Sender was returning home and decided to take the short cut.
She had just returned Herb Gardens for Beginners to Mrs. Potters, the elderly garden enthusiast who lived a block and a street away.
They had a lengthy discussion on Sender’s herb selections—all of which earned Mrs. Potter’s approval.
“You will have the loveliest little garden,” Mrs. Potters sighed. She popped out of her chair a moment to peek out the window. “I dare say it’s misty out.”
Sender peered over her shoulder to see. Sure enough, the sky’s overcast mood was spreading to the earth and already the distance seemed vague. “It has… not that it matters.”
“It will probably rain though, and you know what they say, mist always becomes thickest when it happens at 2 o’clock on Sundays,” Mrs. Potters said.
“Who says?” Sender asked.
“I don’t know, but it is something I have heard quite often. You should get along, dear, there is no reason to keep you.” She rested her hands in her lap though her eyes kept flitting to the window. “I would hate for you to get caught out in the rain.”
“I suppose I should, if the mist gets thickest on Sundays at 2 o’clock.” Sender slipped on her boots. “How does anyone claim to know that?”
“Science I suppose,” Mrs. Potters fingers fidgeted to nest within each other. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
“I don’t know, the mist might get me.”
“Stop it, you know I meant the rain,” Mrs. Potters gave a plump, amused smile. “Now hurry. I saw a drop on the window.”
“Next Saturday I want to ask you about planting tomatoes,” Sender said, “If you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely! I’ll have tea waiting,” Mrs. Potters waved as she slipped outside and trotted for the sidewalk.
A thick, bulbous drop of water landed square on Sender’s nose. “Goodness. Already?” She hurried across the street to the small park and pond that filled the space between the neighborhoods.
“I will return home, make myself a cup of tea… Earl of Gray sounds about right. I’ll finish A Tale of Two Cities this afternoon, curled up in a blanket watching the rain.” It would be the perfect way to spend a Sunday.
A quick swerve around caught no culprit, and made her feel all the more foolish, as there was absolutely no one else in sight.
“Who is there?” she called. Of course, no one replied, and she prayed that no one was watching. “It must have been the mist thickening.” she thought.
As she turned back again the same sensation came, the air was thick, time slowed, and she felt someone was nearby.
“Who is there?” she called.
The mist brightened, wind rushed around her face, and she thought she heard a voice replying back, but it was lost to the wind.
“Hello?” she called, but the mist dimmed and the sky darkened again.
A fresh drop of chilly spring rain hit her cheek, and she saw that the mist was getting thicker.
“I should hurry home,” and she did, with no further adventures, but she wondered where Mrs. Potters had heard that mist grew thickest on Sundays at 2 o’clock.