When the Rain Had Other Plans
It had rained nigh on a week, and the countryside around Peckles-Wood Shire was beginning to show it. Streams that the Whitaker children had crossed without a second thought on earlier journeys were now running high, their banks softened by the relentless downpour. The paths had become muddy channels, the sheep were restless, and the sixth trip to their schoolmaster in Cumbria was proving a miserable business.
It had rained nigh on a week, and the countryside around Peckles-Wood Shire was beginning to show it. Streams that the Whitaker children had crossed without a second thought on earlier journeys were now running high, their banks softened by the relentless downpour. The paths had become muddy channels, the sheep were restless, and the sixth trip to their schoolmaster in Cumbria was proving a miserable business.
Clarabelle, ever the adventurous bairn, seemed determined not to let the weather spoil her morning. She hummed as she picked her way along the path.
“Must you do that?” Rance grumbled.
“Do what?”
“Hum!”
“I’m keeping myself cheerful. Someone ought to.”
Rance was in a foul mood. The others had taken him to task over breakfast for thinking only of himself, and he hadn’t taken kindly to their opinions. Clarabelle’s humming was merely the latest offence in a morning full of them.
“Some of us are trying to walk in peace,” he muttered.
“Then you should try being peaceful yourself,” Clarabelle replied, humming a little louder.
Rance scowled. Clarabelle smiled. The argument showed no sign of ending.
John wasn’t faring much better. He’d been kicking stones, clods of earth, and anything else unfortunate enough to lie in his path. The sheep had given him more trouble than usual in the rain, and he seemed determined to take his frustration out on the countryside.
A little farther back, James and Sara walked mostly in silence. Their customary rivalry had begun at breakfast, as it so often did, until Father challenged them both to remain civil throughout the journey. Whoever managed it longest would receive a surprise. Neither had forgotten the wager. For now, silence was their safest course, though each kept a watchful eye on the other, waiting for the first slip.
Emma walked beside Stacy, helping her carry her supplies. Yet her attention kept wandering toward Will. He had been unusually quiet since they left the farm, his thoughts plainly occupied by Hexham and the life he might find there. Emma watched him with a sister’s suspicion, wondering what he had decided and when he might tell them.
The rain grew heavier as they pressed on. Water streamed down the hillsides, and the familiar paths had become difficult to follow. The streams were rising, and the sheep had already made enough trouble for one morning.
By the time they reached the abandoned miner’s camp, the rain was coming down hard and steady. The vacant shack offered shelter, and no sensible person would have urged the children to press on through such weather.
They crowded inside, shaking water from their coats and finding what dry space they could. The roof drummed beneath the downpour, and the wind pushed rain through the cracks in the old walls.
“Well,” John said, looking out at the weather, “there goes our schooling.”
“We haven’t turned back yet,” Emma reminded him.
“Have you looked outside?”
“I have.”
“Then you’ve seen it.”
Before Emma could answer, Will rummaged in his bag and drew out the pieces for Jacky Steans.
John’s spirits lifted at once. “Now there’s something worth stopping for!”
“You only say that because you think you’ll win,” Sara observed.
“I might, if you don’t spend the whole time telling me how to play.”
“Someone has to. You never get the rules right.”
James gave a quiet snort. Sara turned on him, but he suddenly found the muddy floor fascinating.
Clarabelle leaned forward. “Can I go first?”
“You always want to go first,” Rance grumbled.
“And you always complain when someone else gets a turn.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” Emma said, though a smile threatened the corners of her mouth.
Will laid out the pieces, and the game began. For a time, the rain outside seemed less important than whose turn it was, who had made a mistake, and who was claiming victory too soon.
John became thoroughly absorbed in the contest, forgetting his grievances against the sheep. James and Sara found their rivalry harder to contain, each determined to outdo the other without losing Father’s challenge. Clarabelle was delighted whenever she could distract Rance, and Rance, despite himself, began to enjoy the game.
Even Emma relaxed a little. Stacy sat close beside her, watching the others and joining in whenever she could. Will, meanwhile, found his thoughts about Hexham loosening their hold on him. Here, in the old miner’s shack, surrounded by his brothers and sisters, he was still part of the family he knew so well.
For a little while, the children forgot their wet stockings, muddy hems, and the lessons they had hoped to receive. They laughed, argued, teased, and played while the storm raged around them.
But the rain did not let up.
After an hour, Will stood near the doorway and peered outside. Water rushed down the hillside, and the streams they had crossed earlier would be higher still. The return journey would not be easy, but waiting longer might make it worse.
He turned to Emma.
“We ought to go home.”
Emma looked out at the rain, then back at Stacy and the others. She had been hoping the weather might ease, but the steady downpour had settled the matter.
“Yes,” she agreed. “We need to return to the farm while we still can.”
There was disappointment all around. They had made the journey to learn from the schoolmaster, and now they would return without a lesson, without a new slate of work, and without having reached their destination.
Still, no one argued that the streams were worth risking.
They gathered their belongings and prepared to face the rain once more. Clarabelle had stopped humming, at least for the moment, and Rance no longer seemed quite so troubled by her. John tucked away his frustration with the sheep, while James and Sara continued their silent contest, each determined to outlast the other.
Emma helped Stacy settle her supplies, then glanced toward Will. He had been thinking of Hexham all morning, of the life he might find there and the family he might leave behind. Now, as he watched his brothers and sisters preparing for the muddy walk home, he wondered whether he had been paying enough attention to what he already had.
“We’d best be going,” Emma said gently.
Will nodded. “Aye. While we still can.”
The rain had not relented, and the streams would only grow higher. There would be no lessons from the schoolmaster today. They had walked all this way for nothing—or so it seemed.
Yet as they stepped out of the old miner’s shack, Clarabelle fell into step beside Rance. John walked on without kicking a single stone. James and Sara, still determined to win Father’s wager, managed to exchange no more than a wary glance. And when Stacy struggled with her supplies, Emma wasn’t the only one who reached to help.
Will noticed.
The schoolmaster would have to wait another fortnight. The farm would still need their hands, and Father would surely want to hear why they had returned without their lessons. There would be chores enough to make up for the lost day.
But the walk home no longer felt quite like a failed mission. The rain had forced them to stop, and the stop had given them something they hadn’t expected: an hour in which they had laughed together, let their quarrels soften, and remembered that whatever lay ahead, they belonged to one another.
The streams were rising. The rain was unrelenting. And the road home would be every bit as muddy as the road out.
Still, they turned toward Peckles-Wood Shire together.
They had gone looking for lessons, but the day’s most important one had found them.
Copyright © 2026 by Lee Wimmer. All rights reserved. This post first appeared on www.leewimmer.net