A Scent of Rain

By Matt Mitchell

I light my candle and look up to where I’d often seen her looking when shewas here: to the western sky. What for? Rain, I guess. I’m Earl Harper. Ifarm soy and corn. Her name is Adelie. You might think I’m sweet on her,and you’d be right. I love her, too.She resides on Primrose Lane. I say that in the present tense becauseI believe she’s still there, even though she hasn’t taken a step in almost fortyyears. I remember the day she showed up in Pratchard. I’ll never forget it. *** Dan and I were sitting with our chairs tilted back against the front wall of thetown mercantile. Dan had a bottle of Coke in his hand and I was sitting onhis left listening to the creaking of the rusty metal 7-Up sign that wasswinging lazily back and forth above us.Dan was a good man who was always trying to sell me “salvation.” Iwas never willing to buy it, though. I’d spent too much of my life watchingcrops wither and die because it wouldn’t rain. My family had gone that route,too. My mother withered up on the inside and died. Same as everyone elseI’d ever loved.It’d only rained a little over the past two years and times were verytough. I’d had no crop to speak of the previous year and, as a result, noincome. I’d signed a loan at the bank that year to irrigate, but there wasn’tenough water. That put me in dire straits. Dan would have had me to prayfor rain, but I’d seen the good it would do for someone with all the faith inthe world to get down on their knees and pray for rain and get anothermonth of drought in response. What good was faith for a man like me? Ireckon I was drying up, too. Salvation was just another hypocritical promise

in the face of death. Either way, you always dry up and die. Just like theland.I was about to change the subject and complain about the heat, butthen Dan saw something that made me sit up and take a look."Who's this coming here?""Got me," I answered. I pushed my hat back and dropped my chair’sfront legs back down to the porch, trying to see who it was.It didn’t take long to find out. She was as pretty as a spring morning.She parked right in front of the mercantile and got out of that old beat uppickup she drove. She was wearing one of those soft, flowing spring dresses.She walked right by me and Dan and when she did I swear I smelled rain. Ihopped to my feet and skittered down to the sidewalk because I couldn’t seethe sky from under the porch, but when I looked up there wasn’t a cloud inthe sky. “I thought I smelled rain,” I said. “Me, too.” Dan scrubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment, butthen he shrugged passively. He was the town postmaster; rain didn’t interesthim like it did me.She came back out directly, and I asked her what her name was. “Adelie.” “Where you from? If you don’t mind my asking.” “I’m from Louisiana, but my granny left me her house down onPrimrose Lane.” “You didn’t bring any rain with you from Louisiana, did you?” I asked.She looked up at the sky. “Maybe,” she said with a smile, and Icouldn’t say another word; I had a lump in my throat the size of a sweetpotato. I fell in love with her that day standing out by the mercantile. I knowit sounds phony, but it wasn’t.She had a bag of items she’d bought in the mercantile, so I took thebag and put it in the back of her old truck. Then I opened her door for her.She brushed by me and again I caught the unmistakable, overpowering smellof rain.

I felt light headed – the smell of rain will do that to a man that hasn’thad it for a while. It sounds dumb, but it’s true. It’s like a drug; it’ll get youhigh. And it had been ten long months since the last puddle had gathered onPrimrose Lane or anywhere else in Bratscomb County. I think she’d turned tolook at me when she sat down, but my eyes were closed and my head wastilted upwards. I tried to pull that smell of rain out of the air and hold on to itfor as long as I could. It was the most beautiful smell on earth. It always willbe. “Harper!” Dan said from the porch. “You gonna keep that young ladyfrom her duties all the day?” I looked back at him and then at her and I must have blushedmightily, because she did too. “Harper, is it?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Thank you for helping me.” “You’re welcome.” I pushed the door of her truck closed and gave herwhat must have been an awfully timid grin. She gave a grin back, though,and said that there were some things she needed help with out at the house.She asked me if I could come give her a hand – If I didn’t have anything elseto do, she said.Dan the Postmaster popped up from his seat and howled. “To do!” hesaid. “He hasn’t had anything to do in two years! I’ll drive him over myself,my dear. And if you make banana pudding near as well as your deargrandmother did, I would love for you to stir up a batch!” She said it might not be as good as her granny’s, but she wouldcertainly try. I agreed to assist her the next day. My mouth said goodbye,but my eyes were scanning the horizon for clouds. But the smell of rain wasgone, and I began to think,

Is it coming from her?

I watched the truck disappear down the black highway that ranthrough brown, dusty earth.My farm was a good fifteen miles outside of town, so before I headedhome early that evening I decided to make a pass down Primrose Lane.