Cowgirl

by Nance Sparks

  “When you preserve your own food, it tastes better, fresher, sort of like the milk. And I save seeds each year, so it costs nothing to grow the vegetables and reuse the jars. A little elbow grease and I have free food.”

  Aren grabbed the stool and tipped up a crate for Carol to rest her leg on. Soon, they were working together at a quick pace getting things ready to be put into quart jars. Once everything was washed, Aren set up a propane tank and a sturdy two-burner table. She grabbed two water bath pots from a shelf and filled each half full of water before lighting the flame to allow the water to heat to a boil. Throughout, she explained what she was doing and how it all worked. Carol enjoyed the lesson and opportunity to concentrate on something else.

  “So, did you finish all of your phone calls?” Aren asked as she peeled tomatoes and stuffed them into quart jars.

  “Yes, I did. That reminds me. I came down here to ask you a question. Is this the old Harris farm?” Carol looked up from her work in time to see Aren’s head drop and her back stiffen.

  Aren turned to face Carol before she answered. Her eyes had gone cold and dark. The scars on Aren’s face suddenly seemed deep and rigid. Aren licked her lips before answering. “Yes, this is the old Harris farm. Why do you ask? What did they say about it?”

  “That’s just it. The reverend didn’t say anything, but his mannerism sure changed, much like yours just did.” She silently chastised herself for bringing it up. “I had to give him an address to send the paperwork.”

  Carol sat motionless, waiting to see if she’d pushed too far. Finally, she heard Aren draw in a breath.

  “Phyllis and Ron Harris used to own this property.” Aren turned back to her tomatoes and filled up another two quarts before continuing. “They had one son, Daniel. He dated a local girl and they were high school sweethearts. From what I could find in the newspaper archives, he caught her with another guy one night. The three argued and things got heated. There was a fight. After he pummeled the guy until he was unconscious, he turned his attention onto her. He beat her until she stopped fighting back. She died before she reached the hospital. Daniel was sentenced to prison for the crimes. He was murdered in prison fourteen years into his sentence by another inmate.”

  Aunt Suzie had been right about the farm being under a cloud. “So, did you buy this farm from them?” Carol asked hesitantly.

  Aren sighed and rested the tomato on the jar top. “Kind of. They were my foster parents. Ron couldn’t get work after Daniel’s conviction. No one wanted to hire the father of a murderer. So, he and Phyllis decided to take in some foster kids to help them keep the farm. They wanted boys to do the farm work, but the state doesn’t let you pick and choose. They took me in first, and then Jennifer four months later.”

  Aren trailed off after mentioning Jennifer’s name. Carol sensed that Aren was done talking about the old Harris farm and went back to peeling her tomatoes. There was more to the story, but now wasn’t the time to ask. Murder might explain the reverend’s reaction, but it didn’t explain Aren’s scars, or the way the people in town treated her. All Carol knew was that the pain and wariness in Aren’s eyes was real, and it made her sad. It sounded like she’d had a rough time of it, and a lot of loss in her life, much like Carol had. Oddly, there was comfort in finding someone who understood. She kept at the veggies, lost in thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aren released the cows out to pasture. She couldn’t believe that it had been nine days since the storm. She thought for sure that she would have grown weary of having someone in her space for an entire week, but she found herself enjoying time spent with Carol. She realized how much she’d missed companionship and found herself looking forward to the evenings instead of dreading the loneliness in the loft when the chores were finished for the day. Aren made her way up the wooden stairs with her two stainless steel milking pails. About halfway up the stairs, she inhaled the most delightful aroma. Her pace picked up though she was careful not to spill the milk.

  Carol was standing next to the dining room table, a crutch under each arm. She looked absolutely beautiful. Her short brown hair was tucked back behind her ears. Tiny earrings sparkled almost as much as her hazel eyes in the candlelight. A delicate sundress showed off a curvy figure, highlighting her breasts and hips. Aren’s heart skipped a beat and butterflies stirred low in her belly. Carol’s smile seemed to broaden when she saw Aren approaching, which made Aren’s knees weak. The small dining table was set for two with a few more candles burning softly in the center.

  “Wow, this is a wonderful surprise!”

  “I thought that since I can’t help out much in the garden or with many of the chores, the least I could do is cook you a wonderful meal. Well, I hope it’s wonderful.” Carol smiled.

  “I’ll get the milk strained quickly and then we’ll see if it tastes as amazing as it smells.” Aren hefted the pails into the back room and moved as quickly as she could. She didn’t have time to change clothes and she winced at the way she probably looked and smelled. She never had to worry about it, but now there was a beautiful woman in a sundress waiting for her. She shrugged the thought away. It’s not like Carol was trying to impress her.

  Soon, the milk was in the refrigerator and they were seated at the table. Aren took a bite of the meal and allowed the flavors to dance on her tongue.

  “This is wonderful! You found everything you needed to make this here?” Aren asked in astonishment.

  “You have all sorts of great spices in that rack up there. I just pulled out a round steak and let it slowly cook all day in the Crock-Pot with a little of this and a touch of that. The summer squash cooked up nicely.” Carol tilted her head. “I hope you don’t mind me rummaging around for things.”

  “Oh, and mashed potatoes, my favorite!” Aren took a fork full of the potatoes. “If you cook like this, feel free to rummage all you want.”

  “I’m glad you like them. I’ve never mashed potatoes with a hand masher. I hope they aren’t too lumpy. Now, all that’s missing is a nice bottle of merlot.” Carol smiled until she saw the look on Aren’s face. Instantly, her smile faded. “What did I say?”

  Aren scolded herself for letting her expression give her away. “Nothing, no, you didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry. Please smile some more, I treasure your smiles. It’s nothing you’ve done or said. I’m not a drinker.”

  “Would you consider telling me about it? I want to learn more about you, Aren,” Carol said sincerely.

  “Maybe later, okay? This is such a wonderful meal. I don’t want any of my old stuff putting a damper on such a great evening. How about you tell me about your day instead?” Aren tried to keep her tone light. She wasn’t ready to explain her hang-ups with alcohol or anything else.

  Carol looked a little disappointed, but she smiled and continued to eat. Aren’s heart sank a little knowing she’d dampened the mood of the meal.

  “I made my way across the street again today, and the documents I’d been waiting for finally arrived in the mail.”

  “Oh yeah? Anything other than what you expected?”

  Carol finished chewing her steak. She swallowed and reached for her glass of water. “There was a large envelope from my aunt Suzie.” Her eyes welled up.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Aren reached over and touched Carol’s arm.

  “Aren, you didn’t upset me. It’s just a lot, like the past and present are colliding and I’m on this wild emotional roller coaster ride that I can’t seem to get off of.”

  Aren pulled her hand back and picked up her fork. She had no right to push Carol or ask questions when she wasn’t capable of sharing.

  “If I’m honest, I haven’t opened it yet. Her handwriting is so much like my mom’s. I just held the envelope and cried like a baby.”

  “Past and present colliding. Now I understand. Your parents, you said they died in a car accident?” Aren asked, following another bite of round steak. She was getting better at this conversation stuff. />
  “Yes, just a couple of years ago. Aunt Suzie and Uncle Frank helped me with everything. I was a wreck. Aunt Suzie stayed with me for the summer. She helped settle their estate and sell the house. I couldn’t afford to pay it off and keep it. I was still in school and didn’t qualify for a loan to take it over. They had some life insurance, but it barely covered the cost of their funerals. They had some investments and a little in a savings account that paid for my master’s program, but that was about all that was left beside the photos and other stuff like that. It was a draining summer, taking care of their estate after the accident. I miss them so much.”

  Carol shared with an openness that made Aren a bit envious. If only she could share her feelings so easily. She changed the subject and asked about Carol’s university days and what books she liked, and it seemed to lift her mood.

  Aren insisted on doing the dishes since Carol had cooked. She had to remind Carol of the need for her to stay off her foot before Carol finally gave in and allowed Aren to take the items to the sink. Soon enough, the dishes were done and coffee was percolating on the small Coleman stove.

  Aren set up a couple of comfortable chairs in front of the loft door and left only the candles burning on the table allowing them to see the night sky through the screen. Once she successfully got Carol settled, using a hay bale as an ottoman, Aren fixed each of them a cup of steaming hot coffee.

  “Here you are, m’lady,” Aren said, handing Carol her mug.

  “I do believe you are going to spoil me rotten,” Carol said, smiling above the steamy mug.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a little spoiling.” Aren smiled back, trying to ignore those butterflies swarming in her stomach again. “Thank you for cooking me such a lovely meal. It’s been years since anyone has cooked for me. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” Carol reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Aren’s ear.

  Aren took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A touch so tender knocked a few more stones free from the wall she’d built around her heart. She couldn’t allow herself to get used to it, though. Carol would heal, she’d get back on her feet, and she’d move on. She wouldn’t be interested in living on a farm with a woman who had more baggage than an airline. For now, she could enjoy having someone there who didn’t know the whole story. She could pretend, for a while, that she could have a normal life. And when Carol left, she’d hold on to the memory of days filled with sweet smiles and laughter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The chairs situated in front of the large loft door were left in place from the night before. Carol sat looking out over the pastures beyond the garden, where Aren was working with a big horse. She looked closer and realized it wasn’t Wyatt. The large animal seemed a bit nervous, stepping off to the side and backing up often. Then, she’d watch Aren maneuver in front of the horse and say or do something, Carol wasn’t sure what, but the horse would settle right down and allow Aren to lean in and embrace his mammoth head. After a moment or two, Aren would go back to saddling up the large horse.

  The process unfolding before her eyes intrigued her. She’d taken a class in college on horsemanship and imagined that this was what they meant when they spoke of gentling a horse or starting a horse. Either way, watching Aren assure this animal that could surely squash her was exciting. Carol guessed that Aren was happy with the fit of the saddle. She watched as Aren went over to the fence and pulled off a long rope or leash. Aren affixed one end onto the horse’s halter and led him out to an open area of the pasture. She waved a hand gently and the horse began walking circles around Aren to the length of the leash. Carol tapped the rim of her coffee cup trying to remember what the action was called.

  “Lunging! You’re lunging him!” She squealed out with excitement.

  Aren looked up to the screened-in window and waved. Carol returned the wave from her observation post.

  “Good morning!” She called down.

  “Good morning to you!” Aren shouted back. “Want to come down and watch? I’ll set you up a chair in the shade.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right down.”

  By the time Carol hobbled down to the pasture Aren had already set up a nice Adirondack chair and matching footrest. The chair was weathered but sturdy and comfortable. Aren apparently used this chair often because she had a saddle pad cut to cushion the seat and back rest with another small padded fabric covering the foot rest. All three of the cushions were sun faded. Carol looked up from her new perch and took in the massive maple tree that seemed to shade an area three times the size of the space Aren was using to work the horse.

  The image of her aunt’s home came flooding into her mind. She’d never experienced fear like that before. She recalled that her first thought was that a tornado had struck the home. The sound of the thunderous boom that had woken her from a peaceful slumber had frightened her to the point of remaining frozen in bed. She remembered screaming when she heard the creaking, crashing, and popping as the second story was crushed above her. Carol was sure her time on this planet was over when the beam from the ceiling gave way and crashed onto her bed. Her next thought was of the relief she’d felt when she heard someone calling out. Seeing Aren’s face had meant she wasn’t going to die there, alone.

  “Carol? Carol, are you all right?” Aren’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

  Carol pulled her gaze from the tree canopy and blankly stared at Aren for a moment. She blinked a few times before she answered. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just got lost in my thoughts there for a minute I guess.”

  Aren knelt next to one of the armrests. She took Carol’s hand in her own. Her touch was so gentle.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Aren asked, stroking the back of Carol’s hand.

  “Lightning striking a tree that collapses a house in on itself is what, a million to one? A billion to one odds? Why that night? Why when we were all sleeping? Why that section of tree and not the other half of the fork in the tree that would have fallen away from the house? Why did I get to live and not them?” Carol wondered aloud, returning her gaze to the canopy of the tree. She kept a tight grip on Aren’s hand, not wanting to let it go.

  “Do you believe it when people say, ‘it was just their time to go’?” Aren asked. She shifted from the side of Carol’s chair. Aren moved the empty footstool closer to Carol and sat down directly in front of her.

  Carol looked at Aren and pondered the question she’d just been asked. “I don’t know. I guess so. What do you think? Do you think the Lord calls us home or do you think that shit just happens and POOF, we’re no more?”

  Aren’s free hand wrapped around Carol’s. Her touch was so gentle. She continued to caress the back of Carol’s hands when she spoke. “Are you asking me if I believe in Heaven? I don’t honestly know if I believe or not. I read a few books after Jennifer died, trying to figure out an answer to that very question. Then, one day I was right in the middle of this self-help book when something dawned on me. Actually, it hit me as if I’d stepped on the wrong end of a garden rake.”

  “What was it? What did you figure out?” Carol asked earnestly.

  “That all of these people who wrote these books had no more inside knowledge than I would have. These authors were no different than me. Some might have studied the bible, some might have studied spirituality, some were philosophers, but why on earth was I looking to them to give me answers that were really nothing more than their best guess? I mean, who really knows until we’re dead, and then how would we come back to communicate that knowledge?”

  “I see your point, but what about the people who died in the emergency room and then were brought back to life? Or the psychics that channel into the other world? Don’t you think that they would have some firsthand knowledge? How could all the stories be the same if they didn’t experience it?” Carol asked, offering a different perspective.

  “I can’t say what they did or didn’t experience. I
can’t say why some of us are here and others aren’t. Do the people here have some destiny to fulfill? I don’t believe that’s always the case. Not with the things I’ve witnessed in my lifetime. As far as the psychics and the near-death experience folks, I think a lot of that is offering people answers, telling them what they want, or maybe need to hear mixed in with a little power of persuasion. I think the light at the end of the tunnel is so beaten into our subconscious that when we wake up and we’re told that we didn’t have a heartbeat for a bit, we’re certain we got to see that too. Who wants to be left out?” Aren asked. The sincerity in her expression warmed Carol’s heart. She wanted to be wrapped up and held with the tenderness she saw in Aren’s eyes.

  “No one wants to be left out,” Carol whispered.

  “I can’t answer any of the whys of it all. I will say that I’m sorry your aunt and uncle didn’t make it, and I’m also so incredibly grateful that you did. I’ve grown quite attached to you.” Aren smiled at her.

  They looked deep into each other’s eyes. Carol leaned in closer and her breath deepened. She swallowed hard and licked her lips. They were almost touching noses and Carol’s heart was beating like a drum in her chest. Aren reached up to gently touch Carol’s cheek.

  “I should get back to working with Doc if we’re going to take that ride together when you get your cast off,” Aren said huskily.

  The tension was broken, and Carol leaned back a bit. “You’re doing all that work so that we can go riding together?”

  “He’s a young boy and while I’ve had him out a few times, he still needs a lot of work before I’d trust him off this property, but you’d ride Wyatt, not Doc. I’d trust you to be completely safe on Wyatt.”