shielded from the rain by the overhang. She loved the fresh, damp scent of rainfall. It continued to come down hard, puddling around the garden. Where did the butterflies hide from such a downpour?
Then she saw Lena. The housekeeper knelt in the mud beside a bush blossoming with large blue and white roses, absolutely soaked, apparently weeding. Her white hair was plastered to her head, and her housecoat was drenched.
“Lena?”
The housekeeper looked up, smiled, and waved.
Kendra retrieved an umbrella from the hall closet and joined Lena in the garden. “You’re sopping,” Kendra said.
Lena rooted out a weed. “It’s a warm rain. I like being out in the weather.” She stuffed the weed into a bulging garbage bag.
“You’re going to catch a cold.”
“I don’t often take ill.” She paused to stare up at the clouds. “It won’t last much longer.”
Kendra tilted her umbrella back and gazed heavenward. Leaden skies in all directions. “You think?”
“Wait and see. The rain will pass within the hour.”
“Your knees are all muddy.”
“You think I’ve lost my marbles.” The diminutive woman stood up and spread her arms wide, tilting her head back. “Do you ever look up at the rain, Kendra? It feels like the sky is falling.”
Kendra tilted the umbrella back again. Millions of raindrops rushed toward her, some pelting her face and making her blink. “Or like you’re soaring up to the clouds,” she said.
“I suppose I should get you inside before my unusual habits rub off.”
“No, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Back under the protection of the umbrella, Kendra wiped droplets from her forehead. “I guess you don’t want the umbrella.”
“That would defeat the purpose. I’ll be in shortly.”
Kendra returned to the house. She stole glances at Lena through a window. It was just so peculiar, she couldn’t resist spying. Sometimes Lena was working. Sometimes she was smelling a blossom or stroking its petals. And the rain kept falling.
* * *
Kendra was sitting on her bed, reading poems by Shel Silverstein, when the room suddenly brightened. The sun was out.
Lena had been right about the rain. It had relented about forty minutes after her prediction. The housekeeper had come inside, changed out of her wet clothes, and made sandwiches.
Across the room, the painting of the knight charging the dragon was complete. Seth had gone outside an hour ago. Kendra was in a lazy mood.
Just as Kendra returned her attention to the latest poem, Seth burst into the room, breathing hard. He wore only socks on his feet. His clothes were streaked with mud. “You have to come see what I found in the woods.”
“Another witch?”
“No. Way cooler.”
“A hobo camp?”
“I’m not going to say; you have to come see.”
“Does it involve hermits or lunatics?”
“No people,” he said.
“How far from the yard?”
“Not far.”
“We could get in trouble. Besides, it’s muddy out.”
“Grandpa is hiding a beautiful park in the woods,” Seth blurted.
“What?” asked Kendra.
“You have to come see it. Put on galoshes or something.”
Kendra closed the book.
* * *
The sunlight came and went, depending on the shifting clouds. A soft breeze ruffled the foliage. The woods smelled mulchy. Scrambling over a damp, rotting log, Kendra shrieked when she saw a glistening white frog.
Seth turned around. “Awesome.”
“Try disgusting.”
“I’ve never seen a white frog,” said Seth. He tried to grab it, but the frog took an enormous leap as he approached. “Whoa! That thing flew!”
He checked the underbrush where the frog had landed, but found nothing.
“Hurry up,” Kendra said, glancing back the way they had come. The house was no longer in sight. She could not shake the sick, nervous feeling in her
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley