By the time Sophie and I had it moored tightly to the shore, the first drops of rain had begun to fall. The roiling clouds had moved closer, their underbellies black and swollen, and the wind was a howling thing that lashed the slough water to a muddy swirl. The air had an electric quality, sharp with the smell of ozone.

Sophie rubbed a hand across her thin, weathered face. “What’s keeping Annabelle? She should have been home long ago.”

“Some sort of delay in River Bend,” I said. “No cause for concern.”

“The storm is almost here.”

“If she hasn’t left by now, she knows to wait it out in town.”

“She won’t. She hates River Bend more than she does this place.”

“Then she’ll be here before the worst of it.”

“If she isn’t, how will we know she’s safe?”

“The stage is due any time. Pete Dell can tell us if he’s seen her.”

“And if he hasn’t? What then?”

We were both thinking the same. River Bend was more than a dozen miles distant and the levee road would soon enough be a quagmire. If the downpour came fast and heavy and lasted long enough, the levees might give way at some point and render it impassable. More than one traveler had been stranded, more than one conveyance swept away in the turbulent waters.

“Thomas…maybe I should saddle Jenny and ride toward town…”

“No. If she’s not back soon, I’ll go.”

There was more rain now, the drops blown, sharp and stinging, by the wind. I took Sophie’s arm and hurried us both to the shelter of the roadhouse.

Caroline Devane

I heard the rain begin when the coach had traveled only a few miles from River Bend. The threatening storm had been a topic of conversation between the driver and station agent in River Bend, but they had decided to continue on schedule in spite of it. I unbuttoned the side curtain to note that the sky was now dark with heavy, gray clouds. It was cold and damp in the coach. Perhaps we should have remained in town.