A Love Undone

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Hey, Ray.” Josiah fell into step with him. “If you’re worried she might bite, don’t be. I know right where to take you to get a shot for rabies.”

  Ray focused on his brother’s joke, aiming to form a clear response. “It’s gut you know that. Because if she shows any signs of biting, I’ll sic her on you.”

  Josiah roared with laughter. “Keep it up, and I’ll tell her that you intend to sic her on me, and I won’t mention my part of the conversation.” Josiah stepped in front of Ray and faced him, balled his fist, and punched at Ray’s stomach, stopping just short of hitting him. At the same time Josiah slapped his other hand against his chest, making a popping sound.

  Ray doubled over as if he’d been punched. Teena walked in just in time to see Josiah “hit” Ray. She looked annoyed as she glanced from one brother to the other.

  A sheepish look covered Josiah’s face. “We were just playing. I didn’t really hit him.”

  Teena looked doubtful.

  “Tell her, Ray.”

  Ray gave a pained look while rubbing his belly. “I’ll be okay. I’m used to it.”

  “Kumm.” Teena motioned toward the door. “We’ll eat at a table by ourselves.” She went outside.

  Ray grinned. “I win.” And it just might be his best win ever.

  Josiah laughed. “Ray, you have to tell her.”

  “Ya think?”

  It’d been a lot of years since Ray had felt this good, had been this clearheaded. Was it because Teena reached out for friendship? If so, then maybe he should go out with Alvin, Urie, and James this Friday. Maybe that’s what friends did—lift the heart and clear the mind.

  He didn’t know, because his only friends were his siblings, and that was good, but after today he wasn’t sure it was enough.

  Andy’s heart thudded as fear and anger pulsed through him. “Jolene.” He kept his tone soft while motioning for her to leave the pen.

  Holding on to the gate, she barely glanced his way, pursed her lips, and stayed put.

  Her behavior was so typical of a novice horseman, which was actually a contradiction of terms. She wasn’t a horseman, and beginners tended to be overconfident. At least she was showing some caution by wearing a helmet and staying near the gate.

  Keeping his voice calm and his eye on the horse he shared a pen with, he eased toward the fence that separated his pen from hers. “With your attention on the horse, open the gate and get out of there. Now, please, before the filly gets over being leery of you and charges.”

  Jolene looked his way, her eyes filled with emotion. He couldn’t be sure whether it was anger or resolve, but it was clear she wasn’t responding to his entreaties.

  She released the gate. “Lester used to run a horse farm, and he thinks I can do it. I’m not letting him down.” She took a few steps away from the fence.

  The filly pranced back and forth at the far end of the pen. The horse’s next move would be to charge. “Jolene.” Andy rattled the fence, trying to get her attention. “Remove yourself. Now!” He gritted his teeth as he whispered as loud as he could. She eased to the middle of the ring and stood still, watching the filly and waiting.

  His mouth was dry, and visions of climbing the fence and forcefully removing her flashed through his mind. Within the hour the horse would win the battle of wills with Jolene. He was sure of that. What could he do so that Jolene’s loss didn’t result in more than minor injuries to her?

  He had no choice but to remain close to the fence that separated him from Jolene, ready to scale the railing and charge at her horse when the time came. With her head protected by the helmet, she should be safe from head trauma, and any gashes, bruises, or broken bones she sustained would heal … eventually.

  Apparently Jolene was going to prove challenging at every turn. He found her beauty disarming, her responses to his disagreement with Lester refreshing, and her stubbornness terrifying.

  The minutes ticked into an hour without her getting hurt, and Andy’s heart rate slowed a bit. As the next hour waned, Andy moved away from the fence and to the center of the pen. He couldn’t believe it when both of their horses were calm enough for them to begin working with the next two. When he moved pens, Jolene did too.

  He refused to talk to her. If she was going to put herself in a high-risk position, he wouldn’t encourage her. While working with the last two horses he’d corralled that morning, his stomach growled fiercely, reminding him it was well past lunchtime and they’d yet to take a break.

  Six hours passed, and Jolene had yet to get hurt. He wasn’t sure if he was more impressed or annoyed.

  Despite being fiercely hungry and weary, he hesitated to leave, afraid to lose the momentum. The horses had begun to trust and bond with them. He didn’t like thinking of the term with them, but as the hours ticked by, he’d had to accept Jolene was here to stay—at least for today.

  The animals’ positive responses to him and Jo were as fragile as her pastries, but it was a good start. Maybe he … they could get at least two horses washed today, all four if things went really well.

  The process of building trust would take weeks for some, months for others. Some might not get past being flighty. But the first days with any traumatized horse were the most intense. The horses were having a new imprint branded into their psyches, and he didn’t want to interrupt the work to eat.

  He had started out glancing Jo’s way every few seconds to make sure she was safe. But as his fears and frustrations eased, looking her way caused him to notice too many things about her—the way she faced her fears, the way she sang to the horses, the way her openhearted, responsive touch seemed to meet a skittish horse’s need when it finally warmed up to her. She was intuitive about what to do for them and how; otherwise, the horses wouldn’t be responding to her as well as they were. He also noticed that those boots threw her off balance, but she managed to stand her ground anyway. Those were the upsides, which were no upside at all, really—not if he intended to ignore the very things that appealed to him.

  Maybe he needed to focus on her faults. Isn’t that what people did when they didn’t like someone? One fault was quite clear. And annoying. She kept glancing at that infernal book while working. It reminded him of people who texted while driving. If she kept studying it in the pens, she’d get plowed under and trampled. She had opened it and read little bits for hours, but he couldn’t see the title. What was on those pages that meant so much during a time like this? Was it a romance novel where men acted as women wanted them to? If he had a novel in which women behaved as he wanted, the woman wouldn’t ignore his telling her not to enter that round pen.

  On the other hand, he was impressed by how successfully she had mirrored his efforts without getting hurt. He’d given her a few instructions, and she’d nodded. He wasn’t sure who started out more nervous—her or the horses.

  Good job, Andy. You managed to find one flaw before you caved.

  The horse in the pen with her was at the moment reasonably calm and at her side, sniffing her and fleeing at the least little thing. When he backed away, Jo flipped open her book and then walked toward the fence between her and Andy. It was her first time to approach him since he’d walked out of the kitchen that morning. “Andy, do you think …”

  As if he were stuck in slow motion, he knew what was about to happen but couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Did she have him tongue-tied? The horse crowded in behind her and lowered his head. “Jo, behind you.”

  But before his words registered with her, the horse butted her back, sending her sprawling across the dirt. He debated whether to rescue her or to stay put.

  She was clueless about what she had just let happen. By allowing the horse to take her ground, she now had to prove herself to the animal. Again. The coiled rope she’d been holding had fallen out of her hand, but she continued to hold tightly to the book.

  He sighed. A horseman would’ve kept the rope and released the book!

  Andy eyed his horse, making sure i
t wasn’t sneaking up behind him. If he rescued her, the only lesson the horse would take from today is that he could bully Jolene, and perhaps he’d think he could do the same to all humans of smaller stature with higher-pitched voices—meaning most women and all children. “Jo, get up. Now!” He waited a few seconds, but she didn’t budge. “And do it while flailing your arms and yelling. You’ve got to make the horse back away from you.”

  Jolene shot him a look that said she didn’t like the way he was talking to her, but she jumped up, blood and dirt on her forearms and the palms of her hands. She barely swung the book toward the horse, and she gave a pitiful yelp.

  “Jolene Keim.” Andy gritted his teeth, restraining himself from climbing into the pen and rescuing her. “You just let him bully you. Now you’ve got to regain your authority. Immediately. Go on the offensive and make him back down.”

  Pity for the animal was evident in her eyes as she glanced at Andy. “It’s my fault.”

  “I fully agree, but that’s not the point. Take back your domain before you do the animal more harm than good.”

  She glanced at the book clutched in her hand, threw it to the ground, and flailed her arms into the air, yelling. The horse stood its ground.

  “Here.” Andy tossed his coiled rope at her feet.

  She picked it up, snapped it against her leg, which had to hurt since she didn’t have on chaps. She yelled, and the horse laid his ears back.

  “Again, Jolene.”

  She did as he said but this time with real determination in her voice. The creature hesitated. Then twenty seconds later it took the first step back.

  “Now move in until his body language says he yields to you, even if that means you make him flee.”

  Jolene did so, and when the horse moved to the far end of the pen, Andy took a deep breath, relieved. Jolene returned to the center of the pen and waited for the horse to approach again. Wild, penned horses want to be loved, but that is buried under their instinct to dominate.

  The phone rang for the fourth time today, and for the fourth time Hope scurried across the yard to the phone shanty.

  Andy climbed one rung of the fence that separated the two rings. If Jo was going to work beside him, she had to think about animals and the hierarchy of authority … before she got hurt. “You never turn your back on a wild horse. Maybe if you’d stop trying to read while working …”

  Anger radiated from her as she glanced at the horse at the far end of the small pen. She then turned to Andy, flailed her arms, and yelled, telling him in no uncertain terms to back off. It might be funny if he didn’t fear for her safety and if she wasn’t so furious with him.

  He didn’t have trouble getting along with people—men, women, and children of all ages. What was his problem with Jolene? He knew part of it. He was used to focusing on the horses, not worrying about the person in the pen next to him. Her inexperience in a pen with a wild horse had him jittery, and the horses he’d worked with today seemed to pick up on it, making his task of calming them harder. How was he supposed to focus on his work when he was worried about her safety?

  However, for the first day as a volunteer on a job, she’d done really well. So why hadn’t he been able to simply talk to her and share a few encouraging words?

  She went to her book, picked it up, and brushed off the dust. “Are you okay, Jolene?” she asked herself. “I’m scraped and bruised, but I’ll be fine. Denki,” she answered. “I appreciate your efforts today,” she mocked. “Denki,” she said. “I hoped you would, because like it or not, we’re stuck in this situation for a while.”

  That was the problem. They were trapped in a situation that had him every bit as skittish and overwrought as the horses. “You shouldn’t be out here. You can’t read a book while in the pen with a wild horse.”

  The fire in her eyes equaled that of the angriest horses he’d worked with, only there was no fear lurking behind her fury. But she said nothing.

  “Jolene!” Hope called. “Van’s on the phone.”

  Her shoulders slumped slightly, and her face showed a different kind of dread now than when she’d entered the pen with a wild horse this morning. Since it was apparent she didn’t want to talk to the blacksmith, should he offer to do it for her? He knew the answer. Definitely not. Any woman this determined to handle tough situations wouldn’t appreciate being treated as if she needed to be rescued from a phone call.

  “Be right there.” She thrust the book toward him. “Maybe if you’d talked to me about what I needed to do, I wouldn’t stand in a pen with a wild horse while reading!”

  When he took the book from her, she walked off. It didn’t have a title on the outside, but when he opened the thin, hardback book, he read the title page and realized what it was.

  “Great,” he mumbled as his face flushed with guilt and embarrassment. The one flaw he’d found in her wasn’t a flaw after all.

  11

  As Jolene walked toward the phone shanty, the blue sky and green grass seemed to fade into each other like watercolors on canvas. Her hands trembled, and her knees threatened to give way. Was it from the hurt Andy had inflicted or from a day of too much stress and too little food and water? She removed the helmet, causing her now-smashed prayer Kapp to almost come off too. Shoving the head covering back in place, she sat in the folding chair near the homemade desk in the shanty and took a shaky breath. The receiver of the black rotary phone lay on the desk, its short line leading to the old cradle. She put the helmet on the desk and picked up the phone but didn’t speak. What should she say? “Hello”? “This is Jolene”? “Hi, Van”?

  She cleared her throat. “Denki for returning my call.”

  “Sure, Jo. Anytime. You know that. Is there something I can do for you?”

  His kindness hit hard, and tears welled as the toll of the last two days threatened to pull her under. Who would’ve thought the most encouraging voice she’d come in contact with this week would belong to Van Beiler?

  Of course he’d never been unkind, at least not in words or tone. About nine years ago she’d read a book called The Five Love Languages, and she’d found the love language for each of her siblings, as well as her own. She hungered for kind words and an encouraging tenor in someone’s voice. Keep the gifts, hoard your time, don’t be of any help, and withhold all hugs, but when you speak, do so with kind, reassuring words. Of all that had been taken from her when she lost her parents, she missed their spoken affirmations the most.

  Her hands and arms were covered in dirt, bloody, and scratched up. But more than the physical discomfort, her feelings were hurt, and now she felt like the awkward, lonely girl she’d been after her parents died.

  “Jo? You there?”

  All she could manage was a nod, hoping the words would follow.

  Andy came to the door of the phone shanty, and the pooled tears in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Ignoring him, she took a deep breath. “Ya, I’m here.” Her voice trembled, and she wanted to smack Andy for it.

  “You okay?” The concern in Van’s voice was frustrating. She had gone all this time standing on her own, and now she sounded like a weepy, brokenhearted girl again, just as she had the day he said his final good-bye.

  Why had Andy come to the phone shanty? Whatever his reasons, he’d caught her as she fell apart, and he seemed as tied in place as a horse to a hitching post.

  She covered the mouthpiece with her palm, wiped her cheeks with the back of her wrist, and drew several deep breaths before removing her hand. “I’m fine, Van. And you?” But her voice broke again, and she had to cover the mouthpiece and gasp for air. She had to face facts. She simply wasn’t up to talking right now. “Actually … could I call you back in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Sure. I’ll wait right here for your call. You name what you need and when, and I’ll do it, okay?”

  No, it wasn’t okay. Why did she have to be in this position of needing to ask him for a favor? “Denki.” She hung up the phone and stared at it, trying t
o bite back more tears. She refused to look at Andy. “What?” She sounded every bit as exasperated with him as she felt.

  He set the book on the desk in front of her and brushed more dirt off of it. “I’m sorry.”

  His words made another wave of sappy emotions crash over her, but she kept herself in check, not so much as flinching.

  He grabbed a folded chair that was leaning against the far wall, opened it, and sat. “You’re untrained and working with rogue horses, and it scares me, but more than that, I’ve apparently become a crotchety old horse’s rump.”

  Her throat seemed to close, and fresh tears threatened. “You really hurt my feelings.”

  “And there was no call for that and no excuse.”

  She finally looked at him. His tanned face had smudges of dirt, making him look rugged and handsome, but far more important, she saw sincere repentance in his eyes. She didn’t want to imagine how ridiculous she looked with grimy clothes, a flat head covering, boy’s boots, half-fallen hair, and dirt-stained cheeks smeared with tears. “Girls get their feelings hurt. Have you and Tobias been on your own so long you’ve forgotten?”

  “No.” His lone word was barely audible. He sighed, shaking his head. “I didn’t forget. It seems as if I’ve just grown callous.”

  Fighting back more tears, she nodded and left the phone shanty. She went to the cast-iron water pump, removed the hand towel from it, and pulled and pushed the handle a few times until the water poured. She cupped her hands under it, pocketing water to wash her face. When the water stopped, Andy stepped forward and pumped it for her. She buried her face in a handful of water, grateful for a bit of reprieve from the emotional overload. Gaining a bit of composure once again, she scrubbed dirt and blood from her hands and arms with the hand towel, and then she walked to the shade of an oak and sat in a metal chair. Like Lester’s phone, the lawn furniture was probably from the mid-1950s. How many lunches had she shared out here with the old man over the last several years? The view of the surrounding pastures with tame horses grazing was picturesque as the orange sphere eased toward the horizon. It made her wish she was free to go to the attic and pick up a paintbrush. She would start with the thickest one her Daed had given her, with its wooden handle covered in beautiful, vibrant stains. Reaching deep into her hidden pocket, she touched the key, and a moment of feeling free to be herself brought a bit of peace.