The last day of October arrived with gray skies and much colder temperatures, making it the perfect day for Ashley to sit at the desk in her office in order to finish the final chapter of the book she’d been reading. After turning the last page, she closed the cover, her heart aching yet filled with joy at the same time. The stories of traumatized kids finding healing through interactions with horses had brought her to tears a number of times. She was so thankful Ben had loaned the book to her, and so thankful she’d finally read it, even if it had taken her too long to do so.
Reaching for a tissue, she dabbed her eyes. Speed raised his head from the floor and looked at her with something akin to sympathy.
“I’m fine,” she told the border collie.
The dog lowered his head to the floor once again, this time with a groan.
Ashley got up from the chair and left her office, reaching for her jacket as she passed the coatrack near the door. No horses were in the stalls. If not for the creaking caused by the persistent wind, all would have been silent. The construction crew was gone today. Ashley didn’t know why they’d taken the day off—Halloween wasn’t an official holiday, after all—but the absence of noise from the direction of the new stables and arena made her feel abandoned. Ben was gone from the farm today as well, and she felt his absence even more than the lack of pounding hammers and shouts from the workers. Strange, since they’d interacted so little over the past couple of weeks, even when he was there.
The ache in her chest intensified. An ache that had nothing to do with the poignant book she’d finished and everything to do with the wall she’d put up between herself and Ben. He’d honored that wall, as she’d demanded. Trouble was it hadn’t made her feel any better. She missed the way they’d been before he’d kissed her. Before he’d told her about his past.
That thought circled her around to her brother. He’d finally allowed their mother to see him at the jail, once in person, a few times via video conference. Mom had invited Ashley to join one of those sessions. She’d declined. Dylan might have allowed it. Ashley wasn’t ready yet.
Giving her head a shake, she opened the barn door, Speed following at her heels. The wind tried to push her back inside. She leaned into it and closed the door behind her. Now that she was outside, she heard a few other sounds—the clucking of hens coming from the direction of the coop, a whicker from one of the horses. She turned toward the nearest pasture and saw Dusty and Jack running through the grass at the far end near a row of trees.
“How come you’re not with them?” she asked Speed. As if in answer, the border collie darted away from her in pursuit of his canine friends.
Ashley laughed softly.
The crunch of tires on gravel drew her around, and she watched the familiar old Buick roll to a stop near the front door of the house. A moment later Grant Henning got out from behind the wheel. He squinted as he looked around. A smile replaced the squint when he saw her.
“Ashley!” He waved.
“Mr. Henning.” She walked toward him. “It’s nice to see you.”
“It’s been too long, young lady. I was rather hoping you would join us at church again.”
“Sorry. I’ve meant to. I really have. Things in my life got a bit . . . crazy.”
“Life can do that.”
She nodded, then said, “Ben isn’t here. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Actually, Ashley, I was hoping you would give me a tour. Let me see the changes my grandson’s made to the place since the open house.”
“Me? Shouldn’t Ben show you around?”
“I’d rather have a pretty girl for a tour guide. Come on. Humor me. I’m here and Ben’s not.” He offered his elbow, along with a grin.
She was helpless against that grin. It was so very like Ben’s. The one that seemed to take hold of her heart even when she didn’t want it to. “Okay.” She placed her fingertips into the crook of his arm. “We’ll start with the barn.”
They moved at an unhurried pace. Grant Henning didn’t say much as they checked out the barn; the stables and arena that were currently under construction; the chicken coop, newly populated; the new paddocks with their fresh white fences; and the horses grazing therein. Mostly he nodded and made an ummm sound every so often to let her know he was listening. When they’d seen it all, he invited her to sit with him on the porch.
“Thank you for showing me around.” He lowered himself onto one of the chairs. “I’m amazed by all that’s been accomplished since the last time I was here. Simply amazed.”
“Your grandson’s very focused on the end goal.”
“Indeed.” The older man’s gaze moved from Ashley to the land, and a faraway look entered his blue eyes. “My granddad, Andrew Henning, loved this farm. He worked it into his sixties, but when he started to have health issues, the farm came to me. My dad loved the place too. It was supposed to be his, but in the end, the farm skipped that generation and came to me. I was the one who had a passion for farming above all else. Then it skipped another generation before it went to our Ben.”
Our Ben. The words caused a frisson in her stomach.
“Grandpa Andrew was a man with a deep personal faith in God. His faith got him through many rough patches in life. The Great Depression. Raising five kids, three of them adopted. World War II.” He fell silent for a short while, then cleared his throat and continued. “He told me that we’re put on this earth, first of all, to come to know God through Jesus, and after that to discover His purpose for us so we can fulfill that purpose for all we’re worth right up until we step into eternity.” He met her gaze again. “I believe Ben has found his purpose with this equine therapy business.”
“I think you’re right,” she said softly.
“But he followed a very difficult path to get to there.”
“He told me.”
“I wonder if he told you everything.” The older man’s eyes seemed to look beyond the farmland into the past. “It began with the foolishness of youth. He and his best friend Craig got drunk, and then Ben got behind the wheel. There was an accident. They could have both died. It was a miracle they didn’t. Sadly, Craig ended up in a wheelchair, and Ben ended up saddled with a guilt that he tried to assuage with more alcohol.”
Ashley felt her heart break a little over this latest revelation.
“My wife and I feared he would be lost for good. We prayed against that end for a long, long time. But the day came that he encountered the love of Christ, and he was changed by it. Immediately in some ways. Slowly in others. But changed forever. He’s a good man. One of the best.”
I know. Her throat was too tight to say it aloud.
“Well.” He put his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself to his feet. “I’d best be on my way. Thanks again for the tour. And please. Think about joining us for church again soon. You are a pleasant addition to our after-church lunches.”
Before Ashley could answer him, a black SUV turned into the driveway and drove up to the house. She moved to the edge of the porch and watched as the driver, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, got out. He held a clipboard beneath his left arm and a pen in his right hand.
“May I help you?” she asked, moving to the top of the steps.
“Not really. I’m here to do an appraisal.” His gaze flicked to the dogs on the porch behind her. “Do I have to worry about being bitten?”
“An appraisal?” Maybe Ben was taking out a loan. But why would he do that after the successful fund-raiser earlier in the month?
“Yes, miss. An appraisal.”
“Who hired you?” she asked, still unsure.
The man glanced at the papers on his clipboard. “The attorney representing a Wendy Henning.”
She heard Grant suck in a breath as he stepped to her side. She looked at him.
The older man’s expression was stern. “I’m sorry, but Wendy Henning is not the owner of this property. She has no authority to hire you to do an appraisal.”
“Really?” He looked at the papers again. “My boss’s note says I need to get this done ASAP because of a hearing.”
Grant’s voice dropped to a whisper. The resolve left his face. His body seemed to sag. “A hearing.” He slowly returned to the porch chair and sat down.
Feeling suddenly protective of her friend, Ashley stepped toward the stranger and his clipboard. “I’m the manager here. Why don’t you give me your business card, and I’ll make sure the owner calls you when he returns. His name is Ben Henning. But until he gives the okay, I can’t let you have access to the farm.”
The man opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a business card. Ashley took it from him. Then she stood there, not moving an inch until he got back into his SUV and drove away. Only after the automobile was on the road did she hurry back to the porch.
“Mr. Henning, are you all right?” She sat beside him.
“I’m not sure, Ashley. I’m really not sure.”
* * *
Ben grinned when he saw his grandfather’s car parked near the house. What a nice surprise. He drove his truck to the carport and got out. Before he could walk far, Ashley came to meet him.
“Ben, somebody came by awhile ago. Something about an appraisal that your mom’s attorney ordered on the farm. Whatever, it seemed to really upset your grandfather.”
Ben’s stomach clenched, sickening him. He didn’t wait for her to say anything more. “Thanks.” He strode quickly toward the front porch. “Grandpa?”
Grandpa Grant looked up. “We were wrong to think it was an idle threat. It seems she was serious.”
“Grandpa, she won’t succeed. And how’d she even come up with the money to hire an attorney? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You know your mother. She seems to always find a way. I gave her six hundred dollars over a month ago myself.”
Ben’s gut churned. If hiring an attorney or trying to get an appraisal was what she used that money for . . .
“I wish I knew what I did to make her want to hurt me this way.”
Ben sank onto the chair next to his grandfather. “It’s about the money, Grandpa. Not hurting you.”
A humorless smile crossed his grandfather’s lips. There and gone.
“I’ll call my attorney in the morning. I’ll find out what we can do to nip this in the bud.”
“Your grandmother and I spent many an evening analyzing your mom’s growing-up years and second-guessing all of our parenting decisions. We asked her so many times to tell us what hurt her, what made her so angry. But trying to talk only seemed to make her more angry.” He looked at Ben, pain in his eyes.
Ben reached to take hold of his grandfather’s hand, knowing that nothing he said would help what the older man felt. He settled for a simple, “Love you, Grandpa.”
“Love you, too, son.”
Hours later, his grandfather and Ashley both having returned to their own homes, Ben sat at the kitchen table with Andrew Henning’s Bible before him. He’d tried praying, but his thoughts were scattered and his heart heavy. Forming words in his head had been next to impossible. And so he opened the Bible, looking for something—anything—that might provide answers or comfort or, better yet, both.
He wasn’t aware how long he’d read before he came across Andrew’s penciled scrawl on the back of the 1 Samuel title page.
Father, for these sons I have prayed. They are dedicated to You. I leave them in Your care, and like Hannah, my heart delights in the Lord. No matter what lies ahead, I will bow in worship. (1 Samuel 1:27–2:1) December 1, 1944
His eyes moved to the designated verses, then back to Andrew’s declaration of trust. It was as if he heard God whisper to him, “Dedicate it to Me. Leave it in My care, and then worship Me.” In response, he felt his grip loosen. His grip on this farm and its future. His grip on anger toward his mom. His grip on his growing feelings for Ashley. Even his grip on the guilt he held on to about Craig.
“For these things I have prayed,” he said into the silent room. “They are dedicated to You, Lord, and I leave them in Your care. Amen.”
When he opened his eyes, he knew he was different, even if the circumstances weren’t. Even if they never were.