A Different Drummer: One dark and stormy night

Bill Johnson’s horse came back alone. Marjory Johnson was sitting on the back porch, under a fleece lap blanket, watching the evening storm clouds stumble across the prairie sky and wondering when her grumbling husband would get back from town.
Jinny, Bill’s quarter horse, trotted right past Marjory and into the open barn, full saddle. Marjory sat stunned, unsure of her next move.
Distant thunder caused her to turn her head to the west, down the dirt road that led from their modest farm 12 miles to Wooster, the only pocket of civilization in the valley.
Marjory stood and clutched the porch post, arm wrapped around it, face pressed against it, summoning support from the only home she’d known for 30 years since her marriage to Bill at 14. She let go, crossed the yard and walked a hundred feet down the road.
“Bill?” she yelled into the prairie. “Bill!” she bellowed. The air was still. The sky fell dark like a fainting spell and a ubiquitous rumble of thunder canvassed the valley, stirring all with its roar.
Willis, the loyal black and white ranch dog, stayed always close by Marjory’s side. He could sense the trouble. His master was missing from the scene. Master seldom left Marjory out of his sight, and master was the only one to comfort her. Willis looked into her face and let out a tentative yelp. She took notice and patted him lovingly on his head. Willis wagged his tail instinctively.
“Where could he be?” she said to Willis. She looked back at the farm with its amber warm lamps shining through the window curtains. The rest of the universe was dark and cold. “I can’t go looking for him. Storm’s a coming. I can’t leave the house unattended. Fire’s going.”
Willis barked and wagged.
Small raindrops began to spatter. Marjory ran back to the porch. Willis followed. She returned to her rocker and methodically scratched Willis’s ears as she thought aloud.
“Dear me. I fear he got into a fight with old Dugan over the well. The judge is Dugan’s cousin, so it’s not likely this morning’s trial went in Bill’s direction.” Distraught, she nervously kneaded the corners of her blanket in her fists. Willis watched her, concerned, his tongue hanging.
“Or, perhaps the thunder scared Jinny and she bucked him? That horse has always been skittish.” Marjory turned and made a scowling gesture toward the barn. “She can just wear that saddle for all I care. I swear if she bucked Bill off and killed him I’m going to dress her for the nearest butcher.”
Thicker rain came down. Cold wind picked up and blew across the porch. Rain spattered in a wave across Marjory and Willis. She pulled her lap blanket up to her shoulders.
“What if he was robbed by highway men? You never know what strangers might sling through these parts. He had two-hundred dollars on him for the fine if he lost. Maybe one of the jury people followed him out of town and waylaid him?”
Marjory clutched her rocker arms and began to rock at a nervous tempo. “Oh, Willis, I’m just beside myself with terror at the possibilities. What if my poor Bill is gone? What if he’s dead? What will I do? I can’t run this farm alone. I’ll have to sell it and move into town.
“I’ll need to get me one of those apartment cabins down by Sykes River that Mrs. Sykes owns. She is such a dear, sweet woman. Her apartments have a view of Wanda Falls, I believe.” The rocking slowed.
“And I’ll have breakfast every morning in that little diner downstairs and won’t have to cook muskrats and opossums and use Bill’s sweat bandanas as salt. I’ll hand my clothing over once a week to Mr. Ling at the town laundry. I won’t have to make my own soap and beat our clothes against a rock in Mosquito Creek down a mile into Poison Oak Canyon.
“One day, I bet, I’ll meet a new fellow from far away, someone with manners and just a moustache who uses napkins and hides when he relieves himself.”
Rain was falling in torrents. Blackness filled the night sky. Suddenly Willis ran to the edge of the porch and barked. Marjory squinted at the starless night. Slowly a face, then a hat, appeared in the faint glow of the dining room lamps. Bill came in out of the night and climbed the porch steps to full color. He smiled down at his startled wife and removed his hat, slapping it against his side to knock the rain away.
Predicting her question, Bill said, “I could feel Jinny getting skittish. That thunder had her plenty spooked. About a mile back I dismounted and gave her a slap for home. I wouldn’t want her to buck me off and get my head cracked on a rock, eh? I could have drowned in a ditch out there.”
He laughed and pulled out a wad of cash. “And look, I won. I still got my $200. That well is not on Dugan’s property after all. We can buy you a plow.”
“That’s lovely, dear,” said Marjory. She rose and entered the house. Bill darted to the barn. Willis stayed on the porch between the thunder and the lightning.