by Ali M. Cross
“Actually, one—” Nix started, but Lindsay cut in.
“Oh, Fi. Katie called earlier. She was wondering if she and David could come over for a visit Saturday night. Since you didn’t want a big party, she hoped you could handle the two of them for an evening. Just to warm you up, she said.”
“Well, that’s super nice of her, but—”
“I said of course that would be great.” Lindsay took a spoonful of soup while Nix frowned at her. He didn’t know everything that was going on but it was obvious Fiona didn’t want to have these people over.
“Lindsay.” Fiona set her spoon down and turned toward her sister. Nix leaned back to try to get out of the way. He noticed Jack and Gavin had their attention fully focused on their food, shoveling spoonfuls into their mouths as if they’d never get another meal in their life. “I told you I’d tell you when I was ready to socialize.”
“I know, but it’s just Katie and David. They were your best friends in high school.”
“Right,” Fiona cut in. “In high school. That was six years ago! I’ve barely stayed in touch with Katie. I’m just—I’m not ready to hang out with them.” She emphasized the words “hang out” as if it was akin to sleeping with snakes.
Lindsay sighed. “Well, I suppose I could call her and tell her you’re just not up to it.”
“Good,” Fiona said.
“Seriously?” Lindsay objected, leaning forward to spear her sister with an incredulous gaze. “You’d cancel on them? You’d make me cancel for you? If you don’t want to do it, then you cancel.”
“What? You just said you’d do it.”
“I said it, but I didn’t mean it. You’re being stupid,” Lindsay said.
“Hey now,” Nix tried to cut in, but the girls were having none of it.
“I’m being stupid?” Fiona said. “You’re the one who invited them over even though you knew I didn’t want to.”
Gavin stood from the table. “Thanks for lunch.” He plucked another roll from the basket and turned for the door without a glance backward.
Jack followed suit. “Yeah, thanks, Lin. Delicious as always.” He threw Nix a meaningful look that Nix interpreted as get the heck out now, while you still can!
But Nix didn’t want to leave Fiona alone to deal with her sister who was, he thought, being entirely unreasonable. He leaned forward to catch a bit of the soup but Fiona pointed a finger toward her sister, blocking off the path to his bowl.
“This is what you always do. Even when Mom was here, you always thought you knew best. Like if everyone did just what Lindsay said, everything would be oh so perfect. Well you’re not the mother here,” Fiona said with a jab of her finger. “And you can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to.”
She stood, scraping her chair against the tile floor, and tossed her napkin onto the table. “Maybe if you’d just mind your own business, I wouldn’t have to run so far away to get away from you.” Then she stomped out the back door, slamming it shut behind her.
Nix remained motionless, unsure of what to do. Actually, he knew exactly what he wanted to do, he just wasn’t sure how to do it. Wouldn’t it be rude of him to get up and leave, just like that? Besides, he’d barely had any of his soup.
Lindsay said nothing, just stared at the door where Fiona had gone. Then she got up and left the table. He couldn’t hear where she’d gone in the house—all was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. He ate a bite of soup, but he felt awkward sitting there all alone. He took another bite. It really was delicious with chunks of tomato and spicy sausage and fresh basil leaves. Nix set his spoon down with a sigh, stood, and after a moment’s hesitation, took a roll from the basket. He eyed the butter longingly, but decided he’d better just get out of there without wasting any more time.
He went out the back door, put on his boots, and walked slowly toward the stable, eating his roll as he went. He looked around but couldn’t see anyone. At the barn, he stood in the doorway, listening. Nothing.
He finished off his roll, then decided he’d better not push his luck. Or push Fiona. So he turned on his heel and strode toward his truck, deeply regretting two things: that he hadn’t had more of that soup, and he hadn’t taken a chance on that kiss.
SUNDAY MORNING, FIONA WOKE TO SUNSHINE dappling her bed and a soft knocking at the door. “Yes?” she called sleepily.
Last night hadn’t been as bad as she feared. Katie and David had joined them for dinner, then stayed for a few rounds of Gin Rummy—Fiona’s favorite card game. It took her a hand to remember how to play, but then she was just as deadly as she’d been as a teenager. The laughter and comradery had been easy—conversation had always been easy with Katie.
Fiona realized she’d slept through the night, without a single nightmare about the attack—so there was that to be grateful for, too.
She hadn’t seen Nix since that lunch-gone-wrong earlier in the week, and she was both sad and glad. Sad because he’d been there to witness the blow-up with Lindsay and glad because she wasn’t sure what to say to him after all that. Because she knew she’d been sending signals. She hadn’t been able to help it. She still didn’t know what to make of it, but she was pretty positive that if she saw him again, she’d be just as helpless.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment they’d shared in the barn. He had been about to kiss her, hadn’t he? And then there was the way his leg had touched hers during the prayer, and later during her argument with Lindsay. Just that small, subtle gesture had meant so much to her. She’d drawn strength from it, from his nearness and touch. Was that normal? Did she even want to encourage him?
Except, he hadn’t come by since then—hadn’t even said goodbye that day—so she supposed the point was moot. Just another instance of him being a nice guy and her misreading him.
So she’d put herself into the work Gavin kept dumping on her. After that first day, even Lindsay and Jack didn’t bother to suggest she take it easy. The days were long, the work hard, but the food was fantastic and the dinner conversations passionate and, sometimes, fun. Her siblings regaled her on all their adventures over the last few years and she’d managed to avoid saying much herself.
She’d walked the fields of heather that spread out and down the hillside behind the house, walked the trails that surrounded the homestead and visited with the horses, especially Sally and her foal, a charming little bay who already pranced around Jack like one of his dogs, and Sailor Moon. Sailor, she’d discovered, was a boarder with high spirit and the most beautiful, deep brown eyes she’d ever seen. Brushing Sailor’s incredibly long black mane had become Fiona’s last chore of the day. And if she happened to share a few whispered admissions and thoughts to the spirited animal, well, she figured it was better than therapy. Especially when Sailor butted her head against Fiona’s chest and whuffed against her. It felt like a connection and Fiona was desperate for it.
Fiona rolled over, gently pulling off the cotton gloves she’d worn to bed. In the sunlight she examined the blisters on her hands, happy to see the salve Jack had given her was doing its job. She figured another few days and she wouldn’t need the salve or the gloves, because she’d have ranch hands at last. When had callouses become something to be glad for? Fiona didn’t care to look too closely at her feelings about being home or her future. It was just easier to get up every day and do the things put in front of her. That was good enough for now.
The door to her room creaked and she rolled over to squint at it. Lindsay poked her head inside. She had her hair wrapped in a towel and a bright blue robe around her shoulders. “I totally forgot to ask you to come to church with us this morning.”
“Oh.” Fiona hadn’t even thought about church. She’d barely registered that it was Sunday. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been—it had to be before she left for college, because she’d made a point of not going once she moved away. She’d eschewed everything to do with her upbringing—and that included God. “I’m not
into that,” she said as she sunk back down under the covers.
“Wait, no. Actually, I wasn’t asking. I was telling. I’m done with the shower—it’s your turn.” Lindsay began pulling the door closed but Fiona called out, “Wait! I’m not going.”
Lindsay opened the door wider and beamed a bright, cheesy smile. “Sure you are.” She held up a fist and Fiona groaned.
Lindsay lifted one finger. “Do you live here?” she asked.
“No,” Fiona quickly replied.
“Do you have a place to live anywhere else besides here?”
“No.”
Lindsay held up a second finger. “Do you pay rent for your room and food here?”
“No. But I could!” Fiona sat up in bed. “I’ll pay room and board and then I don’t have to go.”
“Do you have money to pay for that?” Lindsay smiled wickedly.
“Well, not at the moment but…” Reality dripped into Fiona’s brain as she realized that she’d received her last paycheck from the Met and she wasn’t going to get another. Maybe not ever. She’d spent almost all she had to break the lease on her apartment, to put her few things into storage and to fly out here.
Lindsay held up a third finger. “Then by the rules of the MacDonald house, established by our mother and father, every person living under this roof who does not have any other permanent residence and is relying on the goodwill of the MacDonald family for their subsistence, must attend church each and every Sunday, barring fever, hospital or death.”
Fiona threw her pillow at her sister. “Go away!”
Lindsay laughed as she tossed the pillow back onto Fiona’s bed. “See you downstairs in forty-five minutes!” She closed the door firmly behind her, and Fiona flopped onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over her head.
Exactly forty-five minutes later she was the one standing at the front door waiting for Lindsay. There were some things that just weren’t worth fighting over and her whole life the rules had been the same—you lived under the MacDonald roof, you went to church. Period. That’s why Gavin built his own cabin on the property and moved out when he was seventeen. Technically he hadn’t been allowed to, Mom and Dad had steadfastly refused to give their permission, but when Gavin pulled up with a backhoe to begin breaking ground, Dad had relented in order to protect the integrity of the homestead. Somehow, however, none of the other children had managed to get a yes out of either them, despite Gavin’s success. And he hadn’t been to church once since then, so far as Fiona knew.
A string of MacDonald-style curses—cursing had been strictly forbidden, so the family had made a game out of finding the goofiest words or phrases to indicate their frustration—carried from near the mudroom where Lindsay was rummaging around in the walk-in closet. Fiona moved closer so Lindsay could hear her. “Where’s Jack? He’s coming, isn’t he?”
“Already there,” Lindsay responded from seemingly far away. “He’s an elder now. Goes in early to open up, clear the lot of snow if needed, set up chairs—that sort of stuff. Rumpelstiltskin,” she added with feeling. A moment later, she appeared with a scowl on her face.
“What’s up?” Fiona had been ready to give Lindsay a hard time about being late, but seeing her with a thundercloud over her head like this, she decided not to. As she recalled, goading her big sister when she was already grumpy was like poking a bear.
Lindsay yanked her coat off the hook. “I think Mom took my long sheepskin with her.”
“Why would she take your coat? That’s not like her.”
Lindsay threw Fiona a look that was even darker than before. “Well, technically it’s hers, but she hasn’t worn it in a couple years. I thought it was understood that I’d adopted it.”
Fiona bit back the laughter, but when Lindsay stomped out to the truck, growling all the while, she couldn’t help it and burst out laughing. It hurt her throat like crazy, but it felt so good. Lindsay stopped, one foot on the truck’s running board, the other planted firmly in the dirt.
“What’s so funny?”
Fiona doubled over, one hand clasped to her throat, the other braced against her knee. She lifted one hand to point a shaky finger at her sister.
Lindsay’s frown deepened, and that set Fiona off again.
“What’s going on here?” Gavin asked as he rode up on his big Belgian, he’d surprisingly named Snuggle Pumpkin. Just thinking the name sent Fiona through another round of giggles.
Lindsay threw up her hands and cried, “Ugh!”
Gavin took it all in stride, gave a nod to both women and said, “Carry on.”
They watched him move slowly away, like he didn’t have a care in the world, and this time when Fiona laughed again, Lindsay joined in.
Somehow they managed to get themselves down to church where quite a crowd had already filled up most of the parking lot.
“Wow. Where did all these people come from?” Dread pricked Fiona’s arms and filled her with trepidation.
“Don’t worry,” Lindsay said, easily maneuvering the big pickup into a spot between two small sedans. “Your friends will be thrilled to see you.” Her early annoyance forgotten, Lindsay threw Fiona a wide smile and hopped out of the truck.
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, Fiona thought. The last thing she wanted was for people to make a fuss over her. She’d barely tolerated it at home these past days, but at church? She’d rather sneak in, do her MacDonald duty, and hightail it on home without anyone the wiser. With a heavy sigh she slid out of the truck and joined Lindsay at the front of the church.
She hesitated on the sidewalk, her eyes fixed on the cross far above. It seemed so far away, just like God. And she didn’t know if she cared to reach up for Him. She was pretty sure He wouldn’t be reaching down to her. She hadn’t done anything but push Him away in the six years she’d been gone. It’s not like she’d been doing bad stuff, she’d been too busy to get into any kind of trouble, but like every other relationship in her life she’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested in more than a passing acquaintance.
“You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine,” she whispered to the cross. “Then we’ll be just fine.” She’d go to church while she had to, but she wasn’t going to go making any connections here. Church was just an unexpected stop on her journey.
Nix waited impatiently while Jack hung up his coat in the back vestibule. Jack was Miss Rita’s ride to church every Sunday, but it was almost time for services to begin and here Jack was without Miss Rita. Katie Reynolds was out there butchering the prelude hymns on the organ and Nix cringed every time she hit a sour note.
Jack straightened his tie as he turned to face Nix. A bit of a rough backwoods type six days of the week, Jack MacDonald always looked as slick as a city lawyer on Sundays. It was a contrast Nix always found funny and fascinating. From his tamed hair, neat and trimmed beard, and well-tailored suit, to his Italian leather, high polished loafers, Jack MacDonald cleaned up nice. Nix had spent enough of his life being costumed and discussing costumes to understand the importance of getting it right.
“Where’s Miss Rita?” Nix asked when Jack still hadn’t spoken.
“Pastor,” Jack finally said just as Pastor Marcus Allan stepped up beside Nix and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got news.”
“Miss Rita?” Marc asked in response to Jack’s grim tone.
“I’ve just come from the clinic. Miss Rita fell this morning while getting her newspaper from her doorstep. Her cell phone had skittered out of reach so she was just lying there, waiting for someone to find her.”
“Outside?” Marc asked. Nix inwardly kicked himself for his impatience with Jack and Katie. He should have been more concerned about Miss Rita.
Jack nodded. “The doctor says it’s a clean break—very common for folks her age. But she’ll be out of commission for at least a few months. They called up an ambulance to take her to Kremmling Medical. Her daughter’ll meet her there.”
Jack looked at Nix while Marc tsked tske
d to himself, but it wasn’t Miss Rita’s fall that left him speechless, it was the fact that Miss Rita was the church’s organist and the choir’s accompanist and they were heading into the busiest musical season of the entire year. What in the world would they do without her?
Marc squeezed Nix’s shoulder. “Time to test our faith, gentlemen.”
Nix turned a stunned face to the pastor. “What are we going to do?”
Marcus Allan, a man in his late-thirties and a little on the chubby side had an open face graced with a wide, wide smile. The kind of smile that put everyone around him at ease. He chuckled and leaned forward as if to share a secret. “Have no fear, Brother Nix. The Lord will provide.” His grin took on a wicked tilt and he pointed to the ceiling. Nix narrowed his eyes on the pastor’s retreating back.
“The Lord will provide,” was Marc’s code for “I’ll rope and tie someone into doing the work.” Nix had seen him at work, too—the man was not above coercing or bribing his parishioners to serve. But when Miss Rita went to Utah to see her great-granddaughter born, Marc had asked for volunteers to play the organ, or at least the piano, and no hands went up. Then he polled the congregation to discover who could even play the piano and only Katie owned up to any ability at all. After one Sunday at the piano bench it was widely agreed that she should never sit there again. The pastor may have his faith that the Lord would provide a pianist, but Nix was afraid the kind of provision God would send was the “opportunity” for Nix to try to play the piano and lead the choir at the same time. Doable if you’re leading a strong and capable choir with members who can read music. Pretty much impossible if you’re leading a choir of faithful church members who had a lot more love for God than talent.