Cross My Heart

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Nope. The guy I got her from didn’t know what it was. Didn’t care either.”

  Ben shut the gate behind him and stared into the stall at the mare. “Hmm. Any ideas?”

  “Naming an animal is kind of a personal thing. It has to fit you as well as her.”

  “I’ll have to give it some thought, then.”

  Before they left the barn, Ben made sure the mare had water, and Ashley gave him instructions regarding feed. Then the two of them walked to the house. He left her on the porch while he went inside to get the check. When he returned, she stood at the porch railing, staring out over the alfalfa fields to the west.

  “It sure is pretty here,” she said without looking his way.

  “I know.”

  “It’s my dream to own a place something like this one day. I hope there’s still land left if I can ever afford to buy.”

  “Do you own the place you’re in now?”

  She met his gaze and smiled. “Me and the bank. I got a small inheritance when I turned twenty-three. Something my dad set up before he died. That gave me enough for a down payment and an affordable house payment that fits my salary.”

  “What do you do?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing fancy. Retail sales. Mostly I’m a floor clerk, although I help cover the checkout stands when I’m needed. I’ve got flexible hours, which I like. What about you?”

  “I had my own construction business.” He leaned his shoulder against a post. “But I sold it earlier in the summer so I could concentrate on getting the Harmony Barn off the ground. Now I’m doing handyman kinds of things. Like you, it gives me more freedom with my time. And it’s a whole lot less stress than having a crew and paying salaries and all that.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  Looking at her, Ben wondered if she had a boyfriend. Probably did. A real-life cowboy would be his guess. He couldn’t imagine her with a man who wasn’t as involved with horses as she was.

  “Well.” She stepped back from the railing. “I’d better get home. I’ve got chores of my own to do before it gets much later.”

  “Sure.” He held out the check to her. “I really appreciate your help. Be sure to call me when you find another horse that might work for us.”

  “I will.”

  * * *

  Ashley was fresh out of the shower, hair wrapped in a towel, when her phone rang. She felt a catch in her chest when she saw who it was. Something had to be wrong for her mom to call at this time of night. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Are you in bed? Did I wake you?”

  “No. I’m still up.” She slipped into her bathrobe and sat on the edge of her bed. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Dylan.”

  Ashley’s stomach sank. Of course it was Dylan. It was always her brother. “What happened?”

  “I got a letter from him today. He’s having such a rough time. He’s depressed. He feels hopeless. I don’t know what to do. They won’t let us talk on the phone. They won’t let me go up to see him.”

  “Write back and tell him you love him. That’s all you can do.”

  When Ashley and her mom had met for lunch yesterday, neither of them had brought up Dylan. A pleasant change. For years her little brother had been the focus of almost every conversation they’d had. Dylan’s troubles. Dylan’s escapades. Dylan’s injuries. Dylan’s failures.

  “It seems unfair,” her mom said. “He’s so far away from his family.”

  Frustration coiled in Ashley’s stomach. “Unfair? Mom, he broke the law, and not for the first time. He’s an addict. He’s a multiple offender. He could end up in prison if he doesn’t toe the line. He was lucky to be ordered into six months of rehab instead of going to jail.”

  Her mom choked on a sob.

  “I’m sorry.” She was sorry. Then again, she wasn’t. She drew a slow, deep breath. “I’m not heartless, Mom. But Dylan can’t get better if you try to shield him at every turn. He’s got to be responsible for his own choices. You need to listen to the counselors. If he gets in trouble again, he won’t find a judge so lenient as the one he had this time.”

  “Lenient?”

  Ashley swallowed any further response. It would be a waste of words. Her mom was the queen of enablers when it came to Dylan.

  “You’re too hard on him.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I want him to be healthy and happy. I want him to be whole, the way he used to be when he was little, before he got into booze and drugs.” She drew in a slow breath. “I don’t want him to die like one of those movie stars or musicians we read about, mixing prescription drugs and alcohol, and suddenly their bodies give out when they’re only in their twenties.”

  “Oh, Ashley.”

  “It could happen, Mom. You know I’m right. You saw what he was like the night they arrested him.” She heard her mom’s muffled sob. “Write him back and encourage him. I’ll do the same. We’ll tell him we love him and to hang in there, no matter what.”

  “If only I could see him.”

  Ashley counted to five before saying, “They’ve got reasons for their rules.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Try not to worry about him. There are people looking out for him. You need to take care of yourself. Now, go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll try.”

  After ending the call, Ashley remained on the side of her bed for a long while, not moving, thinking about her brother. Her first memories of him were when he was two and she was five. Dark haired with big brown eyes and a squealing laugh that could shatter glass. That had been her favorite Dylan. Next she remembered the scared kid on his first day of kindergarten when he wouldn’t let go of her hand. After that she recalled the boy sobbing as he lay on his bed after their dad’s funeral. All too soon there’d been the teenager stumbling around downstairs after sneaking out to drink with friends. And finally, she remembered the young man as he was led away in cuffs, dark half circles under eyes that seemed empty of life.

  Wasn’t it strange how she could love and hate her brother at the same time? No, hate was too strong a word. She didn’t hate Dylan. But she resented all that he had done to their mom, and she resented the way his addictions had altered her own life too. Sometimes she wished she would never have to see him again, never have to talk to him again, never have to talk about him again.

  With a sigh, she rose and returned to the bathroom, where she finished getting ready for the night. But once in bed, thoughts of her mom and brother continued to whirl, and even after she fell asleep, they were there, in her troubled dreams.

  Wednesday, March 12, 1941

  Andrew was returning to the house from the barn when he saw Hirsch Finkel walking toward him, leaning into the brisk March wind while holding on to his hat. Andrew enjoyed visits with his neighbor, but Hirsch wasn’t there to talk about farming equipment or the planting season. He was there for another tutoring session with Ben. In Germany, Hirsch Finkel had been a respected professor until the Nazis forbade Jews to teach. Now he was preparing Ben for his first year at Boise Junior College, an endeavor that both of them seemed to enjoy.

  Hirsch looked up as he neared the front porch, only then noticing Andrew. “Good day,” he said above the wind.

  “Good day, Hirsch. Another tutoring session, huh?”

  “Ja.”

  “He appreciates your help.”

  “Your boy is very bright. I do not have to do much.”

  Andrew knew the older man did more than it sounded, but he let it pass.

  “You have seen the newspaper?” Hirsch asked as the two men climbed the steps. “About the Lend-Lease Act.”

  Andrew opened the front door. “I saw it. God willing, it’ll mean Britain and their allies will get the goods and munitions they need to defeat the Nazis.”

  “God willing,” Hirsch echoed softly.

  Silently, Andrew said a prayer that the defeat of the Nazis would happen before America was drawn fully into the war, b
efore Ben was old enough to serve, before any of his sons could be called to fight. Please, God. Stop the aggressors. Stop the deaths. Stop the waste.

  Once inside, both men shucked off their coats and hung them on the rack. Hirsch set his hat on the rack, too, then adjusted his suit jacket. The man might be a farmer in America, but he remained every inch a professor. He wouldn’t have thought to come teach Ben while wearing overalls.

  “Care for some coffee?”

  “Ja. That would be good.”

  Andrew tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll let Ben know you’re here. Then I’ll get you a cup.”

  As he walked toward the ladder that led to the loft bedroom, Andrew said another silent prayer, expressing thanks once again that he hadn’t been drafted the previous fall. If he had been, he never would have been able to save enough to pay for Ben’s tuition. Even being there and not off serving in the army, it had been difficult to make it happen. And yet somehow he’d managed it. No, they had managed it. The entire Henning family. Everybody, all the way down to five-year-old Andy Jr., had done what they could to cut expenses so that Ben could go to college.

  Last night, in the margin of his Bible, beside Deuteronomy 8:18, Andrew had written: God has given me the power I need to provide for my family. Thank You, Father. It would be good for him to remember that the promise in that verse had been true during the Great Depression as well as in March 1941. And it would be true in the years to come as well, no matter what they had to face.

  He stopped at the ladder and looked up. “Ben, Mr. Finkel is here.”

  “Be right down, Dad.”

  As he turned toward the kitchen, Andrew prayed one more time for a quick end to the war. Because as much as he rejoiced that he’d found ways to make a college education available to his oldest boy, he didn’t want him using it to enter the Army Air Corps with the world at war.

  Chapter 5

  Ben sat in his truck, staring at the entrance to the gym. Half an hour before, he’d left a repair job about a block away. He’d been heading for home, but then he’d seen the familiar red vehicle with its large white decal on the back window and had made a sudden turn into the gym’s parking lot. It was probably crazy to wait here. In the past five years, Craig had refused every attempt Ben had made to talk to him. He’d disregarded Ben’s efforts to reconnect as well as his requests for forgiveness. Calling on the phone got him nowhere other than a few curse words in his ear, followed by a quick hang up.

  If he could talk to Craig . . . If he could tell his old friend what had happened to him in recent years—what God had rescued him out of and what God was doing in his life today. If Craig could see what Ben wanted to do with the farm, what good could come from it, perhaps how Craig could benefit from it. But none of that would happen unless Craig would see him, unless Craig would hear him out.

  You can’t blame him. You were a coward. You bailed on him.

  Ben wasn’t sure if the voice in his head belonged to the Enemy or to his conscience. Whichever, he tried to push it away. It didn’t work. More memories tumbled in, proving the truth of the accusation.

  “I was a coward,” he said aloud. “I did bail on him.”

  After Ben got out of juvie, how many opportunities had he ignored to see his friend? Too many to count. Especially all of those times he could have visited Craig in the hospital. He didn’t even know how many surgeries his friend had endured. But Ben hadn’t gone to see him, at home or in the hospital. Instead, he’d tried to forget his friend and the accident that had changed both of their lives. Drinking had been his preferred method for forgetting. And after a while, getting drunk had become more important than anything or anyone.

  Even now, it surprised him how many people he’d managed to fool through the years. He’d held down jobs and even impressed bosses. He’d managed to keep his grandparents from discovering the truth for a long time. He doubted his mom had seen anything amiss, but then she’d never paid too much attention to him, even when he’d lived at home. Once he was out on his own—as soon as he’d turned eighteen—she hadn’t cared what he did with his life. He’d isolated himself and done his drinking in private. At least he hadn’t been stupid enough to drive drunk again. That was a mercy.

  But eventually the house of cards he’d built had come tumbling down. There hadn’t been any hiding the truth from the people closest to him any longer. Or from himself. He was an alcoholic, and his life had spiraled out of control. He’d needed help, and miraculously, he’d received it.

  Closing his eyes, he drew in a slow, deep breath. He thanked God for his grandfather’s intervention, for his weeks in a Christ-centered recovery program, for the moment he’d been born again, for the year on the farm that had followed. It was there that he’d learned to live one day at a time, totally dependent upon the Lord. And only after all of that had he tried to contact Craig.

  Step 9: making direct amends to persons he’d harmed wherever possible.

  His first attempt to see Craig had been thrown back in his face. As had all the attempts that followed.

  He opened his eyes again in time to see the automatic doors to the gym open and Craig roll out in his wheelchair. Even from where he was parked, Ben could see the strength in his friend’s upper body and the body mass that had been lost in his lower limbs. No one was with Craig, which meant he must be able to maneuver himself into the automobile and then get the wheelchair into it too. Ben had seen examples of the process on the internet, but until now he hadn’t known for sure if it was possible for Craig.

  Ben reached for the door handle, then stopped, wondering if he was being fair. Craig wouldn’t be able to hang up on him or avoid him. He would have to listen, at least long enough for him to get into the car and drive away. Well, maybe he wouldn’t listen. But at least he would hear.

  “God, am I doing the right thing?” He reached a second time for the handle, and feeling no check in his spirit, he opened the door. “Guide my words, Lord.” He walked in the direction of Craig’s car, getting there first.

  Craig didn’t look up until it was too late for him to change directions.

  “Hey,” Ben said.

  It was a second or two before his friend’s expression said he’d recognized him. Not because Ben had changed all that much, he suspected, but because Craig hadn’t expected to ever see him again. He glowered at Ben but said nothing as he rolled the final distance to the car.

  “Craig, will you give me a few minutes?”

  “No.”

  Strange how a single word could strike with such force.

  Ben took a step back. “I know I should’ve been there for you after the accident, and I wasn’t. I’ll always be sorry for it.”

  Craig grunted as he opened the car door.

  “We were kids. I made a mistake. I was hoping . . . now that we’re men—”

  “What? That we could put the past behind us? Maybe you can.” Craig pounded on his thighs with the heels of his hands. “But I’m stuck in the past.”

  The bitterness in his friend’s voice cut Ben like a knife.

  With a practiced motion, Craig hoisted himself into the car. Moments later, he folded the wheelchair and maneuvered it in behind the driver’s seat.

  “All I want is a chance to talk to you. For us to talk to each other. Will you at least consider it?”

  Craig answered by pulling the door closed.

  Ben seemed to feel it slam in his chest and took another step backward. But as he watched his old friend drive away, he reminded himself how many doors had been slammed in his face—at least metaphorically—as he’d tried to get his equine therapy program started. But now things had begun to change. Now some doors had opened.

  “Nothing is impossible with God.”

  * * *

  With fifteen minutes left on her shift, Ashley was refolding towels on a display when movement at the end of the aisle drew her attention. She pasted on a smile, prepared to greet a customer, but the smile fad
ed when she saw Paul Redding.

  “Hi, Ashley.”

  She drew a breath, steeling herself. “Paul.”

  “I wondered if you still worked here.” He smiled. “You never seem to be around when I’m shopping.”

  It was an untrustworthy smile. She should have recognized that the first time he’d shined it in her direction. Pity she hadn’t. It would have saved her a world of hurt.

  “You’re looking good, Ash.”

  She hated it when anybody shortened her name like that—and she’d told Paul so in the past. He either didn’t remember, or he meant it to be a jab. She supposed it was the latter. “Was there something I can help you find?”

  The smile disappeared. “No, thanks.”

  It occurred to her then that the months since they’d seen each other hadn’t been kind to him. His eyes looked tired. His mouth was drawn. True, he remained roguishly handsome, but in other ways he seemed quite changed.

  “Well, I won’t keep you from your work.” He pointed. “Wouldn’t want those towels to go unfolded. Important stuff.” Then he gave her a much less charming smile before turning and disappearing around the end rack.

  Ashley drew in another breath, trying not to feel the insult. She hated that Paul could get to her like that. It hadn’t been until she’d broken things off with him that she realized how often he’d made those types of verbal digs. And even then, it had taken awhile to understand the many ways he’d manipulated her throughout their relationship. The many ways she’d allowed him to manipulate her. Both with flattery and with words meant to undermine and sting.

  She should have seen it long before the night she’d found him drinking with Dylan.

  “Ashley?”

  She turned at the sound of her coworker’s voice.

  “You okay?” Shelley asked.

  Ashley nodded. “Yes.” She folded another towel. “Just finishing up. Almost time for me to head home.”

  Shelley didn’t look convinced but left without saying anything more.

  Her thoughts still churning, Ashley headed to the employees’ break room at the back of the store. She put her vest in the locker, punched out, then went outside without encountering anybody. Which was to her liking. Her mood was decidedly grim by this time.