“It’s going to be noisy, kind of like your papa’s tractor.”
“Okay.” He sounded a little nervous.
Nate started the engine and felt Zach’s fingers grip his shirt sleeve. “Are you all right, son?”
The term was commonly used in Texas when a man talked to a younger male or even one his own age. It shouldn’t have caused the sharp stab of longing in Nate’s heart or the sudden lump in his throat.
As he maneuvered the controls and set the stripper in motion, he barely noticed Zach nod his head. A few minutes later, the little boy stretched his neck to see the front of the stripper, then twisted around to watch the cotton shoot into the basket and laughed in delight.
Please, Jesus, I want him to be my son.
17
Jenna moved into her grandparents’ house later in the week, so she’d only taken Zach to the farm once more to watch Nate and his parents work in the field. But that hadn’t stopped her son from asking about the cotton stripper and the boll buggy half a dozen times a day. Or from pestering his grandfather in his sweet little way—“Papa, we go tractor?”—until her dad broke down and took him for a ride.
During the transition to the new house, they’d eaten with her folks as usual. It didn’t appear that the tradition would change much anytime soon, unless Zach’s tiptoeing into the terrible twos became a full-blown assault. He did pretty well most of the time but had a couple of meltdowns when it was time for them to go home.
Jenna worried that she was damaging her son emotionally by taking him out of his familiar and secure environment. Had moving to a house of their own been a mistake? Her mom had reassured her that his behavior was typical for his age, and that he wasn’t nearly as bad as she or her brothers had been.
Within a week, he’d pretty well adjusted to sleeping in a different place. He seemed to realize that much of their previous routine was the same. She spent time at the ranch house working on the books and keeping the Callahan Ranch website up to date. Zach had gone to day care on the mornings she worked at the mission as usual. She could keep him with her without any trouble, but he loved playing with his friends, most of whom were a year or two older than he was. Being the only little kid at the ranch, he needed more opportunities than Sunday school to be with other children.
A few minutes before noon on Thursday, they moseyed down the road to join the family for dinner. Noting Nate’s truck parked out front, she walked a little faster. Zach spotted it too, and broke into a run. Nate had been riding pasture on a far corner of the ranch since Monday, so they hadn’t seen him.
Jogging after Zach, she caught up with him at the porch steps. He held on to the lower railing beside the steps and walked up all by himself, something she still marveled at. She was proud of his accomplishments, but her baby was growing up too fast.
When they walked through the front door, she noticed Chance sprawled out on the couch, dozing. She touched Zach on the shoulder, stopping him, and knelt down. “Be real quiet,” she whispered. “Uncle Chance is asleep.”
Zach studied his uncle before he walked very quietly behind the red leather sofa, halting at the end where Chance’s head rested on a Navajo patterned pillow propped against the arm. Her folks stepped out of the kitchen and stopped. When Jenna started to go after Zach, her mom grinned and shook her head. They waited to see what he would do.
Zach eased around the end of the couch until his face was right in front of Chance’s. He breathed on him for a full minute. Chance’s lip twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes. Zach leaned a little closer, resting his forearms on the sofa cushion. “What you doin’?”
Chance kept his eyes closed. “I’m sleeping.”
“No, you talking.”
Chance laughed and hauled him up on his chest in a hug. “Hi, squirt. I can’t fool you, can I?”
Zach shook his head. He wiggled around until he was sitting up. “You drive bulldozer?”
“I did. I moved a whole bunch of dirt around this morning. You’ll have to come out to the job site and check it out. We’re building a new house.”
“You go to work?” Zach climbed down with a little help.
Chance held on to him until his feet were firmly on the floor, then he sat up. “After dinner. Maybe your mom will bring you out there so you can see it.”
Zach turned to Jenna. “You go to work?”
“How about we do that tomorrow morning?” She looked at her brother. “If you’ll still be using the dozer then.”
“I will.”
The little boy swung around to face Chance. “Okay, I go to work too.”
“Tomorrow.”
Zach considered it, almost pouted, then nodded. “’Morrow.”
Will and Nate strolled in from the patio, and Jenna’s heartbeat speeded up. She’d missed him. His gaze met hers, and warmth filled his eyes. Seconds later, tension tightened his face. Had he and Will been discussing something that upset him?
Chance stood and stretched while Jenna’s mom related how Zach had awakened him. As the others laughed, Nate attempted a half-hearted smile. Something wasn’t right.
“Sis, I keep tellin’ you that Chance is a bad influence on Zach.” Will slanted a glance at his brother. “Not only is he lazy, sleeping away half the morning, but he wants to turn him into a contractor instead of a cowboy. He’s filling that child’s head with thoughts of driving bulldozers, backhoes, and cement trucks.”
“Hey, it’s not my machinery the kid’s been jabberin’ about all week. No, sir.” Chance sidled away from the coffee table and moved into an open area facing Will and Nate. “That boy is excited about cotton strippers and tractors and boll buggies. If you’re going to blame somebody for corrupting him, blame Nate.” Chance grinned at Nate.
He didn’t smile back. A hard glint flashed through his silver eyes before they darkened to a thunderous blue.
But Chance didn’t notice. No one seemed to but Jenna. A spark of mother’s intuition—or a nudge from the Lord— prompted her to scoot around and pick up Zach. She moved behind one of the sofas. “So what’s for dinner?”
Either no one heard her or they chose to ignore such a dumb question. Anyone who’d ever eaten Ramona’s spaghetti knew that’s what they were having. The distinctive aroma filled the whole house.
Chance shook his head. “Luring him over to your place with rides on the cotton stripper or taking him on the tractor and towing the boll buggy. Showin’ him how to squish all that purty fluffy cotton into a big hard lump. It’s sad, just sad.”
“Knock it off, Chance.” Nate flexed his fingers, but he kept his hands at his sides. He shifted his legs, one foot slightly in front of the other. His jaw tightened and his face grew flushed.
Jenna decided her whole family had suddenly become obtuse. “Chance, let it go,” she said softly.
Both her brothers sent her a questioning glance, but when they were in tease mode, they were hard to stop.
“Yes, sir. It’s a downright shame that you’re trying to turn that boy into a sodbuster. ” Chance started forward, extending his hand as if he might pat Nate on the shoulder to emphasize his point. “A tractor wrangler. A pumpkin rol—”
In a fluid movement, Nate pushed Chance’s arm aside, caught him mid-step with one leg, and swept his feet out from under him. One second her brother was standing up laughing; the next he was flat on his back on the floor. With a snarl, Nate dropped to one knee, looming above Chance.
“Nate!” Jenna furiously tried to think of a way to stop him, but how? What would he do? Ramona and Ace came running from the kitchen, halting in the dining room.
He drew his hand back to his shoulder, his fingers closing almost into a fist aimed at her brother’s face.
“Hey!” Will lunged, grabbing him from behind, and caught hold of his arm.
Nate dipped his shoulder and rolled Will over it, throwing him on the other side of Chance. Will’s head bounced against the hardwood floor with a loud thud.
“Nate, stop!” Jen
na held Zach close. But he twisted around, watching the fight with wide, frightened eyes, and began to wail.
Still kneeling over Chance, Nate straightened and drew his hand and arm back again.
Dub moved around behind his boys. “Nate, stand down.” His voice was strong, calm, and filled with a note of authority that Jenna had never heard before.
Nate blinked and hesitated.
When Will started to get up, ready to renew the fight, her father nudged his shoulder with the toe of his boot and ordered quietly, “Don’t move, son. Both of you stay where you are.”
Will slumped back to the floor.
“Stand down, Nate,” her father repeated. His stance appeared nonthreatening, but Jenna knew he would pounce on Nate if he had to.
Nate scowled at Will and Chance. Then he glanced down at the way he was positioned on the floor, and confusion clouded his eyes.
Zach quit screaming and clung to Jenna, inhaling on a silent shudder. She cuddled him against her shoulder and rubbed his back. “It’s okay, honey,” she whispered. “Everything is all right now.”
How she wished that were true, but it wasn’t. Tears streamed down her face and her heart ached—for her frightened little boy, for her brothers and a lifetime of trust and friendship that may have been destroyed, for herself and her fear of the man she loved. But most of all, she ached for Nate—for the wounds to his heart and soul, for the inner torment that he endured even now, for the experiences that brought him such pain. Lord Jesus, heal him, comfort him. Help us to do what’s right.
Nate turned his head, staring at his still-clenched hand. The blood drained from his face as the implication of the situation became clear. He slowly uncurled his fingers and lowered his hand and arm. As he focused on Will and Chance again, sorrow filled his face. They slowly leaned up on their elbows and warily watched him. He looked at her dad, and Dub held out his hand to help him up.
Nate shook his head and pushed himself to a standing position. It seemed to take all the energy he had. Pale, his shoulders drooping, he began to tremble.
“Nate, come sit down,” her father said gently. His kindness surprised Jenna. Hauling Nate out of there and giving him a good tongue-lashing, if not a plain old thrashing, was more his style. Normally, Dub didn’t tolerate any kind of threat to his family.
Instead, Nate took a step backward, turned, and met Jenna’s gaze. She gasped at the bleak emptiness in his eyes, the despair in his soul. Still clinging to her, Zach sniffed and took a shuddering breath. Tears filled Nate’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Stumbling slightly, he hurried toward the front door.
“Nate, wait.” Jenna started after him, but her mother caught her arm, halting her.
“Let him go, honey. He needs time to get his bearings.”
He jerked the door open and bolted outside, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
Jenna watched through the open doorway as he ran unsteadily to his pickup. She tried to tug free, but her mother held tight. “No, Mom. He shouldn’t be alone. He’s distraught.” They didn’t know how that felt, what it might cause him to do. A memory burned through her mind.
She stared at the bottle of sleeping pills. Dumped them into her hand. Curled her fingers around them. Picked up the glass of water with her other hand. She wanted so desperately to end the heartache of Jimmy’s rejection and abandonment. To ease the pain of her worthlessness. A baby’s cry broke through her despair. Stopped her. Zach needed her. She had to live for him.
A wave of panic swept through her. “What if he tries . . . tries to hurt himself?”
“Better him than you.” Rubbing the back of his head, Will let his dad help him up. “He’s been eatin’ loco weed with his Wheaties. We should call the sheriff.”
“Nobody is going to call the sheriff.” Dub gripped Will’s shoulder. “Understand me?”
Will nodded reluctantly, then frowned at Jenna. “But you stay away from him.”
Chance hauled himself to his feet. “I agree.” He sighed heavily. “It’s my fault. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I noticed he was annoyed, but I thought I could tease him out of it.”
“You and Nate have joked with each other all your lives,” said her mom. “You had no reason to think he wouldn’t go along with it like he always does.”
Chance walked over to the window and shook his head as Nate spun his wheels, then roared down the road. “I should have picked up on how upset he was.” He studied Will, who eased down in the big red chair and impatiently let their mother inspect the lump on his head. She murmured that he needed ice and went to the kitchen. “He didn’t seem real happy when y’all walked in. Were you on his case about something?”
Will glanced at Dub and hesitated. “He was supposed to mend a stretch of fence down by Muddy Creek this morning. I drove past there on my way to check the cattle in Red Ridge and spotted him asleep in the pickup. He’s been lookin’ worn out lately, so I let him sleep. I figured he’d rest a little and then get it done.
“When I came back by, he was gone. That was fine since it was time to head home to eat. Part of the broken section had been fixed, but the rest hadn’t been touched. I figured he’d go back and finish it this afternoon. When we were outside, I mentioned it, and he looked at me like I was one taco short of a combo plate. He said he didn’t need to go back; he’d fixed the whole thing.
“I told him that he was mistaken, there was still some left to do. He was emphatic that he’d done the job before he rested.” A worried frown creased his forehead. “I think he really believed he’d fixed that fence.”
Sue walked back in and handed Will one of the flat cold compresses they kept on hand in the freezer. She and Dub exchanged a glance as he sank down on one end of the couch.
“When he ran away from the bonfire, he didn’t remember pushing his way through the crowd.” Jenna cradled Zach against her shoulder, gently rocking back and forth. He was almost asleep.
Her mom sat down right next to her dad. She looked at Chance and patted the cushion beside her, then motioned for Jenna to sit across from them on the other couch. After they were all seated, she said, “Nate has the classic signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“How do you know?” When Zach stirred, Jenna rubbed his back. He settled down and snuggled closer to her neck.
“I had it when I came home from Viet Nam.” Dub focused on his hands and absently picked at a fingernail. “According to a psychologist with the Veterans Administration, I still have it. For most people, it never goes away completely.”
Chance leaned forward to see him better, resting his forearms on his thighs. “What do you mean, Dad? How does it affect you?”
“Now, it’s mostly the memories that occasionally bother me. You know how I get emotional sometimes when I see something about the current war on television, or sometimes when you boys get me to talkin’ about how things were in Nam.”
Jenna and her brothers nodded. Sometimes he was fine when he was telling war stories. Other times, he’d suddenly choke up, even shed a few tears and cut it short. She thought of the times her brothers had tuned into a war movie on television, and her dad left the room.
“The last year or so, I’ve been more forgetful. I blamed it on gettin’ old, but the doctor said it’s a common symptom that’s showing up a lot these days in Viet Nam vets. He said memory problems are affecting the current vets much sooner.”
“When your dad came home from the war, he was a lot like Nate. Jumpy, always on alert, had trouble sleeping.” Sue reached for her husband’s hand, resting it on her thigh. “Nate is probably having nightmares, reliving incidents in his dreams or possibly dreaming about something that he feared the most. Dub kicked me out of bed once.”
Will lowered the ice pack. “What was that about?”
“We figured out later that I was dreaming my helicopter was shot down. I was fighting off the Viet Cong.” He smiled wryly at Sue. “Hit your mom with
a blade kick right in the rear end. She flew out of bed and hit the wall.”
“I wasn’t hurt, but it served as a good warning. The next time he started mumbling in his sleep, I bailed out of bed pronto. Good thing too, because I’d no more than stood up when his fist hit my pillow. It happened so often that I kept an extra blanket at the foot of the bed. When he started moving around and mumbling, I’d grab the blanket and my pillow and go sleep on the couch for a while.
“Then one night before I left the room, I understood what he was saying. He was giving a mayday call. So I stayed in the room until the dream was over and he woke up. After I told him what I’d heard, he remembered part of the dream.”
“It was the last time I ever had that nightmare. I’ve had different ones occasionally over the years, but none where your mom had to run for her life. We both slept better after that. But I had other problems—a need for adrenaline rushes for one thing. So I drove fast and took up bull riding.”
“That ended when Dynamite stomped on his leg and broke it.”
“Later, I began having trouble with my temper. Rage that came out of nowhere for no reason.”
“You haven’t done that in a long time,” said Will.
“Not as much. When it does happen, I can control it better. But it really affected me when y’all were growing up. It was hard on all of you.”
No one said anything. For several years the whole family had walked on eggshells, never knowing what would set him off or when. He’d never hit any of them, but he’d thrown Will and Chance to the ground a couple of times.
Jenna swallowed hard. Like Nate had done a few minutes before.
“God has helped me a lot these last fifteen years. Healed a lot of wounds I didn’t know I had. Most people weren’t aware of PTSD in those days. I’ve read lately that there were some folks studying it back then, trying to figure out what was going on. But I don’t think many vets knew about the research and possible treatments.”
“We didn’t know what it was,” said her mom. “We just knew the war had changed him. We muddled through on our own, with love and God’s help.”
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