Every Sunrise

by Tricia Goyer

  “Lunch? Oh yes, I forget. I’m sure I can come up with something.”

  Ten minutes later Charlotte shuffled upstairs to call the girls down for a late lunch. She peeked inside the half-open door and discovered that, as she’d figured the only thing Emily and Ashley were studying were the photos of the boys in last year’s yearbook. Charlotte paused and eyed them lying on the floor with the book open in front of them.

  “Travis Hollinger is so cute,” Ashley chattered on, “and remember that time he offered to be your lab partner? Maybe he’s the one who gave you the rose.”

  “Maybe, but what about the other one? Someone with really messy handwriting.” Emily flipped the page and scanned down. “Hmm. Maybe Knox.”

  “Yeah, he’s cute, but this is a really bad picture of him. He looks much better in person. I’m so glad he got a better haircut.”

  “I totally agree.” Emily laughed. “But even with a bad haircut he has the best smile—”

  Charlotte sighed. I started this whole thing by buying that flower. She pressed her fingers to her temples.

  Then again, she’d only given Emily one of them. Someone else had given that flower to Emily. Who? Charlotte hoped that, unlike the mystery in Christopher’s story, this mystery wouldn’t be solved. Who knew what types of trouble that would start again?

  Charlotte knocked on the door and pushed it open. “Girls, I have some LTL sandwiches ready if you want to come down.”

  Color rose to Emily’s cheeks as she realized her grandmother had most likely heard her last comment. She closed the yearbook and jumped to her feet. “Oh, my fav. I love those sandwiches. Thanks, Grams!” She shoved the yearbook under the bed with a kick of her foot.

  “What’s LTL?” Ashley pulled her curly red hair back from her face and fastened it with the rubber band she’d had on her wrist. Ashley offered Charlotte a sly smile and pink tinged her cheeks as she realized she too had been overheard talking about boys.

  Charlotte tried to act natural. “LTL stands for lettuce, tomato, and more lettuce. It’s Emily’s special version since she doesn’t eat meat, but I do have sliced ham in the fridge if you’d like to add some flavor to your sandwich.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Stevenson.” Ashley scooted past her through the door and then hurried down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Thanks, Grandma,” Emily said, not making eye contact.

  “Emily?” Charlotte reached out and touched her arm as she tried to brush past.

  “Hmm?” Emily glanced back, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. She bit her lip and shyly glanced at Charlotte as if expecting a lecture.

  “It’s okay to talk about guys—and to wonder about your flowers. I—”

  Emily crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back, making it clear that this was the last thing she wanted to discuss with her grandmother.

  Charlotte weighed whether she should continue, and decided she did need to say something about the roses. “Emily, I know you’ve probably been thinking a lot about the roses, and that’s only natural. Just don’t think about it so much that you can’t think about anything else.”

  “Yeah, okay, thanks, Grandma.” Emily’s brow wrinkled as if she was wondering if she should say something more. She took a step forward, then she paused and turned back. “Are we done?”

  “I suppose so. Unless you had something you needed to talk to me about?”

  Emily glanced down toward the kitchen and then back to Charlotte. “Just one question, I suppose.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Sure.”

  “Uh, did you have crushes when you were my age?” Emily asked.

  Charlotte laughed. “My, yes, and every girl does. Yet the important thing is to realize the emotions can get us into trouble if we’re not careful, and—” Charlotte caught herself. Emily didn’t need a lecture, not today. Not with her friend hanging out at the bottom of the stairs. “And you better get that sandwich before your lettuce gets warm.” Charlotte smiled.

  Emily looked relieved. Then she bounded down the stairs.

  Charlotte noticed Sam’s bedroom door was cracked open. She walked over to close it, knowing how crazy he got when Lightning got into his stuff. She reached the door and paused, looking in. It was clean—cleaner than she’d ever seen it. And empty, as if he’d put everything away, out of sight. It seemed as if it had been weeks, not just one day, since Sam had been gone.

  An anxious feeling overcame her, but Charlotte pushed it out of her mind. Sam had just spent the night at a friend’s house. He was fine. And he would be home soon.

  Charlotte turned and noticed Christopher had planted himself on the bottom of the stairs. His head was cocked, and as he sat there he seemed to be listening to the girls’ conversation.

  Charlotte let her fingers glide over the handrail as she moved down the stairs toward him. “Hey there, bud, what are you up to?”

  “Oh, just thinking.” He scratched his chin with the pink eraser on the pencil. “You know, there might be more interesting things to write about around here than animal tracks.” He eyed his sister and Ashley.

  Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think so. That’s the last thing your sister needs—to have her crushes broadcast all over the elementary school.”

  “Crushes?”

  “Yes, the boys she likes.”

  Christopher looked disappointed. “Okay, I won’t write about crushes.”

  The ringing of the phone split the air, and Charlotte hurried down the stairs.

  “I got it!” Emily lunged for the phone. “Hello?” She walked back toward her sandwich, the phone cord stretching behind her.

  “Yes, this is Emily.” She stopped midstep. “Oh, hi Hunter.” Her voice raised an octave as she said his name.

  “Hunter?” Ashley mumbled with a bite of sandwich in her mouth. She put down her sandwich and gave Emily two thumbs-up.

  Charlotte paused beside Ashley. She leaned close to the red-headed girl and realized she smelled like apple shampoo. “Who’s Hunter?”

  Ashley shrugged. “Oh, just a guy from school—in our own grade. His parents bought the old Schnurnberger place right down the road. He’s nice.”

  One minute later Emily hung up the phone. “That’s so cool. Hunter is riding his horse down.”

  “Down where?” Charlotte eyed the mounting clouds outside the window.

  “Down here. He lives right down the road. His dad just bought—”

  “The old Schnurnberger place, I know, but don’t you think you should ask before you invite someone over? You already have a friend here, and your aunt, uncle, and cousins are coming for dinner,” Charlotte said. “Besides, have you seen the weather? It’s already starting to snow.”

  “Oh, uh, I didn’t think of that. Hunter just said he was riding down. We’ll hang out in the barn, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay long.” Emily twisted the cord of the phone around her finger. “Besides, remember at church last Sunday, Hannah was telling you about the family. She said they were really nice.”

  “You’re right, she did say that. Although Hannah seems to like everyone.” Charlotte spotted Bob’s truck rumbling down the driveway, and she felt a sense of relief. The back-up had arrived. She could always count on Bob to get the kids to take care of what they needed to.

  “So, fine, but Hunter doesn’t need to stay very long.” Charlotte waved to Bob, now climbing out of the truck, and then she turned back to Emily. She tried to appear nonchalant as she prepared to ask the next question. “So do you think Hunter is the one who gave you a rose? And maybe Knox the other?”

  “Or, maybe Hunter gave Emily both, and he just had someone else write the note for him,” Ashley piped up. “It’s possible, you know.”

  “I don’t know about both. Weren’t there two cards by two different people?” Charlotte asked. Charlotte let out a slow breath, hoping she didn’t appear suspicious. The aroma of beef stew filled her nostrils. She removed the lid and stirred the stew, hoping that Emily d
idn’t suspect her.

  Emily shrugged. “I dunno. I mean, we don’t know for sure that Knox gave me one. It was just a guess. So maybe one was from Hunter.”

  “Or, like I said before, maybe both were from Hunter, and he just had a friend write the second card for him.” Ashley pointed a finger in the air. “That would be smart.”

  “Yes, well. Just make sure Hunter doesn’t stay long. He’s new to the area and he may not be aware of how quickly storms blow in. Speaking of which, I need to call Sam.”

  “Yeah, where is Sam?” Ashley asked. Then she took a big bite of her sandwich. She chewed it slowly and then swallowed. “I, uh, thought he was going to be here today.” Charlotte noted the disappointment in the girl’s gaze.

  “He’s at his friend Paul’s house.”

  Ashley took another bite. “Is he going to be back soon?” she said from the side of her mouth.

  “Yes, I sure hope so. Why?”

  “Oh. Just wondering,” Ashley said with the slightest hint of a smile.

  As the girls finished eating their lunch, Charlotte made a sandwich for Christopher. With the three kids fed, Charlotte thought she’d check on the fourth. She tried Sam’s cell phone but it went straight to voice mail.

  Charlotte sighed. “He probably forgot to charge it again. What am I going to do with that kid?”

  I suppose I’ll have to look up the number for Paul’s house.

  She looked up Paul’s parents’ phone number in the phonebook. Charlotte dialed, but there was a busy signal. Outside, Bob and Pete were unloading the truck, and their eyes were fixed on something down the road. Hoping it was Sam’s car they were focused on, Charlotte followed their gaze. Instead, she saw that it was a young man—who she assumed was Hunter—riding down the driveway on a large black stallion.

  Charlotte neared the window and craned her neck to get a better look. Cold air radiated off the glass, and she felt a shiver travel up her spine. “How in the world did he get here so fast?”

  Emily wrinkled her nose, and a sly grin spread across her face. “He, uh, called from his cell phone.” She tossed half of her lettuce sandwich into the garbage and then hurried toward the back door and quickly put on her coat and winter boots.

  “Oh my gosh, that is so cool,” Ashley squealed as she slid her arms into her jacket. She took one last bite of her sandwich and then tossed her napkin in the trash. Then, before Charlotte could respond, the girls darted out the door.

  “Well, I’ve heard everything now,” Charlotte shook her head. “Making a cell phone call on horseback—”

  She heard a giggle behind her and noticed Christopher watching her from the kitchen table. He rested his elbows on his knees, and his chin rested on his hands. Instead of running to the window to see what the new neighbor boy was up to, he seemed content to watch Charlotte.

  Their gazes locked, and Christopher sighed. “Grandma, are you sure I can’t write about this?”

  HUNTER SEEMED like a nice enough boy, or at least from what Charlotte could tell from a distance. She watched as the three teens took his horse into the barn, and she imagined what Bob thought about that. Everyone knew the barn was his territory. Even when Pete did his best to maintain things on the farm, not a day went by when Bob didn’t go back after his son and try to fix things just right.

  Pete took some packages to his apartment. The first thing Charlotte noticed when Bob came back into the house was that he was whistling. And instead of complaining about the teens and the horse, Bob seemed impressed with the horse and its owner.

  “That’s no 4-H pony, that’s for sure.” Bob settled down into his recliner and flipping on the television. “That horse is worth more than my truck, Pete’s truck, and Sam’s car put together.”

  “Maybe, but that’s not saying much.” Charlotte glanced at the clock. “Speaking of Sam, I think I’ll try him again.” She picked up the phone and dialed Paul’s home number again. There was still a busy signal. Again Charlotte tried to ignore the nagging feeling that something was going on with Sam. Everyone else seemed to be getting on with their day, so why was she getting anxious? Sometimes she wondered if her brain purposely tried to come up with things for her to worry about. It wasn’t as if Sam was a first grader. In fact, when she was his age she would often drive up to Harding with friends and spend the whole day up there without checking in once.

  Charlotte pushed all worries of Sam out of her mind. “Bill and Anna are coming for dinner. Did I tell you?”

  “Yup, three times.” Bob focused on the television game show as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “It will be good to see ‘em. Winter makes it hard to spend much time together. Hope the roads are okay.”

  She thought through her menu. Homemade beef stew, Anna’s salad, fresh biscuits—which she still had to make. She also knew she needed something colorful for dessert. Maybe a Jell-O cake? Not quite gourmet, but the kids always loved those.

  Thinking about her high school years over the last couple of days had made her realize how much her home economics training had stuck with her. For example, the idea of making meals colorful. Her teacher taught her the color wheel of meal prep as diligently as if she’d been teaching art. Something brown, something green, something red or yellow. In recent years kids were taught more useful stuff such as the nutritional content of foods.

  Charlotte smiled as she remembered some of her teacher’s other favorite phrases: “You are sewing with a railroad spike” and, “Your thread is long enough to go to Kansas City and back.” Those were the days.

  Charlotte chuckled. Bob didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. On the blaring television, the contestant missed the last question and lost the prize money. Bob mumbled under this breath, and then flipped off the TV. He lumbered into the kitchen.

  “Oh, the kids told me to tell you they’d be inside in a few. Got any cookies and cocoa around here?” He shuffled to the cookie jar on the counter and opened it to find just a few crumbs on the bottom.

  “You asking for them, or for you?” Charlotte placed her hands on her hips.

  “For them, of course.” Bob grinned and patted his large paunch.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought.” Charlotte grinned back.

  Teenage laughter filled the air and a minute later Emily, Ashley, and a young man were stomping their way inside.

  “Grandma, this is Hunter,” Emily said, looking a little shy. “Grandpa’s already met him.”

  “Hello, Hunter. Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said as she reluctantly pulled out store-bought cookies she’d gotten for school lunches.

  “Hello, Mrs. Stevenson. Thank you for letting me, uh, drop by,” said Hunter, standing stiffly.

  When the kids sat down, Hunter sat between the girls. They bookended him, their light skin and lighter shades of hair contrasting with Hunter’s handsome dark looks.

  Instead of going upstairs to change the sheets on the kids’ beds as she’d planned, Charlotte hung around the kitchen, keeping her eyes on the driveway, watching for Sam and listening with interest to Hunter’s fantastic stories. He wove a tale of his last barrel-racing win in a way that transfixed even her.

  “The thing about barrel racing is that it’s best if you can be one of the first ones to go,” Hunter said.

  “Why’s that?” Emily asked. She sat close to Hunter, but not too close. She also talked to him in an even tone and with real interest, so different from the giggly way she talked about boys she had crushes on.

  “Well, when you’re one of the first ones, the ground is perfectly raked and even, but then with each racer the horses’ hoofs create a worn path in the ground. This path trips up the horses that follow and slows them down. It takes a lot of work to place when you’re one of the last riders.”

  “I’d like to see you ride sometime,” Emily commented, breaking off a piece of cookie with her fingers. “It does sound sort of interesting.”

  “Well, I’m sure you can come down and watch me train. Or—if you want
to see a competition—you can come and watch the rodeo at the county fair at the end of summer.”

  “Sure. I’d like that.” Emily took a sip from her cocoa. “So when did you start racing?”

  Hunter launched into another story, and Bob approached Charlotte, leaning in close. “I wonder whether he’s one good cowboy, or one good storyteller,” Bob mumbled in Charlotte’s ear as he rinsed out his mug.

  “Well, either way he has the girls’ attention,” Charlotte said. Then she turned her attention back to the teens, realizing Hunter reminded her of a young John Travolta.

  She moved closer to Bob, and he leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. “I can’t tell if he likes Emily or Ashley, or both. Or neither.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?” Bob asked. “He’s a nice kid; why do they have to pair up? They’re too young for that. Too young to even think about dating.”

  Yet five minutes later, when Hunter returned outside to saddle up his horse and head home, it was Emily who accompanied him. But instead of acting jealous, Ashley smiled as she set three mugs in the sink and rinsed them out.

  “Do you need help mixing that dough?” Ashley watched as Charlotte finished adding the ingredients for biscuits into the bowl.

  “I’m fine. Why don’t you join Emily and Hunter outside?”

  “Well, for one thing it’s cold. And for another thing I think Hunter’s nice but—if I have to hear another barrelracing story I think I’ll scream.” She chuckled to herself. “Really, I can cut that dough for you if you’d like. My mom taught me how.”

  Charlotte handed the bowl to Ashley. “Well, despite his storytelling, Hunter seems like an interesting boy.”

  “Yeah, I think so, although Emily likes him more as a friend than anything else.” Ashley cut the dough with a fork and then paused to grab another cookie from the package and pop it in her mouth.

  “That may mean he likes Emily even more than she likes him. I wonder if one of the flowers was from him.”

  “Could be,” Ashley said with a shrug of her shoulders. Then she scooted next to Charlotte and lowered her voice. “Can you keep a secret?”