Short Stories

Rainkeeper

Putting my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun, I stare out at the horizon. Mother told me that Brother should be home soon, with water from the city pump. Our town needs it.

I don't remember the last time it rained; what I do remember is singing "rain rain go away" when I was little girl because it was a nursery rhyme and I loved to sing nursery rhymes. Mother says I'm still a little girl, but I don't believe that. I've met little girls. They laugh and play. I work. When it's my turn, I take Dusty out to ride to the city to fetch water. I scrub the house with soap and wash it with oil and wax to make it shine. When Mother falls ill from not drinking her ration of water, I cook and take care of her.

Doing all that, she can't say I'm a little girl. Still, she insists.

"Julia! Come inside. It's too hot for you to be out and about!" Mother calls from the kitchen window.

I turn away from the sandy sunset and return inside.

"Oh look, now you've gotten your dress all dirty," Mother fusses with the hem of my dress. It was originally white with a lavender ribbon. It was my Sunday dress when it fit. Now it's far above my knees and a dingy biege color. The ribbon is worn down and is soft instead of silky. I cut off the sleeves a long time ago. I use the dress casually now because it is so hot. Mother doesn't approve. She says that ladies don't bare so much skin. I don't tell her, but my thoughts are that ladies don't live in deserts either.

"Mother, it's been dirty since last year." At that moment, Brother storms in, face red and chest heaving.

"The well's dried."

In that statement, I know that chaos was soon to come.

"You ain't gonna find nothin', Cooper," his grandmother drawls as we watch him dig tirelessly into the ground. All over town, folks are doing the same. Sitting all dressed up in the shade of the Grays' veranda, I study my fingers. Long, but not delicate. I've spent too much time working for that.

It's been about a month since the city well went dry. Every week someone makes it back with a big old cart pulling heaps of food and two jugs of water, enough for a thermos for everyone. No one takes baths anymore, so we all smell, or have soap dried onto our skin from not rinsing. It's been hard, but we survive.

Mother engaged me to Cooper because his family has lots of money, enough to move out and to the coast. He won't leave without his grandmother though, and she wants to stay right here in our dried up excuse for a town. I'm waiting for her to fall over dead so I can get out and know what it's like to live normal again.

"Shut up, Nana. I'll hit the bedrock before I give up," he snaps. Cooper doesn't have a good temper, but it's not like I care. He says we can have one of the "open marriages" that's becoming more popular nowadays. We can get boyfriends and girlfriends and all that nonsense. He says he's looking for the one. I know there's no "one" out there for a grump like him.

Grandmother cackles her spine-tingling old lady cackle. "You gonna die before you hit bedrock, boy!"

I sigh. "Nana, may I return home? I was told today would be full of courting and fun. He's just digging for fools gold."

"You a clever 'un, you are. Why don't you scurry back to your mama and ask her to engage you to a nice, productive young man, huh?" she suggests with a mischievous twinkle. I can't help but smile. Cooper's grandmother may be a bit eccentric, but she is quite a conversationalist.

"Thank you, Nana. I'll be back tomorrow to keep company."

"Oh, now that's all right honey. You just mind yourself and I'll be just fine."