10

Rain began at midnight and continued until dawn and then on through the day. All evening, Mammi Vera was reminded of the terrible blizzard of 1993, when it took days to dig out and find the road. She told Bethany the story twice.

“You say the same things, over and over,” Bethany told her, but her grandmother went right on repeating herself. Last night, reading to the older woman by the oil lamplight, Bethany held Mammi Vera’s rough, aged hand—webbed with blue veins and brown spots. She had such a fondness for her grandmother. She liked older people better than babies. Older folks had interesting stories to tell. Babies only cried.

She thought about Jimmy Fisher’s suggestion to work for the ladies in the Sisters’ House. She wondered why Jimmy was steering her away from working at the Grill. He had said, more than a few times, that she was playing with fire.

That comment struck her as odd. Jimmy Fisher seemed to be the daring sort—the type who liked to play with fire. After all, the job he loved best, he said, was gentling wild horses. Her thoughts drifted to Jake. Where was he? The letter he sent was so brief and unromantic, filled with complaints about a minor misunderstanding with his cheap landlord. When would she hear from him again? Had he stopped loving her? For a moment Bethany wondered whether life was happier with men, or without them.

It was lightly sprinkling as Rose walked up the hillside behind the farmhouse, but she didn’t mind the mist. She enjoyed these quiet moments as the sun started to light the sky. She liked walking apart from the farm, listening to the sounds over the area. A coyote howled, and another coyote answered back. The sound made her shiver. She hadn’t given the sound of a coyote a second thought until she became a sheep owner. She knew what a coyote could do to a sheep—it lunged straight for the throat, so the last thing a poor little sheep saw was the spilling of its life’s blood.

She stopped for a moment as she saw one of the eagles pass overhead and soar along the creek. It was still too dark to see if it was the missus or the mister. Sometimes she wished she could be such a bird, just for a short time. She wondered what they saw, high in the sky with their night vision, and she envied them their freedom. Maybe it wasn’t as free as it seemed, she thought, when its sole purpose was to find food.

But her sole purpose lately didn’t feel too far off from that. She ought to get back soon. She had bread to bake, clothes to wash, and a million and one other chores that needed to be done. And then, of course, there was caring for Vera. Rose sighed.

Looking over the horizon at dawn never failed to fill her with a sense of her smallness, contrasted to God’s bigness. Her problems and worries seemed to shrink under the dome of the sky.

A twig snapped behind her and she whirled around. “Galen!” She smiled.

“No moon this morning.” His greeting seemed quiet, intimate.

“What are you doing up here?”

“Checking traps. A coyote has been sneaking in and snatching Naomi’s hens.”

She looked around. “Did you find it? Or rather, did the coyote find the trap?”

“No. Too wily.”

They walked along the path, silent companions, each with their own thoughts. There was only the sound of Harold, the rooster, crowing that morning had arrived.

“How is Naomi doing lately, Galen?”

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Same cycle. She feels better, then does too much, and she’ll get walloped with another headache and has to take to her bed.”

She could see he loved his sister in his unspeaking way—continually warning her about her health or trying to keep her wrapped up from the cold. Naomi’s migraines were a puzzle. Doctors couldn’t quite pinpoint what triggered them or how to avoid them. They started when her parents had passed.

Galen was the eldest in his family of three boys, three girls. His parents died awhile back, first one, then the other, and Galen stepped into the role of patriarch. The other siblings had married, moved on, started families.

“What about Vera?” he said. “Any improvement?”

“None.” Rose sighed. “If anything, she’s getting worse. More confused, weaker on one side. She tries to hide it, but I’m awfully worried about her.”

“She’s blessed to have you.”

“I wish she thought so.”

He pretended to look serious, but his eyes gave him away. Sparkling green those eyes were, and crinkled at the corners. “One of my sisters used to say that every time she talked to Vera, she came away feeling like she’s eaten a green persimmon. You know how they make your mouth pucker up?”

That unexpected comment made her laugh, and him as well. But the quiet that followed brought an awkwardness with it, as if they both felt wary of the closeness their shared laughter had stirred. “Galen, I don’t know what we’d do without you. Teaching the boys about horses, helping me get the inn ready. You do a lot for us as a neighbor.”

“A friend, you mean.”

Down below, Rose saw the sheep wander in the fold, bleating. “I hope that coyote keeps its distance from my sheep.”

“Remind me again why you want to raise sheep.”

“I didn’t set out to raise them. Someone drove up in a truck one day and asked if we’d take them off their hands. Said they were tired of them.”

“And you said yes?”

“I . . . well. I was worried what might happen to them if I said no.” She looked down the hill at the fold with five fluffy sheep. Sometimes, she just sat and watched them. They slowly munched and dozed their way around the pasture, passing the time in the way they loved best. “They’re not the brightest, but they are sweet.”

He stared at her in that intense way he had, and she could feel the color building in her cheeks. Then the creases around his mouth softened in a smile. “Well, everybody knows you are the lady to help people. And creatures.” He gave her a curt nod and set off toward his farmhouse.

As Rose made her way down the hill, Galen’s words came back to her. You are the lady to help people. It was pleasing to know what people thought of you, but worrying too. You couldn’t help everybody—nobody could—because the world was too full of need and troubles, a wide sea of them, and no one person could begin to deal with all that. And yet, even if you were just one person, you could do one thing. You could say yes to five little sheep and give them a home.

Despite Bethany Schrock’s opinion, Jimmy Fisher did have ambition that lasted longer than five minutes. But it was not to inherit his mother’s farm to become a chicken and egg dealer like his brother, Paul, who didn’t mind living his life in a groove etched out by their mother. Jimmy had different ideas for his life. He wanted to become a respected horse trainer, just like Galen King.

He listened carefully to Galen—though he knew his taciturn boss thought otherwise—and he had discovered that horses coming off the Kentucky racetracks were breaking down. Too many horses were bred for one quality—speed—at the expense of others. They were weedy and unsound.

Jimmy decided that he should help out mankind and create a superb Thoroughbred bloodline. He developed a plan: he would stop dating girls and start saving his money. And he would attend local spring mud sales held at county fire stations on Saturdays, looking for the perfect foundation stallion to start his superb bloodline.

Amazingly, he found the horse on the first Saturday at the Bart Township mud sale.

It was early. The auction wouldn’t get started for a few more hours, but there was a crowd milling around a certain stall that piqued Jimmy’s interest. He made his way through the crowd to get closer to the stall and see what folks were oohing and aahing over. Inside was the most striking-looking horse he’d ever seen—a chocolate palomino stallion with a flaxen mane. He tried to gather as much information about the horse as he could without having the owner notice him. Bright eyes, a long arch to his neck, thick cannons, hooves in good condition, sound teeth that revealed he was a young colt. And he was definitely a stallion. He could just imagine what Galen King would have to say if Jimmy bought a gelding as the foundation of his breeding plan. No thank you! He did not want to have to be on the receiving end of Galen King’s disdain any more than necessary.

The owner noticed him and sidled over to him. “Beautiful creature,” he said. “I hate to let him go.”

“Then why are you selling?” Jimmy asked.

“I’ve got some bills to take care of.” He rolled his eyes. “But . . . a man’s got to do what he’s gotta do.” He stuck out his hand. “Jonah Hershberger.”

“Jimmy Fisher.” He shook his hand and noticed that it wasn’t the palm of a typical horseman: calloused and rough. This was a man who didn’t use his hands for a living. In fact, he looked like he didn’t get outside much—he had pale skin, was small-boned and slender, blue eyed, with shingled mahogany hair. The indoor type. Mennonite, he guessed, with a name like Jonah Hershberger. Hard to tell his age but he didn’t wear a beard so Jimmy assumed he wasn’t married.

Jonah Hershberger nodded his head toward the horse. “You can check him out.”

Jimmy ducked under the rope gate and walked slowly around the stallion. Perfect conformation—large eyes, broad forehead, knife-edged withers, sloping croup, lean body, good depth of girth, beautiful coat. Jimmy lifted each hoof and examined it. The horse was calm, at ease with handling. “Does he have a name?”

“I call him Lodestar.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He knew what that word meant: a guiding light. Lodestar bumped Jimmy gently with his nose and he was hooked. This horse was meant for him.

Jonah Hershberger looked around, then lowered his voice. “Look, I can tell you know horses.”

Jimmy nodded. He did.

“I’d rather Lodestar go to someone like you, someone who would give him a good home, than let him go on that auction block.”

“How much? How much do you want?”

“I haven’t signed any papers with the auctioneer yet, so if you can get him out of here before the auction starts, I’ll let him go for $1500.”

Jimmy inhaled a sharp breath. “The thing is, Jonah, I don’t quite have that much. Not yet. I could give you a deposit and make payments. I’ve got a steady job. I’m good for the money.”

Jonah hesitated. “I don’t know. Like I said . . . I got these bills to take care of.”

“It would just be for a few weeks, maybe a month—I get paid on Fridays. I’m good for it. Ask anybody around here. They all know me.”

“How much can you get me today?”

Just how much was in Jimmy’s checking account? Last time he looked was . . . blast! He couldn’t remember. He had never been much of a money manager—mainly because he just didn’t care much about it. “I could write you a check for $500.”

“Make it $750 and you’ve got yourself the finest stud north of Kentucky.”

He looked over at Lodestar, who stretched out his neck now, lifting his head, looking calmly at Jimmy through big round dark eyes. What was it about the meeting of eyes that created a connection? He’d never felt such a bond with an animal before. It’s like Lodestar was meant for him and they both knew it.

But he remembered Galen’s constant refrains—Never let your heart rule your head. You make a purchase with your stomach.

Jimmy’s stomach felt just fine.

“Okay,” Jimmy said, grinning. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes with a friend who has a trailer.”

“Hold on,” Jonah said, laughing at Jimmy’s delight. “I’ve got a trailer hitched to my truck. Throw in an extra twenty-five bucks, and I’ll deliver him right to your barn.”

Jimmy’s grin spread from ear to ear. “It’s a deal!”

Later that afternoon, Jimmy confessed to Galen that he had bought a foundation stallion for his future stud farm. He braced himself for a lecture on impulsive purchases, but Galen surprised him with only interest. In fact, he wanted to go over to Jimmy’s farm to meet Lodestar. As they drove the buggy down the road that led to the Fisher chicken and egg farm, the buggy horse pricked its ears, then started to speed up, prancing on the road. Not a moment later, a dark object came hurtling through the woods, leapt over a fence, blew past them, and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road.

It took all of Galen’s attention to keep his buggy horse from bolting. His fists were clenched around the reins so tightly that his knuckles were white. When the horse finally stopped straining, Galen relaxed his grip, little by little. He edged the gelding sideways over to the side of the road. “What was that?” he said, mystified.

“A horse, I think,” Jimmy said, peering into the woods. He gave a snort. “Somebody’s gonna be sorry they left a barn door open.”

Wait. What?

“That was Lodestar!” Jimmy swung out of the buggy and ran into the woods, calling Lodestar’s name. He stopped and listened, hoping to hear some sound that the horse was near. The woods were silent.

Slowly, Jimmy walked back to the buggy and climbed in.

“You’re sure that was your new horse?” Galen said. “It blew past us pretty fast. I couldn’t tell if it was a bear or a buck.”

Jimmy hung his head. “I’m sure.”

“Let’s go to your farm and double-check.” Galen clucked for the horse to move forward and drove down the road, turning into the Fisher driveway. Jimmy’s eyes immediately went to the paddock where he had left Lodestar grazing just a few hours earlier.

Empty. The paddock was empty.