Rock Island Line David Rhodes (ereader iphone .txt) 📖

dog sat silently beside him, her breathing not even stirring the air, locked in animal concentration.

All of a sudden he believed he could see the line between the dark surface of the road and the sky, at just the top edge of the distant hill, a little clearer. It seemed at that point he could tell just exactly where one left off and the other began, more so than anywhere else on the horizon. He looked a little to the side, sharpening his vision, his heart collapsed upon itself. Then it became unmistakable—a thin white halo crowned the top of the hill, growing in a slow, nearly transparent explosion. Then the headlights popped above the horizon, accompanied by the caressing, hard sound of the tires on the gravel, and the line between earth and sky was obliterated; all that now existed was total darkness and the two parallel white lights.

July shivered. Joy mixed with relief. He berated himself for worrying and forgave himself immediately. It seemed the life-and-death game had been played, with his destiny coming up all sixes. He felt as though he were not only spared but blessed. I’ll never worry again, he told himself. As the sound came closer he recognized the exhaust system of the Chrysler, removing that last tiny doubt that with everything else it might be another car. He was truly saved. Holmes was running excitedly back and forth on her three legs, knowing the sound as well.

Then he filled with a different emotion, quickly and with no warning. This one almost like fear. Holmes sensed it and looked at him curiously. He was ashamed. He didn’t want her to knowwhat he’d gone through. It seemed it would be unfair for her to know—after all, there was nothing to worry about really. It wasn’t proof of his caring for her so much as a betrayal of his weaknesses, a burden she didn’t need. He turned and dashed toward the house. Holmes followed, picking up in sense July’s desire to be hidden, and was let into the house.

Mal came in, finding him in the rocking chair reading. “Phew, what a night!”

“You’re pretty late,” said July calmly. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“That’s silly. But look at this!” She sat on the sofa and one at a time took dollar bills out of her purse—tip money. July counted them off: “. . . three, four, five, six! . . . Fifteen! That’s really good!”

“Phew.” Mal took off her shoes and stretched out. July looked at her and thought wordlessly, If you ever could know how much I love you, you’d be frightened.

The never ending winter was a trial for both of them. Their house seemed not able to withstand it, and in the middle of the living room they could feel cold, moving air on their faces. The water pipes froze again and again, cracking and bursting the lines. Mal was in a painting slump. It was too cold in her studio upstairs, and even if she could take it bundled up in a heavy coat, the paints didn’t act properly. A few days of melting weather turned the barnyard into a mud hole and twice July had to walk down to the neighbor’s to get him to come with his tractor and pull their car out. So they learned to park on the road. (July hated this. A person’s car should be next to his house.) In April they were able to get their diamond back and that helped to revive their sense of accomplishment and purpose. They made a couple of friends they could, on occasion, go visit. July rediscovered his love of reading novels by the Russians Dostoevski and Tolstoy. They were true winter-breakers. He was even able to persuade Mal to read The Brothers, and for many nights they worried over Alyosha’s character. July feared he might loose Mal to Dimitri and reminded her of their contract.

“You’re the only one I’ll ever love,” said Mal. “But wouldn’t it be something to run into somebody like that!”

“It’s just the criminal element you crave.”

“No! And he isn’t a criminal. He’s possessed with life!”

“He’s possessed by his emotions.”

“Life without emotions is nothing.”

“He’s simply mad.”

The miserable weather improved. Melting from underneath, the levels of snow ran into the swirling and thick streams. Water oozed from everywhere. Scorpio began his climb in the south, splashing his tail down below the horizon. Mayapples and jack-in-the-pulpits began to come up through the snow with single-minded, wonderful lust for the warm air. The red-scaled buds of the maple tree beside the fence puffed up with a sense of awareness and caution. The grass reclaimed its rightful pigment and the bleak ground erupted in tempting, wild smells. Driving to work, July couldn’t go slow enough. He seemed always to be missing something. Every day brought too many changes to keep up with, and he wondered if it was better to linger over several instead of trying to catch them all—the question of questions.

Mal found painting on the open porch inspiring. She had never painted outside much and it was as enjoyable as drawing had been to her when she was little. Surround yourself with real color, she decided, then paint.

The first meadowlark to sit on the wire by the barn and announce the beginning of spring brought back the answers to July. What was he doing here? He was living here. Why here? Because this was where he was born. This was where his father was born. This was where his grandparents Della and Wilson had elected to stay. Why? Because there was something about it—the land and the weather and the feel of it—that had made them happy and at ease. He felt the same way. Why had he brought Mal? Because if she could love him, then she could love it too.

Their house felt much better now that the space heater wasn’t running continuously, and the lights weren’t always on, and the hot-water heater didn’t have to