Lead Me Home

by Amy Sorrells

  Alive.

  “Thank you, Jesus.” Tears streamed down his face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Jesus.”

  “Daddy?” Her voice was weak, muffled, under the mask.

  “I’m right here, baby. You’re gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

  Before he shut the door to Sheriff Tate’s cruiser, Noble met Cade’s eyes and almost felt sorry for him. His letter jacket lay in a soaked heap at his feet, and he looked as if he wished he could disappear as a couple of deputies and an accident investigator surrounded him, questioning him, after paramedics determined he was fine.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” Noble said to James, who sat in the front next to Tate. Lights flashed and the police radio crackled with news and updates of other problems around the area. They followed the two ambulances, one carrying Shelby and the other Eustace, on the way to the hospital in Lafayette. “I shoulda stopped her from going with him somehow.”

  “Nothin’ you could’ve done, son. I know how stubborn she is. She would have gone with him, strong-armed or not.” James’s voice sounded thin and bone-weary.

  Noble knew the pastor side of James was trying to make him feel better. It was bad enough he’d let his brother down today. His heart broke over letting Shelby down, too.

  “Did you see that Granger came and took the cows back for you?” Tate said.

  “Oh, wow—thank goodness. I’d nearly forgotten about them.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” Tate said.

  As they pulled along the curb near the hospital’s ambulance bay, Noble saw Mama hovering over Eustace’s stretcher as the paramedics wheeled him into the hospital. Someone in a white lab coat showed Noble to the small treatment room where a nurse helped Eustace onto a gurney.

  “What’s your name?” the nurse asked. She glanced at Noble and Mama when Eustace didn’t answer.

  “He doesn’t speak,” Mama said matter-of-factly, as she had a thousand times before in their lives. “His name is Eustace.”

  The nurse raised her eyebrow, then turned to Eustace and patted his knee. “Okay, Eustace. We’re going to help you out of these soaked clothes so we can make sure you’re alright.”

  Noble considered his brother, raising his brawny arms like an overgrown child as the nurse pulled the bloodstained T-shirt over his head. She helped him stand, and Eustace held on to her shoulders as he stepped out of his drenched jeans and skivvies. He stuck his hands into the holes of the mint-green hospital gown, and the nurse tied the strings behind his neck.

  “There you go. I bet that feels better,” she said.

  Eustace sat back down on the bed, and the nurse put a blood pressure cuff on his arm and proceeded to take his vital signs.

  Mama told the nurse about his brother’s medical history, about how he never did talk, never did play much with other kids, never did much of anything.

  “But he saved Shelby’s life.”

  Mama and the nurse turned and looked at Noble, while Eustace smiled, focused on something on the wall—a spot, a seam in the wallpaper, no one ever knew exactly what—and let out a raucous yawp.

  “Some folks might think he never did much of anything, but today he walked through a raging river, pulled an unconscious girl from a pickup truck as it was slipping under the water, and saved her life.”

  A doctor came and examined Eustace, listened to his lungs, looked closely at his eyes.

  “You’re a lucky man,” he said, patting Eustace’s leg. “We’ll finish up the paperwork and we’ll let you go.”

  “Mama—do you mind if I go check on Shelby?”

  She smiled. “I think you’d better.”

  Noble peered around the corner into the next room where Shelby lay, James sitting beside her and holding her hand. Her head was almost entirely wrapped with gauze, and blood caked in chunks of the dark curls of hair spilling across the white pillow. Her eyes were closed, and the room was dark except for the horizontal lines on the monitor which seemed to compose a steady cadence of life.

  “Reverend . . . may I?” he whispered, his attempt not to disturb Shelby in vain.

  “Noble?” She lifted her head, then threw her arm over her eyes and groaned. “Oh . . .”

  “Go on and visit, you two.” James winked. “But not too long. They’re getting ready to move her to a bed upstairs.”

  Noble took James’s seat. “Shelby—”

  “I can explain.” She winced.

  “Shhh . . . You don’t have to say anything.” He grabbed her hand, warmth surging through him as she ran her fingers over his, thick and calloused. “And anyway, before you talk, I want to tell you about Nashville.”

  She opened her eyes a crack, shielding them from what little light came into the room from the hall.

  “I said no.”

  “What?” Her eyes popped open and she tried to sit up again, without success. She groaned.

  “I’m not leavin’.”

  “If it’s because of this . . .”

  “It ain’t. Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?” She put her arm over her eyes again.

  “Look. Nashville, it’s . . . well, it’s amazing. Incredible. Unbelievable. They have everything and more than I could’ve imagined. They offered me a job, help with moving, resources for Eustace, everything. But I told them no.”

  “Noble Burden,” she said as forcefully as she could without moving her head. “Are you stupid?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You can’t . . . turn that down. . . . You’d be a fool.”

  “Then maybe I’m a fool.” He moved the chair closer to her and grabbed hold of her hand. “The farm, the fields, I know ’em by heart. They’re a part of me, as much as my music is. The smell of the haymow and fresh-cut alfalfa, the sound of the barn swallows and bullfrogs, that music moves me as much as anything I could ever play myself.”

  “But it’s not the same. You can’t give up playing.”

  “I’m not going to give up playing. Not entirely. It’s just . . . I can’t fully explain why . . . but I know I’m supposed to stay here. It’s like knowing a ring around the moon means rain . . . that thunder in February means frost in May . . . that it’s time to plant corn when the oak leaves are the size of a squirrel’s ear, and that a red sky in the morning means you better take cover because a storm’ll roll in by midafternoon.”

  “I do believe you’re a poet, too.” She grinned.

  He laughed and gripped her hand tighter. “There’s plenty of time for writing and playing songs. And Mack said he could get me freelance work, so I only have to travel to Nashville once in a while, when it works for everything here at the farm. But I can’t turn my back and leave this and all it means to me . . . all you mean to me.”

  “Noble—”

  He saw a tear run down the side of her face and his heart sank. “I know you’re with Cade, but I can give you more than he can. I ain’t giving you up without a fight.”

  “Stop—” she whispered.

  “I won’t stop—”

  “No, I mean be quiet a minute.”

  “Alright.” He sat back, bracing himself and preparing to argue with whatever she had to say.

  “We broke up.”

  “What?”

  She lifted her arm and looked at him, squinting through the pain. “That’s why I got in the car with him. I went with him to break up with him.”

  “What?”

  “I’m beginning to think you got your ears blown out by all that music in Nashville.”

  “But . . . Did he . . . ? He didn’t hurt you, did he? Before the wreck? He was so angry.”

  “Oh, he was angry. Mad as a hornet. But I knew if I didn’t go with him and finish us right then and there, it’d drag on till who knows when.” She paused and gingerly put her arm back over her eyes. “He was driving like a maniac, and when we hit those flash flood waters by the bridge, he lost control and we flipped right over. But he didn’t hit me.”

  “Thank you, J
esus,” Noble said, lifting his eyes to the heavens.

  “Give me your hand again,” she said.

  He did.

  “So . . . ,” she began, trying to open both her eyes. “You chose Sycamore . . . and I choose you.”

  Noble stood and reached across her, careful of her bandaged head as he pulled her close and kissed her. Any doubts he had left about where his home was fell away.

  He pulled back and ran his hand down the side of her face, then kissed her again.

  No, he wasn’t a fool at all.

  Back at the house, the power was still out, so Noble and Mama lit some candles, dug through a couple of junk drawers, and found a few flashlights. Eustace went right to his room, pulled on his pajamas, and curled onto his side under the covers. Tears stung Noble’s eyes as he sat on the bed, then regarded the Bible verse Mama had cross-stitched and put into a frame above the nightstand: God blesses those who are humble, for they will inherit the whole earth. Noble pulled the frayed-edged blanket up under Eustace’s chin and brushed the hair back off his blockish, sunburned brow. He leaned down and picked up Eustace’s ratty white ball cap, then hung it on the bedpost.

  “You really are a hero . . . you know that?”

  Eustace replied with a soft snore.

  Downstairs, Mama sat at the kitchen table illuminated by candles and the glow of her cell phone in front of her.

  “He asleep?” she asked.

  “Soon as he hit the pillow,” Noble said. “Any more word on Shelby?”

  “No. I imagine she’s asleep, too.”

  “Thank God she’s alive.”

  “Yes, thank God they’re both alive,” Mama echoed.

  There was a knock on the front door.

  Noble answered it. “Reverend. Sheriff Tate. How’s Shelby?”

  “She was fast asleep when I left. Sheriff here was good enough to bring me by here to get my car. Thought you might want an update. They’re still giving her fluids, and they gave her some pain medication and something to help her rest. The CT scan shows she has a pretty good concussion, in addition to the couple dozen stitches on her head. They hope to release her tomorrow, though.”

  “Tomorrow—that’s great.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  36

  The next morning, James knocked softly on the Burdens’ front door, and this time a sleepy Eustace answered. James pulled the screen door open with one hand and grabbed Eustace’s shoulder with the other, pulling him in for an embrace. “Hope you don’t mind. This is something I shoulda done last evening, saving my girl like you did.”

  Eustace stepped back and dropped his head, then, with a barely perceptible grin, lifted his eyes to James’s.

  Laurie came through the dark living room, hopping as she pulled a rubber boot on her one still-bare foot. “Thanks for coming. We’re all still a little shell-shocked. How’s Shelby?”

  “Nurse said she slept well. Said she’ll be ready to come home late afternoon.”

  “Thanks to the Lord. And this guy.” Noble came from behind Laurie and put his arm around Eustace.

  “Thanks to the Lord and this guy, indeed,” James replied.

  “Can you believe they don’t have the power up yet?” Laurie headed down the front steps toward the barn, the rest of them following her.

  “Hold up,” James said. “Don’t be getting ahead of me now.”

  When they reached the barn, he stepped ahead of all of them and stood in front of the door.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Laurie asked.

  He pulled back the barn door nice and slow, and Laurie and Noble gasped.

  Eustace guffawed and started clapping his hands.

  Inside were at least two dozen people holding glow sticks and flashlights.

  “What the—?” Noble said. His friend Brock came alongside him and put his arm across his shoulders.

  “We knew there was a chance the power wouldn’t come back on right away,” James explained, stepping toward Laurie and taking her hand. “So yesterday, even before the accident and all, Hank and Brock and I went ahead and organized more help for today.”

  “We used the prayer-chain phone numbers. Hope you don’t mind,” Hank, sheepish, confessed to James.

  “Not at all,” James laughed. “I’m glad to see there’s one part of the church still functioning.” He turned back to Laurie. “After what happened to Frank Whitmore and his herd, we couldn’t stand by and not help.”

  “Why, Reverend Horton.” Laurie stepped toward him and put her arms around his neck. James felt his knees weaken as she placed her hand against his cheek and pored over his face, his eyes. “You shouldn’t have.”

  As they kissed, everyone inside the barn cheered, even Eustace.

  Bonnie stepped forward. “We came to help, for as long as it takes. Even after the power comes on, if that’s what you and your boys need. The ladies here, they brought brunch and casseroles. And the men are prepared to help clean up the storm damage and do the milking. Whatever you need, darling, you just tell us what to do.”

  Acknowledgments rumbled through the folks behind Bonnie, and the tears that had been puddling in Laurie’s eyes let loose.

  James put his arms around her and pulled her closer. “‘If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad.’”

  “‘All of you together are Christ’s body, and each of you is a part of it.’” Charlie Reynolds, whom James hadn’t noticed was there, finished the passage from 1 Corinthians.

  “Charlie. Thanks for being here.” James surveyed the folks in front of them. Dr. Lawson and his two older boys had come, along with his wife, Angie, and their daughter Sara Beth with her baby.

  “I was up anyway,” Sara said, smiling, the baby wide-eyed in a sling across her chest.

  Mark Madsden from the Baptist church was there, and he’d brought extra flashlights. George Bogan and Frank Dean had come, as well as Stephen Lee, who greeted Laurie by setting a large plastic deer in front of her.

  “Olive said to bring you something for your yard. This one here was an extra.”

  Myrtle Worley and Ella Cox were already fussing with setting up folding chairs and tables, putting tablecloths over the tops of them.

  Gertrude Johnson huffed past James but smiled wholeheartedly at Laurie. “Brought three of my special egg casseroles for you, one with sausage, one with mushrooms, and one plain. My husband requires the plain one. Oh, and I brought flowers, of course. Every party needs flowers.”

  Mike Crawford set up a couple of lawn chairs near the cottonwood for Jersha Pittman and Jack McGee.

  Jack waved at James and put his hand over his heart, and James responded by giving him a big thumbs-up.

  Rosie Fancher and Pete Moore had brought barbecue from the Onion. “Never too early for pulled pork.” Rosie grinned.

  And Julie Shaw, from the newspaper, had brought her camera.

  “My church might be closing,” James said to her, “but be sure to take a bunch of pictures of this, because you’re looking at the body of Christ right here.”

  “Well, alright then.” Laurie straightened and addressed the group. “Noble, teach the ones who need to know how to milk, how to milk. Brock, could you take a group around and cut up all the downed branches and debris? And, Hank, could you make sure and keep an eye on Eustace?”

  “Sure thing, Mrs. Burden.” Hank stepped toward Eustace. “I heard we have a hero on our hands.”

  “Yes, we do,” James said. “We surely do.”

  “I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you,” Noble said to James as they walked side by side into the milking parlor.

  “That’s the thing about grace, Noble. It’s not something that can—or needs to—be repaid. It’s something you simply accept.”

  As he spoke the words, James realized, as Charlie had mentioned days earlier, that this was the truth he’d been thirsting for as much as Noble. Perhaps even more. God had been setting grace before him in the mid
st of the church closing, with folks who loved him and Shelby, with a roof over his head, with a Savior who’d never abandoned him. He’d just been too proud to accept it.

  Inside the barn, James stood back as Noble let the first group of cows in from the holding pen. The men who hadn’t been around milking before shuffled their feet nervously as the cows pressed and pushed against each other, vying for positions as they came inside. Diamond and Reba clomped in first, then hesitated when they saw the men. They weren’t used to anyone besides Noble and Eustace and Laurie, and the group of strangers made them prick up their ears and turn their heads; their eyes rolled back so the whites of them showed. They kept their heads low, fiddle-footing into the walls and each other as they passed the strangers and ran into their stalls. Noble let six more in after that who acted as spastic as the first group but eventually found their stalls.

  “Would you look at that?” Rich Orwell said. “They’re trained.”

  “And then some,” James said.

  “You first, Pete.” Noble motioned to his friend the bartender and sat him alongside the cow named Crystal. He grinned at his friend. “Grab a teat. Rest of y’all come and watch.”

  James closed the stanchions as Noble told them how to clean the teats, how to milk and how to know they were done, and how to dip the teats to protect them before letting the cow go.

  “Guess I’m a bit rusty.” Pete chuckled as he struggled to find a rhythm to getting the milk out of the teat.

  “A little easier getting beer from a tap, eh?” Noble teased.

  “Sorta fun when you get the hang of it,” Mike Crawford said, his voice muffled by Loretta’s great belly in his face.

  “If you can say that, then you haven’t been at it long enough,” said James, who’d begun to milk Opal. She unexpectedly shifted her weight and James pushed her back into place, her giant head rattling against the sides of the stanchions as she balked and then grabbed another mouthful of alfalfa.

  After all the cows were milked, the group filed cafeteria-style along the tables of pastries and casseroles that the ladies had set up. They were serenaded by Noble, who’d brought out his guitar and sat on the stump of an old tree nearby. The sun was well on its way to being up, the clouds golden as they hung along the turquoise eastern horizon. Sore arms made everyone hungry, and they wolfed down the food but lingered awhile over coffee and to listen to Noble play.