Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series)

by Aaron D. Gansky

  If she had gone to New York, left him, studied music, waited to get married—

  He wouldn’t have ended up with her. He wouldn’t be hers.

  The surety of her thoughts rushed through Julie’s veins like ice water. Rick would have picked someone like Angelina.

  And Angelina, or whomever, would have been happy without the obvious money pleasures she now enjoyed, because she’d have Rick and all the satisfaction that came with him.

  Julie shivered, swallowed, closing her eyes against the woman’s image, which only made the vision clearer in her mind. Even when looking her best, like last night, she couldn’t compete with the Angelinas of the world.

  “Hey, you okay?” Rick asked.

  She nodded, opening her eyes but avoiding his gaze by opening her door.

  During her entire marriage, some deep part of her had always felt short-changed. Had whispered to her how she’d settled for less than she should have, when she postponed her dream, got married, had children.

  Now she realized she wasn’t the one who had settled. Rick was.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Most Sunday afternoons, Rick preferred to rest. If NASCAR was on, he and Sean watched, slurping root beer and eating everything edible that wasn’t nailed down. Other times if his work level allowed, he and Rachel rode their property, on daddy-daughter dates he knew would end once she caught some smart young man’s eye. On occasion, he and Ben wandered down to the creek, threw in a cane pole, and chewed on blades of grass. If they stayed long enough, Ben might run out of questions; Rick always ran out of answers.

  Never in a million years, would Rick have envisioned himself spending a Sunday afternoon sitting beside his silent wife in the tack room, while she wept and typed a letter to their oldest son, who was leaving in two days. Yet here he was sipping a root beer, while Julie pecked at the keyboard, her smoothie mostly untouched in the glass on the corner of her desk.

  Something had changed in her. Between church this morning and when they’d arrived home. He thought he could almost pinpoint the moment, sitting there in the garage as his children tumbled out of the truck, leaving only him and his wife. The way she’d looked at him as if she’d suddenly learned a painful truth, then moved so quietly, so somberly from the truck to their room. Sure, he hadn’t heard her voice in over five weeks. But this kind of silence was full of words, full of meaning.

  He’d seen her elated and thrilled, like when they were young and she won the singing contest. He’d seen her determined, like when she’d fought with doctors over Ben’s care or lack thereof. Seen her focused before singing on Sunday mornings. After the accident, he’d seen her devastated, shaken to her core at the thought she might never sing again.

  But this, this was like sorrow mixed with grief, mixed with a desperation he could only relate to a dying man’s last words. Because he knew her, he could see. The mother’s heart in her held words for Sean that she absolutely, positively needed to get out. And because she couldn’t speak, typing them was her only option.

  Rick eased his hand under her hair as he had earlier in the truck, and again massaged her tense muscles. “Is it okay if I read over your shoulder?”

  She nodded.

  Dear Sean,

  I wish I could speak to tell you all of this, but maybe this is better, because you can take it with you when you leave.

  You have the best parts of your dad and me. In case I forgot to tell you, I’m more proud of you than you can know. Loving you has always been easy. I hope you know I do. And always will.

  Julie’s brow furrowed in concentration. Rick lightened his touch, caressing her neck as she continued typing one-handed. He read and his eyes watered.

  Rick gently patted her shoulder to comfort her. And himself.

  She typed a parenthesis, then, You don’t have to stay. Just come check on me in a little while.

  “You’re sure?” Leaving her in this condition didn’t feel right.

  She deleted the last two sentences meant for him, then turned. With her fingertips she traced the shape of his cheek and jaw, nodded.

  “Okay.” His cell rang. He turned away and answered. “Yeah?”

  “Daddy, do I have to work with you all afternoon? Ben said he’ll muck stalls. He actually wants to get dirty. Grandma just started painting my toenails. She’s teaching me how to do a French pedicure.”

  “And she just happened to start that now, when you’ve got chores?” Surely, sometimes Rachel could test God’s patience.

  “Daddy, please? Can Ben help instead?”

  Rick checked his watch. “Send him now. You’ve got one hour.”

  “Oh, thank you, Daddy. Thank you.” She lowered her voice. “You didn’t tell Mom yet, did you? About, you know.”

  Rick rose, grabbed a handful of peppermint balls from a plastic container on a shelf, shoved them in his shirt pocket. He’d planned to tell Julie this afternoon, about Rachel attending summer school. He had figured sliding it in now, between Sean’s party and Sean leaving, she’d be a little distracted. The anticipated explosion would be at least deferred, if not eliminated.

  But looking over at his wife now ... no. This wasn’t the time.

  “Daddy? Is it still our secret?”

  “For now.”

  “Whew. Thank you, Daddy. I’ll send Ben. And I’ll be there soon.”

  He ended the call.

  The printer on the far end of the desk hummed to life. He handed Julie the first page, then the second. She took a pen and an envelope from the desk drawer, signed with a flourish at the bottom of the second page. Love, Mom.

  She looked at him, placed her injured arm in her open, right palm. Help.

  Rick folded the pages in thirds, placed them in the envelope, sealed and addressed it. Sean. He set it aside.

  Julie rose and went to the sink, dabbed her eyes with a paper towel from the dispenser.

  Rick walked to her. “Hey. Are you okay?”

  She blew her nose. Nodded again. And balled herself up against his chest.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “I’m gonna miss him, too. Like crazy.” He pulled back, lifted her chin. “But it’s time. At least we know he’ll be happy. Some people pick a job and don’t know they don’t like it until they get there. Then they’re stuck. ROTC, it’s always been his thing.”

  She half-smiled at him, but it was possibly the saddest smile he’d ever seen.

  “Now let’s get you back to the house. Soak in the tub, or take a nap.”

  Julie shook her head.

  “No?”

  No, she answered, clamping her index and middle fingers against her thumb, and again shaking her head. She went back to the desk, opened a new Word screen.

  I need to write a letter to my mother.

  “But she’s right here. You can use Ben, or me, to say anything you want.”

  I can’t use Ben. This is between Mother and me. I’ll need your help giving it to her later this week, like I’ll need your help giving Sean’s to him tonight.

  She placed her palm over her heart, rubbed in a circular motion. Please.

  “Sure, baby. Whatever you need.”

  She straightened her fingers, placed the tips against her lips, then moved them toward him and smiled. Thank you.

  “I’ll come check on you in a little while.”

  Julie nodded and resumed typing.

  Rick ambled to the covered arena, where Dutch had spent the night. He stepped inside. The horse met him before he closed the metal gate.

  “Hey, boy. How’d you like having this big room all to yourself last night?”

  Dutch nuzzled his shirt pocket. Rick patted the horse’s thick neck. Dust and dirt flew. “You’ve been rolling in the dirt. Need a good brushing.”

  He presented the candies one by one. “Think I’ll have Rachel take care of that after we fix you a clean stall.”

  Rick heard Ben approach. Tennis shoes smacking the concrete separating the row of stalls and the arena. The boy arrived b
reathless and bright, like the sun-filled child he always was. And already seven years old. Seemed like just yesterday, Sean was that age. Where did the time go?

  Ben poked his head and arms between the metal bars of the farm gate. “I’m here, Daddy. What do you want me to do first?”

  Stay little.

  “I could use a hug while I think about it.” Rick felt the same sad smile cover his face that he’d just seen on Julie’s.

  “Sure, Daddy.” He ran to Rick, face alight as though he was claiming a prize. He squeezed Rick’s waist and looked up. “How’s that?”

  “’Bout near perfect. Had to move some horses around. You update the board while I fix Dutch a new space?”

  “I’ll make the boys blue, the girls red. How’s that?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Can I ride later, Daddy? If we get the chores done?”

  “Sure thing, buddy.”

  “Okay.” Ben raced back through the gate.

  In the past, Ben had needed to stand on a bucket to reach the top of the dry-erase board hanging outside the tack room. So Rick followed, ready to place a steadying hand on his son’s back. But this time, Ben stretched high, swiping the eraser’s tip across the top line. “Look, Daddy. I can reach.”

  “I see that. Dutch’ll be first this time. Double-check where everybody is, okay? Better to do it right than fast. There’ll be time for you to ride.”

  “Okay, Daddy!” Ben took off running down the long line of stalls.

  Rick poked his head in the tack room to check on Julie. “Need anything?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll be starting at the far end, work my way down.” He left, again closing the door behind him so the cool air inside didn’t escape.

  Rick mucked three stalls, and with Ben’s help shoveled in fresh bedding after his son updated the board.

  “You go check everybody’s water bucket. I want ’em clean and I want ’em full. If one’s slimy, scrub it out and refill it. You got that, soldier?”

  Ben stiffened, puffing out his little boy chest and offering a grinning salute. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Rick chuckled and started on the next stall. He was half through that one when Rachel arrived, wearing shiny sandals.

  “Look, Daddy. Aren’t they pretty?” She pointed to her freshly painted toenails

  “Yes, they are. But not as pretty as you. Lots to do today, so they won’t be that way for long.”

  “Daaa-ddy. I just wanted you to see.”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll change into my boots. Be right back.”

  She returned quickly, having donned the boots she kept in the tack room. Together they shoveled horse manure, moving piles to a pair of wheelbarrows outside the stall doors.

  “Mom’s typing away in there. She wouldn’t let me see.”

  Rick stopped, wiped his brow with a blue bandana from his back pocket. “She’s working on something important to her.”

  “She didn’t look mad. I guess you still didn’t tell her.”

  “No, I didn’t. Yet.”

  “Because you like her not being mad at you all the time.”

  “Because I didn’t think her knowing today would help anything.”

  Rachel stopped working, too. “Please, can we not tell her until next Monday when we have to? All my friends are having a sleepover this Friday night. Mom said I could go, you know, before? If you tell her now, she won’t let me do anything next weekend.”

  “Your mother might surprise you.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes so far back in her head, Rick marveled they didn’t get stuck.

  “You know she hasn’t changed for real. Soon as she gets her voice back ...” She paused, mumbled. “Bet you’re hoping she doesn’t get her voice back for a while. I know I am.”

  “Singing has always been important to your mom. I don’t want her to lose that.”

  But, the old Julie wouldn’t have written the letter she did to Sean. She wouldn’t be sitting in the tack room on a Sunday afternoon, air conditioning or no. She wouldn’t smile at him, let him tease her, let him touch her. Wouldn’t make love with him, frequently, with such sweet abandon. Oh, she might toss him the occasional crumb of affection, but he’d never know which returned gesture he’d pay for.

  He wanted to keep this Julie, who was most like the pre-Ben Julie. But what was he to do? What could he do?

  “We won’t tell her until Monday.”

  “Thank you—”

  He raised a hand. “But ... let’s give your mom a chance, okay? People can change. She might surprise you.”

  A knock on the stall wall got Rick’s attention. They both turned to see Angelina standing in the doorway.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rousseau,” Rachel said.

  “Angelina. Please.”

  Rick shook his head, caught first Rachel’s eye, then Angelina’s. “Mrs. Rousseau,” he said.

  Rachel sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  “You keep going,” he told Rachel. “Put fresh bedding in here before starting the next. It’s hot out today. We gotta start bringing some of them in.”

  He walked to Angelina, exited the stall while re-pocketing his bandana. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Rick, I just wanted to thank you again for taking in Godiva last night.”

  Rick lifted a full wheelbarrow, motioned with his chin. “I gotta go that way.”

  Angelina stepped aside, brushed against the open stall door. “Oh. Sorry.”

  How she expected to keep from ruining those pale, silk blouses she always wore to the barn, Rick didn’t know.

  “Be right back.”

  He walked past, catching a full whiff of her hypnotic perfume. Somehow it wasn’t too strong, but still covered the odor of horse dung. Bet she’d spent as much on that as she had those pretty boots.

  Rick pushed the laden wheelbarrow down the walkway in front of the stalls, around the end of the arena, and out to the rapidly growing pile of manure. How would he keep up with all the chores around here, with Sean gone and Rachel in summer school? Ben just wasn’t big enough yet for heavy work.

  I’ll make do, he thought, tipping the wheelbarrow up, the manure out. Rachel didn’t know it, but she’d have to earn the right to go to that sleepover. The two days between the regular term and the beginning of summer school, she’d be driving the tractor and moving this manure pile out to the back pasture.

  Rick returned to the stalls, parked the wheelbarrow outside the next one in line.

  Angelina stood to the side. “I brought my own tack today. I have a locker in the trailer. Mind if I keep it here? Outside her stall?”

  “Be safer in the tack room.”

  “It’s got a lock. Unless keeping it here’s in the way.”

  “Behind me, over against the wall will be fine then. So it doesn’t block the sliders.”

  “Of course. Sorry. I forgot your doors don’t swing open, they slide.” She paused, stood fidgeting with her hands. “Maybe you could help me move it.”

  “Trailer unlocked?”

  “Yes.”

  He motioned to Ben. “Hey, buddy, come help me get some stuff for Mrs. Rousseau’s mare.”

  They moved the locker; Rick was happy to find it had sturdy steel casters. They pushed it in place across from Godiva’s stall, locked the wheels. Ben dashed back to his stack of water buckets.

  Angelina opened the locker. Her alligator, wingtip boots flexed as she knelt and reached inside. She pulled out a new, emerald green lead rope, and stood.

  “You might want to keep some extra boots here.”

  She glanced down. “Why? Are these kind not allowed?”

  “If you want to ruin $4,000 boots.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged. “They’re just boots to me.”

  Clearly he’d made her uncomfortable. Which wasn’t his goal. So he changed the subject. “Which vet do you use? Ben’s updating my board.”

  “Dr. Bohanan.”

  “Pete?”r />
  “Yeah.”

  “Good doc. Oversees several boarders I’ve got here, as well as mine.”

  She gestured with the rope still in her hand. “Mind if I bring in Godiva?”

  “Not at all. I’ll walk with you. Show you which fences are on. They’re all wired, just not all live. ”

  “That would be good to know.” They continued to the corral. “Special morning at church today for your son.”

  “You were there?”

  “Nicholas and I attend on occasion. When he’s not traveling on business. We sit in the back.”

  “Sean leaves Tuesday for Fort Sill. He’s going into artillery.”

  “Quite a step from southern Alabama, home, and The Barn Church.”

  “Big one, at that.” They stopped at the corral gate. “The gate and this side are dead, the three others on this pen are live.”

  “Got it.” She placed both pinkies in her mouth and whistled. Godiva meandered over, stretched toward her owner. Angelina stroked the horse’s muzzle. “There’s my girl.”

  Rick chuckled. “You’ve got her trained.”

  “I work her a lot.”

  “You don’t mind my asking, yours that big spread, sits back off Plantation Road?”

  “It is.”

  “Lots of land. Already fenced and cross-fenced. Why pay to board her? Why not keep her there? No stables?” Money like she obviously had, she could certainly afford to build them.

  Angelina’s hand stilled, then she looked over at Rick. “You know how horses don’t like being alone, travel in herds? Call one another when they’re in the stalls?”

  Rick nodded. A breeze fluttered her hair, sending the scent of her perfume in his direction.

  “Well,” she said softly. “I don’t like being alone either.”

  ***

  Her son would be leaving in two short days. How was that possible?

  Julie sat beside Rick and opposite Sean at the kitchen table in their quiet house. Rick had dropped a bug in Ben and Rachel’s ears, and cash in her mother’s hand, successfully sending them out the door and to the Downtown Diner for sundaes.

  Eighteen years and nine months ago, she’d been pregnant and in labor with her firstborn. Rick had stayed with her through all thirty-six hours, napping only when she did. At 8:43 p.m. she pushed Sean Richard Matthews into the world, then cried for joy as she first held her screaming, dark-haired son.