But after Ben came all of that stopped. And every time I tried to play the piano, Mom said I did it wrong. I played too loud. I played too fast. Or my hands were in the wrong position. Who cares?
So, I stopped trying to play the piano and started learning about horses from my dad.
No one knows this, but sometimes when I’m alone with the horses, I sing to them. They always listen. And they don’t care if I mess up every note.
When Daddy and I talked weeks ago about Mom eventually getting her voice back, he said I should give Mom a chance to change. Now, they’re not kissing in front of me anymore; I guess she hasn’t.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, Rick entered the barn by predawn moonlight. Barn swallows chirped in the rafters, one darted past him, and the horses whinnied as he headed to the tack room then Dutch’s stall. He brushed Dutch, admiring the black Morgan, who had one of the finest muscular builds Rick had ever seen.
“Good boy. Let’s go for a ride.”
He placed a blanket on the horse’s back, lifted the saddle into place. Left the horse standing on the concrete walkway in front of the stalls, while he grabbed his hat and a handful of peppermint candy from the tack room. To Dutch, it was never too early to enjoy candy. Rick led the horse out, his hooves clopping. He gave the horse a treat and took one himself. The last few stars faded as he mounted.
They proceeded in near silence over damp ground. The gentle sway, that smooth gait, made Rick smile. The first rays of dawn shot up over the horizon. He adjusted his hat, watched the dew glisten on grass. He pulled the reins and turned south. Just like humans, horses didn’t like having the sun in their eyes.
The red shift came first, casting a hazy glow over his land. His land. Gone were the high school days of Rick working as a hired hand on Junior Burch’s ranch. The days of him and Julie living as newlyweds in an ancient, twelve-by-forty mobile home to the left of the driveway. When old man Burch died, his grieving, childless widow no longer wanted the main house or the land. She up and moved to Kentucky to live out the rest of her life with her spinster sister, and gave Rick the dream of a lifetime.
The red hue burned to an orange slash across the sky as Rick rounded the last fenced pasture. At his command, Dutch picked up his pace, and settled into a steady lope.
Last year, on December 28th to be exact, Rick had mailed the last payment on a fifteen-year mortgage. He owned this land. The home and barn with stables, the pastures, fields, and woods. He’d bought it with blood, with tears, with dreams.
But he’d never dreamed the terrain of his life with Julie would be as treacherous as a minefield.
The last threads of pink speared the sky. Sunlight flashed and the colors of sunrise disappeared. Julie’s accident had been just like that, a flash. And everything changed.
Thankfulness that she hadn’t died had flooded him. His love for her had surged to the surface of his heart. He’d reached out to love, to help, and she’d welcomed what he offered. Even the way she looked at him had changed. The exasperation that showed he’d been judged and found lacking, had vanished. Real love once again shone in his wife’s eyes.
One week had passed since her voice returned. Only seven, twenty-four hour days in almost two decades spent married. Somehow they’d been worse than the last seven years of walking on eggshells. No, walking on shattered glass was more like it. He’d found himself waiting, just waiting and bracing for her to revert back to the person she’d been before the accident.
So he’d pulled back, he knew he had, from her and the closeness they’d regained. A silent Julie, well, he felt safe enough with her. But a Julie who could once again talk ...
“Dear God,” Rick reached the corner of his property and spoke to the morning light. “I love her. I would never leave her. But I don’t think I can tolerate her cutting me to shreds like she used to.”
So where did that leave him? Keeping the peace had always been his goal. Let her talk, let her fuss, end the ruckus quick and easy with silence. If now that her voice had returned, she changed back the way he feared and he spoke up, he’d be forced to deal with the wars he’d worked to avoid for years.
He turned Dutch around. He pulled off his hat, slapped the reins, and spurred Dutch to a full gallop. The animal strained through the morning air, running faster and faster against an invisible competitor.
Rick leaned forward. “Go, boy! No one’s holding you back.”
He laughed aloud when they finally reached the barn. Dutch was panting and sweaty, his muscles quivering from exertion and delight. Rick dismounted and walked the gelding in. He untacked the horse. Hosed him down, and sweat-scraped him. After a few more candies, he sent Dutch into his stall and filled the horse’s water bucket. A distinctive whistle echoed from the indoor arena. Rick strode to the arena gate and saw Angelina.
The dark-haired beauty stood near the far wall beside Godiva, massaging the palomino’s huge belly. Rick opened the gate and walked to them, certain Angelina would hear him and turn. But she didn’t. Her head was bent, her booted foot tapping the reddish sand as she hummed to her horse. Rick hadn’t yet turned on the radio and speakers in the barn. Angelina must be wearing earbuds.
Trying not to frighten her, he made a wide arc and approached from the left. He looked at his watch and entered her line of sight. She glanced up and removed an earbud, but didn’t maintain eye contact.
“Six-twenty a.m.?” He ran a hand down the mare’s neck. “Anything wrong?”
Angelina shrugged. “No. Not really.” She turned away, but somehow a delicate breeze of her perfume blew in his direction. “I just missed her.”
“I know folks who sleep in the barn when a horse is close to foaling. Guess you could if you want.”
She crossed her arms at her waist and her shoulders shook. Rick had a flashback to Julie and the day he’d found her standing in their bathroom, weeping.
“Hey. She’s fine, right? Dr. Bohannon will check her every couple of days if you want.”
She shook her head, squared her shoulders, and turned back to him. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “He performed a sonogram the day before yesterday. Godiva’s great, and so is the busy, healthy colt she’ll deliver in a couple of weeks.”
Rick smiled. Their gazes locked. He stepped closer. “Then may I ask why you’re crying?” His hand rose as if on its own determined journey to touch her hair. He clenched his fist and lowered it back to his side.
“I ...” She rolled the gold chains at her neck between her fine-boned fingers. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Have you ever left your wife?”
He recoiled, but her eyes didn’t waver. “What?”
“Like on business trips. Do you leave her alone? Do most men leave their wives?”
“I guess a lot of folks travel for work, but I’ve only done so a few times. Except for sick kids and having babies, we’d spent only a few nights apart until her accident.”
Angelina sighed and smiled wistfully. “That’s what I thought.” Her tone indicated a change of subject. “So, she’s fully recovered? Everything’s back to normal?”
Rick stepped back. “Yes. She’s almost the same as before.”
“How long before she can sing again? I’ve heard her at church. Your wife has a truly beautiful voice.”
“Well, her voice is back, but the wires won’t be taken off until next week.”
Angelina shook her head, still looking straight at him. “Does she have any idea how lucky she is?”
His cell rang. “Excuse me.” He strode a few feet away and answered. “Hey.”
“You want me to take the kids?”
With her still-bound jaws, she sounded especially snippy. Wasn’t that what he expected?
“If they’re ready, I can take them,” he said.
“I’ll do it. See you when you come in for lunch.” She hung up.
Rick pocketed his phone.
“I’m holding you up.” Angelina led Godiva toward the gate.
&nb
sp; He held it open for her. “No. You’re not.”
She took the mare to her stall, slid the door closed. “You need to go.”
“Angelina.”
She stopped, standing as still as a doe listening for a predator. What man in his right mind would constantly leave a woman like this alone? If he could, why not take her with him? “You’re welcome to stay. Always welcome to stay. You’re not in my way.” He cleared his throat. “But I do have to work. I’ll check on you later if you’re still here.”
He turned and went to the tack room, switched on the radio and the air conditioner. He booted up Julie’s computer and checked first the records, then new emails for any changes in diet affecting morning feedings. Satisfied, he pulled supplements from the cabinets and started mealtime. Knowing Angelina would have already fed Godiva, he bypassed her stall. He filled water buckets and felt his mind settle down to daily tasks.
Rick spent the morning with the farrier. Several horses needed new shoes or adjustments to their old ones. Wanting lunch he walked back to the house, noticing Angelina’s showroom-new, silver Cadillac Escalade no longer sat near the barn.
Julie stood at the kitchen counter, drinking a smoothie. “We have lots of leftovers.”
“That’s fine.”
“I didn’t know what you wanted.”
He opened the fridge, removed several plastic containers. “That’s okay.” His phone rang. “Rick Matthews.”
“Mr. Matthews. This is Vice Principal Edwin Larl. I’m wondering if you and Mrs. Matthews could come to my office?”
“Is this about Rachel? Is she all right?”
“Yes. She’s fine. But this does concern her. I’m sorry to interrupt your day, but it’s important.”
“We’ll be there shortly.”
Rick pocketed his phone and looked at his wife. “That was the vice principal at the school. He needs us to come to his office. It’s about Rachel.”
“Is she all right? What happened?”
“She’s fine. But he wants to talk to us.” He slapped leftovers on a plate, heated it in the microwave while he poured a glass of iced tea. “I only need a minute to eat and change shirts.”
***
Edwin Larl’s office sat on the fourth floor of a hundred-year-old brick building. The old high school now housed the middle school, and as Rick and Julie climbed the “up” staircase, Rick felt as if he’d traveled back in time to his own school days. The same dingy, speckled brown floor tiles edged by the same cracked, black plastic baseboards. The same runny snot-green plaster covered the walls. He thought he smelled the coarse powdered soap that had filled the ancient hanging dispensers, soap which scraped the skin and stung like fire if one’s hands were split from tackles or rope burns. Between football practice, 4-H competitions, and rodeos, his hands had been a source of constant aggravation during his entire high school career.
“Mr. Larl didn’t say why he needed to see us right away?” Julie stopped at the top of the stairwell and looked at him.
Rick had already answered the same question twice while driving over. Persistence was one of his wife’s strongest attributes.
“He didn’t say why. He asked if we could come now and I said yes. I don’t think he’d have called if it wasn’t important.”
Rick placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her down the long hallway lined with metal lockers, around the corner by the bathrooms—there was that distinct soapy smell—to room 416. The sign on the door said Vice Principal. Rick knocked.
“Come in.”
Rick turned the antique, glass doorknob. The wooden door creaked as it swung on large, iron hinges.
From the top of his polished head, to his anchor-tattooed, bulging forearms, to the starched crease of his tan pants, Vice Principal Larl was the epitome of spit and polish. He greeted Rick and shook his hand, nodding to Julie. “Ma’am.” He motioned to a pair of chairs directly in front of a battleship-gray desk, and waited until they were seated to seat himself.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” He looked directly at Rick. “Are you aware of Rachel’s ongoing assignments? What I mean is, you know she has certain requirements she must meet to advance to ninth grade.”
Rick opened his mouth to answer; Julie beat him to it. “Mr. Larl. Rachel spends countless hours on her computer. I’m sure she’s completing all assignments.”
Again Mr. Larl looked straight at Rick. “Mr. Matthews, your daughter is current with her assignments, one of which is a personal journal of several thousand words. She has almost reached the word length requirement. It’s the content that’s become an issue.”
The vice principal’s hound-dog eyes stayed focused on Rick’s. Rick’s senses perked. He saw experience, kindness, even understanding on the saggy face. The old man was trying to tell him something he didn’t want to say in front of Julie.
Beside him, his wife leaned forward. “Mr. Larl. Our daughter doesn’t use profanity, or—”
Rick raised a calming hand. “Hold on, Julie. Let him finish.”
Mr. Larl leaned back and pulled at an extendable key ring attached to his belt. He unlocked a drawer in the metal desk, removed a large manila file, and handed it to Rick. Julie leaned across her chair to read along.
The first page was labeled JOURNAL. Along with Rachel’s name, the teacher’s, and the course title, all centered on a field of white. The second page started with the words “I have been told to keep a journal. To express my deepest feelings—like anyone really cares.”
Rick felt his eyes narrow. He flipped back to the front to confirm this was indeed Rachel’s work, then returned to the second page. The rest of the paragraph had been black-lined, like a top-secret federal document.
The words “I hate middle school. It’s all of these girls who are prettier than me” leapt off the page. There was reference to boys on the football team and how boys that age can be such a nuisance. Then more black. The entire last page of that first entry was blacked-out, line by line by line. So was the second entry.
Rick thumbed to another, which referenced science class. “If my new lab partner Britney-the-blonde-bimbo says one more thing about me having a breast reduction and giving her my extra ...” The date indicated the entry was written during the regular school term. But Rachel had passed science without issue, so that class was over.
Rick looked up at Mr. Larl. “Rachel’s only subject for summer school is English.”
The vice principal nodded and his brow furrowed. “That’s correct. But the student named there is completing her English requirement as well.”
“They’re in the same summer class.”
“Exactly.”
Anger on behalf of his daughter warred with restraint. There was more to this story, he could read it on the man’s weathered face like he read fear or calm on a horse’s.
“Tell us the rest.”
Mr. Larl smiled apologetically. “Mr. Matthews, I appreciate your forbearance. I’ve heard talk about your way with horses. I had hoped that bone-deep diplomacy would extend to humans. Unfortunately, Rachel records many more instances of, well, harassment.”
Julie grabbed the file from Rick’s hands. “Someone’s been bullying our daughter? For weeks? And it’s carried over into summer school?”
“I assure you, the other girl, Britney, is being disciplined.
“Mr. and Mrs. Matthews.” The old man addressed them both, but directed his response to Rick. “This is a very delicate situation. Britney is my granddaughter, if you read further, Rachel mentions this. I’m walking a fine line here trusting your discretion. There are private issues within the family causing Britney great distress. My and my wife’s best efforts to fill the gaps aren’t having the desired effect.”
Julie leaned forward. “So she takes out her unhappiness on our daughter?” She turned to Rick. “Why wouldn’t she tell us?”
Rick grabbed his wife’s hand and she sat back. “Julie, please. Let’s listen.”
Because that
wasn’t all. From the look on the old man’s face, his off-the-charts level of discomfort, Rick knew there was more. The blacked-out portions must mean something else entirely.
He took a deep breath, retrieved the file from Julie. One thing at a time. “Mr. Larl. Has our daughter retaliated in any way?”
“I’m happy to say, no. And embarrassed to say she tolerated it much longer than she should have.”
“Then how did this come to your attention? Did Rachel finally complain?”
The old man paused. “Only in the journal. I admit I didn’t want to think this of my own, hurting grandchild. It’s taken time, but I’ve investigated, questioned students. Britney does pick on—”
“Bully.” Julie interjected.
Mr. Larl sighed. “Yes, bully. Britney does bully your daughter, and demeans her in front of other students. The teachers in general weren’t aware, but her English teacher brought the entries to my attention. Britney is good at being subversive. I’m so very sorry.”
Now Rick leaned forward, tapping the file, which now sat on his lap. “Does Rachel know you’re telling us? Showing us the journal?”
The vice principal nodded an affirmative. His eyes stayed on Rick’s. “We met and discussed the terms of me showing you the journal.”
“Do we need to read all of it?”
“That’s at your discretion. The school board offers counseling for the victim and family in matters such as this. And, of course, the consequences to Britney are being handled.”
Julie crossed her arms. “Why shouldn’t we see our daughter’s schoolwork? Are there more awful things your granddaughter has done to Rachel that you’re not telling us? Is that what those blacked-out sections are?”
The man’s eyes sparked, then pleaded with Rick not to question him further. “Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, you have my utmost sympathy. And you’re free to examine the rest of the file.”
Rick studied Mr. Larl. “We’ll take it with us. You’ll hear from us soon.” He rose, offered a hand. They shook. He ushered a reluctant Julie down the hall. “Wait until we get in the truck to say anything. Then we’ll talk.”
Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series) Page 15