by Leslie Gould
“So it’s a trial run?” Rebekah kicked Sky gently, urging him over the roots of a western hemlock that had knotted the trail.
“We’ll see.”
“Don’t you like small towns?”
“I grew up in one.” Elise sounded a little out of breath.
“I remember.” Rebekah smiled. “So, you’re just not sure about this small town?”
“I wasn’t sure about the one I grew up in, either.” Elise laughed. “How old was Pepper when you adopted her?”
“She was a foster baby—our first and last. She came home from the hospital at three months. Then her birth mom died when Pepper was nine months old; we adopted her after that.”
“Couldn’t you have more babies after Reid?” Elise jiggled the mare’s reins and clicked her tongue.
Rebekah shook her head. “I had a hard pregnancy and delivery. I would have tried again, but Patrick freaked out.” Her ponytail rose and fell with the horse’s motion. “I had been a social worker, so we decided to do foster care. I thought I could navigate the system.” She laughed. “We wanted another baby right away but didn’t have the money to adopt.”
“Why didn’t you take more foster kids?”
“Pepper took all my time—doctors’ appointments, therapy, keeping her away from other sick kids.” Rebekah rode with her left hand on her hip.
“So Pepper was born with kidney problems?”
Rebekah shrugged. “They didn’t show up until after she had strep throat for the fourth time, when she was eight. It could have been the infections, or it could have been scarring from when she was in utero.”
The trail turned, and they headed for a patch of sunlight. Rebekah tilted her face toward the last of the light filtering through the trees. An orange maple leaf floated toward the trail.
“Do you know the Edna St. Vincent Millay poem ‘God’s World’?” Elise reached out to the leaf. The breeze lifted it away.
Rebekah shook her head.
“It’s about autumn—and beauty.” Elise cleared her throat. “O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag and all but cry with colour.” She paused.
“That’s beautiful.” Rebekah tried not to sound surprised. She didn’t know anyone who could recite poetry like that. “I don’t know much about literature, but I’m impressed.”
“I used to know about literature,” Elise said, “years ago.”
They rode silently, crunching over dried maple leaves that covered the trail. A bird squawked in the treetops—probably a crow, although Rebekah preferred to think of it as a raven. Sky stepped sideways. “Come on, boy.”
The two women rode side by side. Elise held the reins with one hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with the other. “What if Pepper didn’t feel up to going with the guys?”
“She’ll be okay, but we’ll turn around up here.” Rebekah stopped at the edge of a meadow. “The grass is covered by wild daisies in late July and early August. Patrick even rode up here with me to pick flowers last month. It was his ride for the year.” Fir trees circled the clearing. Rebekah nodded toward the trail. “Sometime we’ll have to ride to the falls that are further up the trail.”
Elise smiled. “It sounds enchanting.”
Rebekah sat back in the saddle. Elise had actually seemed relaxed for half a second.
“So what didn’t you like about the small town you grew up in?” Rebekah turned Sky around in the meadow.
Elise concentrated on the mare and frowned.
“Do your parents still live there?” Rebekah prodded.
Elise shook her head. “My dad died in a sawmill accident when I was seventeen. My mom and sister moved to Michigan a year later.”
“Why Michigan?”
“A friend told them about a nursing home that was for sale in Lansing. They both worked as nurse’s aides, so they bought it with my dad’s insurance money. My sister still runs it.”
“What about your mom?”
“She watches daytime TV.”
Rebekah laughed. “Do you see them often?”
“Every two or three years.”
“Not exactly close.” Rebekah leaned back.
Elise shook her head.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks.”
“Were you close to him?”
Elise nodded. She obviously didn’t want to talk about her childhood.
They reached a wide spot in the trail. Rebekah decided to try a different topic. “What do you dread the most about Ted being gone?”
“Insomnia.”
Rebekah laughed. “I deal with that every once in a while myself.” She needed to write the letter to Polly.
“Besides that, everything tends to break or fall apart when Ted is gone.” Elise leaned back in the saddle.
“Like?”
“Mark. Michael. Pets, which is why we no longer have cats and dogs. I’ve buried at least half a dozen over the last fourteen years. Cars. Water heaters. Stoves. Furnaces. Pipes. Bones. Windows. Computers. Couches. Beds.”
Rebekah laughed. “I get the picture.”
“It isn’t pretty.”
“No wonder you get insomnia.” The trail narrowed, and she pulled Sky ahead of Elise. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” The shadows fell thick and cool. Below, the other horses galloped across the field, cutting through the tall grass.
“Blame Ted.” Elise’s voice faltered as they headed down the hill. “Or the army.”
“Go to the game,” Rebekah said. “Please. Cheer for Reid too. I hate to miss seeing him play, but I need to stay home.” She sat down beside Pepper on the edge of the four-poster bed.
Elise stood in the doorway of Rebekah’s bedroom. Pepper leaned against the headboard, propped up by a stack of pillows. An Oregon Field Guide episode about wild horses played on PBS.
“Can we get one?” Pepper asked.
“One what?” Rebekah put her hand on Pepper’s forehead.
“A wild horse.”
“No, Pep.”
“Elise, you could get one and board it at our place.” Pepper scooted up into a sitting position.
“I think you guys have enough going on without adding a wild horse to the mix.” Elise waved to Pepper. “Get well. I mean feel better.” Elise turned to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rebekah, at the shop.”
“Thanks.” Rebekah stood.
“It’s just the infection, Mom, really.” Pepper turned on her side. A herd of horses flew through a canyon across the television screen.
Rebekah sat on Patrick’s side of the bed with a stack of paperwork and filled out the insurance form. Surely there was a grace period. She would send it in an envelope with Patrick tomorrow. Hopefully he wouldn’t look and have another thing to worry about.
“Mom, I really like Elise.” The blanket pulled up to Pepper’s mouth muffled her voice. “I don’t know why you didn’t at first.” A wild horse ran frantically around a corral.
Rebekah pretended to be engrossed in the form. It wasn’t that she hadn’t liked Elise—not exactly. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t liked her. Now it seemed that Elise was okay, but it wasn’t like they were becoming fast friends or anything. How could they when Elise hardly shared anything important?
Rebekah pulled out the pamphlet from the National Kidney Foundation: 25 Facts About Organ Donation and Transplantation. Rebekah skimmed the information. A live donor must be 18 years or older. Patrick was right. Over 89,000 U.S. patients are currently waiting for an organ transplant; 3,886 kidney patients died in 2004 while waiting.… “Yikes.” That was more than ten each day.
“What’s the matter?” Pepper propped her head on her elbow.
“Oh, I’m just trying to get through this paperwork.” Rebekah shuffled the pamphlet back to the bottom of the pile. “You need to hit the hay, sweet pea. Safe and sound in your own cozy bed.”
An hour l
ater Rebekah sat in front of her computer and rewrote the letter to Polly, simply explaining that Pepper needed a kidney transplant and asking Polly if she would consider being tested to see if she was a match. Rebekah wrote that she would call in a week or Polly could feel free to call or e-mail her. Rebekah closed the letter with all of her contact information.
Next she pulled the pamphlet back out from the bottom of the pile of papers. Recipients with a live donor kidney have a higher survival and success rate than those with a cadaveric donor kidney. She had never considered a donated kidney not working. She had never thought of Pepper not surviving an operation. She pressed her index finger against her lip. They needed a live donor. And soon.
Patrick’s and Reid’s voices carried into the house. “He’s a jerk. I was wide open over and over.” The door opened. “So was Michael. But Mark ran instead.”
“And made the touchdowns.” Patrick closed the back door.
“Who won?” Rebekah stood and stretched.
“We did.” Patrick pulled her close. “How’s Pepper?”
“Better.”
Reid pushed by. “Want a snack?” she asked.
“No.” He dropped his sports bag on the table and stumbled through the dining room, bumping against a chair. He pounded up the stairs.
“Reid!”
“Let him go.” Patrick poured himself a glass of lemonade. “He didn’t play quarterback; Mark did. Mark knew all day the coach was going to play him but didn’t say anything to Reid.”
“Poor Reid.”
Patrick drained his glass and rinsed it. “Mark hardly passed; he ran nearly every play.”
“What did the coach say?” She turned off the computer.
“ ‘Good job.’ We won 32–0. Mark scored all the points except for the two-point conversion.” He put his glass in the dishwasher.
“Who had those?”
“Michael.”
Poor Reid. She flipped the kitchen light switch. “What do you think of Ted?”
“Nice guy.” Patrick goosed her as they started up the stairs. She turned and slapped at him playfully. “A lot nicer than his son. He seemed embarrassed by Mark’s behavior. Elise too. They both stopped cheering for Mark by the end of the third quarter.”
Elise reached into the back of her closet for her suede jacket. She hadn’t worn it for a few years. Was it still in style? She tried it on. The reddish brown suede would look perfect on Rebekah.
She sat down on her bed. Had she said too much while riding with Rebekah? Was it corny to quote the poem? She tried to recall the rest of it. “Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year. My soul is all but out of me …” How did it end? She couldn’t remember.
Beautiful landscapes, poetry, and good literature all used to do that to her soul—take it out of her. Her first few years with Ted and the births of her boys did too. It didn’t seem like much took her soul out anymore. Except horseback riding.
That was why she was going to Midnight Madness at the Scrap Shack. She hoped Rebekah would invite her to ride again.
“I’m not going to the game.” Mark wore his red plaid pajama bottoms and white T-shirt; his damp hair hung over his eyebrows. He swung his legs onto the couch, balancing a glass of milk and a handful of vanilla wafers.
Elise picked up the latest issue of Sports Illustrated For Kids off the floor.
“You don’t want to go to the varsity game?” Michael asked. “Our whole team will be there.”
“The whole team hates me.”
“You should learn to pass.” Michael pulled his sweatshirt over his head.
“We won, you moron.” Mark stuffed the cookies into his mouth and grabbed the remote control.
“Come on.” Elise folded the blue and white afghan that Maude had crocheted years ago and draped it over the back of Ted’s easy chair. “Go to the game, Mark.” If he stayed home, should she stay home and miss Midnight Madness at the Scrap Shack?
“Dad, Mark doesn’t want to go!” Michael started down the hall.
“That’s fine.”
Elise followed Michael into the kitchen. “Ted, he has to go. I plan to go to the thing at Rebekah’s shop.” She had intended to go to the cropping class yesterday morning, but then Ted had made an appointment with a lawyer to get a new power of attorney and to go over their will.
“Go. Mark will be fine.”
“See if you can talk him into it.” Elise frowned as she put the milk into the refrigerator and the box of vanilla wafers into the cupboard.
Michael held up his hands. “I didn’t leave that stuff out.”
“I know.”
A minute later Ted sauntered back into the kitchen. “He wants to stay home. He’ll be fine.”
Elise opened the family-room closet door and pulled out several boxes of pictures that she had filed over the years. She didn’t have any football photos yet. In fact, she had forgotten to take her camera to Wednesday’s game. She would pretend she planned to do a family scrapbook.
Mark flipped the channel from the local news to King of the Hill.
“Watch something else.” She grabbed a box of photos labeled “Mark/Baby.” She would sort pictures tonight.
Mark changed the channel to NewsHour with Jim Lehrer. That would last until she was out the door.
“I’m off.” Elise juggled the bag and box. “Call me on my cell if you need anything.” She poked her head back into the room. Mark seemed engrossed in a segment about divorce in the military. “The rates throughout the army have more than doubled in the last five years as soldiers are sent on long deployments and couples and families are stressed to the breaking point.” Maybe King of the Hill would be better. “What do you plan to do all evening?” she asked.
“Hide,” he said, slapping a couch pillow over his face.
Elise hurried through the door of the Scrap Shack, clutching her box of photos and her bag. Women milled around on the balcony. A peal of laughter bounced off the rafters followed by a shout. Two cowboy boots flew in the air, followed by two denim-clad legs. Someone was doing a cartwheel. Pepper? No, the legs were too long and the boots too big. Rebekah’s head popped up, and her wavy hair bounced around her shoulders as she raised her arms into the air and struck a perfect pose. The women clapped and cheered. Elise edged back toward the door and pushed it open with her hip. She didn’t belong here.
Rebekah leaned over the railing. “Elise!” She was a little out of breath. “Come on up!”
Elise raised the box of photos halfheartedly. “I’m late.”
“No, you’re right on time. We’re just getting started.”
Elise headed up the stairs and searched the crowd of women. Sandi motioned to Elise. “Over here.” She wore an oversized yellow sweater and black hoop earrings, and her short white hair was spiked even taller than it had been the week before.
Elise bumped into a woman with a plate of pizza. “Excuse me.” She slid between bodies, turning sideways.
“I’m so happy that you’re going to scrapbook.” Sandi scooted her album to the side. “I didn’t think you would.”
Elise smiled.
“You’re a little reluctant, right?”
“Just call me the accidental scrapbooker.” Elise wiggled out of her jacket.
Sandi chuckled.
“Elise, grab some pizza.” Rebekah hurried by with her arms full of reams of paper.
“Rebekah,” a woman at the food table shouted, “we’re out of napkins.”
Sandi stood with one knee on her chair. “Rebekah, I need a pocket for this page—or something. What do you think?”
Rebekah hurried back to their table. “A pink pocket.” Rebekah leaned closer. “With a strawberry charm. They’re on the rack by the western stuff.”
Elise pulled her album out of her plastic bag and muttered. “Midnight Madness. Mania is more like it.”
“Isn’t it great?” Sandi held up a piece of pink paper. “Rebekah had no idea that so many women would come.” Sandi made her wa
y through the crowd to the staircase.
Elise leaned toward Sandi’s book. Photos of women eating ice cream covered the layout. They stood around an old-fashioned ice-cream freezer on the porch of an old house. Rebekah’s house. And there was a closeup of Rebekah and Sandi laughing, their arms around each other.
“We had a ladies’ day.” Rebekah pointed a package of napkins at the group photo. “A strawberry ice-cream social.”
A minute later Rebekah returned empty-handed. “Are you working on your football album?” She pulled up a chair.
Elise shook her head. “I’m going to start with a family album.”
“Mind if I look?” Rebekah pulled a photo of newborn Mark from the box. “Cute.” She thumbed through a few more photos. “Where’s a family photo?”
Elise shook her head and pulled the box away from Rebekah. “Here’s one of Mark and me.” She had held the camera out in front of their faces when they got home and had created a slightly out-of-focus image. She had forgotten to ask one of the nurses to take a picture of the two of them before they left the hospital. “Here’s one of Ted.” Ted wore his fatigues and helmet and stood in front of a tent hospital in the sand, holding Mark’s newborn photo from the hospital.
“Elise.” Rebekah pressed both photos against her chest. “Ted was gone when Mark was born?”
Elise nodded. “He was in Saudi Arabia, for the first Gulf War.” She put her hand out for the photos.
“Did your mom come to help you?”
Elise shook her head.
“Did Ted’s parents come to help?”
Elise shook her head again. “They waited until Ted came home.” Actually, they waited almost a year.
“That’s heartbreaking.” Rebekah handed the photos back to Elise.
The shop door buzzed, and Rebekah sprang to her feet. “Hi, sweet pea.” She leaned against the rail. “Hi, Ainsley. Come on up.”
Sandi dropped a packet of strawberry charms on her layout and then snapped her fingers. “I left my file of borders in my Jeep. I’ll be right back.”
Pepper handed Rebekah an envelope of photos. “They’re of Ainsley’s red roan.”
Pepper turned to Elise. “Ainsley, this is Mark’s mother, Mrs. Shelton.”