by Amy Sorrells
“So I just need to look for God? Is that it?”
“No, no . . . all I’m saying is you can’t see God if you’re too busy looking at yourself.”
“Now wait a minute—”
“Judging from the looks of things here this evening, I don’t have a minute to wait. If no one’s told you before, you need to be told now: you got a lot to live for, Reverend. A daughter who needs a father to walk her down the aisle someday. Neighbors and friends who love you. Congregants who are looking to you to help them through the next couple of weeks.”
“That’s just it, Sheriff. I’m supposed to be a shepherd, but I need one of my own.”
Tate shifted his weight so he was facing James and looked him straight in the eye. “You have a Shepherd. He’s with you now, and he’s never left. Even if you can’t feel him, he’s right here. Right now. You know . . . before I turned down Maple Street, I was headed out to the TA. I’m technically on my break, and I was really looking forward to a nice cup of coffee and a donut. But I heard the good Lord telling me to turn instead of going straight on out to the interstate. Believe me, I had that chocolate-covered donut pictured so clear in my head I could taste it. My mouth was already watering. But he told me to turn, and by golly if I didn’t run right into you. Now what do you make of that?”
James’s eyes filled with tears again. “I guess I owe you a donut.”
The two men sat awhile longer under the old oak tree talking about faith and doubt, Baptists and nondenominationals, and the sweet, sweet goodness of wives and donuts. Finally, before they were tempted to drift into a discussion of predestination, James climbed into the passenger seat of Tate’s car and let the sheriff take him home.
He rolled the window down and let the cool night air and the scent of freshly mown alfalfa rush across his face. He thought about his gun and wondered whether, if Tate had not shown up, he would’ve really used it. Funny, he couldn’t answer that question better than any of the others he’d asked Tate. He was, he felt, at the end of himself. Or just plain exhausted. Or both.
The tires of Tate’s cruiser crunched against the gravel driveway and he could see the glow of the small lamp they kept on in the kitchen at night, in case he or Shelby woke and needed a snack. On the second floor, Shelby’s shades were drawn and her lights off. James etched the still peace of their home on his heart as he imagined Tate arriving there alone, or perhaps with a deputy, to wake Shelby and tell her that her father . . . that he . . .
Dear God, forgive me. For my blindness. For my despair. For my unbelief.
Tate shifted the car into park, then rubbed his hands on his thick thighs as if unsure how to go about ending their evening.
“I think I’ll be okay, thanks to you,” James offered.
Tate nodded toward the house. “Take care of that baby girl, Rev.”
“I will.” James pushed the door open and started up the sidewalk but then hesitated, turning back to Tate. “Thanks . . . for being there tonight . . . for . . . listening.”
Tate appeared to understand that James referred to the fact that he’d turned down Maple Street instead of going to the TA. He hung his head out the window. “You bet. . . . Oh, and I think I’ll hang on to your gun for a while if that’s okay with you.”
“Keep it.” James turned and went inside. And as he did, he felt something hard in his pocket. It was the Purple Heart he’d forgotten to take out the day he’d visited Jack McGee.
24
Noble fell fast asleep after finishing the 4:30 a.m. milking and woke again at nine to the sound of hay mowers in Stuart Granger’s neighboring fields. He hadn’t meant to stay in bed so long with all the work ahead of them that day bringing Whitmore’s cows over.
His phone buzzed. A text message from Cass Dinsmore flashed on the screen. Everything’s set. Looking forward to seeing you!
They’d arranged for him to fly out from Indianapolis Wednesday afternoon, arriving in time for dinner with Cass and his wife. Then first thing Thursday morning he’d have a tour of the studios, followed by other meetings and introductions. He’d be able to get home by Thursday afternoon.
Noble pulled his pillow over his head and stifled a giant yawp and holler. This had the potential to be every dream he’d had coming true.
Downstairs, he found Eustace sitting at the kitchen table eating a sugary cereal with marshmallows.
“Checked the electric fencing yesterday to make sure things would be set today to bring Whitmore’s girls over.”
Eustace munched on without a response.
“Found half a dozen of the girls across the road grazing on Granger’s alfalfa. They stopped and stared at me when I drove up like they’d done nothin’ wrong. I got out and shooed ’em back over and fixed the busted wire. Good thing I checked. No telling how far Whitmore’s woulda roamed if they’d found that opening. Still, it’s gonna be some work training them. They’re used to barbed wire.”
Eustace added a green clover-shaped marshmallow to the line of other colored shapes he’d been arranging on the table next to his bowl. Then he slurped down a full glass of orange juice.
“Aren’t you gonna eat those?” Noble nodded toward the marshmallows in front of Eustace.
Eustace threw his head back and laughed like Noble had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
Noble playfully pulled Eustace’s white ball cap over his eyes as he walked to the sink for a glass of water. He squinted at the sun, glaring against the bright-blue sky. “Wind is starting to pick up. Weather’s s’posed to turn pretty ugly in the next day or two. I’d like to have those cows over here and at least started on their fence training in the corral by this evening so we can get the rest of the chores done around here between now and then.”
The doorbell rang.
“Who is it, Noble?” Mama hollered from her sewing room, which doubled as the laundry room.
Noble peered into the front room and saw the figure in the front door window. He hadn’t thought she’d really come. “It’s Shelby.”
Mama emerged, eyebrow raised.
“Don’t start, Mama.”
“Mmm-hmm. I saw the way you had your eye on her at church on Sunday.”
Noble ignored her and opened the front door.
“Well, I’m here,” Shelby announced. She wore cutoff shorts and a tank top, the fluorescent-pink bow of a swimsuit top peeking out from underneath it. Her neck glistened in the heat, already rising fast. She’d pulled her black curls up in a mess of a knot, and he wished he were brave enough to reach out and brush a few of the stray, damp tendrils away from her face.
She sashayed right past him, through the front room and into the kitchen before he had a chance to invite her in, making Noble wonder how someone who carried herself so confidently one minute could stand being with someone so controlling—and he suspected so abusive—as Cade the next. What did she see in him?
“Hey, Shelby. Nice to see you,” Mama said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Burden. Nice to see you, too.” Shelby looked over and smiled at Eustace, who was in fact eating all the marshmallows he’d so carefully lined up. “Hey, Eustace.”
As if Noble needed another reason to admire her, she was one of the few people who acted even remotely like Eustace was a regular human being. She always had, from their earliest days of playing together. For Shelby, at least, Eustace was another regular old important character in their adventures. No more. No less. He just was. And he mattered. Noble had noticed this again that day at the Tractor Supply when she’d patiently helped him straighten the toy tractors and plastic animals Canady had knocked over.
“Would you like a Coke?” Noble pulled open the refrigerator.
“Thanks, I would.” She held the cold bottle against her neck before popping the cap off to drink it.
She was driving Noble crazy. And he was beginning to suspect she knew it. If only he could get her to forget about Cade and remember what they had—if not in recent years, then at least what they’d had as kids.
“Brock will be here soon with the truck and the livestock trailer. Hope you brought some boots.” He eyed her flip-flops, then her toes painted pink and decorated with hand-painted daisies. She had always been one to be notoriously underdressed for farm work.
Noble had been out to Frank Whitmore’s place a few times to feed the fourteen cows, three of them babies, that remained. He’d made sure they were in the corral the day before. The mud and manure in there was deep, but he’d rather have muddy cows than have to waste time that day shooing them in from the pastures. They were Holsteins, and though he wouldn’t have chosen to mix their milk with his Jersey girls’ milk, he wasn’t in a position to refuse a way to make a little more money and add to their herd. And while the Holsteins weren’t quite as docile as the Jerseys, they were nice enough. It was apparent that Whitmore had been good to his girls because they were accustomed to people.
When they arrived with the trailer—Noble and Shelby, Eustace, Mama, and Brock—the cows had sauntered up to the fence and were staring at them, chewing their cud, their ears twitching at the flies and the breeze. Whitmore hadn’t named his cows like they had. Instead, each of the bright-yellow tags on the Holsteins’ ears had numbers on them. They nudged and shoved against and around each other, part afraid and part curious.
“They’re so cute,” Shelby laughed. “They look like they’re a bunch of fans, jockeying themselves to get the best spot at a rock concert.”
“Hey, yeah!” Noble glanced at them and laughed too. “I’d never thought about it that way.” He nodded in the direction of the cows. “Go on, Eustace.” He and Mama opened the long metal gate. The cows startled and a couple of them moaned as the gate creaked wide, forcing them to bump and jostle into each other some more.
“What do you want me to do?” Shelby said, standing on the second rung of the fence, her toes curling around her flip-flops as she worked to keep her balance.
Noble looked at her feet and grinned. “Get your boots on for starters. Then I s’pose you can go help Eustace herd them into the truck once Brock gets the ramp lowered.”
She clambered into the cab of Noble’s truck and came back, looking down sheepishly at her feet.
“You call them work boots?”
Shelby glanced at Noble, then down again at the shiny black fashion rain boots with pretty, multicolored polka dots all over them, her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong with these? It’s wet, right?”
He shook his head and laughed. “I s’pose they’ll have to do.”
“They’ll be fine, honey,” Mama echoed, her amused smile not convincing.
Brock lowered the ramp of the transport trailer as Shelby joined Eustace, who’d already made good friends with half the herd standing around him. He petted first one nose and then another, as one of the calves nuzzled in close to his side. Frank’s old sheepdog—another survivor—ran around the knobby legs of the cows, more excited than anyone.
Noble stood on the fence rail. “Y’all ready back there?”
“Alright, let’s bring ’em in,” Brock hollered.
Wasn’t trouble at all getting those cows to follow each other right into the trailer, especially with the unexpected help of Whitmore’s dog running back and forth and keeping them lined up and following each other, and Eustace and Shelby following up the back. Cows would follow each other off a cliff one right after the other if they were herded that way. All but one calf filed into the trailer. When the straggler got close to the metal ramp, the sound of the others’ hooves banging against it spooked her. She started running the opposite direction, and Shelby took it upon herself to run after her.
“Wait—Shelby!” Noble hollered but soon realized the girl was determined to catch the calf, who behaved like a greased pig. The two of them ran circles around the corral until Shelby hit a particularly thick patch of muck. One boot sank deep. Then the other. But her feet kept moving, and before she knew it, she’d landed face-first—and bootless—on the ground.
At first Noble thought by the look on her face she might cry.
“Get on out there and help her, Noble.” Mama elbowed him hard in the side.
He started toward her as she rolled over and tried to push herself up, but the mud and manure were slippery and she fell facedown again. Her chest and shoulders shook, and Noble moved quicker, concerned now that she might be hurt. But when she looked up at him, she was hysterical with laughter.
He held out his hand to help her, and she yanked him right down in the muck with her, and the two of them doubled over and laughed right along with Mama and Brock at the fence. Eventually, they managed to help each other up by holding tight to the other’s arms for balance. When they finally stood upright, face-to-face, Noble couldn’t contain his affection any longer. He pushed a hunk of manure-covered hair back from Shelby’s face, freckles more pronounced than ever against her cheeks flushed with laughter, and he kissed her.
“Well, I’ll be,” he heard Mama say behind him.
Shelby pushed back at first, then leaned in close and kissed him back, which made them both weak-kneed enough to fall into the muck all over again, and they sat there unable to move for some time, tears of laughter falling down their faces.
Eventually they got the calf into the trailer, and Brock drove off, back toward the Burdens’. Laurie and Shelby waited in the pickup as Noble pulled the gate shut and made one more inspection of the property.
The bank would be offering it up for auction, and it was doubtful that anyone would take a risk on trying to make it a fully operational dairy again. Noble felt his stomach clench at the thought of this place, so familiar, shut down and empty. The hum of cicadas, flies buzzing over the manure, and the solitary call of a field sparrow were all that was left of decades of Whitmore’s hard work. Already the house, white clapboard and not unlike theirs with a saggy front porch roof and dormers on the second story, showed signs of abandonment, the weeds and thistle high as the windowsills, newspapers—delivered before anyone realized Whitmore was dead—piled up and yellowing along the threshold of the front door. How quickly a lifetime of sweat and hard work could be erased from the world, as if it never happened.
“He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths . . .”
Noble recalled the words, cross-stitched by Mama into a framed picture beside his bed. He used to ask her to recite the whole psalm to him, along with the Lord’s Prayer, every night before she turned off his light, before he stopped asking her to pray with him.
What would happen to their pastures, to the stream on the back part of their land, if they left?
“Hey, Noble, there ain’t no paint drying out there! C’mon!” Mama hollered from the truck.
“I’m comin’!” he hollered back, taking one long, last look at the overgrown pastures and the blown-out transformer next to the giant old walnut tree, charred and split in two by the lightning bolt.
Shelby, freshly showered and dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, sat next to Mama on the fence of the Burdens’ corral, and they watched as Noble and Eustace worked on training Whitmore’s cows to the wire, electric fencing.
“So explain to me what y’all are doin’?” Shelby said. “Y’all had barbed wire last time I knew.”
“For a girl who’s grown up in the country, you sure know next to nothin’ about cows,” Noble said.
“No, but I’ve forgotten more than you’ve ever known about the Bible.”
“Touché.” Noble tipped his hat at her and winked.
“I can’t hardly stand to watch it,” Mama said, looking out at the new and skittish cows. “I don’t care what you say, it’s gotta hurt ’em some.”
The corral, which was about the size of a basketball court, was surrounded by a sturdy white PVC fence. On one end was an enormous trough of water. On the other end was a concrete pad where a couple bales of alfalfa were set and a second trough full of feed. In the middle of the corr
al was a length of electrical fence, which required the cows to go around the end of it to get from the food to the water. If any of them tried to take a shortcut through the middle, they got shocked.
“The barbed wire was a mess. Couldn’t go a week without having to replace a post or the wire or something. We had to acquire a little debt to switch it out, but it’s making up for itself in repairs and the sores the cows got from the other. ’Sides that, it doesn’t take long for the cows to learn what the wire looks like, to know not to go near it,” Noble explained as he and Eustace gently nudged the cows from one side to the other, encouraging them to learn the fence. “And once they’re trained, they’ll stay away from it, even if it ain’t turned on.”
“So even if the power goes out, they stay?”
“Once they’re trained, yep. They only have to get shocked once or twice before they learn. Plus, they can sense the current with their bare noses. Can’t see to save their lives, but they can sense the fence.”
“How long will you leave them in here?”
“A couple days is all it should take. There may be a couple who test it, but they should be fine once we let ’em out to pasture. Haven’t had time to look at Frank’s records to see when we can breed them, get them milking again.”
Eustace stood near the feed trough, three of the cows mesmerized by him as he moved among them, bending down to look into their eyes, stroking their necks. If any one of them made it around the electric fence, he’d offer it a munch in a bucket of sweet feed he held.
“He’s amazing.” Shelby nodded toward Eustace.
Noble, who’d come alongside the fence where she and Mama sat, turned and watched his brother for a long minute. Whatever language he spoke, those cows understood it. They were probably the only ones besides God who understood him.