Rainwalking

Aunt Minnie loved to walk in the rain.

When everyone else ran for shelter, Minnie donned her bright yellow slicker and boots and went adventuring. You'll catch your death of cold! her aged mother protested, but Minnie just laughed and set off round the Old Road. She strolled and trotted and flat out ran up the hills and down, gathering wet flowers and rocks as she went, passing by the breakwater at full speed, arriving at the square breathless and alone. She crossed the cove, then up to the pasture, then back through the cemetery and down to The Point. Sometimes Willie Foot joined her and together they jumped in and out of the muddy ditches, holding hands and singing, but mostly she traveled alone. She always ended up at Sparrow's where the old man would give her hot vanilla tea and warm buttered bread, then she skipped home - wet to the bone, muddied up, and laughing with delight at her mother's worry.

Girl's not quite right, my grandmother would say crossly as Minnie passed by, She'll catch her death of cold one day.
Minnie waved cheerfully as she trekked up our path. I expect she will, Miss Hilda seconded. She had been caught unprepared by the sudden downpour and taken refuge with us for the duration of the storm. Most unwise to tempt fate and nature in such a fashion, she added and struck her leather boot with a sharp blow from her walking stick. Our ever practical Miss Hilda had neglected to bring her umbrella, Nana told me later, and she was testy at her own forgetfulness. More tea? Nana asked and Miss Hilda accepted with a grim smile.

Minnie crossed the strawberry field, hopped over the ditch, and gradually the fast moving yellow slicker faded into the fog and mist. Her mother would be pacing by the front windows and wringing her hands as mothers sometimes do - after the stillborn twins, this was her only child and despite the fact that Minnie had turned fifty something that summer, her mother saw only a child and a young child at that - she had never reconciled to her own aging and stubbornly refused to accept Minnie's adulthood. She was unfailingly free with motherly advice - always read with the light over your left shoulder, don't fidget, take a sweater, clean your plate, be home before dark, look both ways before you cross the road, never accept a ride from a stranger, don't forget to say your prayers. It wasn't clear when Minnie had simply stopped listening - at some point, her rainwalking had turned into cheerful defiance and to her mother's despair, her regularly dispensed advice went unheeded.

You're an ungrateful child, her mother would complain, and you're going to catch your death of cold.

Mama, Minnie would reply patiently, I'm a grown woman. Let me be.

It was a drama that was played out between them daily and never took a sharp turn. Minnie had been raised to be respectful to her elders and she did her best to be a dutiful daughter. Even after the advice turned to criticism, even after her mother became querulous and quarrelsome and often forgot her name but never all the things she was doing wrong, even then Minnie brushed it off and overrode her by taking no offense and maintaining her good nature. In the end, it was her mother who caught her death of cold and after a short and intense bout with pneumonia, she died one early evening in June, just as Minnie was taking supper off the stove and just after she had reminded her not to burn the potatoes. Minnie slipped into her yellow slicker and boots and went walking - it was the only time anyone could ever remember seeing her out in clear weather and when she returned, with Sparrow at her side, she packed away her rain gear and never put it on again. She had no more need of protective outer wear.