Chapter 4: The Line in the Rain

"I'll call the co-op," I said. "They can send a crew."

"They won't come up the ridge for me before Thursday."

"Then I'll call Colt and scream at him."

"That's what he wants."

Gunnar walked back up the drive to the barn.

He came out with a coil of wire, a tool belt, a pair of climbing spikes and a headlamp that didn't work.

The first drops of rain hit the dust as he strapped the spikes to his boots.

"You're not climbing that in the rain."

"It's going to rain all night. The kids need heat."

"The woodstove is heat."

"The well pump isn't."

That shut me up. Five kids and no water.

"Then I'm holding the light," I said.

He looked at me for a second. Then he handed me a big square flashlight from the truck.

"On the wire," he said. "Not on my face."

He went up the pole in about four kicks.

By the time he reached the top, the rain was coming down sideways.

I stood at the bottom in a borrowed barn coat that went past my knees, aiming the flashlight up at his hands.

They were shaking again.

He stripped the cut end with his teeth.

"You know what you're doing?" I called up.

"I used to do the whole pack's lines."

"When?"

"Before."

"Before what?"

He didn't answer. He spliced the wire.

The light slid off his hands onto his face.

"Bryn."

"Sorry."

"The wire."

"Your face is bigger."

He looked down at me through the rain.

Then he laughed.

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