another, and a series of them, in waves, and she couldn’t parse out which were fireworks and which the storm building overhead. There was the silken sound of wind pushing the tree branches aside, and her room was lit silver with a strike of lightning nearby. The rain came with another gust of wind and a faint groaning sound from the old house, and the thunder again, sure of itself this time, filling the air. Shehoped the Fosters were checking to make sure the barn doors were closed. Then she remembered that the Fosters were gone. There had been Fosters in Mount Mason for years and years. There had been Blessings for Lydia’s lifetime, and soon there would be none.
“Don’t say anything to Mother and Father,” Sunny had said when he came up from the barn that first day he was supposed to be working, holding his right arm with his left one, a scratch across his cheek. She had been sitting on the grass by the frog pond, holding some new barn kittens in her lap, and in the slanting sun she could see the pale down on his face where his beard was coming in. He got through dinner, eating left-handed without anyone noticing, and somehow he made it through the night, although in the morning he looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. Lydia wondered how he’d gotten on his dungarees and the frayed white shirt from his old school uniform that he wore to work on the barn.
“Mr. Blessing, sir, this arm’s broken,” the foreman had said, jerking his head toward Sunny when her father had gone down to stand around and talk about the progress of his barn. Mr. Foster drove them to the little hospital in Mount Mason, and she held Sunny’s hand while the doctor set his arm. He’d cried out twice, turned white, then red, tiny beads of perspiration like pearls along his forehead. Then he’d fallen against her. “I need some salts in here,” the doctor had yelled to a nurse while Lydia held Sunny’s slack dead weight.
“That boy is a disappointment,” her father had said after they put him on the train to Newport to stay with Benny Carton. When he came home Sunny said he’d learned to sail with just one arm.
The rain was strong now, like the sound of gravel falling on the old slate roof. A gust blew a handful of drops through the screen and onto her pillow. Mrs. Blessing struggled slowly to her feet and brought down the sash. Her left arm was aching where she supposed she’d slept on it. She began to drift off again when a clap of thunder like an explosion settled over the house. They’d used dynamite to blow open the earth, to pour the cement foundation forthe barn. She remembered being deaf and dazzled afterward, as though all her senses had been rattled by the sound. The thunder was like that, and on its heels another jab of lightning, so bright this time that for a moment it outdid the outdoor lights. Then the light outside her window, and the ones by the front door and front walk, went out. She realized, looking from her pillow into a black night deep as a well, that the lights in the hallway and kitchen had gone out, too. She was irritated, and then, when she smelled burning, afraid.
The alarm for the house went off with a shrill scream, and she pressed her hands to her temples. When she could bear the sound no longer she stepped into her house slippers and felt her way down the stairs as though she were a blind woman, her white gown rippling like a sail in a high wind, driven by the gusts coming in through the bedroom windows, the hallway windows, and finally, when she had touched each step tentatively on the way down, the windows downstairs. The alarm would not turn off. Her foot slid on a patch of rainwater in the hallway and she started to fall, then caught the knob of a closet door. Feeling along the walls, she sank into the wing chair in the living room and lifted the phone. There was no sound. The burning smell was stronger.
“Damn,” she said aloud in the empty house, with no one to hear, with the ringing and
“Don’t say anything to Mother and Father,” Sunny had said when he came up from the barn that first day he was supposed to be working, holding his right arm with his left one, a scratch across his cheek. She had been sitting on the grass by the frog pond, holding some new barn kittens in her lap, and in the slanting sun she could see the pale down on his face where his beard was coming in. He got through dinner, eating left-handed without anyone noticing, and somehow he made it through the night, although in the morning he looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. Lydia wondered how he’d gotten on his dungarees and the frayed white shirt from his old school uniform that he wore to work on the barn.
“Mr. Blessing, sir, this arm’s broken,” the foreman had said, jerking his head toward Sunny when her father had gone down to stand around and talk about the progress of his barn. Mr. Foster drove them to the little hospital in Mount Mason, and she held Sunny’s hand while the doctor set his arm. He’d cried out twice, turned white, then red, tiny beads of perspiration like pearls along his forehead. Then he’d fallen against her. “I need some salts in here,” the doctor had yelled to a nurse while Lydia held Sunny’s slack dead weight.
“That boy is a disappointment,” her father had said after they put him on the train to Newport to stay with Benny Carton. When he came home Sunny said he’d learned to sail with just one arm.
The rain was strong now, like the sound of gravel falling on the old slate roof. A gust blew a handful of drops through the screen and onto her pillow. Mrs. Blessing struggled slowly to her feet and brought down the sash. Her left arm was aching where she supposed she’d slept on it. She began to drift off again when a clap of thunder like an explosion settled over the house. They’d used dynamite to blow open the earth, to pour the cement foundation forthe barn. She remembered being deaf and dazzled afterward, as though all her senses had been rattled by the sound. The thunder was like that, and on its heels another jab of lightning, so bright this time that for a moment it outdid the outdoor lights. Then the light outside her window, and the ones by the front door and front walk, went out. She realized, looking from her pillow into a black night deep as a well, that the lights in the hallway and kitchen had gone out, too. She was irritated, and then, when she smelled burning, afraid.
The alarm for the house went off with a shrill scream, and she pressed her hands to her temples. When she could bear the sound no longer she stepped into her house slippers and felt her way down the stairs as though she were a blind woman, her white gown rippling like a sail in a high wind, driven by the gusts coming in through the bedroom windows, the hallway windows, and finally, when she had touched each step tentatively on the way down, the windows downstairs. The alarm would not turn off. Her foot slid on a patch of rainwater in the hallway and she started to fall, then caught the knob of a closet door. Feeling along the walls, she sank into the wing chair in the living room and lifted the phone. There was no sound. The burning smell was stronger.
“Damn,” she said aloud in the empty house, with no one to hear, with the ringing and
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