Awake for good, Lydia Madison got out of bed and padded across the rough board floor to close the windows and watch the lightning. The Christmas trees, silvered with summer dust from the field and salt from Long Island Sound, looked so otherworldly in the intermittent flashes that for a moment she forgot to worry that the field would be soaking wet for the ceremony. A crash made her jump; had the house been struck? No, it was just thunder, accompanied by whipping wind. She felt the walls shake. White curtains blew horizontal, drenched from the rain, as she lowered the windows. She thought about making a quick sketch. It could be her gift to the couple, and she would call it The Night Before. It would have double meaning: a connection to Christmas, and how they had met here last winter—he had been working the farm year-round, and she’d been hired for the season to sell trees—and it would also be a reminder of tonight’s tempest—beautiful tumult, more intense than the average summer storm, just passing through.
