Whose hammer, Ronnie wondered? Caldwell’s—or was it the one that had disappeared from Bill’s barn?
The room grew another shade darker. A brilliant flash of lightning dispelled the darkness for a brief moment, and then the thunder broke. The house vibrated from the sound.
Mr. Caldwell moved toward the door. “I’d best be going before the storm breaks.”
“Come along,” Mr. Rorth offered, “and I’ll take you most of the way in the truck. You’ll never make it before it rains.”
The truck was hardly out of sight when the rain fell in torrents. Ronnie, at the living room window, watched the puddles grow deeper and deeper. The rain turned to hail and beat against the pane like a kettledrum solo. A streak of lightning split the black clouds and pierced the earth. Almost immediately a crack of thunder seemed to explode overhead. The rain fell heavier.
Ronnie turned from the window and let the curtains fall back into place. Grandfather got up from his chair. “I might as well do a little DXing while I wait on supper to be served up,” he announced. “Ronnie, does that sound interesting to you?”
“I don’t think so, Gramps. Really, you shouldn’t DX during a thunderstorm.”
“Fiddlesticks! Rubbish! If the lightning’s got your name written on it, it’ll strike you no matter what! Besides, what’s there left for me around here now?”
He stomped from the room as fast as his cane would permit. Phil turned over heavily on the couch, bringing his magazine around with him. Ronnie watched his brother for a moment, then turned and left the room.
He went upstairs to his bedroom because he could think of nothing better to do. For a while he stood by his window watching the storm. Below, he saw his father’s truck drive into the yard and come to a quick stop. Mr. Rorth got out and ran for the back door.