Saturday's Storyteller: "The crackling of the wood..."

by Belinda Roddie

The crackling of the wood in the stove calmed me somewhat, as I settled into a chair and sipped hot chocolate from a chipped, yellowed mug. It had been two hours since Maria had told she'd be heading to the general store in the rain, and I was starting to worry. On a typically calm and sunny day, it only took fifteen minutes each way to get to the small town south of our cabin. I would imagine that, even in the rain, she could have been back in an hour.

Then again, there could have been a number of reasons she hadn't returned yet. For one thing, during windy storms, trees were notorious for falling in a dramatic, martyr-like fashion across the narrow roads. For all I knew, Maria had gotten to the general store and now couldn't maneuver her way back. Her cellphone also didn't have good reception this deep into the woods. She may not have had a chance to get to a landline, either, and truth be told, the power could have even gone out in the town. I sipped more hot chocolate. Already, it was starting to get cold.

When the phone rang, I jumped straight up to get it. To my disappointment and my trepidation, it was not Maria. But the voice was very familiar.

"Lily?"

I exhaled. "Dolores. Hello."

"Lily," croaked my mother-in-law on the other line, "I have tried to reach Maria for hours now. Where is she?"

"She's out," I replied, as briefly as possible.

"Ah, chica," grumbled Dolores, "you know that's not a good enough answer for me. Out where?"

I felt my eyes scan the walls of the cabin, desperate to find a way out of this conversation. When I gazed at the nearest windows, I could see the rain come down in glassy sheets.

"Out for groceries," I said monotonously into the phone's large and clunky receiver.

For a moment, there was silence, then the harsh, hissing noise of my mother-in-law's breath through her narrow nostrils. "And when did she go out?"

"A while ago."

"And a while ago is..."

"Dolores," I almost snapped, "I don't remember exactly when she left, and I don't know exactly when she'll be back. It's raining like Hell outside, so I'd rather she not be in a hurry."

"Mi hija went out in the rain?!"

"Her choice, not mine."

"Lily," Dolores murmured, "when I allowed you to marry my daughter, I expected you to take care of her. This is not taking care of her."

"She's her own woman. You yourself should know that."

"Ay, mi Dios!" I heard her snarl, pulling the phone away from my ear momentarily to avoid the sting of her voice rising a whole octave. "Do not tell me what I should or should not know as a mother. I am calling back in another hour, and if Maria is not back by then, I assure you, I will come and investigate myself."

That was by far the last thing I wanted to happen, and as I put the phone down, I heavily debated getting on my bike and riding down the road to find Maria myself. My appetite for cocoa gone, I emptied my mike into the steel sink, pulled on another jacket, and went to fetch a book from the bedroom. By the time I started to read, it was already getting dark.

At this rate, if Maria were on her way home, it could take quite some time. The car we owned was old and temperamental, and it did not appreciate going up hills. I turned a crisp page of the book and frowned when I noticed how faint the text was getting. Not even my glasses could help me out. I was ready to get a flashlight when I heard a knock at the door.

Praying it was Maria but expecting it to be Dolores, I was caught off guard when I saw a tall, bearded man standing in the rain with an umbrella over his balding head. He seemed to be in his fifties, with very dark skin and wrinkles under his eyes. I opened the door just slightly and heard how harsh the wind was outside.

"Are you Lily Sanford?" he asked me.

"Yes," I said.

The man blinked away water. "I'm from down the road. You should come with me. There's been an accident."

I felt my whole body freeze up. Behind me, the fire in the woodstove had finally died.

This week's prompt was provided by Kyle Oathout.