Until Spring

by Pamela Browning

  Duncan's kiss had shown her that she was ready to learn more about herself, including satisfying her curiosity about a real relationship with a man, present as well as past. She'd meant it when she'd told him that she thought he was lucky to have been married once.

  She stood up, tossed the fabric onto the floor, and went to the window where she could see the barn. She half wanted to march over there and confide her feelings to Duncan because he was the only person she had to talk to.

  Only this was something she couldn't discuss with Duncan.

  She sighed and picked up a large piece of blue wool. She loved the way it felt between her fingers, and she idly inspected the warp and woof of the fabric. Warp and woof? How did she know those terms? The warp was the thread that ran lengthwise in the loom, and the woof was the name for the threads that crossed the warp.

  She sank onto the edge of the bed, overcome by this glimpse of knowledge. She hadn't known that she knew anything about fabric or how it was made. The information had merely arrived unbidden out of that vast black store hidden somewhere within her brain.

  What else did she know that she couldn't call to mind? Would she ever remember all of it, or even most? In the future, what important snippets of her past would drift into her consciousness from time to time, perplexing and confusing her? How would she deal with them when they did?

  And what if she developed a relationship with a man, and then one day the memory of her husband and children surfaced? What on earth would she do then? Who would come first—her old family or her new relationship?

  How would she deal with something like that?

  Chapter 9

  Any concerns about getting too close to Duncan were squelched by the distance he effectively put between them during the ensuing week. He spent long hours in the barn, barely talked to her at meals, and either rode into Durkee or went over to Rooney's every night. She watched television and waited for his tread on the back porch in the evenings. Most of the time she was already asleep when he came home.

  She missed the easy rapport that had developed between them, but at least she had Mary Kate for company. Mary Kate continued to drop by every day after school.

  One day Mary Kate arrived at her usual time, and Jane hurried to let her in.

  "Hi, Jane," Mary Kate said breezily as she dumped her book bag on the couch. "Let's go over and talk to the llamas today."

  Without too much regret, Jane turned off the TV.

  "Okay," she said, slipping on her coat. "Maybe you can explain more about their ear movements to me." This was something that they had only briefly touched upon on their other visits to the llamas, and Mary Kate was pleased to oblige Jane's request.

  "Grandpa says that the Indians in Peru called the llamas their silent brothers," Mary Kate said importantly as they shoved their hands deep into their pockets for warmth and headed toward the barn. "That's silly, I think, because everyone knows that llamas hum, and that isn't what I call silent. Anyway, they communicate in other ways. Duncan calls it body language."

  "Give me an example of llama body language," Jane suggested as they reached the pen and Mary Kate unlatched the gate. Jane went through and left Mary Kate to put the latch back on. Dearling knew Jane now, and she was always friendly to her.

  "Well, see how Crystal's ears are laid back? That means she feels unhappy or maybe threatened. And see how Dearling's ears are perked forward? She's interested in you. Sometimes when I want to get the llamas to do something, I just put my hands up to my ears like this, and I move them the way a llama would in order to say something." Mary Kate put her hands up into the sides of her head and wiggled them at Dearling in llama fashion. Dearling pointed her ears even farther forward. Jane could have sworn that the llama was smiling.

  "I don't know what you said in llama ear language, Mary Kate, but Dearling must like it," Jane told her as she stroked Dearling's silky head.

  Mary Kate giggled. She hugged Dearling around the neck. "Come on into the barn, Jane. Let's say hello to Flapjack and the other horses."

  Dearling followed them as they left the pen, and once again Jane let Mary Kate fasten the latch after them. It was only by chance that she glanced back to observe that the gate was swinging free.

  "Mary Kate," she said. "You've left the latch undone."

  "Oh, will you fasten it, Jane?" Mary Kate said carelessly.

  About this, Jane was prepared to be firm. "You do it," she said. "You know that Duncan and your grandfather think gates and latches are very important." She, as well as Mary Kate, knew the results of her irresponsibility on past occasions.

  Reluctantly Mary Kate turned and went to the gate, latching it carefully this time so that the llamas were secure. Jane double-checked the bolt to make sure that Mary Kate had done the job right. She could well imagine Duncan's fury if his breeding females were to escape.

  In the barn, the horses were in their stalls. Flapjack swung his head around with interest when they approached him.

  "Good old Flapjack," Mary Kate said. She went to a sack hanging from a nail on the wall and produced a carrot. "Here," she said to Jane, "you can feed this to him."

  Jane held the carrot on the flat of her palm and Flapjack gobbled it down. He was a beautiful animal. His coat was shiny and black, and he had a white star on his forehead. She stroked his nose, and it was like rubbing warm velvet.

  Mary Kate led her from stall to stall, reeling off the names of the horses.

  "Here's Rabbit, my grandfather's horse. And this is Nellie Mae. Grandpa rides her sometimes. Here's Diggory. Sigrid used to ride him. This is Jericho, my pony, but I'm getting too big for him. Grandpa says he'll have to get me a bigger horse this summer."

  "Why don't you just ride Nellie Mae? Or Diggory?"

  "Well, I tried to ride Nellie Mae one time and she tried to scrape me off on a fence post. And Diggory's getting kind of old. I want a pretty little mare, maybe a roan. Do you like roans?"

  "I don't know much about horses," Jane admitted.

  "Well, this summer when I get my mare, you and me can ride together. You could start out on Diggory. He's real gentle."

  Jane stopped stroking Diggory's smooth flank and turned toward Mary Kate. "But I told you I wasn't going to be here this summer," she said patiently.

  Much to her surprise, Mary Kate's face flushed red except for a white line around her mouth. "I won't let you leave," she said in quiet fury. "I won't."

  The child was suffering, Jane could see that. And yet Jane wouldn't, couldn't change her mind.

  "Mary Kate, please try to understand. I—"

  Mary Kate's blue eyes flashed and she stomped her foot. "You're not leaving here, Jane, you're not!"

  "But—"

  "You're staying! Forever and ever! I'll hate you if you go away! " And with that Mary Kate wheeled and ran out of the barn, slamming the door behind her so hard that the rafters shook and Nellie Mae let out a startled whinny.

  The tantrum had happened so quickly and so fast that it momentarily stunned Jane. She waited for a moment, thinking that a repentant Mary Kate might return as quickly as the angry Mary Kate had slammed out. But the young girl didn't come back, and after a minute or so, Jane looked around and saw Dearling calmly chewing her cud in a corner.

  Jane sighed. "Come along, Dearling," she said, putting her arm around the little llama's neck, and an acquiescent Dearling followed Jane as though she was accustomed to doing this every day of her life. When they reached the females' pen, Jane unlatched the gate and shooed Dearling inside, taking care to make sure it was securely fastened when she closed it.

  She looked around in vain for Mary Kate. Well, she'd probably run home and was sulking. In any case, Jane didn't feel like discussing her departure again. The child refused to understand that it was inevitable.

  Jane felt heavyhearted and sad, wishing she could do something to help Mary Kate, but the more she thought about it after she got back to Duncan's house, the more sensible it seemed to leave well enough alon
e. Dispiritedly Jane pushed aside Mary Kate's book bag, which lay forgotten on the couch, and resumed hemming a skirt she had made for herself.

  After a while, she heard Rooney's pickup truck start up over by the barn and hoped, for the child's sake, that he had decided to take her to town with him. She knew he was going because he'd stopped by earlier to ask if she and Duncan needed anything from the grocery store.

  Jane tied off her thread and went into the kitchen to check on the pot roast. In a few minutes, she saw Rooney walking purposefully up the freshly shoveled path to the back door.

  She met him there. "I thought you went to town," she said with some surprise.

  Rooney's eyebrows were knitted in the middle of his forehead. "I was going to," he said. "Then I heard Duncan take my truck. Do you know where he went?"

  "Duncan? I don't think he went anywhere, because he told me he was going to be looking over accounts on his computer in the barn until supper."

  "But I heard it start up and thought he must have decided to run an errand."

  "I don't think so," Jane said.

  "Well, tell Mary Kate she can ride into town with me when Duncan gets back with my truck," Rooney said.

  "Mary Kate's not here," Jane replied, her heart turning over.

  "Not here? She always stops by after school." He looked rattled.

  "She did, but when we were over at the barn, we had a—a slight disagreement, and I assumed she went home," Jane told him. Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. Where could Mary Kate be?

  "She's not at the house," Rooney said flatly.

  The thought occurred to them at the same time.

  "The truck!" both exclaimed.

  "She couldn't drive your pickup truck," Jane said, shaking her head in denial.

  "The keys were in it—maybe she could. I'm going over to the barn to see if Duncan is there," Rooney said, sprinting away.

  "I'm coming, too!" Jane called after him and followed, pulling on her coat as she ran.

  Duncan was bent over paperwork in his office and glanced up in surprise as Rooney and Jane burst through the door.

  "Mary Kate's gone, and so is the truck!" Rooney shouted.

  The three of them ran outside and stood for a moment scanning the ranch. Llamas in their pen looked up in interest. The darkness of a lowering sky hinted at snow in the offing, and there was no sign of Mary Kate. The pickup truck was nowhere in sight.

  "Where could she go?" Jane wondered aloud as they all clambered into Duncan's SUV.

  "To the highway," Rooney said grimly as a few flakes of snow wafted out of the sky.

  "She wouldn't," Jane said with certainty.

  "You don't know Mary Kate the way we do," Duncan said in an ominous tone.

  Duncan drove as fast as he could in the frozen rutted tracks of the driveway. It wasn't easy driving, and Jane doubted that a child could handle a truck under these conditions. Jane realized that none of them knew what to expect. What had ever possessed Mary Kate to take Rooney's truck?

  Jane recalled the anger Mary Kate had shown when she was acting out her frustration at Jane's certain departure. Maybe the girl had deliberately decided to misbehave in a really big way in order to get everyone's attention.

  "There! That's the truck," Rooney said, sitting forward in his seat and squinting ahead through the downy swirls of snow.

  Jane saw that the pickup truck had pitched headlong into a high snowdrift, denting the snow with its bumper. Clouds of vapor unfurled from the exhaust pipe, and the engine was still running. Loud country music blared from the truck's radio.

  Duncan leaped from the SUV and wrenched open the door on the driver's side in an instant. Out tumbled Mary Kate.

  "Grandpa!" exclaimed Mary Kate, throwing herself into her grandfather's arms.

  Duncan reached inside the pickup and turned off the ignition key, silencing both engine and radio. It was suddenly very quiet.

  "You scared us," Jane said, shattering the stillness with her shaking voice.

  Mary Kate blinked at her. "I didn't mean to. I only wanted to drive the truck."

  "We'll talk about it when we get home," her grandfather said, and they could tell from the tone of his voice that he was furious. The air was filled with frosty clouds of vapor from their breath.

  "Is the truck okay? I didn't mean to hurt it, but it slid off the road," Mary Kate said, once they were in the SUV.

  "It looks like there's no great harm done. You were lucky, young lady. Exactly where did you think you were going?" Duncan inquired, glancing briefly over his shoulder as he backed and turned.

  "To the mailbox. I thought that if it was a half mile to the mailbox and back and I drove at one mile an hour, it should take me an hour to get home. I drove real, real slow."

  "Well, 'real, real slow' or not, it was a stupid thing to do, and I'm going to reckon with you when we get back to the house," Rooney said.

  Mary Kate looked momentarily chastened, then said, "I had to scrunch the seat way forward to reach the pedals, and I sure wish I knew how to get the emergency brake off."

  "You mean you drove all the way up here with the emergency brake on?" Duncan asked in disbelief.

  "I guess so," Mary Kate said with a shrug.

  "Where'd you learn to drive, anyway?" Duncan asked.

  "By watching you and Grandpa."

  "Well, next time watch how we release the emergency brake before we shift into gear. Just in case you decide to go for any more little outings around the neighborhood."

  "She ain't going on any more little outings," Rooney grunted. "I can promise you that."

  Duncan dropped off Mary Kate and Rooney in front of their house and parked the SUV at the barn. When he and Jane had returned to the house, Duncan said, "I thought Mary Kate spent her afternoons with you these days."

  Jane heaved a giant sigh. "She usually does, but today we had a disagreement. In a way, I suppose it's my fault that she took the truck."

  "Don't be silly. Mary Kate's always doing something she shouldn't do. You know that."

  "I think she does these things when she wants more attention and isn't getting it. Like this afternoon." Quickly Jane related how Mary Kate had insisted that Jane mustn't leave the ranch and how she had firmly told her young friend that her departure was inevitable.

  "Rooney tries to cope the best way he can," Duncan said. "It's hard being mother, father, sister and brother all rolled up into one. Mary Kate will certainly miss you when you're gone. She models herself after you. As I've mentioned before, ever since you arrived here, her behavior has improved."

  "I can't take credit for that."

  "Of course you can. You're good with her. Mary Kate listens to you."

  "I'm company for her," Jane said.

  "No, it's more than that."

  Jane thought about it. He was right. She discovered felt good about making a difference in Mary Kate's life, even for so short a time and was pleased that Duncan had noticed it.

  "Mary Kate is a sweet child. All she needs is love and attention," Jane said.

  "So do we all," Duncan said reflectively. Then, as though he realized he had said too much, he stood up and went to the door, giving her one long last look before going out and closing the door softly behind him.

  She stared after him, wishing he had stayed. They had just shared more of themselves than they had in days. She heard the rumble of the SUV's motor as Duncan left and went up to bed before he came home.

  While she was lying there in the dark, she realized that their conversation had not been about Mary Kate as much as it had been about themselves.

  * * *

  Mary Kate's punishment for driving her grandfather's pickup truck turned out to be a restriction to their house every afternoon for a week and a strict prohibition on any contact with Dearling. This hit her harder than any of them anticipated.

  Jane, who stopped by the Rooneys' the next day to drop off cookies that she had baked, happened to arrive when Mary Kate was throwing a tantrum.
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  "But Dearling won't know what happened to me if she doesn't see me for a whole week," Mary Kate was raging when Jane stepped inside the door.

  "I didn't know what happened to you, either, when you disappeared with my truck," Rooney pointed out.

  "It's not fair, it's not fair," Mary Kate sobbed as she ran off to her room.

  "Thanks, Jane, for the cookies. I'm sorry Mary Kate's in such a state," Rooney said apologetically.

  Jane had to speak loudly to be heard over Mary Kate's crying. "You're welcome, and tell Mary Kate I said hello," she told Rooney, but Jane found the child's sobs heart wrenching. She knew that Rooney felt that he had to punish Mary Kate for such a serious offense, but she wished he had chosen some way other than prohibiting his granddaughter from seeing Dearling. The llama seemed to be a stabilizing influence on Mary Kate, and she knew that to the child herself, this must be the cruelest punishment that Rooney had ever devised.

  Jane went to the barn every day to talk to Dearling the way Mary Kate did but knew that as far as the llama was concerned, she wasn't a good substitute. She always had the feeling that Dearling was looking over her shoulder and expecting to see Mary Kate come bouncing around the corner of the barn any minute.

  It was a slow week, and when Mary Kate was finally released from her restriction, Jane didn't have the heart to say no when Mary Kate, showing her old exuberance, appeared on the back doorstep, begging her to come over to the barn for a reunion with Dearling.

  Dearling seemed thrilled to see Mary Kate again, butting her in a playful fashion and blowing gently into her face. Mary Kate laughed delightedly.

  "She didn't forget me, did she, Jane?" she said, her arms locked around Dearling's neck.

  "No, Mary Kate, it would be pretty hard to forget someone like you," Jane replied with a smile.

  When clouds blocked out the sun and it became too cold to stay outdoors, Mary Kate, in a lively mood, insisted that they go into the barn, but not just to see the horses.

  "Does Duncan let you play in there?" Jane asked doubtfully.

  "Sure. Let's play hide-and-seek."