The Rainmaker

The Rainmaker by Donna G. Hill

It was one of the worst hurricanes ever. Some old-timers compared it to the Great Storm of 1900, the Galveston Hurricane. Record violent winds, torrential rain, spawned tornadoes, heavy flooding, storm surges engulfing homes, eroding the coastline. Hurricane Xavier cut a swath of destruction with its over 280 mile size, spreading the full wrath of its veracity in the wake of its path.

Abigail stood on the porch of her Grandma Ruby's house. It was up a slight hill from her home, which was already flooded with almost fourteen inches of water. She had overheard the grownups whispering. Desperately clutching her only doll, somehow spared from the rising waters. Her faithful dog Duke by her side. Even Duke seemed concerned, ruffling his forehead, looking up at her with his dark brown eyes. Together they watched the complete and utter chaos going on all around the farm. Plow horses, cattle, hogs, chickens her sworn enemies, she even found compassion for them in the midst of this whole mess.

“Listen, Abbey, don’t dare move off that front porch, you hear?” Grandma Ruby hollered up towards the house. She was a tough, life worn, Bible toting, scripture quoting, slightly superstitious, root woman to boot. Seemed a confusing blend of characteristics to a little girl of just seven years. She adored her Grandma, would rather stay at her house than home, which she often did.

At the end of her Grandma’s wraparound porch, something, well someone caught her eye. Standing underneath the giant Magnolia tree that she played under almost every day in good weather, a man who seemed not to belong. The skies were still dark with the rage of the storm. Rain had kept coming in and out all through the night, continuing on and off, drizzling to heavy downpours still through the day. Dressed oddly, all in black, long overcoat, a strange wide brimmed hat. Tall, thin fellow, seemed a dark ominous cloud hovered round him somehow.

“Abbey,” as only her Grandma called her, didn’t feel afraid of this stranger. Many folks, known and unknown, had been helping prepare prior to the storm, during and since it had gone on back out to sea. Not able to make out his face, she believed he was there to help in some way. Call it the innocence of childhood. So, she turned back watching her Grandma moving at a faster pace than usual, spouting out abrupt orders to all around that were helping. All her Mama could do was cry watching her precious things being toted out of their home soaked in the storm water.

Duke started a deep, guttural growl, a bit under his breath. He was always on guard, fierce protector of the love of his life, little Abigail. He paced back and forth towards the end of the porch by the magnolia tree, looking back over his shoulder at Abigail.

“C’mon boy, settle down, we’re okay right up here on the porch.” Her little girl voice didn’t serve to convince him that the strange feelings he was having weren't a reason for concern. Duke couldn't see the stranger like Abigail apparently could, but he could feel a presence that made him very uneasy. The whole hurricane had brought with it sights and sounds that no one had ever heard. The anxiety, fear of what was coming, what did come, and the aftermath.

Duke took his position back by Abigail’s side on the porch. Sitting lovingly, but his senses were definitely heightened. Abigail looked right over his head to her left, started talking to someone that he couldn’t even see.

“Who are you Mister? What are you doing here? How did you get from under that tree over yonder, up here on my Grandma’s porch?” Abigail’s conversation with the unseen stranger went unnoticed with the flurry of things going on roundabout.

“I’m not a stranger little one. I’ve been round these parts many times before. Checking on the aftermath of the storm, seeing how folks are fairing I reckon. Call me Dusty if you like.” His voice had a smooth, well spoken, southern charming sound. Abigail didn't seem bothered at all, or pick up on the eerie way he moved about. Guess she was too worried about the farm animals getting to higher ground, especially the horses and the cows, they were her favorites.

“That your house over there Abbey that got the worst of it? Looks pretty banged up from here. The water's still rising you know.” The mysterious stranger seemed almost concerned.

“Yep, that's my house. Guess it did get a fierce whooping from that old storm. Don't know how we are going to recover, I heard Grandma saying, but God always provides, always. Grandma knows about these things. She's seen more than her share of storms in all her years.” Replying as if it were a normal conversation with a friend or family member.

“Where's your Grandpa, and your Daddy?” the stranger calling himself Dusty inquired.

Abigail looked up at him, tears starting to fill her brilliant blue eyes. “Grandaddy is out of town. He works for the tobacco market, travels quite a bit. My Daddy,...” her voice trailing off fighting back the tears.

Pulling her tougher than nails little girl self together, blurted out in a single breath, “My Daddy, you see, he passed on unexpectedly a couple years back. It's just me, my Mama and my Grandma here mostly, some farmhands when we can afford the help.” She seemed much older than her years when she spoke.

“Little one, I’m very sorry about your Daddy, truly I am. Must be hard on you and your folks. Maybe I could,...” Dusty never finished his sentence.

Duke started getting fidgety, all the hair on his back stood up, tail at full alert. He was growling deeply still, low and quiet like. Still feeling that peculiar presence.

“Do you live here bouts', you got a family?” Abigail was always curious by nature, unfortunately very trusting. She seemed to completely miss the fact that his face somehow remained obscured, maybe the large brimmed hat. Also missing the very relevant fact that his face was somehow distorted, misshapen, almost translucent, so were his hands. Everything else about the stranger was covered by his heavy, dark clothing.

Seemed hesitant to offer any details about himself or his life. “Dusty” shook his head first to say “No,” but,…then reconsidered for some reason yet unknown even to him.

“It's like this. I used to have a family. A beautiful loving wife, couple of children. A boy age of twelve, name of Abram, my oldest. Little girl, Christina, just coming up on her seventh birthday. The fever took them while I was away for months at the time working to earn us a living. Just as my Daddy, my Granddaddy and all those that had come before had done. It was tradition where I come from you followed in your Pappy's calling, meaning his line of work.” The stranger appeared sad. His words were measured and hard pressed coming out.

Abigail could feel his broken heart somehow. Never considering that only her Grandma called her Abbey. “Mister Dusty, I’m sorry too that you lost your whole family. Guess that’s somehow much worse than just losing my Daddy.” Gripping her dolly a bit tighter, taking in a deep breath, drawing from the wisdom of the ages like an old soul, she spoke,...

“I understand you must be hurting something fierce. Can’t even imagine losing everybody you love. Daddy had a way of finding a silver lining in everything, even the worst, hardest of things. Street corner preacher, tent revival preacher man, really big, giant sized faith in God! He’d figure that somehow God would bring you through all the pain. Make you one of them testimony bearers to help others along the way with that same kind of pain and suffering.” Abigail waited to see if using her Daddy’s wisdom and compassion would help heal his heart at all.

Dusty lowered his head. The wide brimmed hat completely obscured his face. He began to wring his hands and sway from side to side. Abigail wasn’t certain if she helped, or somehow said all the wrong things. It always seemed to work when her Daddy was trying to help people through rough patches.

“Mister Dusty, I’m ever so sorry if I said anything that might have made you feel worse than you must already feel.” Waiting, but he didn’t lift his head, or offer any response at all.

Getting worried, Abigail figured this must be a grown up kind of problem that needed more help than she could offer. In her effort to ease his pain she said, “Let me go get my Grandma. See if she can get you something cold to drink, maybe even a biscuit and some molasses. That’s what she gives me when I’m feeling sorrowful and hurting bad. Like when my first puppy froze to death. My Mama wouldn’t let me bring him in the house to stay during a snowstorm which was awful rare round these parts. His name was Skeeter.”

Lifting his head looking out across the rising waters and the awful damage he replied, “No Abbey, I’m gonna be just fine. Every now and again it just all washes over me. Don’t go bothering your Grandma with my troubles, considering all you and your family are going through.” Lowering his head once again.

Duke started to whimper along with his persistent growling. Abigail seemed to be more concerned about the stranger than all the warning signs Duke was expressing.

Pondering in her little girl mind, still trying to figure a way to help, asking herself in her big heart what her Daddy might do in these circumstances. Then she remembered, lit up like a lightbulb!

“Mister Dusty, Sir. Would you mind very much if I took your hand, offered up a prayer for you and all your troubles?” Her smile and the intent of her heart were evident to the mysterious stranger. He felt the warmth of life begin to course through his body for the first time in decades.

Turning towards the little girl, reaching down to take her hand, offering these words, “Abbey, baby girl,...I appreciate your offer of a prayer, but I think I’m way past God’s ability to forgive in this lifetime, or any other. I’m sure though that God and your Daddy are well pleased with the beauty of your heart. You have shown me more kindness than I’ve known in well, a really long time.” Offering a smile from the misshapen, translucent face. His cold, sinewy hands grasped hers and he felt alive again. “I think it’s time I move on along Abbey, wishing you and yours all the best after this storm.” Tipping his wide brimmed hat, he started down the porch steps.  

Duke was utterly baffled as Abigail started down the porch steps. He barked loudly, but between the wind, on and off rain, the clamor of the present circumstances, no one was still paying attention to what was happening on that old front porch.

"Mister Dusty. God always forgives, don’t matter what things might have happened my Daddy always said. God has a heart busting full with mercy for all men Daddy would say. Please, let me offer up a prayer before you go.” Pleadingly with her little girl ways, the stranger couldn’t simply just walk away as he had so many times before, actually enjoying the view of destruction he had caused.

Stopping on the porch steps, he began to tell just a small bit of his story. “Abbey, as I said I was a good man once, long ago. After losing my family I was filled with anger, rage against God. I cursed God, denied God, walked away from my faith because I felt God looked the other way while my wife and children were suffering and dying. I haven’t prayed a single time since that day.” He waited for her to turn away or be repulsed by his words. Yet, she attentively continued to gaze up at him.

  Dusty continued with his story, “Well, you need to understand that I came from a long line of rainmakers. Those men who would travel cross country praying to God for rain, for families in need, their crops dying in the fields. Their livelihood and way of living slipping away in the barren wastelands, dust bowls, fields with crops so long past seeing any rain.” Shame flooded his mind, maybe even his soul as he offered what he felt was a feeble attempt at explaining his choices in life.

Still feeling the need to finish his story continued,... “I believed with my whole heart in the prayers of my Daddy, my Granddaddy and my own. I’ve seen the heavens open up and pour out more rain than folks had ever seen. Rejoicing, crying, praising God.” Dusty felt his story didn’t even deserve to be heard. He made the choice to become a very bad man. Yet, something about this little girl with a heart the size of Texas pulled the truth from the depths of any part of humanity left within him.

Abigail never took her eyes off the stranger’s face, only seeing the best in the man standing before her. Just exactly like she had seen her Daddy do so many times.

“I made a choice to join forces with the other side so to speak. Turned my back on God, quit being a rainmaker. I took the devilish offer to become a storm maker. One who could call up a tornado, a hurricane, the worst kinds of destructive weather. Costing folks their lives, families, homes, their everything. Felt somehow it would make up for losing my own family and home. So, I don’t deserve to receive your offer of prayer because,...I’m the one who called up this storm. This very storm that has cost your family and so many others everything and everyone they held dear.” The tall, thin stranger once again tried to head on down the porch steps.

“No Sir, I ain’t having none of that. Daddy said all men deserve to be saved and get to go to heaven. So, whether or not you like it, whether or not you think you deserve a prayer,...I’m praying for you anyhow. Where I come from, you don’t turn down the offering up of a prayer Mister Dusty! So, just stand right there all quiet and still!” Abigail had the ferociousness of a mountain lion and the determination to call all of heaven down to join in on her efforts.

Complying with her demands, when she reached out her hand to his, he received the warmth of that tiny little girl’s hand. With the focus of a skilled marksman, squinting her eyes all up, frowning up her face a bit with sheer confidence, Abigail began to pray.

“Dear Lord God in heaven. Hold on a minute God. Daddy, I know you are up there in that great cloud of witnesses watching down over us. So, I’m asking for your help in this prayer for Mister Dusty. Okay God, thank you for your patience. Mister Dusty thinks he is beyond forgiveness. I know that ain’t true cause my Daddy taught me so. I can’t find all the right words to say, but I know you are listening. Daddy said You are always listening to our prayers, even know our hearts, our words before we even say them.” Needing to take a deep breath to continue on, she paused for just a moment.

“So God, I’m asking you to shower down a whole heap of mercy upon Mister Dusty, flood him with Your forgiving power, give him peace in this life to go on. Please patch up his heart, make him feel loved and accepted into Your graceful ways.” Thinking she was done with her praying, the stranger tried to let go of her hand, but Abigail wasn’t finished.

“God, and Jesus, I know you are right up there too sitting right beside God. I know that Mister Dusty is a good man. We all made some awful bad choices in life, ain’t never going to be perfect like my Daddy said. So help him to receive your love. I think that’s it God. If I left out anything I know you hear the words in my heart. Amen and Amen. Just like my Daddy would say, one Amen was never enough. Oh, and thank you God.” Abigail seemed certain that her prayer had gotten through.

Excited and expectantly Abigail asked, “So, Mister Dusty, did you receive God’s mercy? Did you tell God in your own way that you were sorry for any trouble you caused, repented and such? Cause I know God answered my prayer already!” Beaming with the most beautiful smile he had even seen, Dusty felt something long missing from life, hope.

In an instant, almost as if Abigail and Dusty were the only two folks on the face of the earth. Even Duke was just plum flabbergasted and sat quietly at the top of the porch steps. A twister came swirling up the dirt path right to her Grandma’s front porch. Abigail wasn’t even surprised or afraid. Dusty felt quite confused, even scared that God showed up personally to exact justice for all his awful deeds.

Instead, the twister engulfed his whole body, flooding the whole farm with a brilliant light. Dusty was swept up into heaven, deposited right at God’s feet. Face to face with God, Dusty wept all the tears of several lifetimes spent doing terrible deeds. He knew he had been forgiven. Then he heard the voices of his wife and children calling out to him. The prayer of a little girl named Abigail had given him the fullness of an eternity with God.