In the high northwest the thunderheads had been piled up. A few moments later the storm broke. Boy and girl were immediately soaked to the last inch of their frightened, quivering bodies. That thunderstorm saved Bernice a bad piece of explanation when she finally entered the home of her parents that evening.
The thunder rattled and clacked furiously about the heavens. The great drops of rain pelted the forest foliage and surface of the brook like bullets. And huddled side by side under a tree, Nathan and Bernie drew close together and covered their heads as best they could with Nathan’s coat.
The girl gripped the boy hysterically when the thunder bowled loudest. The boy was badly frightened himself but he strove to comfort her. And through it all he sensed her soft, vibrant, rain-soaked body and the abyss of sex opened wider and wider.
III
The storm finally ended, the clouds parted, the thunder moved off muttering to the southwest. A radiant sun broke through. Bernice seated herself in its invigorating warmth. She removed the bedraggled ribbons and shook down her straw-colored hair. Barefooted and nude of limb still, she recovered her composure and began to make light of the incident. But Nathan was thoughtful.
“You act as if you were afraid of me,” Bernice cried petulantly.
The boy sat apart, beating a stick intermittently on the leaves.
“Aw, I ain’t afraid,” he laughed nervously, there being few things less pitiful than a boy striving to affect the sophistication he knows he lacks.
“Then what’s the matter with you? Have I done anything ‘specially wicked?”
“No! You ain’t done nothin’ wrong, I guess.”