Paul squatted onto the ground and bowed his head. He let the rainwater run over his greasy hair and down his back. He felt his shirt, saturated, stick to his back.

“God,” he said in a soft voice meant only for the heavens. “If you’re up there, please, I beg of you, dear Lord, please let me find a cigarette.”

Twenty-Six
Lightning Strikes

“Get up,” were the only words Marigold heard.

And when Marigold opened her eyes, she was looking at Helen, who was lying beside her.

“What is it?” asked Marigold.

Lightning. Thunder. Rumbling.

“That,” said Helen. “Hear it?”

The surface of the walls inside the room became white and blue for an instant. Then the light disappeared and the place went black. Then blue again. And black.

“I think it’s gonna rain,” said Helen.

Helen jumped out of bed and walked toward the window. She was obviously excited. “C’mon. It’s a storm.”

A low rumble vibrated the cabin and railcar. Then a loud clap of thunder that made Helen smile. Then another clap. The world lit up flickering white.

Helen counted, “One Chattahoochee, two Chattahoochee, three . . .” The whole earth shook like it would fall apart. Another lightning flash.

Helen counted again. “One Chattahoochee . . .”

Rumbles shook the place.

“It’s getting closer,” said Helen.

Outside on Cowikee’s front porch, Rachel was already standing with the other girls, watching the sky. They were quiet, wearing nightgowns, smoking cigarettes, arms crossed.

It was an eerie atmosphere. The dark world was calm between episodes of thunder and flashes of light. Laughing Girl stood beside Rachel. She was a tall, slender woman with long black hair and cocoa skin. She’d told Marigold she was Cherokee, and she must have been. Her cheekbones were so high they made her eyes look pinched.

“Don’t hear no rain,” said Rachel. “Could be it’s only heat lightning.”

“No, it is coming,” said Laughing Girl.

“How do you know?” Marigold asked.

“My hair,” Laughing Girl replied. “My hair knows when it will rain.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Helen.

Marigold could not remember the last time it rained. Months. Lots of months. Too many months.

Helen stepped off the porch and looked at the sky. “C’mon, Lord,” she said. “Do it up big tonight.”

They all watched the sky. Nobody said anything. They only waited.

The first few drops hit the tin roof of the porch and made a marvelous sound.

“There it is!” said Helen. “Don’t just stand there, come on.”

Helen led Marigold and the others across the dusty road, through the pines, to the peanut field down the road from Cowikee’s railcar. A single oak sat in the field, surrounded by a tin shed, dead peanut plants, and a few cattle.