Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series)

by Aaron D. Gansky

  His Julie. Sitting still. And calm, well, calmer. Not insisting she was right, not pecking him to death over every tiny discrepancy between them. Was she really changing?

  “What do we do?” she asked again.

  Her question made him antsy. And he realized she didn’t have a plan. Julie always had a plan, a better plan. Or the Julie of the last seven years did.

  He released her. “Show me the invoices and payments first. Then we’ll look at the balance sheet.”

  “Good idea,” she said, and he nearly fell over.

  If they weren’t at odds all the time, they could actually work together toward a goal. Which meant he better have a goal. He was the leader, and he best get to it instead of living as a spectator, watching her grow by leaps and bounds.

  “You’re doing an awful lot of talking this week.”

  Her hand stilled on the mouse. “I think I need to, don’t you?”

  “It’ll set you back more, won’t it?”

  “You don’t want me to talk?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  She sighed. “Then as long as we’re talking I need to ask you about something you said last Friday. When we had that awful fight before I had the wires removed.”

  “As long as you won’t accuse me of anything.”

  He felt himself freeze, preparing for the coming hit, and was immediately disgusted with himself. What good would her changing do, if he didn’t change, too? Even if she never said another unkind word, if he lived anticipating being hurt, he was still living as a victim, wasn’t he?

  Her brow furrowed. “Since I can’t see them, what are your wounds?”

  The dead-last thing he’d expected her to ask.

  He swallowed. “I never knew if I was allowed to touch you. If you’d welcome it or be irritated that I wanted to.”

  A tear crawled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You made me feel stupid. For being a man. For wanting my wife. Everything I tried to do to help you or just be near you—I felt like I bothered you, like a sandspur in a shoe.”

  “I was wrong. Terribly wrong—something my mother’s never said to me. I’m so sorry I turned you away. What can I do to help you heal?”

  He couldn’t look away from her. “Will it hurt you if I kiss you?”

  “I don’t think so.” She stared into his eyes. “Do you want to?”

  Rick nodded. Gently, he touched his lips to hers, let them linger to see who would pull back first.

  She raised a hand to his chest and he thought she meant to push him away. Then her hand fisted in his shirt and she held on while he reveled in the smell of her, the nearness of her. Her acceptance of him.

  For the first time Rick could remember, Julie didn’t pull back first.

  ***

  Rachel Matthews, Mrs. Tate’s English class, summer session:

  Friday, June 27:

  Everything in my life has changed. And I do mean everything.

  Mr. Larl’s funeral was this morning. Mom took me. We saw Britney there and told her we were sorry for her loss. (I’d already told her the same thing the day of the fire.) She and I aren’t friends or anything, just maybe no longer enemies.

  Sean loves Basic Training. I got an email from him last night. Which means he won’t fail and get sent home. He’s probably moved out for good.

  Ben—I can’t believe I’m thinking this way and saying this—isn’t little anymore. He got a military haircut, which somehow makes him look older and taller, and he’s been initiated into the drama that is our family. I really thought he was oblivious. Turns out he was smart enough to avoid as much as he could.

  My dad has always been my hero, but he’s not as perfect as I thought. Which isn’t really a change in him I guess. More like now I’m seeing the whole picture.

  My mother is the biggest news of the year. First, she apologized for saying things that hurt me all the time. I didn’t believe her. Until I found out she apologized to Ben, too.

  And she keeps apologizing to Daddy over and over, even in front of me. She asked me to tell her when she says something that hurts me, so she can apologize right then.

  She’s been tucking me in bed at night. Not that I need to be tucked in, I am fourteen. She crawls under my covers with me and we talk. Mom even sings to me when I ask her. She hadn’t sung to me since before Ben was born.

  What most makes me believe she’s changing is she let me sit with her at the piano. She’s teaching me to play again and said I could practice anytime.

  I hadn’t planned on doing it. And probably if I’d thought about it, I wouldn’t have. But yesterday I was sitting at the piano, just picking at the melody of one of my favorite songs and I started singing it. Softly at first, but then I guess I got louder and kind of lost myself in the song.

  Mom came back from the barn. I don’t know how long she stood there listening to me (I had my eyes closed. In the zone, you know?). She was crying but she was smiling. And get this—she said I have a really great voice, a cross between Bonnie Raitt and Alison Krauss. “Soulful yet smooth.”

  She’s going to teach me everything she knows about singing. Breathing, posture, she’s even gonna help me expand my range!

  She sat by me at the piano and her cell phone rang. I answered. It was Carmine, Mom’s vocal coach from before the accident. He’s been trying to talk her into traveling somewhere to do the audition she missed.

  She moved into the kitchen and said, “I can’t, Carmine. Singing professionally will require me to be on permanent voice rest at home. I can’t live that way, never talking to my family.”

  Mom never told me that. I think I wasn’t supposed to know.

  Then she said, “No, I really can’t leave my family. I cannot leave my husband right now.” She said good-bye and hung up, then came back to sit by me on the bench.

  Our eyes met, and I knew another reason why Mom won’t leave, even though we’ve never discussed a particular someone.

  “Angelina’s hot for Dad,” I said.

  Mom’s hands slipped on the keys.

  “What?” I asked. “Did you think I didn’t know? Dad’s the only one who doesn’t see that forest for the trees.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “You are much smarter than I gave you credit for.”

  We didn’t talk about it after that, but I knew both of us were still thinking about it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Did Rachel really see right through Angelina?

  Julie finished rolling the second coat of pale mint on the guest room walls, determined to keep herself occupied and not spend the weekend in the barn keeping an eye out for Angelina’s arrival. But she still couldn’t get the thought out of her head.

  She’d tried. Thursday while she played and Rachel sang.

  Later when she picked up Ben from day camp, she listened intently as he shared every detail of his visit to Benson’s Hardware. His name wasn’t chosen to ride along on a forklift, but he did get to practice using a drill, a power washer, and a table saw. “I cut right on the line,” Ben said. He now planned to be a building contractor when he grew up—which made her remember Angelina’s contractor and plumbing problems.

  She’d set the question aside again yesterday during Mr. Larl’s funeral.

  When she’d returned home and gone to the barn to show Rick the last few aspects of the accounting program, Rick had gotten a call. While he’d talked with someone who wanted to buy a horse, she’d done her exercises, progressing so far as to get three fingers into her mouth.

  That’s when Angelina and the vet arrived.

  Humiliation didn’t even begin to express how she’d felt—neither did mortified or embarrassed, for that matter—when they’d found her with half her hand in her mouth. Did a word even exist that meant all three, wrapped up in the fear that if Rick even accidentally compared her to Angelina and saw the differences, he’d reach for the other woman?

  Julie grabbed the paint can and a brush, and started on the trim.


  She’d done the only thing she could yesterday afternoon—fled home to her room. And called Laurie. She didn’t tell her about Angelina, but she shamelessly asked for encouragement, a scripture to look up, anything that would help her know what to do and how to think when she and Rick didn’t see eye-to-eye. Her friend suggested paying careful attention to the early verses in the small book of James, verses Julie had already been studying.

  So she’d read them again. The opening lines about asking God for wisdom gave her comfort. The next to last verse about controlling one’s tongue being a vital part of pure religion, held renewed conviction.

  Yet the middle sections most caught her attention. First, the systematic description of how one can be drawn by temptation, caught and controlled by it.

  Angelina, Julie had thought. Had Rick ever read this passage?

  Second, the admonition to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” If there were ever a verse that should have had Julie’s name on it, this would be it.

  “Quick to hear,” indeed. And “slow to anger”? Controlling one’s anger over petty concerns was one thing. But could Julie remain calm when she knew she was right?

  She was right about Angelina. She knew it in her bones, but didn’t want to fight with Rick about it. How did a couple learn to disagree nicely, while still loving each other?

  She climbed down the stepladder, surveyed and approved the transformation from Laurie’s brilliant suggestion of the quiet green. If she hurried, she could take Rick another thermos of tea before hauling the children back with her for bed.

  The children met her halfway, wanting to catch a television show. Thermos in hand, she found Rick clearing the largest stall of old bedding and waste.

  “Looks like you could use some of this.” Through the back window, stars twinkled to life in a soft navy sky. The night was hot and heavy with moisture and mosquitoes.

  “Thanks. Leave it in the tack room.”

  “You should leave that until tomorrow.” Why hadn’t she noticed this before? His tenacity to complete a monotonous task. She’d overlooked so many things she should have been grateful for.

  “Can’t. Vet’s coming to induce Godiva in about an hour.”

  “Tonight? You’re moving her in here for delivery?”

  “Yeah. Pete’s wife had a death in the family. Cousin or some such. Got to travel for the funeral. Pete’s afraid to let Godiva go any longer, and afraid to not be here. So we’re gonna do it tonight before his family drives north in the morning.”

  “But you’re so tired.” She knew he was so, so tired.

  He spread fresh hay, prepping for Angelina’s mare to deliver. “Yeah. But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it?” He didn’t cease his task.

  “I don’t want to fight with you. I hate fighting with you, but I can’t be quiet about something dangerous you either don’t or won’t see.”

  He gave her a look. “Angelina’s about as dangerous as the foals she’s so eager to see.”

  Slow to anger. Slow to anger.

  He lifted the laden wheelbarrow and pushed it out to the dung pile. She followed. His cell phone slipped out of the clip at his belt and they stopped; she bent to pick it up.

  Be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.

  Control your words. Don’t hit him with them. Love him with them. Let him see the change.

  She made herself maintain eye contact. She forced herself to keep her defenses down, facing him, her eyes open all the way to her soul.

  “She wants you. She knows what I look like and she thinks she can lure you away from your family.”

  He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm and looked at her.

  “What you look like, or what you think you look like, has no effect whatsoever on what I do and don’t do. I didn’t marry you because of how you look. I married you because I love you, and in our entire marriage I have never given you any reason to doubt my fidelity.”

  She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. “You’re right. You haven’t.”

  But had she set the stage for him to unknowingly respond to a beautiful stranger’s encouragement and praise?

  “And I’m not saying you will. I’m saying this woman is dangerous.” She cupped her hands as if holding precious glass. “Right now we’re fragile. We have to be careful.”

  He dumped out the manure and turned to her. “I don’t have to be anything. I’m not weak, and I won’t break my promise to you, ever.”

  She stepped toward him and raised a tentative hand to his forearm. “You’re right. Again, you’re absolutely right. But I broke my promise to you.”

  The admission scorched her throat.

  “I didn’t cherish you. I didn’t honor you with my words or my actions.” Her voice became a whisper. “Many times I wasn’t even a good friend, let alone a good wife.”

  She watched him process, as the origin of every nick, every scar, was traced back to her, his wife and his worst critic. She saw him stop at the point of decision and found herself wishing that this time, he would take a little more time, debate a little longer before choosing a path.

  God, please, please help me say this right. Please give me the words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Those two words aren’t enough, I know, but they’re all I have. Rick, I’m so sorry.”

  “I appreciate them. But I reserve the right to not agree with you on everything.”

  In her hand his cell phone chimed. A text from Angelina. Julie passed it to Rick.

  His expression didn’t change as he read and texted back.

  “Angelina and the vet will be here within the hour. She wants to be here.”

  Julie stepped back. “Of course. It’s her right, her horse.”

  He looked at her with those steady eyes. “You could stay, you know. Or come back after you tell the kids what’s going on—I don’t want them here in case something goes wrong. And no, I’m not saying that because I’m afraid to be alone with Angelina.”

  He removed his filthy gloves, shoved them in his back pocket, and rubbed a clean hand over his dirty chin.

  “You hardly ever said yes to me, Julie, for years. Say yes this time. Come back and spend the night with me and a horse.”

  She pressed her fingers to her own lips.

  He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. You, me, and another woman. She’s not. She’s an owner. A client.” He pulled her fingers down. “Come back this time, Julie. Be my friend and my wife.”

  Rick didn’t wait for her answer. He pushed the wheelbarrow to its place and retrieved Godiva from the arena, walked her to the clean stall.

  He’s so gentle, Julie thought. I took advantage of that.

  And at the same time, she’d resented when that gentleness wasn’t aimed at her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m saying yes, Rick.”

  ***

  They were the prettiest colts Rick had ever seen. Two beige boys with blond manes just like their mama’s.

  Outwardly, they had nothing of their chestnut-colored father. But Trident’s personality was evident in both, especially in the youngest and smallest who’d emerged at two-thirds the size of his brother. Zeus may have been the oldest of Godiva’s sons, but Apollo was indeed a fighter, as Angelina had hoped him to be.

  From where he sat on the soiled bedding, Rick extended a hand to his friend, Pete. “I’m really glad you were here.”

  “Seemed the safest thing all around. Usually I’d stay through the first 24 hours. But I can’t this time.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  Rick stayed where he was, watching Zeus nurse on wobbly legs, while Angelina fed Apollo from a bottle. The baby wasn’t quite strong enough to stand on his own yet, but with round-the-clock care for the next few days, he would be. Despite the odds, he’d been born whole.

  Pete packed his things while giving Angelina detailed instructions. Rick already knew the drill, but fi
gured she needed to hear it from Pete.

  He scooted back to where Julie sat leaning against the wall.

  “It’s amazing every time.” Her words slurred with exhaustion.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “Their labor is so quick compared to humans. You know they’re hurting, you can see it in their eyes. But they know what to do, they just trust the process.”

  “Think you could stand doing this more often? Maybe not nighttime inductions, but stick with me for births?”

  She turned to look at him. “Why?”

  “Nate Jordan and I are kicking around the idea of breeding and selling. He wants to stud Trident. I figure we breed, train, and sell, split the profits.”

  “Rachel would love that.”

  “You should go on to the house. Shower and bed.” They were both smeared with blood and amniotic fluid. “I’ll get Rachel in a couple hours. She can take the early morning shift with Apollo.”

  He could see on her face that she didn’t want to leave. She looked at him, but she didn’t argue. And for once, the look she gave wasn’t one a general would give an idiot subordinate.

  She stood. “You’re right about the shower and bed. Eat something when you come get Rachel, okay? You can’t stay up all night, not sleep and not eat.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He reached for her hand. She grasped his fingers, squeezed and released.

  “Good night, Angelina. Congratulations,” Julie said and left.

  Pete made them promise to call if any problems arose, said his goodbyes.

  Rick shook his head against sleep-deprived double vision. Pushed himself up from the floor.

  “I’m going to wash up in the tack room, grab a bottled water. You want one?”

  She looked up at him from her place on the floor. “I’ll get one when he’s finished. Second bottle’s going down good. He’s a hungry thing.” She smiled up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’m so relieved they’re both all right.”

  “So am I.”

  In the bathroom, Rick peeled off his soaked shirt and washed his torso, arms, and face in the sink. He toweled dry, ran wet hands through his hair, then rummaged the tack room cabinets searching for a clean t-shirt. He straightened and pulled the shirt over his head.