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Authors: Ann M. Martin
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they washed away other things. Bigger things and smaller things. Houses maybe, and all kinds of living creatures.
I look at the power lines that still lie across Hud. I look in the direction of The Luck of the Irish and see the trees that have fallen across the road, blocking the way. I realize it will be a long time before Uncle Weldon can visit us.
Late in the afternoon, when my father is getting tired of buzzing through trees with his chainsaw, I see someone making his way along the road.
âJohn!â my father calls.
The man waves to him. Then he wades to the side of the road and stands near the spot where our bridge should be. âGuess youâre stranded,â says John, who has a prime number name (47) and who may be someone my father knows from The Luck of the Irish.
My father puts one hand on his hip. He wipes his brow on his sleeve. âYup. Itâll be a while before this is fixed. Maybe I can build a temporary bridge over the stream. Hear any news?â
âThe flooding around here is terrible,â says John 47. âWhole towns washed away. Not ours, but others. Peopleâs houses gone. Plenty of others will have to be condemned. Donât know where the owners will go.â
My father shakes his head. âWhat a mess.â
By the time my father and I go to bed I realize that Rain has been missing for 37 hours, another number that is prime but not good.
I lie in my bed wearing layers of clothes because the house is so cold. I listen to the rushing water outside. For the first time I think that maybe Rain has gotten so lost that she wonât be able to find her way home after all.
22
What Must Have Happened
I lie (lye) awake in (inn) my bed for (fore, four) a long time (thyme). I canât fall asleep. Even though my room is chilly I crack the window open. I listen to the rushing water. I imagine tiny trickles of water on hilltops, dripping down to join brooks and streams, gathering force and speed, and meeting (meting) with rivers. Then I imagine all those trickles and brooks and streams and rivers swollen with the 15 inches of rain that fell during Hurricane Susan. Thatâs how much rain we got in 12 hours. 15 inches. More than a foot. My father heard it on the battery-operated radio.
I try to picture what our driveway looked like as the bridge suddenly loosened, how the boards must have cracked and shifted before starting to break away and float off down Hud. I remember what my father said about the force of moving water, and what John 47 said about houses washing away.
Finally I think I know what happened to Rain. This is my idea: After my father let Rain out in the storm she walked across our yard in the dim light. Sheâs very smart and she has a very smart nose, but she didnât know enough to stay away from the water at the bottom of our yard. It was new to her. Rain is curious, and maybe she leaned over to see what her nose could tell her about the rushing water. Maybe she saw something floating in it and stepped closer for a better look. Or maybe she just wanted a drink.
Whatever happened, Rain got too close and the water swept her away. Sheâs a good swimmer, but she might have been swept very far downstream before she managed to climb out. When she finally reached a place where she could get out of the water she sniffed and sniffed, but nothing smelled familiar to her. She couldnât find my trail because she was too far from me. There was wind, there was floodwater, and there were unfamiliar smells. Rain got confused. She got turned around. She didnât know which way to go, and she started walking in the wrong direction.
In conclusion, I think Rain was washed a very long distance from our house. And because of that it will take her a very long time to find her way back to me.
Where are you, Rain?
My heart starts to pound.
Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen.
PART THREE:
The Next Part
23
Why My Father Gets Mad at Me
The next
I look at the power lines that still lie across Hud. I look in the direction of The Luck of the Irish and see the trees that have fallen across the road, blocking the way. I realize it will be a long time before Uncle Weldon can visit us.
Late in the afternoon, when my father is getting tired of buzzing through trees with his chainsaw, I see someone making his way along the road.
âJohn!â my father calls.
The man waves to him. Then he wades to the side of the road and stands near the spot where our bridge should be. âGuess youâre stranded,â says John, who has a prime number name (47) and who may be someone my father knows from The Luck of the Irish.
My father puts one hand on his hip. He wipes his brow on his sleeve. âYup. Itâll be a while before this is fixed. Maybe I can build a temporary bridge over the stream. Hear any news?â
âThe flooding around here is terrible,â says John 47. âWhole towns washed away. Not ours, but others. Peopleâs houses gone. Plenty of others will have to be condemned. Donât know where the owners will go.â
My father shakes his head. âWhat a mess.â
By the time my father and I go to bed I realize that Rain has been missing for 37 hours, another number that is prime but not good.
I lie in my bed wearing layers of clothes because the house is so cold. I listen to the rushing water outside. For the first time I think that maybe Rain has gotten so lost that she wonât be able to find her way home after all.
22
What Must Have Happened
I lie (lye) awake in (inn) my bed for (fore, four) a long time (thyme). I canât fall asleep. Even though my room is chilly I crack the window open. I listen to the rushing water. I imagine tiny trickles of water on hilltops, dripping down to join brooks and streams, gathering force and speed, and meeting (meting) with rivers. Then I imagine all those trickles and brooks and streams and rivers swollen with the 15 inches of rain that fell during Hurricane Susan. Thatâs how much rain we got in 12 hours. 15 inches. More than a foot. My father heard it on the battery-operated radio.
I try to picture what our driveway looked like as the bridge suddenly loosened, how the boards must have cracked and shifted before starting to break away and float off down Hud. I remember what my father said about the force of moving water, and what John 47 said about houses washing away.
Finally I think I know what happened to Rain. This is my idea: After my father let Rain out in the storm she walked across our yard in the dim light. Sheâs very smart and she has a very smart nose, but she didnât know enough to stay away from the water at the bottom of our yard. It was new to her. Rain is curious, and maybe she leaned over to see what her nose could tell her about the rushing water. Maybe she saw something floating in it and stepped closer for a better look. Or maybe she just wanted a drink.
Whatever happened, Rain got too close and the water swept her away. Sheâs a good swimmer, but she might have been swept very far downstream before she managed to climb out. When she finally reached a place where she could get out of the water she sniffed and sniffed, but nothing smelled familiar to her. She couldnât find my trail because she was too far from me. There was wind, there was floodwater, and there were unfamiliar smells. Rain got confused. She got turned around. She didnât know which way to go, and she started walking in the wrong direction.
In conclusion, I think Rain was washed a very long distance from our house. And because of that it will take her a very long time to find her way back to me.
Where are you, Rain?
My heart starts to pound.
Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen.
PART THREE:
The Next Part
23
Why My Father Gets Mad at Me
The next
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