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"Margaret Anne Wilder!" I sighed. Any
time my full name was used, it was not a good sign. I looked up to find Hank standing in the
kitchen doorway. "Yes, dear?" "Don't you 'yes, dear' me. You want to explain this?" He was waving a
piece of paper. "If you'll tell me what 'this' is?" I used the hem of my apron to wipe the sweat
from my forehead. "It's a three hundred and twenty-two dollar and forty cent phone bill, that's
what it is. You want to mind telling me why you called a 900 number -- seventeen times?" "Oh,
that." I turned back to chopping up carrots. "I was talking to Mary Lou." I could hear his teeth
grinding and knew his patience was wearing thin. "Who is Mary Lou?" he asked in an unusually low
voice. "She's my psychic." "Your psychic?" "Uh huh." I turned and waved the knife as I spoke, for
emphasis. "See, I figure if anyone can tell me when this heat spell is gonna end, it would be a
psychic." I smiled, certain that he'd see my logic. He stood there for the longest time, just
staring at me and working his jaw, but no words came out. "You're not to call this number again,
understand? With the baby on the way, we just can't afford it." "Okay, dear." I blew him a kiss and
turned back to the vegetables. I was making soup for supper, and all it needed now was the carrots
and celery. "Besides, she didn't know when it would rain anyway." I felt his arms slide around my
waist and his hands lovingly caress my rounded waist. "Maggie Anne, what am I going to do with
you?" "Love me," I answered, grinning. I tilted my head up for his kiss. His lips were warm and
soft against mine. "That's what's responsible for your condition in the first place," he joked. "I
loved you the right way." He reached out and grabbed a piece of carrot, popping it into his mouth
and taking several more. "Hey! Get out of here before you eat all my vegetables," I scolded. A
smack on my rear was his retort. == "Margaret Anne!" I was in the nursery, folding tiny clothing
that I'd received at my baby shower the day before. When I was done, I would put them in the blue
and white dresser that my brother had given us. Although it took a bit of struggling, I got up from
the rocker and walked down the hall to the top of the stairs. "What's wrong, Hank?" "Why is there a
hundred and fifty dollar charge on the Visa for a 'Madame Twinkey'?" "Oh, because she's this gypsy
woman who just opened a shop on First Street -- you know, right there by the bakery. She advertised
that she could read palms and give predictions, and I just wanted to know when it was going to
rain." I started to walk back to the nursery. "Maggie, you've got to stop this . . . whatever it
is. We can't afford it, and no one's gonna be able to tell you when it'll rain. Maybe the weather
bureau, but not like you're wanting." He'd walked up the stairs and stood there on the top step,
looking at me. "I know this heat is about to do you in. This is the third week that the
temperatures have been over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, and our poor air conditioner is on its last
leg. I can get some portable fans from the hardware store if -- " I shook my head. "That's okay,
honey. We need to be saving our money, that's what you said a few minutes ago. I'll just hang the
clothes out on the line to dry and keep my cooking to a minimum. That should help, shouldn't it?"
He smiled, that crooked off-center smile that made me fall in love with him to begin with. "That'll
do just fine." He headed back down the stairs, and I went to finish in the nursery. == "Margaret
Anne!" I jumped. I had been napping on the couch, but not any more. I tried to reach a sitting
position. With my due date only one week away, I was not the most graceful of creatures. Hank
rushed forward to help me up, waving his hand to clear the air in front of him. "Where on God's
green earth is all this smoke coming from?" "Oh, it's from the incense I'm burning." I rubbed my
eyes. It was a bit smoky in the room. Perhaps I'd lit too many sticks. I chewed on my bottom lip.
"Why are you burning incense?" He held up a hand quickly. "No, let me guess -- it's to help it
rain, right?" "Pretty much. I read in this magazine that certain types of incense can. . ." My
voice trailed off at the mirth in his eyes. "You're laughing at me." Tears welled up in my eyes,
and I started to bawl. Those pregnancy books never said my emotions would flip-flop *this* much.
Hank took me in his strong arms, helped me up, and led me out onto the front porch. He guided me
into the porch swing and wiped my tears with the end of his shirt.
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"It's okay, sweetie," he said.
"No harm done." He smiled, letting me know he wasn't mad. "I'm going to go back in and clear the
house out. You just stay here and rest, okay?" I nodded, the tears still perilously close to the
surface. == "Margaret Anne, for the love of God!" I twirled and Hank was standing on the back
porch, his mouth hanging open so wide I thought he'd suck up a fly. I guess I did look kind of
strange to him. But damn it, he wasn't supposed to be back from Phil's house for at least another
hour. He stalked up to me and stared. "What's wrong, Hank? Never seen your wife dance naked in the
moonlight?" I teased him by dancing away, lost to the music in my head. "You're pregnant!" "You're
just now noticing?" I tried to look shocked, but I don't think I succeeded. "Doc Johnson said you
could deliver at any time. I don't think he'd appreciate you going into labor in the middle of the
tomato patch." "I'm not going to dance in the garden, just here in this cleared space, silly." I
was humming "Bop," an old Dan Seals tune. "What if the neighbors see you, for pete's sake?" he
hissed. "Come on in the house." "If old Mr. Jenkins sees me, he'll probably wonder why his wrinkled
prune of a wife never did something like this while she still had the body to do it with," I
retorted. "I don't want to go in the house. If you had let me talk with that Indian shaman like I'd
wanted to, he could have done the rain dance for me. Instead, I had to look it up on the Internet
and get out here myself." There, that should end the discussion, I thought. "If you don't march
your fanny into the house this instant, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you
inside, baby or no baby!" I was more stubborn than he'd ever thought of being, and we both knew it.
I kept on dancing, this time singing the words outloud and moving just as much as my beach-ball-
belly state would allow. I switched to the old Rod Stewart tune, "If you want my body, and you
think I'm sexy." I smiled and undulated my hips, the blonde hair on my head and matching thatch
between my legs gleaming in the moonlight. I grinned seductively and motioned for Hank to join me.
I might have been nine months along, but I still had my sex drive. He just shook his head at me and
tried not to smile. "You know what? You're so damn sexy right now you make my heart skip beats." I
started dancing closer when a pain ripped through my abdomen, doubling me over and causing me to
gasp for breath. Hank was at my side in seconds. "Maggie, honey, what's wrong?" He brushed my hair
back from my forehead. "Baby . . . I think it's coming," I managed to gasp out before another pain
hit me. This time I felt a gush of water flood the ground around my feet and knew my water had
broken. "Call . . . call Doc Johnson." "I'm not leaving you," he said. He raised his head and
hollered at the top of his lungs. He lowered me to the ground and took off his shirt, covering me
with it as best as he could. He hollered again, and I saw a light go on at the Jenkins's place.
Hugh stepped out on the porch, shotgun in hand. "That you, Hank?" he called out. "Maggie's gone
into labor. Call Doc Johnson for me, please." The old man nodded his head and ducked back inside.
If he thought it strange that we were outside after midnight and I was in a state of undress, he
never said a word. "Hank," I looked up into his eyes, "I'm scared." He squeezed my hand tighter.
"It's okay, baby. You're gonna be just fine." A thunderous boom sounded overhead. We both turned
our eyes skyward as a bright flash of lightning split the ebony sky. Another crack of thunder
sounded. I gritted my teeth through another contraction and then smiled shakily. "I did it. I made
it rain." The drops started coming down, fat and slow at first, then with more speed. Hank managed
to get me to the porch before another contraction hit. I wouldn't let him carry me inside; I wanted
to watch nature's dance. For some reason, I found it calming. Our daughter was born exactly
sixty-two minutes later, only ten minutes after Doc Johnson arrived. We named her Summer Rain. It
was my idea, and I think Hank was just too grateful we were both okay to protest too much. He sat
by my side, staring down at the tiny life we'd created together. The rain came down in gentle waves
around us. "Maggie, what am I going to do with you?" he said, stroking my cheek with a finger. His
eyes shone with love and tears and something new and undefined. "Love me," I answered with a smile.
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