Another verse came to mind, and as before, he quoted it aloud: “‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’”
He quieted himself a second time, closing his eyes. Then he prayed that verse from Romans over his family, trusting that all things would work together for good for them.
Chapter 11
Ben invited Ashley to come to the farm for lunch the next Sunday. Actually, he invited her to join him for church first, but she declined. That didn’t surprise him. He’d learned she had no church affiliation. There was a guardedness about Ashley, and he had to wonder if that was why she didn’t attend services. Church was about community, about forming relationships, about being vulnerable and known. He suspected something like that didn’t come easily for her.
Ruth Richardson, Ashley’s friend, had delivered Thunder and Sundowner the previous day. Ben had been as excited to see their arrival as he’d been when the still-as-yet-unnamed sorrel mare arrived weeks ago. Add to that the expectation of Nicki Day’s gelding, Paisley, which would be delivered at the end of the week, and he thought it was all too perfect to be believed. With four horses and an instructor—still unpaid but hopefully one day to be on staff—they could begin training volunteers.
Ben was in the barn when he heard a vehicle pull into the yard. He expected it to be Ashley. Instead, when he went outside, he saw his mom getting out of her car. She frowned toward the house, as if it offended her in some way. His gut tightened.
“Mom,” he called to her.
She turned to face him, still frowning. “I’m glad you’re home. I was afraid you might be with Dad.”
“Grandpa went fishing this weekend with friends.” He walked toward her.
“Dad and his fish. I never did understand the fun in catching something cold and slimy.”
“Fish aren’t slimy.”
His mom wrinkled her nose in disagreement.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It’s nice to have you come out to visit me.” He tried to mean it when he said it.
“Well, don’t get used to it. You know I hate this place.”
“Yeah, Mom. I know.” He motioned with his head. “Come see the horses.”
“You’ve got horses already?”
“I told you about—” He broke off. It never worked out the way he wanted when he started reminding her what he’d already told her. “Just come have a look.” He turned so that they were both facing the same direction.
Reluctantly, she fell into step beside him. “No chickens, I see.”
“Not yet, but I plan to get some.”
“Don’t do it. They’re a pain. Noisy, smelly, dirty. You have to feed them and gather their eggs.” She shuddered.
He lowered his voice, hoping to soften the question. “Wasn’t there anything you liked about growing up on a farm?”
“Nothing. Not a single thing. That’s why I got out of here the second I could.” That had been on the back of a Harley, as she’d told him more than once.
“Not even horses?” he persisted.
Her nose wrinkled again. “No.”
He wished there was at least one thing they both loved about this place. He could have made a long list of his own. Maybe if he could help her admit to having some good memories, she wouldn’t be so bent on the sale of the farm. Maybe it would then become more important to her than money. But at least she hadn’t brought up that crazy incompetency idea again. Almost two weeks had passed, and she hadn’t said anything more about it, not to him or to Grandpa Grant. Ben’s warning to his grandfather hadn’t seemed to cause the older man much concern, and so Ben tried to have the same attitude about it.
They stopped at the paddock fence. Ben leaned his forearms on the top rail while his mom stayed a short distance behind him. He pretended not to notice as he pointed to each horse, telling her the few facts he knew. “That last one still needs a name.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Got any ideas?”
Her disdaining look stopped him from pressing for an answer.
As if coming to his rescue, he saw Ashley’s truck pull into the drive and stop.
“Who’s that?” his mom asked.
When he’d invited Ashley to come for lunch, he hadn’t planned on introducing her to his mom, but he didn’t have any other choice now. He stepped into full view and waved to her, answering, “A friend.”
Ashley walked toward them, shading her eyes with one hand. “Is the herd getting along?”
“Yeah, they seem to be.”
“That’s good. You never know. Especially with mares.” Ashley’s gaze flicked to his mom, then back to him.
“Ashley, this is Wendy Henning.” He paused. “My mom.”
Ashley’s smile was warm and genuine. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Henning.”
“It’s Ms. Henning. But you can call me Wendy.”
Ben cringed at the tone of her voice. “Mom, this is my friend, Ashley Showalter. She’s been helping me find the horses I need for the equine program.”
“Ahh.”
If Ashley noticed his mom’s obvious disapproval, she didn’t let on. “It’s been fun. Your son’s got a good heart, Ms. Henning. You must be proud of him.”
For once, his mom kept her opinions to herself. But her eyes spoke volumes.
“Are you joining us for lunch?” Ashley asked.
“Lunch? I suppose I could spare the time.” His mom looked at him. “If Ben doesn’t mind.”
Why did he feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web? “Sure, Mom. Join us. It’s nothing fancy. I made chili and corn bread.”
“Your grandpa’s favorite.”
“Mine too. If you remember.” He turned toward the paddock, wishing he hadn’t added the last bit. It served no purpose except to try to wound her. Which it wouldn’t. God, help me say the right things. Help me be kind, no matter what. He inhaled deeply before facing the two women again. “Come on into the house. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
In truth, he had no appetite at all.
* * *
Ashley pretended she didn’t notice the tension in the air. There was no denying that Ben’s mom had taken an instant dislike to her. Was it because Ashley had called her Mrs. Henning? It seemed a small thing to have offended the woman.
But she cared less about Wendy Henning’s reaction to her than she did about Ben’s upset over it. He tried to hide it, but she saw it anyway. He always seemed so at ease, so comfortable in his own skin. That wasn’t the man who sat opposite her at the kitchen table. She wished she could tell him it was okay.
Wendy took a bite of chili, chewed, swallowed. Then she leaned back in her chair. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer in the fridge.”
“No, Mom. You know I don’t.”
“Just thought maybe you’d loosened up a little.”
He dropped his gaze while he buttered his corn bread.
Wendy’s gaze moved to Ashley. “What about you? You a teetotaler too?”
“I guess you could call me that. I don’t care for the taste of it.”
“Beer?”
“Any of it.”
“Sheesh. Takes all kinds.” Wendy returned to her chili.
There was something hard and brittle about Ben’s mom, and Ashley wondered how on earth her son had become such a kind, polite man. Had she always been like this? Ashley remembered him telling her that if he was a gentleman it was because of his grandparents. She’d thought it a way of deflecting a compliment. Now she believed it was true. This woman couldn’t have taught him. Not as she was now.
Ashley decided to focus on eating and to avoid more eye contact that might encourage conversation. Whether or not that was a good decision, she couldn’t say. The only sounds in the room after that were the clatter of spoons against bowls and the softer ones of chewing.
Suddenly Wendy pushed her bowl away and stood up. “I need a smoke. I’ll be outside.”
After the d
oor closed behind her, Ben said, “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Ashley stirred the remaining chili in her bowl. “You didn’t do anything.”
“I was born. That’s enough.”
She drew back in her chair and looked at him, expecting him to shrug or tell her he was joking. But his expression was serious. He gave his head a shake, then rose and took his and his mom’s dishes to the sink. Ashley hesitated a few moments before following him with her own bowl and drinking glass. Wordlessly, she stepped to his side, looking out the window as she did so. His mother leaned against the side of her car, a cigarette in hand. Ashley heard Ben draw a slow, shaky breath, and the sound made her heart ache. She thought it better not to let him know, so she turned and walked to the entrance to the living room.
“I like your place, Henning.” She kept her voice light. “It’s cute. Did you tell me it’s been in your family for a hundred years?”
“Yeah. My great-great-great-grandparents, the Greysons, built the house.” Ben joined her. “Their daughter Helen married Andrew Henning. Andrew’s and Helen’s oldest son was Ben Henning. I’m named for him. He was dad to my grandpa, Grant Henning. And my mom is Grandpa’s only child as I’m her only child.”
“Your mom grew up on this farm? I assumed she’d married a Henning.”
“Nope. My mom’s never been married.”
“Oh. That’s why she didn’t like me calling her Mrs.”
“To be honest, I don’t know if she really cares or if she was being contrary. It’s hard to tell with her sometimes.”
Did it bother him, Ashley wondered, that his mom had never married? Single women chose to have kids on their own all the time these days. Marriage was often an afterthought, if it happened at all.
“Here. I’ll show you the rest of the place.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Not much to it, really. There are three bedrooms, none very large, and a bathroom that’s just got room to turn around in. And those stairs”—he pointed—“lead up to the attic. Grandpa said it was converted to a bedroom right before or soon after his uncle Andy was born. Sometime before the start of World War II. There weren’t stairs at first. Only a ladder.”
“It’s rare anymore for a house to stay in a family for generations. I’ll bet that makes it special to you.”
His smile removed some of the tension from his face. “Yeah. It does. When I sit in the living room in the evening, I sometimes think I can hear their voices. Does that make me sound crazy?”
“No.” She laughed. “Well, maybe a little.”
His laughter joined hers. “I hope it won’t scare you away.”
“I don’t scare that easily.”
His smile slowly vanished, and his expression turned serious. His gazed lowered from her eyes to her mouth. For one surprising moment, she thought he might try to kiss her. Her stomach tumbled at the idea, and her breath caught in her chest. Against her will—at least she thought it was against her will—she felt her body start to lean toward him, as if she might welcome his kiss. Would she? How could she? She’d been so determined never to—
“Ben!”
His mom’s shout from the front of the house startled them both. He took a quick step back from Ashley and hit the bathroom’s doorjamb with his shoulder. When he turned, he nearly tripped over his own feet. Suave, he wasn’t. But the actions broke the tension of the moment, allowing her to draw a relieved breath as she watched him walk away.
She waited what she hoped was an appropriate amount of time. Enough that his mom could say whatever it was she wanted to say without doing so in front of Ashley. Then she moved down the short hallway and looked toward the front door. Ben and his mom stood on the porch, deep in conversation. Rather than intrude, she went to the kitchen and proceeded to wash the lunch dishes. She was drying the last pot when she saw Wendy Henning walk to her car, get in, and drive away.
* * *
Ben stared at the dust cloud that lingered in the air after his mom’s car turned onto the road. Emotionally spent, not to mention embarrassed by her behavior, he wondered why she had to act the way she did. Especially today when all she’d come for was to borrow money. And borrow was a loose term when it came to his mom. He would never see that hundred dollars again, even after she got her paycheck. At least he could be thankful she hadn’t made any more threats about the farm.
Raking his hair with one hand, he turned and went inside. He found Ashley in the kitchen. In his absence, she’d done the dishes.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
She finished folding the dish towel before facing him. “It seemed the thing to do.”
“My mom’s gone.”
“I know. I saw her leave.” She glanced over her shoulder at the window.
Ben moved to the table and sat on a chair. “This wasn’t the way I envisioned today.”
Ashley sat opposite him.
“Mom and I don’t always agree.” Did she sense the size of that understatement?
“I don’t always agree with my mom either.”
He doubted they meant the same thing.
“You know what makes me feel better when I’ve had a disagreement with somebody?” Ashley’s smile warmed the kitchen. “I go riding. Let’s saddle up a couple of those horses and go for a ride.”
The desire to kiss her returned. Lucky for him there was a table between them. Best not to ruin their friendship. “Good idea,” he answered. “Let’s do it.”
Thursday, December 31, 1942
Without telling his parents, Ben took extra college classes in the spring and fall semesters and managed to graduate five months early. As promised when he’d joined the War Training Service, he enlisted in the US Army Air Forces as soon as he had his degree. Before Christmas he left Idaho.
Andrew supposed it was too much to hope that his son would eventually be assigned to Gowen Field in the desert near Boise, a training ground for servicemen flying in B-18 and B-26 bombers. He hoped it nonetheless.
They received their first letter from Ben on the last day of the year.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Don’t write to the address on the envelope as I’ll be moving to my permanent training center soon. There’s a good chance it will be in Utah, although I won’t know for certain until it happens.
It took a couple of days on a troop train to get to this camp. It’s an interesting bunch of guys I’m with. All different ages. Some are almost as old as you, Dad, and some have got kids. I think it’s going to be the hardest on the married guys, but I’ve noticed they are mostly nicer than the single guys closer to my age.
Mom, we eat good. Three meals a day and the food’s not bad. Some complain, but not me. We’ve got our gear and clothes now. There’s a library, bowling alley, and theater here on the post. Not bad.
I’ve got lots of training ahead of me before I’ll be going overseas, including 12 weeks in Officer Candidate School. But what I want most is to get to train to fly bombers. Not sure how far off that is. Feels like I’ve waited for it forever.
Some guys here don’t seem to care much about the families at home. Makes me appreciate you both and Louisa, Oscar, Frani, and Andy all the more. I miss you all. More than I thought I would. I thought it wouldn’t feel much different than when I was in Boise and couldn’t see you for weeks at a time. But I was wrong. It’s plenty different.
Happy New Year to all of you. Hope you get this letter in time for that to mean something.
Will write more soon.
Ben
Chapter 12
Ashley finished reading her brother’s letter, then let the two pieces of paper drop to the table, understanding at last what her mom had meant about Dylan’s depression. Her heart broke for him at the same time that anger roiled within. Anger at the boy who had served Dylan his first beer. Anger at the dealer who had sold him his first illegal drugs. Anger at the doctor who had written that first prescription for a painkiller and all the other health providers who had continued to write opio
id scripts, even when it was obvious to a blind man that Dylan knew how to play the system.
Anger at Dylan for . . . for everything.
She pushed away from the table, rose, and went outside. Speed and Jack rushed by her in search of a squirrel or some other ground creature to bedevil. Ashley ignored the dogs and headed straight for Remington’s pen. She slipped between the rails, wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck, and pressed her forehead against the sun-warmed coat. It felt welcoming to her. She breathed deeply, waiting for calm to replace anger. It took awhile, but eventually it worked. Being with a horse usually did.
She drew back and looked at Remington. “At least I can trust you.”
People failed people. It happened all the time. People even failed the people they loved. A fact of life. Dylan might not ever get sober. He might never do the right thing. He might go on failing their mom. He might go on failing her. He might never be the boy he’d once been or the man she’d hoped he would become.
People failed people. Horses didn’t. Horses never lied.
Ashley drew in a long, slow breath and released it. “Is that why I don’t let myself have many friends?”
Remington blinked.
It was true. Ashley rarely let someone get emotionally close to her. At first, it had been to avoid embarrassment. During her high school years, she couldn’t ask other kids over to her house because she never knew what her brother might do or say or what shape he might be in. It reminded her of that slogan about addiction and secrets. She didn’t know it exactly because she’d never been truly involved in Al-Anon. She’d only attended a few meetings with her mom. Not that the meetings had done her mom much good either. But the “secrets” part she remembered, and she knew it was true. She’d kept a lot of them about her brother, about the state of their home life, about the time Dylan had blacked her eye, about the things he’d stolen—stolen from her and their mom as well as from others.
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