Free Miracle in a Dry Season by Sarah Loudin Thomas

knocked back and water carried from the creek. Seems like it hasn’t rained in a month.”
    Casewell nodded and headed out to the shed to collect the tools. The sisters had a small garden patch with corn, sweet peas, tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, squash, spring onions, and some lettuces that had already been hit pretty hard by the rabbits. He hoed for about an hour. He knew he wasn’t being as thorough as his father would have demanded in the family plot, but he didn’t want to stay all night. After the weeds were somewhat in check, he took the bucket and stepped down to the creek.
    Casewell pushed rhododendron branches aside in the gathering dusk. The music of the water spilling over stones immediately soothed him. He felt the coolness and the smell of damp earth rising to meet him. There was a swimming hole just a little further down where he had spent many a pleasant summer afternoon. The icy water flowed over rocks that looked almost black in this coal-rich part of the country. He stopped to breathe it all in.
    After a moment, he crouched down to dip the bucket and realized with a start just how low the water was. He knew it had been dry for a while, but this creek usually ran steady no matter the weather. It still flowed, but he had to move further into the streambed to find a pool deep enough to fill the bucket. This would take longer than he expected.
    On Casewell’s fifth or sixth trip back to the creek, he stopped a moment to rest on a cool, dark rock. He sat with his booted foot on a barely submerged stone in the center of the creek. He could feel the coolness of the water slowly making its way through to the sole of his foot.
    “I like to sit here, too,” came a soft voice. Casewell turned and saw Liza standing on the bank. “It’s a good spot to think or sometimes not to think.”
    “I suppose it would be,” Casewell agreed, rising to fill his bucket again.
    “Oh no. I didn’t mean to hurry you,” Liza said, beginning to pick her way across the rocks toward Casewell. He stepped closer to give her his hand. She perched on a stone near Casewell’s, so he sat down once more.
    “Frank and I did some of our sparking here.” Liza looked wistful. Casewell hadn’t been born yet when Frank ran off to be an animal wrangler for Wild Bill’s Wild West in 1902. Hewas twelve or so when Liza’s fiancé returned. Either Frank had taken to the bottle when he was in Europe or he took to it soon after he got home. He was rarely seen in polite company, and when he did come to town, he was almost always drunk. Casewell found Frank’s behavior shameful.
    “Once I took off my shoes and waded in this creek with Frank. Oh, I thought I was bold then. Maybe I was bold.” Liza paused and leaned forward to dip her hand in the water. “I don’t think I’ve felt bold even once since I gave up on Frank.”
    Casewell got the feeling that Liza might have forgotten he was there.
    “Angie gave up on him long before I did, but she was always the sensible one. Mother said I was a dreamer.” Liza sat gazing into the water so long that Casewell began to feel uncomfortable. Frank Post wasn’t fit to clean Liza’s boots. He cleared his throat and stood.
    “Reckon I better finish watering the garden.”
    “Oh, I did interrupt your work, didn’t I? Don’t tell Angie. She’ll fuss.” Liza looked around as if finally seeing the creek with its canopy of trees and rhododendron almost enclosing it. “My, I think this may be the lowest I’ve ever seen the water.”
    “It is mighty low,” agreed Casewell. “Guess it hasn’t rained upstream, either.”
    “Help me to the bank, if you would.” Liza held out her hand in a gesture that made Casewell see her as she must have been—a slender young woman with kind eyes and a gentleness that likely charmed Frank. He felt a flash of pity for the old drunk. Liza wasn’t the only one who’d missed out.
    Casewell finished carrying water and went in to tell the Talbot sisters