Page 3 of Rainshadow

“Who bought this time?”

“Word is that a corporation bought it, an LLC. It’s something rich people do sometimes. Buy a farm”—at this the egg lady made air-quotes—“and call it a business loss.”

“So nobody knows who bought it?”

“I’m sure somebody knows, but it ain’t me. This is the last market till spring, Flora. Come by my house if you want some eggs over the winter.”

Flora nodded.

“It’s going to be a hard one, cold and dark.”

Flora looked up at the gray sky like winter might be there, waiting to descend.

It was two days later that she saw the horse trailer—gleaming black with red trim. It reminded her of a hearse. She couldn’t see much of the horses inside, but one pair of startling black eyes gazed out at her, glimmering with challenge and threat. She hadn’t been on a horse in almost two years, and the sight gave her a pang of longing so acute that it was like sharp hunger. Twenty-five acres of riding rings, lavender fields, and trails through rolling, windswept hillsides, gone from her life forever.

What are we going to do now?

Her mother’s words echoed in her mind.

A question.

A warning.

It felt, to Flora, like everything was going black.

2

Flora walked downtown to look for a job, but the tourist season was ending and the most positive response she got was a few shopkeepers who told her to come back in the spring, when tourists returned to the island. There were no postings on the community boards, and no notices in the paper.

She stopped last at a gift shop that sold things like fancy soap, greeting cards, and houseplants. The owner, Blythe, looked at her kindly when she handed over her handwritten resume. Blythe had known Flora for most of her life, and had been, at one time, a friend of her mother’s. She did not think of Blythe as an old friend, nor was she a stranger.

“Didn’t you work at King’s? What happened?” Blythe had fine silver eyebrows that stitched together as she spoke, and a cascade of silver-white hair that she wore loose around her delicately featured face.

“It just didn’t work out,” Flora said. “I guess I didn’t get along with the owner’s son.”

“I know him,” Blythe said sympathetically, putting her soft hand on Flora’s, who stood holding her resume. “He has a bit of a reputation.”

Flora didn’t know what to say, so she just looked down at her shoes, then out the window.

Blythe spoke again. “I want to help you, Flora, but I’m only open three days a week in the winter, and I can’t afford an employee. I barely get through to March as it is.”

“I understand.”

“Flora,” Blythe sighed. “You have to leave. There’s nothing here for a girl your age. You have to know that. And the island… something is changing. I don’t understand it yet, but… I have this feeling.”

Flora looked at her, then out the window again. Blythe obviously didn’t understand her situation. Blythe was looking out of the window too, for a moment, and seemed to be contemplating something, or going into a trance.

“Sorry,” Blythe said, catching herself and shaking her head as though trying to wake herself up. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you feel bad.”

“It’s fine,” Flora said. “I’m trying to save up.”

“Your mom won’t help you?”

“She tried to help. She charges me really low rent.”

Blythe looked positively stunned by this information. “She charges you rent? To live in that school bus?” There was a flinty edge in Blythe’s voice, and her soft features sharpened. Flora’s mother had always called Blythe a judgmental bitch.

Flora’s face felt hot. She wanted to defend her mother even though a part of her hated Maureen, too. “I have to go,” she managed to say, then left.

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