Laura placed the bread in the oven, and turned back towards the cabinet top, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. In doing so, she trailed a small streak of flour across her right cheek. A drop of sweat ran down her neck and she swiped it away, spreading flour across her neck as well. It was hot and humid that summer day in 1899 and even hotter in the kitchen. Manly had mentioned it felt like a thunderstorm might be brewing when he came in for lunch. But the bread had to be made despite the excessive heat it caused in the kitchen. Laura sighed and reached for a dish towel when a flash of white caught her eye outside the window.

"Rose" she thought. She glanced at the clock on the shelf in the kitchen. Hadn't she told her to bring the laundry in from the line at least forty five minutes ago? Her daughter Rose was twelve; soon to be thirteen come Christmas time. She displayed a stubborn streak a mile wide. Rose was a handful, stubborn yet full of life. Her eyes constantly sparkled with intelligence, curiosity, and more often than Laura liked defiance.

Laura sighed again as she headed out the kitchen door to the yard. She herself was now 32. Her thoughts briefly drifted to her Ma. When Ma was her age, she already had three children: Mary, herself, and Carrie, all under the age of ten. She would have two more children in her life, although only one more, Grace, would survive. Laura wondered how she did it when just her Rose seemed to be more than enough. A dark cloud temporarily passed through her thoughts as she thought of her baby son who had died in infancy. She quickly cleared him from her thoughts as she sought out her daughter.

"Rose!" she hollered from the yard. "Rose?!" she repeated. "Where is that child?" Rose came out into the clearing from the woods, the dogs trotting behind her. "Yes?" Rose answered innocently.

"Didn't I ask you to bring the laundry in from the line?" she said a little more impatiently than she meant to.

"Oh yes, I forgot…" Rose explained and immediately grabbed the forgotten laundry basket and began taking things down from the line.

Laura tugged at her collar and wiped the sweat from her brow. It seemed to have grown more humid. The sky was hazy and the air felt thick. She turned back to Rose. "Better hurry, it feels like a storm is coming."

Sure enough the wind began to pick up and thunder rumbled in the distance. Laura headed back into the house with Rose trailing behind her lugging the laundry basket.

Later during dinner, the storm raged outside. Rain pounded on the roof and against the glass, lightening lit up the sky, and thunder rattled the house. Rose sat at the table picking at her plate until she caught her father eyeing her and quickly stabbed a forkful of green beans and shoved them in her mouth.

Rose thought about how the storm made her feel. Wild, free, excited. She desperately wanted to run outside in the storm. Feel its power. The storm made her feel alive. As much as she loved her mother and father, part of her felt trapped and suffocated by her life on the farm. Even the town seemed lacking and small. Rose knew there was a big world out there, outside of Mansfield, Missouri.

Father and Mother discussed mundane farm chores during dinner. Rose was bored. She so wanted to escape this humdrum existence. She couldn't imagine herself settling for life as a farmer's wife, or even teaching school as her mother had done before she married. She often caught her mother staring wistfully out the window when she thought no one was looking, and she often wondered if her mother was truly happy.

She and father seemed happy enough, but Rose had decided that was no life for her.

After dinner they spent the evening in the parlor. Laura watched as the sun set in the west. She knew it was nearing 9:00. The sun set so late in the summer. It was nearing time for bed despite the fact that it was still light outside. She glanced over where Rose had fallen asleep in her chair, no doubt tired out by the day's adventures.