Chapter 69 - The Passing Storm
A sudden summer thunderstorm rolled over the ridge late one afternoon in August, turning the sky an ominous, bruised shade of purple and purple-black. The wind whipped through the valley, bending the tall cornstalks and rattling the windowpanes of the farmhouse with sudden, violent gusts.
Inside, the lights flickered twice before dying completely, plunging the kitchen into sudden shadow save for the brilliant, jagged flashes of lightning splitting the sky outside.
Emma let out a small gasp, instinctively reaching for Clara’s hand as a crack of thunder shook the floorboards beneath our feet.
"It’s okay, sweetie," Clara said calmly, pulling her close. "It’s just a summer storm. The house has stood through a hundred of these."
I walked over to the pantry and pulled down two heavy brass oil lamps, striking a match and setting the wicks ablaze. The warm, flickering amber light instantly pushed the shadows back against the walls, creating a cozy, amber-lit island in the middle of the roaring weather outside.
Years ago, a sudden power outage and a violent storm would have put me on high alert—checking the perimeter, securing the exits, treating the darkness as an tactical disadvantage.
Tonight, I simply pulled two extra chairs up to the kitchen table, set out a deck of cards, and looked at my family.
"All right," I announced, shuffling the worn paper deck. "Who's ready to lose at Gin Rummy?"
May you like
For the next two hours, while the rain lashed against the glass and the wind howled through the eaves, we sat around the table playing cards by oil lamp light. We laughed when Jean caught me trying to cheat, argued over the scorekeeping, and ate slices of leftover blackberry pie.
The storm raged outside, trying its best to shake the foundations of our home, but inside, there was only warmth, laughter, and unbreakable security.
