by Amy Sorrells
I know the plans I have for you, Noble. I know the plans I have for your brother, too, he heard the Lord whisper.
“That don’t mean we have to have the same plans,” he blurted out.
Shelby looked at him, clearly bewildered.
“Never mind,” he said. The afternoon sun angled against her eyes so they shone a blue like Noble’d never seen before. He was tempted, were Mama not right there next to her, to kiss her again. Instead, he stepped back and leaned against the fence, watching Eustace and the heifer going crazy eating grain out of the bucket in his hands.
Later, after they finished settling the cows, Noble walked Shelby to her truck. He could feel her pull away from him, not exactly physically, but the way he’d said the cows sense the current when they get too close to the electric fence.
She reached for the door handle, and he put a hand gently on her shoulder. “Shelby—”
“Noble, stop.” She took a step back. “It’s complicated. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”
“Oh yeah? Then why’d you kiss me back? Why’d you even bother coming out here today?”
She got in her truck, slammed the door, and put the keys in the ignition. “I don’t know.”
“I think I do. You don’t love him—Cade.” He could barely bring himself to say the name.
She turned toward him. “I do. I mean . . . I have. He’s not all that bad, Noble.”
Noble stepped closer to the truck. “Not that bad? Really? Then why do you act afraid of him? Why’d you act afraid of his daddy?”
She stiffened, and Noble could see her eyes dampen. He kicked an old can that’d been left out in the yard as hard as he could, causing Shelby to jump. It went sailing into the field across the road.
“You don’t have to put up with that. You can’t let yourself put up with that. It only gets worse, you know.”
She wiped a tear but did not acknowledge him either way. She just clenched the steering wheel harder.
He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, looking up at the line of feathery cirrus clouds. Whatever storms were supposed to have come in must’ve burned themselves out. “It’s just as well, I suppose, considering I’m going to Nashville.”
She straightened her shoulders and pushed the hair away from her face, which had gone from soft to hard as stone. “So you’re really going?”
“I’m gonna check it out, yeah. The guy’s legit, Shelby. And it’s Nashville. You wanted to go there once, too, remember? You used to want a lot of things.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something but closed it and began to drive away. Then she stopped and leaned out the window. “Things change, Noble Burden.”
Stones flew from the gravel drive as she floored it onto the dirt road toward her home across the fields before Noble could argue with her.
Problem was, she didn’t get far.
25
James, having gotten his car back from a deputy who’d been kind enough to return it quietly before dawn, rolled to a stop in front of Shelby’s stalled truck alongside the road in front of the Burdens’ home. Still raw from the night before, James hadn’t wanted to see anyone today. He could feel the memory of the cold metal of the gun in his hand. A headache behind his eyes throbbed, and the sight of Laurie’s place up close sobered him. Her struggles over the past years showed in the wind-worn, chipped siding, the sag of the yellowed curtains in the front windows, the ailing front-porch swing. They had no doubt spent much of the past years recovering from the drought of the previous years, and now too much rain this year, which probably wiped out some of their feeder fields like everyone else in the area.
Steam rose from the open hood of Shelby’s truck. She leaned against the side, her chin high and shoulders tensed the same way Molly used to when she had been furious with him. Noble sat on the front steps of the porch looking like a puppy who’d been reprimanded for straying.
James knew better than to say anything to Shelby as he approached her.
She rolled her eyes. “Stupid truck.”
“Yes, well, she might get angrier if you start calling her names.”
“Whatever, Dad. Can you fix it?”
“I told her it’s probably the cooling hose or a gasket.” Noble came down the drive toward them. “I coulda fixed it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Wouldn’t even let me take a look.”
“Just like her mama,” James laughed, and memories of Molly like old, faded Polaroids flashed through his mind. She had been quite a pistol, too. The ache of missing her pressed against his gut. That’s the way the memories were, the way the ruthless pain of grief worked, coming on sudden and unexpected. “Don’t worry about it, son. Appreciate you being willing.”
“Ugh,” Shelby groaned at both of them.
James walked back toward his car and rifled around in the trunk, cringing when he saw the empty leather gun cover. He found a cooling hose and a gasket and some fluid, which he handed to Noble, who stood near the hood.
Noble covered his hand in an old rag and took off the radiator cap. “Which one do you think?”
“I’ll bet on the hose,” James said.
Sure enough, it was, along with an empty water compartment, and the two men replaced it while Shelby pretended to ignore them. A half hour later and the truck was up and running, and James and Noble watched as Shelby picked up where she left off and drove home in a flurry of dust.
James shook his head. “Sorry about that.”
“She’s upset with me. Can’t say I blame her, I guess.”
James studied Noble and wondered at how fast the unshaven face and broad shoulders had replaced the lanky droop of youth he’d remembered. His features were relaxed, even in his distress over Shelby’s abrupt departure, and James appreciated the calm resignation of the lad, who had every reason to act more like a Cade, cocky and rude, after being raised by a father like Dale and having to take on too much manhood too soon. It occurred to James then how much of a choice it was whether to let pain take hold of your heart and harden it, or whether to press on through it, whether to pick up a gun or let it rest, whether to pull a trigger or live.
“Wanna talk about it?” James thought about how Tate had asked him the same question a few short hours before as they sat together at the end of Maple Street.
Noble kicked a stone around the ground with the toe of his work boot. “I don’t know.” He met James’s eyes. “I got a chance to go to Nashville.”
“Nashville? That’s great!” James tried to sound enthusiastic despite the heaviness hanging over his own head and the obvious hesitation in Noble.
“Yeah, you’d think. Always wanted to get out of this place. Now I have a chance, and I feel like . . . well . . . I guess it’s not crazy to say this to you since you’re a pastor . . . but I feel like all of a sudden God’s hintin’ at me that I need to stay.”
“No, that doesn’t sound crazy.”
“You know what’s funny about it is that all these years, with Dad leavin’, all this time I been wondering where God is. And now . . . now he decides to show up.” Noble shook his head, clearly frustrated. He lifted his eyes to the sky, took off his ball cap, and scratched his head. “I mean, I guess realistically, how could I leave, Rev? What am I even thinking, entertaining the idea? There’s this farm, Mama, Eustace—they can’t run it without me. And Mama, she’s been here her whole life. She ain’t gonna want to move to Nashville. Hard enough living around here with half the town knowin’ all Dad put her through. I was thinkin’ maybe the city’d be good for Eustace, a place where they’d have people who could help him, give him more of a life. But the more I watch him—really watch him—the more I think his place is here. I’m afraid the city would suck the life right out of him.”
“But it’s your dream, right?”
“It is.”
“Then you have to try it. Go and see what it’s like. If you don’t, it’ll rumble around in your soul and you’ll always wonder, even if it turns out to be all wrong. At least
you’ll know for sure.” Wasn’t that what Molly had told him all those years ago? He wondered where they’d be if he’d tried harder to stay around Atlanta.
“You can fill your mind with if onlys,” Tilly had told him at Molly’s funeral. “Or you can fill it with thank heavenses. It’s up to you how you choose to go on and live from here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Noble said.
“I can help, talk to your mama, help with the farm. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do anymore, church closing and all.”
Noble shot him a look of surprise. “You’d do that? Help with the farm?”
“If your mama will have me, I would.”
“Care for a drink of water? Maybe some lemonade? We can see what Mama thinks.”
“That sounds wonderful.” James wiped the sweat off his forehead, and the two men walked up to the house. The worn steps creaked as they approached the front door. It was a hundred degrees in the shade, and he was conscious of the sweat dripping down his back between his undershirt and skin.
“Been a while, Reverend.” Laurie opened the door before Noble could reach it. She smiled slightly, then raised her hand and tugged at a calico fabric scarf holding back her hair.
James shoved his hands in his pockets, caught off guard at feeling a little nervous around her, the way he tried not to notice the curve of her hip and the gentle angle of her chin, the green of her eyes and the sunlight gleaming against her hair. “I’m sorry. It seems my daughter got herself into a predicament out front.”
“Mmm-hmmmm. Mighta been prevented if she hadn’t tried to floor it out of our driveway.” She stepped back unexpectedly. “Would you like to come in?”
“I already invited him in for some lemonade.” Noble walked toward the kitchen, leaving the two of them standing alone.
“I don’t want to be a bother. Figured I ought to at least say hello since I spent the last hour in your yard.” He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair.
Laurie leaned against the threshold and crossed her arms. Her eyes flitted to the road beyond him and back to his again.
“How are you, Laurie?”
Her gaze fell and her hand came to rest on the doorknob. She shifted her weight.
He took in her frame, the slightness of it, the way her fingers looked pale and thin, like a child’s almost, the emptiness beneath the oversize T-shirt, the jeans which hung on her thin legs. He was overwhelmed suddenly with remorse and something . . . not pity, but something more that he couldn’t quite name.
“I’ve been meaning . . . ,” he started. “I’d like to tell you I’m sorry.”
She looked at him again, tilted her head, and sighed. Her eyes focused again on some unknown spot on the horizon. “Sorry for what?”
“For not being here more. I should have . . . could have offered to help. Not as a pastor, but as a neighbor. As a friend.”
“I suppose you could’ve. But it’s a little late for that, don’t you think? ’Sides that, you’ve had enough of your own tragedy, haven’t you? Anyway, I would’ve refused.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose you would have. You’ve been intent on handling everything yourself before, and I guess I was trying to honor that. But . . . would you still? Refuse my help?”
She sighed again. “I’m not in any kind of mood for being preached at, if that’s what you mean. And I don’t anticipate that changing anytime soon. I only came to church Sunday to see Noble play.”
“Like I said, I don’t mean as a pastor. Clearly that’s not working out for me anyway.” He felt heat rising up his neck, surprised to hear himself say that out loud.
“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me either.”
“Laurie—”
“I’d make a great project, right? Lonely woman with the hard heart. Washed-up, newly widowed pastor comes along and fixes her.”
James straightened. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t need feeling sorry for, either.”
Laurie’s eyes widened, appearing as surprised as James felt abashed at his response.
He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and was glad when Noble returned and handed him lemonade, condensation already forming on the sides of the glass.
“It’s getting close to milking time,” Noble said to Laurie. “Rev says he’ll help with the milking and Eustace while I’m gone to Nashville.”
She raised her eyebrows at them both.
“I’m a fast learner,” James offered. “Besides, it’s like riding a bike, isn’t it? That’s what Molly always said.”
Laurie’s eyes flickered at his mention of Molly.
“Of course I’ll need a refresher.”
“Of course. You better go on and show him, Noble.” She turned and disappeared into the cool dark of the house, and James heard her snigger, “Just like riding a bike.”
James stayed to watch the milking, even though the weight of his exhaustion from the night before caused his body to ache and feel twice as heavy as it ever had. He wondered why he had been so quick to offer to help.
Once James and the boys were out in the milking parlor, Eustace flipped on the radio and a country singer crooned across the room. Noble taught James to close the stanchions around the cows’ necks and hook the teats up to the machines, which were much improved compared to the ones James remembered helping them with years ago. The claw devices sensed when the udders had given all they could and dropped off automatically, a spring contraption pulling them up toward the ceiling, ready for the next cow to come into the stall for the process to repeat. When each cow finished, James dipped their teats in the cleansing iodine mixture like Noble showed him. Around the corner, Eustace tossed hay and sweet feed into the concrete trough, and the heads of the cows hung over the side and munched contentedly as they gave their milk.
The job wasn’t as hard as he’d remembered. He was amazed all over again by the way the cows filed in and chose their stalls, then waited patiently for Noble to hook them up. They scooped manure if the cows pooped, cleaned their udders, and sent them on their way. It wasn’t unlike a church service, he thought, just twice a day compared to once a week.
File in.
Give them something to eat.
Clean them up.
Send them on their way.
Same stalls, same pews.
Salve their souls to prevent chafing in the harsh world.
Later, as James walked to his car to go home, he turned back to the house and saw someone let go of the curtain in the front window. He grinned to himself, considering that maybe he shouldn’t have been so frank with Laurie, but she was feeling as sorry for him as he was for her. He drove away, and the road he’d traveled a thousand times looked different, the rise of a hill he hadn’t noticed before, the cry of a whip-poor-will, the groan of frogs as he crossed over the stream. Tilly had said endings can bring beginnings, and he began to wonder if that’s what the Lord was doing with him now.
26
The following Sunday, Noble set a high stool in the chancel and began tuning his guitar. He paused for a moment and looked at Shelby, who sat in the second pew scrolling on her phone. They were the first and only ones in the sanctuary, as James had retreated to his office to put the finishing touches on his sermon.
“C’mon, Shelby, are you really going to pretend we’re not in the same room together?” Noble’s voice bounced across the emptiness of the high-ceilinged room.
She didn’t respond.
He began to strum his guitar hard, then louder, diving into a hard rock riff that eventually got her attention.
“Cut it out, Noble,” she yelled.
He turned his ear toward her and continued to play. “What’s that?”
“I said, cut it out!”
“Huh?” he teased.
“What is goin’ on in here?” Myrtle Worley walked in from the narthex.
Shelby smirked as Noble tried to muffle the last chord echoing through the sanctuary.
“Sorry about that, Mr
s. Worley.”
“I should say.” She straightened her skirt and approached the chancel and her seat behind the organ.
Noble excused himself and nodded toward Shelby to step outside with him. Thankfully, she did, although he suspected only because she probably didn’t want to stick around and listen to Myrtle warm up the organ. He turned to her as the heavy doors closed behind them. “Now that I have your attention . . .”
“You had my attention.” She stared out at the park, the street, obviously avoiding his eyes.
“Look, I’d like to be able to play through this service without wondering how long you’re gonna be mad at me and why.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“If stormin’ off the other day and pretending I don’t exist in there ain’t your version of mad, I’d hate to see what is.”
She sighed and finally met his gaze. “Can we not do this?”
“If you could define this, I sure would appreciate it. Because I don’t know what this is. It sure ain’t what we used to have, back when we did everything together. Back when you asked if we’d be together forever. Remember when you asked me that? Besides that, I ain’t the only one who’s noticed you changing. You haven’t hardly talked to me since your mom died, and you’re determined to push away everybody in this town who cares about you. Watching you with Cade’s like watching a train headed toward a cliff. In the meantime, it’s the second-to-last service before your dad has to shut the doors to this place forever.”
“I’m well aware of what’s happening with my dad.”
“Really? ’Cause you sure fooled me. Seems you’re more concerned with giving me a hard time about a decision I’m making, which by the way is hardly any of your business.”
She furrowed her brows and crossed her arms.
“Look, Shelby, I’m going to Nashville to see what it’s all about. I can’t know if it’s even worth considering if I don’t go. Don’t know why you care anyway,” he mumbled under his breath. Times like this he thought about how nice it would be to get out of Sycamore, to move them all into a nice house in suburban Nashville, Eustace getting in some kind of program allowing him to work and interact with people like himself, Mama with better access to jobs or even going back to school like she used to talk about, but Dad had never let her. He sat on the top step and wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead. The humidity was already thick, another set of weekend storms doing nothing to chase it away, but instead fueling the damp heat.