RAIN AT LOYALSOCK CREEK
BY
HOLLY HIXSON


Barbara Walker stood in the knee-high reeds of grass, her face lifted to the sun’s warm rays. Her hazel eyes closed, absorbing her surroundings. It had been 16 years since she had stood in this very spot.

It was a typical October day in the northeastern mountains of Pennsylvania. Hot sun, cool breezes: a golden day full of autumn’s orange and red hues swirling through the air on their downward spiral to the ground.

She could hear the nearby gurgling rapids of the mountain stream churning over rocks down to the deep pools of Loyalsock Creek, which cut through John’s Uncle Marin’s property on the south side. The slope of the land hid Marin’s house from view---hid her too. She grabbed her long brown hair with her slender fingers, trying to keep the loose strands from catching in her eyes. The last time she’d been here she was 17, a young naïve girl whose life had been changed that fateful day in the past. She could hear the whisper of the wind blowing through the trees, bending the willows, swaying the tall thin pines.
A nearby jay screeched; the faint buzz of a logging saw invaded her senses. The saw mill just east of Dushore was nearly five miles away, yet she could imagine the cedars and pines crackling as they toppled over. The saw mill had been what had brought her family to the little village of Dushore.

The day they had arrived the locals had been grilling chicken over hot beds of coal, basting old recipes of BBQ sauce over tender pieces, nearby tables of hot covered dishes, the hum of friendly conversation in the air. She opened her eyes, unsure if she had somehow stepped back in time.

Barbara could hear Rain, her 16 year old daughter. The girl’s laughter floated in the air from the other side of the farmhouse. A faint aroma of chicken BBQ lingered in the air. She could almost taste it, though it had been hours since she and John and Rain had returned from the annual fiesta.
They had arrived yesterday evening to bid farewell to the one real friend she’s had besides her husband. Uncle Marin’s heart had finally given out. John was Marin’s executor and had read over the will earlier. This place, from which she had fled in shame and humiliation all those long years ago was now theirs. Marin had left it to them. John wanted to stay.

Slowly, she sank to the ground, the tall grass nearly hiding her completely. Painful memories flooded her senses. Sixteen years ago her husband’s best friend, Andy, had followed her out here to Loyalsock Creek. He had tried to get her to go out with him several times, but she had only eyes for John. That October afternoon, John had been held up at his after-school job and she had come to the creek to dip her feet in the cool water while waiting for him. A slight mist of rain had started to fall.

Only it was Andy who had come. A shudder rippled through her as she remembered his mocking voice and vicious words. “I’m tired of John always having the things I can’t. I’m going to take you away from him.” Those had been his words in her ear, as he pushed her to the wet ground, tearing at her dress, the knife in his hand nearly piercing the side of her throat. Unable to move, she endured the vicious rape. He left as suddenly as he came, and she had to somehow pick up the pieces, somehow make her shambled life right.
She never told anyone what had happened. Instead she convinced John to marry her, and when her beautiful daughter, Rain, had been born the truth of who had parented her had been locked deep inside her heart. A secret she had vowed to never let be known. John adored their little girl--- that was all she cared about.

Loyalsock Creek had been a good place for her before that. Warm memories of John’s courtship of her, strolls along the creek, and romantic trysts were strong in her mind. Andy had ruined this place for her, and now it was theirs and John wanted to move here.
To make matters worse, John had run into Andy at the BBQ today and had invited him and his son Shawn over to their place. How am I going to handle this? She heard herself say out loud. The sound of her own voice, so clear over nature’s noises, startled her. Then she heard Rain calling her as she came over the top of the hill. Barbara rose from the grass waving her daughter to her.
Rain had been mooning over Shawn at the picnic. Her daughter’s coquettish flirting had at first amused her until she realized who the object of her affection was. That’s when she knew the past was finally catching up as she had known it would.

“Mama, what are you doing sitting in the grass?” Rain came running lightly to her.
“Just enjoying the sun and all of this,” Barbara replied, stretching her arms and turning to face the creek.
“Andy and Shawn are here. Dad’s real happy to see them. He loves it here doesn’t he?” Rain stood by her mother looking up at her expectantly.

“Yes, he does. He doesn’t know it the way I do.”Barbara put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder, hugging her. She smiled, thinly, at her daughter as they walked back to the farmhouse. “We’d better go. The day is almost over. Night comes quickly here.” Rain looked at her mother, puzzled. The sun was still shining brightly.

As they walked back up the hill Barbara cast a last glance over her shoulder at the rippling waters of the creek. It occurred to her that this place was neither good nor bad, but a place for picking up pieces and making things right. The churning waters of this mountain stream reminded her that life goes on; it’s up to you to make what you can of it.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.09.2009

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