Every Sunrise

by Tricia Goyer

  With a sigh she buttoned her coat to her chin and hurried to her car. As she fumbled for her keys, it occurred to her that she was perhaps seeing the past through the wrong eyes. She had long ago realized that things happened for a reason. Perhaps she should quit looking back at those times with such regret. Sure they’d been difficult, but if things hadn’t happened that way she wouldn’t have Sam, Emily, and Christopher with her now. And even though it had been less than a year since they arrived at the farm, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of not having them around.

  Chapter Three

  Toby greeted Charlotte with a wag of her tail and a welcome bark. Charlotte climbed from her car and petted the dog’s head, noting the cold puffs of air coming from her nose. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get inside out of this chill.”

  She spotted lights in the barn as she hurried to the house. It could be Bob—finding a quiet place to escape from Pete. Or vice versa.

  She entered the house and relaxed a bit as the warm air enveloped her. That was one good thing about winter—having someplace cozy to return to.

  Bob sat at the dining room table reading the paper. His reading glasses were perched on his nose and for the briefest moment he looked like his father sitting there. Pa Stevenson had slouched over his newspaper, sipping on lukewarm coffee in the same serious way—as if he were reading top secret information from the Pentagon rather than the latest news of Bedford, Nebraska.

  Charlotte approached and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m thinking of making baked chicken with cornbread for supper. Doesn’t that sound good?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said without glancing up.

  She sat across from him. “You should have seen Christopher’s science project. I stayed around a few extra minutes for his presentation. He’s a smart one, that kid is. Reminds me of Bill at that age.”

  Bob nodded, but this time there was no comment.

  Charlotte threaded her fingers together and rested her hands on her chin. “So, on the way to school Sam talked me into buying a new vehicle for him. I was thinking about one of those Hummers we sometimes see in Harding—shouldn’t cost more than fifty grand, don’t you think?”

  A smile curled on her lips as she waited for her words to connect with Bob’s brain. He quickly glanced up and then noticed her smirk.

  “I’m listening. I’m listening. I can’t read and talk at the same time, you know. Unlike some people.”

  “Is that Pete out in the barn?”

  Bob shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. He mumbled something about looking for seed catalogs before he left.”

  “Oh, did he get that list I left on the counter for him? I hope so. He always finds a better deal than what I can get.”

  Bob shrugged. “Suppose so. Can’t keep track of everyone and everything around here …” Bob let his voice trail off, then he flipped the page of the newspaper.

  “I know.” She rose and squeezed his arm. She glanced toward the kitchen and eyed the counter “I don’t see the list up there so I assume he got it. And I won’t bother your reading. I think I’ll head out and talk to Pete and see if I put yellow squash on the list. The kids kept interrupting me last night, and I’m not sure what ended up on it.”

  She rebundled herself and patted Toby’s head as they ventured out into the cold once more. “It doesn’t matter if it’s ninety or zero to you, does it, girl.” Charlotte smiled as the dog trotted by her side.

  She pushed open the barn door, and sure enough, there was Pete sitting on a stool under the light, flipping through a seed catalog, mumbling to himself. The pleasant scent of animals and warm hay tickled her nose. It smelled like hard work even in this dormant season.

  “Caught you.” Charlotte smirked. “You reading aloud to an audience?”

  The milk cow and horses pricked up their ears as if they knew Charlotte was talking about them.

  “Just reading about the latest and greatest, out of the view of prying eyes.” Pete glanced up and pushed his cap back from his forehead. His eyes had the same dejected look that she’d seen in Sam’s just a few hours before.

  “Prying eyes?”

  “Meaning Dad, not you. Can’t move a rusty nail around here without him complaining about it.”

  Charlotte glanced around the barn, taking everything in: the clean hay, the contented animals, and her youngest son sitting on the milking stool, flipping through the seed catalogs. Her order was tucked in the pocket of his flannel shirt.

  “I see you found my list. I appreciate you taking the time to put in the order for me.”

  “Sure thing, just as long as you don’t give me a chewing out if I decide to order Stonehead Hybrid cabbage instead of Golden Acre cabbage this year. I’m thinking of trying it.” Pete smirked, leaned back against the barn wall, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Man, listen to me. I’m talking about cabbage like some guys talk about cars or motorcycles. It’s the small things in life that make all the difference isn’t it?” He spread his arms wide. “Pete Stevenson, this is your life.”

  Charlotte sighed at his snide retort. “Stonehead Hybrid cabbage sounds good. I don’t really mind. As long as it grows and tastes good in my cooking.”

  Pete flipped through the catalog, finding the page with the cabbage. “I mean, look at this, Mom. How can you pick?”

  Charlotte tried to ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

  Pete pressed his lips together. “It’s a hard choice though. They both look good. Would you believe there’s fifteen different varieties to choose from?”

  She approached and silently read over Pete’s shoulder as he flipped through the glossy pages that displayed bright photographs of perfectly round pumpkins, plump tomatoes, and flawless, beautifully arranged pea pods in the same manner as some guys would look at car or firearm magazines.

  “They’re always improving things, aren’t they? Making heartier plants that yield bigger crops—both in the garden and the field.” She patted Pete’s shoulder. “And better machines to help harvest them quicker.”

  “Yeah, but they cost a pretty penny too.”

  Pete flipped the page again. Charlotte pointed to a photograph of Crimson Sweet watermelons. “Hey, those were good. We should order more of those. I think I only had one packet of watermelon seeds on the list, but what do you think of making it two? Sam likes cold watermelon when he comes in from chores. Maybe we should clear a bigger spot and expand the whole garden. I’d like to get the kids more involved this year.”

  Pete glanced up and nodded, his blue eyes meeting hers. He sat up straighter on the stool. Charlotte could tell from the look on his face that he was already trying to figure out what he would need to do to make the garden bigger. “That’s not a bad idea, especially since they eat so much.”

  Charlotte chuckled. “I can’t leave anything in the fridge for five minutes. Otherwise, poof, it’s gone.”

  Pete stroked his chin the way Bob often did—although Charlotte would never tell him that. Pete prided himself on being different from his father. “Yeah, I could bring the tractor in and expand the garden plot. Get some good fertilizer. Pick out the rocks—we can get that done before the first planting, especially if the kids help.”

  “So do you think we should double up on everything?” Charlotte asked, already picturing herself working alongside the kids, the warm sun overhead and the warm soil sifting between her fingertips.

  “Everything but beets. No one really likes them, and you do all that work just to give them away.”

  “Good point. Was it Emily—Miss Everything-tastes-better-with-salad—who said they tasted like dirt?”

  “Yeah, it sounds familiar. She must have got it from her mom because Denise used to say the same thing.”

  “Really!” Charlotte folded her arms over her bulky jacket and leaned back against the cow’s stall. “I don’t remember that. In fact, sometimes I wonder if I was even present when you were kids. There seems to be so much lost in the recesses of my mind, never again to be found
.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe because your mind was on other things, bigger things, like helping Dad run the farm and raising us. But, well, I went to school with her, and some of my sister’s antics seemed to come straight out of a TV sitcom.” Pete chuckled and swung his foot, kicking at the hay that covered the barn floor.

  “Speaking of which,” Charlotte said, “I was talking to Melody Givens today and she mentioned some drama happening around a flower fundraiser, something about Denise and you fighting because you got more flowers. Do you remember what started it?”

  “Remember? How can I forget? I thought Denise was going to knock my head off because of some silly flowers. I suppose in the long run a glued locker wasn’t too bad.”

  “You’re kidding.” Charlotte grinned.

  “No, I’m serious. I got more flowers than she did during that Valentine’s fundraiser thing and you’d think I’d just won the lottery or something. She was so jealous. She always wanted to be the center of attention, and there I was, showing her up in front of the whole school.” Pete blinked his eyes as he spoke, then he wiped at his face as if pretending there was dust in his eyes rather than a tear.

  Charlotte patted his hand. It was the silliest things, really, that overwhelmed her emotions. A commercial that she knew would make Denise laugh or an eighties song on the radio. Big things, like birthdays and Christmas, she could build up her strength for, but it was those little things that tugged at her heartstrings and caught her off guard.

  “Humph.” Charlotte tried to clear out the emotion mounting in her throat. “So that flower thing really is as serious as everyone makes it out to be? It seems in my day it was just something fun we did for our friends.”

  “Most people back then didn’t make too big a deal about it. Most people besides my sister, that is.” He chuckled to himself. “What Denise never did find out is that Dana bought me one flower—but I bought five more for myself.”

  Charlotte’s laughter joined his. “You did? You’re kidding. Whatever for?”

  “It was Bill’s idea, actually. He said I could borrow the money. We worked out a deal that he’d pay for the silly flowers, and I’d do his chores for a week. Not only did Denise get mad—which was part of the plan—but Dana got jealous. She thought there was competition, and agreed to go steady with me after that.”

  The cow gave a low moo, as if scolding Pete for his wicked scheme. Charlotte couldn’t help but chuckle and shake her head. The things kids came up with—it was amazing, really. They were resourceful, sneaky, and smart. Way too smart for their own good.

  “So, do you think the kids are doing okay?” Charlotte glanced up, looking at the loft filled with hay but not really seeing it.

  The question seemed to come out of the blue, but it had been her intention all long to get Pete’s input. Anytime she shared her concerns with Bob he would just suggest adding more chores, as if hard work was the correct answer 100 percent of the time. And Hannah and Melody? Charlotte would have liked to agree with her friends and believe that Sam’s problem was just missing his mom, mixed with facing the winter glooms.

  But what would Pete say? She knew that even though Pete agitated the kids and egged them on, he was also probably the most tuned in to them. Maybe because he was closer to their age. Or because he also often felt like an outcast on the farm, even though most of the work now rested on his shoulders.

  “Yeah, Mom. I think the kids are doing fine. School seems to be going okay. Emily doesn’t have a boyfriend, which is a bonus. Christopher hasn’t been driving any heavy machinery lately.”

  “And Sam?” Her question hung in the air like a particle of barn dust.

  Pete took a minute to answer. “Well, maybe there’s something going on with Sam. I’m not sure. Who knows what’s going through his head—worries about girls, concerns about his schoolwork, maybe missing his mom? It must be hard for the kid. This will be the first birthday he’s celebrated without her around.”

  He elbowed Charlotte in the ribs. “Hey, it’s almost February 14th. Maybe I should lend him some money for flowers and he could get Emily’s goat. I could use someone to do more of the chores, and maybe a date is just what Sam needs.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened as she pictured such a thing. “Peter Charles, don’t you dare. Spring is right around the corner, and we have enough to worry about without the ups and downs of dating drama to distract us.”

  Pete pursed his lips and nodded. Then he slipped off the stool and tucked his hands into his pockets.

  Charlotte hurried to explain. “I’m talking about Sam and Emily dating, not you, of course. I mean, if you and Dana—”

  “Yeah, I know. If only it were that easy. I’m trying to do what I can, but I’m so lame about that type of stuff.”

  “Maybe you should get her some nice flowers.”

  “If you think it would help….” Pete’s eyes held a hint of hope.

  “Well, I can tell you this, son. It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Pete said as he slid the catalog into his pocket.

  Charlotte realized that he hadn’t really answered her question about Sam, but at least he was opening up to her. For a few brief moments she even got a glimpse about what was going on in his head.

  It gave her hope for Sam.

  Lord, make a way for Sam to be willing to let us in. Whatever it takes, Lord, soften Sam’s heart.

  Chapter Four

  Sam blew into his hands to warm them. His fingers felt as if they were being stabbed by a thousand tiny needles. He hated the cold. Hated always feeling half frozen.

  “Dude, tell me that you didn’t have to deal with ice like this in California. I mean it’s like trying to longboard on glass or something.” Paul flipped his hair out of his face as he glided next to Sam.

  “Or something—” Sam mumbled to himself. Then his voice rose as he called to his friend. “Heck, no, we don’t have ice like this, even at Christmas. If I was there right now I’d be wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and zipping down the hills with the ocean air on my face.”

  “Man, please, give it up. It sounds like you’re writing poetry or something.” His other friend, Jake, chuckled. He kicked up his skateboard and caught it in his hands.

  “I’ll show you poetry. Poetry in motion.” Sam dodged around a dirty pile of old snow, leaning forward on his board, feeling the cold air hitting his cheeks and numbing his nose.

  “So, dude, can you show me that trick you were doing last week?”

  Sam looked around and shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s snowed since then. There’s ice all over.”

  “C’mon, Slater,” Jake begged.

  “Fine, if you’re going to whine like my sister I guess I don’t have a choice.” Sam skated toward a spot that looked the least icy.

  His two friends circled Sam and waited.

  Sam cleared his throat. “First you have to learn how to ollie and then you have to learn to nose manual.” He dropped his longboard to the ground, then stood on it. “For the ollie nose manual, you want to approach the curb or platform at a medium speed in an ollie stance. Then pop, and go right into the nose manual. From there you pop out, land, and roll away.”

  Sam could see from his friends’ faces that they had no idea what he was talking about. So he bent over and grabbed the board, using big hand motions to show them what it would look like.

  “See, the board will pop up and land on the two front wheels,” Sam explained, trying to be patient.

  Paul and Jake stared at him blankly. Ice or no ice, he’d just have to show them.

  “Fine, move out of the way.” Sam scanned the parking lot. His favorite platform was covered in a pile of snow, so he pointed his board toward a loading ramp. It was higher than he usually popped onto, but he knew it could work.

  He stepped onto his board with an ollie stance, his back foot in the middle of the board and his front foot as close as possible to the front of the board. He kicked off, and just before he
reached the platform he put all his weight on his front foot. The effect was supposed to pop the board forward, carrying him up onto the loading dock.

  But Sam felt the board slipping backward and his body flying forward. He stretched out his hands to break his fall, but his rib cage hit the edge of the ramp first. Sharp pain shot through his ribs and he felt the wind escaping in one big whoosh.

  Sam crumbled to the ground and struggled to catch his breath. He heard his friends’ laughter. If he had any strength they’d each get a knuckle sandwich.

  “Dude, are you okay?” Jake’s voice called out.

  Sam heard the pounding of footsteps.

  Paul’s laughter shook his frame. “I wish I had a video camera. We could have totally won ten thousand dollars from America’s Funniest Videos with that one! Man, I think you hit black ice. It was righteous.”

  Righteous? Sam moaned. Where did they get their slang, from twenty-year-old movies? He grabbed his side and winced, knowing his friends from California would never use words like that. Also thinking that a stupid accident like this wouldn’t happen back home. There was no black ice there. No—

  “Hey, you kids need to get out of here!” A man’s voice split the air. It was the produce manager of Herko’s Grocery Store waving a broom in Sam’s direction. “We don’t need you out here getting hurt and worrying our customers. We—we’re not going to pay if you break anything either!”

  Sam first sat, leaning his back against the concrete platform. Then he tried to turn to one knee.

  Paul and Jake sobered and turned toward Sam.

  “Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have laughed. You okay?” Paul grabbed Sam’s board.

  Jake attempted to help Sam up. “You didn’t break anything, did you?” He grabbed under Sam’s arms and pulled, causing another sharp pain to spread through Sam’s ribcage.