Appalachian Heritage

FICTION The Rain Gate Ricky Cox William got back to the house just ahead of the rain, then stood on the back porch to watch as the fat drops began first to dot the chickenscratched dirt beyond the back gate, and then to spatter heavily on the tin roof. When he was satisfied that it would rain enough to wet the field he had intended to sow in oats, he turned and went into the kitchen where his daughter Lila, who was ten, stood beside the kitchen table, measuring oatmeal into three blackened metal pie pans. The three younger children were on hands and knees under the table, each tied securely with a twine string or pieced-together shoe laces to one of its square wooden legs. William lifted the corner of the tablecloth and bent over to peer at the three children. "What are all you young'ns doing under there?" he asked. "They're not young'ns." Lila spoke up before the others could answer. "They're my milk cows and this is dairy chop." Lila set the biggest portion of oatmeal on the floor in front of the largest and least satisfied of the three captive cows. "This is old Jers, and she gets the most chop, because she's my best cow." Lila stood up and patted Old Jers's blonde head. Old Jers seemed about to speak, but lowered her head and began pushing oatmeal around the pan with her tongue. "She's feisty, though, and sometimes I have to switch her to make her mind." By way of demonstration, Lila took a small switch from the table and gave her brother Roscoe a smart swat on the faded seat of his overalls. Old Jers snorted and blew a few pieces of oatmeal out of the pan. She raised her head and shook it threateningly, but the effect was diminished by the absence of horns. "Sah, now," said Lila, "before I take a stick to you." Old Jers lunged against the piece of knotted twine, nearly upsetting a quart cup filled with flatware that stood on the roof of the barn. Unable to free herself, she aimed a looping overhand kick at Lila's dark head. "Now, you know you can't kick with your front feet." Roscoe did not try again to kick but instead undid the string from 80 his neck and began to chase Lila around the table. "That's enough, Old Jers," said William. "Lila, you better have what's left of your herd out of this kitchen and their mess cleaned up when your Mommy gets back to the house. Roscoe, go see what's on the clothesline." Two hours later, when the supper had been set out and eaten, and Lila had helped her mother wash and put away the dishes, she was free to run and play with the other children in the yard. The sky had not cleared up, but the rain had stopped, leaving the cool grass wet and slippery. The children romped in aimless concentration until the growing darkness began to crowd them toward the house. Their shouts grew fewer, their circles smaller, until they were caught and drawn toward the house by the yellow light pouring outward in solid streams from the open door and windows. A silhouette watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Come in, now. It's time to get cleaned up for bed." A few minutes later the shadow returned to the doorway, this time talking directly to the older two, saying only their names, knowing the little ones would not stay outside without the others in the deepening twilight. "Lila! Roscoe!" When William and Ruth put out the last light and went to bed an hour later, Lila was still awake. She lay very still and listened, straining to make out bits and pieces of a conversation punctuated by long pauses and muffled by the wall between her parents' room and her own. She listened to their talk every time she could stay awake until they were in bed, and upon hearing her own name, would hold her breath as her mother made good a threat to expose...