From the porch, she watched the sky darken, as evening shadows crept across the murky waters of the Minnesota Slough. A beaver slapped its heavy tail against the water, a warning to his brothers to take cover from a threat. She shivered, pulling her shawl close around her. Lightning stabbed the evening sky, and a roll of thunder echoed throughout the river bottoms.

Her eyes pierced the last light of day, searching. “Mama,” a little girl appeared behind the screen door, “I can’t sleep.”

The young mother reached for her daughter, lifting the child onto her lap. She kissed her forehead. “There is a storm brewing over there,” she pointed toward the northern sky.

“Yes Mama,” the child answered. The woman pulled the little girl closer. Another rumble broke into the twilight hour, louder this time. “Mama, I’m scared,” The child buried her head in her mother’s arms. “You mustn’t be afraid of thunder. That means we are going to get some rain and we need rain to water all the trees and plants.” The child peeked out from her mother’s arms and saw the big cottonwood trees and the tall grass that lined the banks of the slough.

“I know Mama.” The woman held her daughter and rocked back and forth, staring out over the darkened water. She studied the shadows on the slough. Are any of those shadows him? Did he run into trouble tonight?

She heard the screen door open. Two young boys peered into the twilight. She motioned for her sons to join them. Pulling a bench close to her, the brothers climbed on. One of them hugged a big quilt. His mama pulled it around both of her son’s shoulders. “Shh…your sister and I are listening to that storm that’s approaching.”

The young boys watched the lightning streak across the sky. Rumbles of thunder echoed beyond the trees. The three children sat on the old porch with their mother, waiting for the storm’s assault. The younger brother said, “Pretty soon, the rain will start. I hope Daddy makes it home before it starts.”

Their mother nodded. They huddled together listening intently for the distant sound. The oldest whispered, “I think I hear it.” They listened wondering if it was him. All they heard were insects in the night, an owl demanding their absolute attention, and the coming storm that was closing in on Mini Park and their little shanty.

“Why don’t I tuck all of you back into bed? That big old feather-tic is waiting.” The children agreed and Mama guided the boys back inside the shanty, carrying an already sleeping little girl. She pulled the quilt over them and kissed them goodnight.

The young mother stepped back outside and listened to the thunder as it rumbled toward her. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, praying that he’d come soon. She stood there alone on the porch for several minutes. And as always, she began to worry.

Ah, there it was, the distant sound that was music to her ears—the faint sound of the outboard motor that would bring the launch, and her husband, home. A moment later, in the distance, she saw the boat’s silhouette and the shadowed form of Pondo. She smiled, stepped off the porch, and watched as he maneuvered the boat, as it pushed itself onto the muddy landing. He’s home.

She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered, “Thank you.”

Copyright 2015