High Hurdles

by Lauraine Snelling

  DJ knew that simple gesture said her mother was feeling worse than she looked. With no lipstick, smeared mascara, and her hair tousled as if she’d raked her fingers through it in frustration, she didn’t look like the normally polished Lindy.

  After the greeting, Lindy exploded. “What! What do you mean?” A pause. “No, that can’t be.”

  DJ froze. Now what?

  Lindy hung up the phone, eyes closed, face twisted as though she were in pain.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “The Carillion—you know, the place we were planning to have the reception? It burned to the ground last night. Maybe this is the sign I’ve been afraid would happen. I just knew we’d have to call off the wedding!”

  CHAPTER • 7

  “No, Mom! You can’t do that!” DJ grabbed her mother’s shoulders.

  Lindy shrugged her off. “I don’t see any alternative. We can’t find a place to house the reception this close to the date.” She rubbed her forehead. “There are just too many things going wrong.”

  DJ stared at her mother. What can I do? God, surely you have a place in mind for the reception. Help! She waited, hoping for a sign, a clue, anything.

  Nothing. Her mind felt as blank as the message board in front of her. At a sound, she turned from studying the blank board to her mother, who now stood with her forehead against a cupboard door, her shoulders shaking. She’s crying. Mom is crying. DJ started forward and stopped. What could she do?

  Quickly, she grabbed the box of tissues from the counter and crossed to her mother. “Here.” Her voice came as gently as it did with a flighty foal. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go into the other room.”

  “I . . . I can’t h-handle any m-more.” Tears streamed down Lindy’s face as she pulled a tissue from the proffered box. “Robert will be so disappointed.” She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, but within a heartbeat, she was more tear streaked than before. And still the tears kept on.

  DJ steered her to the sofa. “Sit.” When Lindy collapsed against the soft cushions, DJ took the place beside her. She set the box of tissues on her mother’s lap and picked up her shaking hand.

  “How about if I call Gran?”

  A violent shake of the head met that suggestion. Robert? Should I call Robert? No, he lived too far away. God, you’re the only one near enough to help. She rubbed her mom’s shoulder and gently tucked the hair behind her ear. How many times had Gran done the same for her? Loving pats and a soothing tone meant love more than anything else did to DJ. She made herself relax and let her mother cry.

  Finally, the downpour changed to a shower, then to a meandering drop. After more nose blowing and eye wiping, Lindy at last laid her hands in her lap, a clump of tissues mounded beside her. She blinked and drew in a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

  “I really don’t think I’m cut out to be a wife and a mother.”

  “You already are a mother—my mother.”

  “You’re right. Then being a wife is the problem.”

  “No, a place for the reception is the problem.” DJ propped her elbows on her knees. “I think Gran and Joe might have an idea where else to look. If nothing else, we can have it in the church basement. Or in the covered arena at the Academy.”

  “Great. I can see us all dressed up in our fancy clothes, making sure some horse doesn’t eat the wedding cake.”

  DJ blinked. Her mother had made a joke, a good sign. “There’s got to be other places to have a reception.”

  “You may not know this, but I called lots of other places before settling on this one. They were either too expensive or unavailable or . . .”

  “Or what?”

  “Or . . . I had already chosen the Carillion.” Lindy rubbed her tongue over her lower lip. “I think I gave the list to Gran.”

  DJ could see the wheels start turning again. “You want me to call Robert for you and tell him the wedding is off?” DJ couldn’t resist the urge to tease her mother even if it might prove to be the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

  Lindy rolled her swollen red eyes. “Not yet anyway.” She blew her nose again. “Maybe I just needed a good cry.”

  “M-o-t-h-e-r.”

  “Well, a cry sometimes releases pent-up stress and—”

  The phone rang. DJ crossed to the table next to the wing chair and picked up the cordless phone. “Hi, this is DJ.”

  “Hi yourself.” Robert’s voice sounded as tired as Lindy’s. “Your mom there?”

  “I . . . ah, just a minute.” DJ buried the phone against her shoulder. “It’s Robert,” she whispered. “You want to call him back?”

  Lindy shook her head. “No, I’ll take it.” She sniffed. “Is something burning?”

  “Burning? Yikes, the meat loaf!” DJ handed the phone to her mother and dashed for the kitchen. Grabbing a potholder, she pulled open the oven. Smoke billowed up in her face, making her eyes sting and a cough erupt. At least there were no flames. She opened the window above the sink, gulping in the fresh air. From here, she could hear her mother talking in the family room, her tone sounding almost normal again. DJ returned to the open oven, where the apples she’d set in a bread pan now sat in a crust of smoking burnt sugar. All the water had evaporated.

  She pulled the pan from the oven and set it on another hot pad. “I guess the apples don’t look too terrible if we don’t eat the black stuff,” she told herself as she turned off the oven and took out the meat loaf, now dark brown on the bottom. She placed the crusty baked potatoes on the counter along side of it. So much for a perfect dinner, but then this wasn’t turning into a perfect night anyway.

  DJ went ahead and fixed her plate, taking it to the dining room. The two place settings now looked forlorn at the end and side of the long table. She thought of the meals eaten here with Gran and Gramps and Mom long ago, and lately with Robert and the boys. The room had seemed so full of life those other times, but now the silence hovered like a ghostly presence that snuffed out sounds.

  Surely Robert could talk some sense into her mother.

  But where could they hold the reception? The next phone call had to be to Gran, that was for sure. She would come up with an answer, like always. Of course, Gran came up with answers because she always prayed about them first. God sure seemed to listen to Gran’s prayers.

  Did that mean He didn’t listen to hers? DJ thoughtfully poured ketchup on her meat loaf. No, God had answered her prayers many times, too—Gran would say all the time, adding that sometimes DJ just didn’t like His answers. So what was God saying now?

  She heard her mother dialing the phone. From the conversation, DJ knew her mother and Gran were talking. She picked up her plate and fork and wandered into the family room, sitting in the wing chair. Her mother nodded to her and kept on talking. A frown would have meant DJ should leave the room.

  When Lindy pushed the Off button and laid down the phone, she looked over at her daughter. “You were right. We . . . I won’t cancel the wedding. This is a challenge, not a conclusion.”

  DJ could feel her smile widening with every word. “Way to go, Mom. You aren’t a quitter.”

  “No, I’m not. And neither are you.” Lindy closed her eyes and shook her head. “Not that quitting didn’t sound real inviting a while ago.” She looked up again after studying her hands, clasped casually on her knees. “What is it that smells burnt?”

  “The baked apples. The rest of the dinner is on the stove.” DJ could feel her appetite coming back. “You want me to fix you a plate?”

  “I think I’ll go change first. I feel like a wrung-out dishrag. I’ll eat later and put the food away.”

  “Guess that means I can get to my homework right away.” DJ took her plate back to the kitchen, then looked over her shoulder. “You okay?”

  “I am now—or will be. I guess we could have the reception here or over at Gran’s if need be. So it would be crowded. So what?”

  DJ and her mother walked up the stairs together, arms around each other’s waist.


  Several hours later when DJ turned out her light, she went to stand at the window to watch the mist rainbowing in the streetlights. Weddings, floods, fires, new fathers—what else could happen?

  The next afternoon, DJ met the new woman at the Academy.

  “Put that pole back up.”

  DJ turned from her teaching position at the far end of the arena where she had her three students circling to leave space for the jumper.

  “I think she’s talking to you,” Angie Lincoln said as she trotted past DJ.

  “Who?”

  “That lady.”

  “I said, put that pole back up.” The woman on the light chestnut horse flung the words over her shoulder as she cantered past and headed for another jump.

  DJ signaled to the girls to keep circling and crossed the sandy space to set the rail back up on the standards. Who does this woman think she is? DJ swallowed the rest of the thought before she could get any more worked up than she already was. Stalking back to her class, she pasted a smile on her face.

  “Okay, kids, lope now and watch your leads.” DJ felt unfriendly eyes drill a stare into her back. She heard another tick, but this time, there was no thud of a falling pole. She watched her students intently, making comments as needed and cheering them on. Krissie, her blue eyes glacial, kept sending icy looks in the jumper’s direction.

  “Come on, kids, concentrate on your horse and what you are doing.” DJ let them make another round before signaling them to join her in the center of their circle. “Okay, you did good, like you always do. Good enough to move on. Let’s start working on backing up so we can begin opening gates pretty soon. I know you all plan on trail-riding, and that class calls for opening and going through a gate.”

  Angie raised her hand. “I already know how to back up. Want to see?”

  DJ nodded.

  Angie pulled back on her reins. “Back.” She clucked at the same time. “Come on, back.” Her horse shook his head but did as asked. Backing slowly, he angled toward the horse on his left.

  “Good. Anyone else?” The other two shook their heads.

  DJ had them all dismount and showed them how to hold the reins and push against their horse’s shoulder, giving the back-up command at the same time. She helped each girl, reminding them all to praise their horses and pat them for doing right. After the ground work, they mounted, and again she helped each one, herself on the ground and her students in the saddle.

  Sam’s horse kept shaking his head and playing with his bit. He did not want to back up for anything. DJ persisted, reminding Sam, “After squeezing, you have to lean forward slightly to open the door so he can back up.” The horse gave in and stepped back. DJ looked up at the grin on the girl’s face.

  “See, you just have to be patient.”

  “And stubborn.” Sam, short for Samantha, leaned forward and patted her horse’s neck. “Good boy.”

  DJ smiled up at the girl. “You did a great job of keeping your cool, kiddo.”

  “I’m learning.” Sam tightened her reins as her horse tried to go forward. “Whoa.”

  When the lesson was over, DJ followed the girls to the barn to make sure they untacked their horses properly. She refused to even look at the woman still working her horse over the jumps, now with one of the other student workers adjusting the bars. Her tone held no more kindness than before. Has the woman never learned to at least say please?

  That night, Robert and the boys arrived loaded down with boxes of Chinese food for dinner. DJ was setting the table when the phone rang. Because she was closest, Lindy answered it.

  DJ looked up when her mother’s voice turned extra polite. Pausing in the doorway, she waited.

  “Yes, Brad, I have a moment.” Lindy paused. “I see.”

  If only she could hear the other side of the conversation. DJ itched to run for the other phone.

  “So you’re saying you’d like DJ to attend a horse show with you and Jackie a week from Thursday.”

  DJ clenched her hands to her sides. Oh, please, Mom, say yes.

  “I’ll have to give this some thought. With the wedding coming up . . . well, how about if I get back to you tomorrow?”

  DJ could feel her shoulders slump.

  “DJ, we’s hungry,” Bobby and Billy announced as one.

  She set the plates in front of each of them and reached for a carton of sweet-and-sour prawns, the boys’ favorite. She tried to listen over their chatter, without success. “Shhh!” She glared at them.

  Their mouths turned to Os, and they shrank back as if she’d hit them.

  “DJ, was that necessary?” Robert’s voice held more than a trace of anger.

  CHAPTER • 8

  DJ felt as if she’d been struck.

  Two lower lips quivered as the Double Bs looked first to their father and then back to DJ.

  “I’m sorry, guys.” She hunkered down between the two of them and wrapped an arm around each boy. “Please forgive me?”

  With four arms strangling her neck, DJ fought back the hot moisture burning behind her eyes.

  “I forgive you.” The blue eyes on the right said more than the words.

  “Me too.” The one on the left wriggled in his chair. “ ’Cause we loves you.”

  The words rang in DJ’s mind long after the boys had left and Robert had given her a hug that said the same.

  Is that what would make this family possible? Was there enough love for Brad and Jackie, too?

  When she told her grandmother her worries the next afternoon after her stint at the Academy, DJ just shook her head. “Just like you all these years, Gran. How come something so simple as being a family is so hard to live out?”

  Gran stroked DJ’s hair as DJ leaned against her grandmother’s knee. “It is so simple to love, yet sometimes we get in the way of it. Mostly because we want our own way, I guess. Remember, simple and easy aren’t the same.”

  “I want Mom to let me go to the horse show with Brad and Jackie. It would be so cool to see her compete, and Lord Byron is an awesome horse.” DJ sat still for a few moments. “Did Robert tell you that I hollered at the boys?”

  “No.”

  “I hurt their feelings, so he yelled at me, and that hurt my feelings.” She sighed, a deep sigh that started way down and worked its way up. “What a mess. And all because I wanted to hear what Mom was saying to Brad.” She turned to give her grandmother one of those I-blew-it half grins. “Of course, listening in would have been eavesdropping, and how many times have you warned me against that?”

  Gran put gentle hands on both sides of DJ’s face and kissed her forehead from above. “More than once, my dear, more than once.”

  “More than once what?” Joe ambled into the room, his glasses pushed up on his forehead. “You seen my book, Mel? I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one about training a roping horse. I wanted to show DJ a picture in it.” He looked over the room.

  “Did you check the bookshelf?”

  He shrugged and winked at DJ. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”

  DJ and Gran laughed together as he left the room. When he called to report he’d found the book, they laughed again.

  When Lindy came to pick up DJ later, she accepted the offered cup of coffee and took a place at the table. “So, Mother, what did you find?”

  “How does the Oak House sound?”

  “Really?” Lindy set her coffee down with a thump. “That’s perfect. Even closer to the church and—”

  “And it costs less, if you can believe it. I know for a fact their food is better than the Carillion’s, too.”

  “And it is bigger.” Lindy reached a hand across to her mother. “I can’t believe it.”

  DJ felt like she was at a tennis match, swiveling her head between the two. “So God did good, huh?”

  Lindy looked at her daughter, then slowly nodded her head. “Yes, He did.”

  DJ and Gran shared a secret smile. Lindy was c
oming around.

  When Brad called later that evening, DJ answered the phone. “Looks like Major’s leg is finally okay,” she said when he asked about her horse. “I get to ride him for a brief warm-up tomorrow, then add more time each day. One of these days, the rain will let up for more than a couple of hours at a time and we’ll get to use the jumping arena again.

  “Speaking of jumping, have you heard of a woman named Mrs. Lamond Ellsindorf? Most people call her Bunny.”

  “Yes, I think so. Why?”

  DJ went on to tell him about the woman’s rudeness and how all the Academy kids already hated her. “She never says please or thank you. Just orders us around like we’re her slaves.”

  “Hmm. That doesn’t sound like the woman we met. I’ll ask Jackie and let you know when I pick you up a week from tomorrow. You’ll be ready, right?”

  “You mean I get to go?”

  “That’s what your mother said when she called me today. She didn’t tell you?”

  “Nope, we were talking about the new reception place. Guess she forgot.”

  “You’ll need some dressy casual clothes, like a blazer or a good sweater.”

  “Sure.” She mentally inventoried her clothes closet. She’d outgrown the one outfit she kept for special events. “I’ll be ready. Thanks, Da—Brad.” She hung up, wondering at her slip of the tongue. Was she really beginning to think of him as Dad?

  Later, after an hour at her books, DJ got a black cherry soda from the refrigerator and sat down beside her mother on the sofa. “Thanks for letting me go to the horse show.”

  “You’re welcome. Robert and I agree that it will be a good experience for you.”

  DJ figured she owed Robert a big thank-you. She picked at the cuticle on her thumb, then took a swallow of the soda. How can I ask for another favor? “When do we go pick up the dresses for the wedding?”

  “I don’t know. I should call, I guess.” Lindy looked up from reading the paper. “Why?”