank near the
bridge. It wasn't the best of situations, but at least it was better
than standing in the wide-open elements taking the brunt of
the driving rains. There was a single tree right next to the cave,
a big oak, but he didn't feel good about hitching Jupe to one
tall tree that might be a target for lightning. Hunkered down
in the approximately six-by-six-foot cleft in the side of a sloped
piece of earth, Jon sat against a lumpy rock wall, stretched
his legs out, and thanked God that at least he was dry and
shielded from the worst of the storm.

This part of Kentucky was home to dozens of caves much
like the one in which Jon now found shelter. Wild animals called
them home, children played in them, and the occasional outlaw
had even been known to hole up in one until the coast was clear
for moving on. Of course, many were much larger, big enough
for walking through, and oftentimes long and winding enough
to confuse even the smartest footsloggers.

Jon tried to pass the time by quoting Scripture, huniming
his favorite hymns, and planning the week ahead. It seemed
such a waste to be sitting in a cave twiddling his thumbs, but
he'd learned early on the dangers of lightning, having heard
the story at least a hundred times about his Great Grandpa
Martin's near-death experience with a deadly lightning bolt.
Funny how the story changed with every telling, going from
"It struck him smack in the middle of his back, paralyzing him
for the rest of his born days," to "Got him square between the
eyes, blinding him for life," to "Affected his brain somethin'
fierce. That nian never could get out a straight sentence after
that." No matter how the story went, it had stuck with Jon as a lad, and to this day, he had a great deal of respect for electric
storms.

As if Mother Nature herself had read his thoughts, she
issued a bolt of lightning and a crack of thunder so loud that
it shook him to the soles of his boots then echoed off the rock
walls. He snapped to attention. Maybe this wasn't the time for
humming, he decided, or maybe he should hum louder for
distraction's sake. He thought about old Jupiter and hoped he
was faring okay under that clump of trees.

The rain fell in torrents now, some blowing through the
cave's mouth to form a narrow stream that ran down a slight
incline and pooled around his boots. Leaning forward, he
peered out the opening, glimpsed the tops of trees bending
and twisting like angry giants, and tried to remember the last
storm of this magnitude. A year ago, they'd had three solid
clays of rain that resulted in a swelling creek that rose to river
proportions and knocked out the ancient bridge, even closing
clown the school for several clays. But the winds hadn't compared to this storm's ferocious gusts.

Putting him in mind of the Independence Day's bountiful
fireworks display, continuous streaks of lightning and powerful, pulsing thunder filled the skies, shaking the earth's foundation, making his heart pound and his chest constrict. "Lord
Almighty," he whispered. Then he blew out little puffs of air
from his clogged lungs when he realized he'd been holding
his breath.

He folded his hands in his lap, an attempt to relax, but just
as quickly unfolded them and got up on his knees to peer out
the entrance of the cave, the cramped space not allowing him
to stand. Moments ago, his watch had indicated it was midafternoon, but if one had only the blackish skies to go by, he'd
think it was time to turn in for the night. Realizing he'd knelt in a puddle, he settled himself back against the hard wall and
closed his eyes, releasing a brief shudder as chill bumps rose
on his arms.

No point in trying to escape this dark hole until the rain
slows, he told himself, which, by the look of things, could be
awhile. He tried to think about next Sunday's sermon, his mind
wandering to yesterday's instead, and then the well-attended
picnic, and then to Emma. Despite his current circumstances,
he felt a smile break through. She'd actually had some kind
words to say about his message, a miracle in itself.

Just then, an ear-splitting peal of thunder resounded overhead, jerking hini out of his thoughts, as lightning struck the
tree closest to the cave, its ininiense trunk rupturing and plowing into the earth with such vehemence he thought he might
be witnessing the end of time itself. The ground quaked as
dirt and rock came loose from the cave's wall, pinging off his
arms, legs, and face.

Death by suffocation didn't appeal to him, so with little
forethought he jumped to his feet, thinking to get out before
the place completely collapsed, but in suddenly standing, he
smacked his head hard on a razor-sharp, jagged edge of rock
hanging from the low ceiling. Searing pain surged from the
fresh gash, first stunning him, then hurtling him backward
until he stumbled in a heap against a cold, hard wall. Something
warm and wet made a fast trail down his forehead. Rain? No,
for when the wetness seeped into the corner of his mouth, he
tasted blood, and lots of it. As quickly as possible, he searched
his pockets for a handkerchief, but finding none, ripped off a
big section of his shirt and pressed it against the wound, wincing with discomfort.

Disoriented, he put his shoulders to the wall and, breathing deeply, blinked once, twice, three times, as he sought to gather his wits and stop the bleeding, noting in that instant
how dark his surroundings had grown.

Another burst of thunder erupted, but the flash of lightning that went with it seemed less luminous. In fact, only a
glimpse shone through a tiny crack straight ahead of him.
What in the world? In haste, he crawled across the space to
investigate, and that's when he made his discovery.

The monstrous tree so brutally struck mere seconds ago
had fallen like a dead giant and firmly planted its trunk
directly in front of the cave's entrance, making it quite impossible to escape.

It was then he realized with chagrin that unless someone
missed him and came looking for him, he was sitting in his
own grave.

momma tossed and turned in her bed, staring at the blank
ceiling one minute and the wall the next, then gazing
out the window where the rain still fell in sheets; the thunder,
although now distant, still roared and rumbled like a fiercely
disgruntled lion. It was deathly hot in her room, but opening
the window much more than a crack would let in the rain,
and she wasn't sure which was worse, lying in a pool of sweat
or allowing the rain to pool on her floor.

Luke had asked at least a dozen tines after supper what
had happened to the preacher. "No idea, boy," his father had
replied. "He's probably holed up soniewheres, waitin' out the
storm. Don't worry about it."

But a minute later, he'd turned his question on Enmia.
"Y-you think lie's okay?"

"Of course," had been her pat reply, not wanting to think
about it.

"W-where you think he is?" he'd asked Mr. Wonder.

The man had laid down his newspaper and shrugged
his shoulders. "I haven't the faintest idea, son, but I'm sure
he's fine. Probably someone from the parish has him tucked
safe away. He's a friendly sort, that man." Clearing his
throat, he'd added, "Surprised some woman hasn't snagged
him up by now." With that, his eyes had traveled straight to
Emma, as if to gauge her reaction. She'd promptly dropped
her chin and returned to her mending, still irritated with
herself for offering the little guest room off the parlor to Billy for the night. Was he now going to assume it was his
for the taking? Well, no point in worrying over that till the
sun returned.