“Well, you drop in when you can.” She started to push her cart away, then halted again. “Say, there’s a potluck social at church this coming Sunday evening. Everybody’s welcome to come. It’d give you a chance to meet some of the ladies in town.”
Sarah considered the idea for a moment. She didn’t want to be pushy about it, but she would like to be part of a church fellowship while she was living at the ranch.
Finally she said, “I think I’d like that. Maybe Kurt and the children would like to come along, too.”
A peculiar expression crossed Bonnie Sue’s face and she exchanged a look with Angus, who shrugged and rang up Sarah’s apple pie on his register.
“That’d be real nice if they came.” Bonnie Sue’s voice resonated with a dispirited note of skepticism.
Sarah was left wondering if the entire Ryder family had turned their backs on the Lord following Zoe’s tragic death. Or had they never been churchgoers?
In either case, Sarah’s heart ached for them, and she rubbed the scar that hid beneath her blouse. Without the Lord at her side, she never would have survived the trials brought on by her leukemia.
When Angus finished checking her groceries, she told him to put the total on Kurt’s tab, as her employer had suggested.
Maybe the Lord had brought her here not simply to thank the family for their generosity but to witness to her faith, as well.
Sarah arrived back at the ranch to find both Beth and Toby pulling weeds in the flower bed around the gazebo.
While that was a shock, Sarah was delighted they were both helping, apparently in peaceful coexistence. She stopped the car in the driveway and rolled down her window. “That’s beginning to look great. You two are doing a good job.”
“We’re keeping out of Dad’s way,” Toby said.
That didn’t bode well. “Are you in trouble?” she asked.
“Dad’s in a really bad mood,” Beth said.
“Do you know why?” Sarah hoped it wasn’t anything she had done.
“He’s been on the phone all morning,” Beth volunteered.
“Mostly yelling at Ezra,” Toby added. “He’s our neighbor.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the east.
Beth struggled to get the roots up on the weed she was pulling, and finally yanked them free. “He’s a really old guy. I don’t think Dad should be yelling at him.”
At least the problem wasn’t something Sarah had done. Or, apparently, his mother-in-law. Or his children, for a change.
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll tread lightly.”
Sarah parked her car near the back of the house and carried her grocery bags in through the mudroom. Kurt was on the house phone in the kitchen, pacing the room, stretching the curling cord around with him. Speaking in an agitated voice, he didn’t acknowledge Sarah’s arrival.
“Ezra, you had to know Western Region Cattle Feeding doesn’t care if they pollute the water table as long as they’re making a profit.”
He paused to listen, then said, “I know the price of beef is down. Who doesn’t know that? But if I have to keep my cows off the north section—”
Sarah placed the grocery bags on the counter and went back to the car to get the rest. When she returned, Kurt had hung up the phone.
He plowed both of his hands through his hair, making it look as though he’d just gotten up from bed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that man,” he muttered more to himself than to Sarah.
“Problems?” She set the vegetables aside to be washed and began putting away the whole-wheat bread and rolls she’d purchased.
“Yeah, potentially a big problem.” Picking up cans of diced tomatoes and mushroom soup, he put them away on a pantry shelf. “My neighbor is leasing some land adjacent to mine for a cattle feed lot. The company has a bad reputation. They cut corners and don’t follow state laws about polluting the land.”
“Don’t they get fined or something for doing that?”
“Sometimes. But not until after the damage is done.”
She ran water over the head of lettuce then did the same for the tomatoes. “Isn’t your neighbor worried they’ll pollute his land, too?”
“The section he’s leasing lies above mine. That means the natural drainage will bring all the contamination onto my property unless they take measures to redirect it to a holding pond. The Western Region Cattle Feeding company never spends that kind of money.” Kurt poured himself a mug of coffee, downed a gulp and wrinkled his nose in distaste.
“I can make you a fresh pot, if you’d like.”
“Don’t bother. This suits my mood just fine.” Mug in hand, he paced across the room to the window. “The real problem is, I understand why Ezra thinks he has to do this. He’s an old guy, in his eighties, and his sons have all moved away, which means he’s running hardly any cattle at all. He’s got to produce some kind of income or he’ll lose the ranch.”
Knowing he was equally worried about his neighbor as he was anxious to protect his land pleased Sarah. His heart was in the right place. “Does sound like a difficult situation.”
“Yeah, you got that straight.”
She dried her hands on a paper towel. “What about the state or county regulatory agencies? Can’t they come down hard on the cattle-feeding company? Make them obey the rules?”
“They only act after the fact. They want proof of contamination before they’ll close down a feed lot.” He sat down at the kitchen table and stretched out his long legs, hooking one booted foot over the other. Deep worry lines etched his suntanned face. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “By then it’s too late and the damage is done.”
That seemed strange to Sarah. She had a client in Seattle, a small businessman, who opened a car wash recently. The city planning department and building inspectors were all over him to make sure he complied with all the regulations.
“Maybe if you talked with the county people, you could alert them to the problem and ask them to enforce the rules.”
His disheartened head shake was a clear sign of his discouraged mood. “I guess I can try. Not sure it will do any good, though.”
“If you can build a strong enough case against Western Region Cattle Feeding, based on their past performance, they’ll have to listen to you and won’t issue a use permit.”
Lifting his head, he eyed her skeptically. “Just how do I go about doing that?”
Confident of her own abilities to research and build a case, she folded the paper grocery sacks neatly and smoothed them out. “On the internet.”
For dinner Sarah roasted the chicken she’d planned for the prior evening and served it with a zucchini casserole and apple stuffing. She knew she was serving dishes that Zoe had never prepared, and anxiety about the reaction she’d get from the family burned in her stomach. Maybe she should have gone for fried chicken and asked Grace Livingston for her recipe. That might have been a wiser choice.
Once the family was seated at the table, Sarah said a silent grace before asking Kurt to carve the chicken.
“Sure. I can carve.” He picked up the knife and fork and went to work.
“Can I have a drumstick, Dad?” Toby asked.
“You got it, son.” He sliced off a leg and thigh, put it on a plate and passed it to the boy.
Beth looked at the bird on the platter with obvious reservations. “Nana and mom always made fried chicken.”
“Yes, your grandmother mentioned that when she dropped by yesterday. I thought you might like roasted chicken for a change of pace.” A much healthier choice than fried, in her view.
Sarah asked for a slice of white meat, and Beth did the same, leaving Kurt with the second drumstick.
“Help yourselves to the stuffing and casserole,” Sarah said. “But be careful. That dish is hot.”
Toby peered at the casserole. “This stuff looks like…” With a questioning expression, he looked up at his father.
“Try it, son. You might like it.”
Toby put a teaspoonful of the
zucchini-mushroom mixture on his plate, then shoved the dish toward his sister.
She wrinkled her nose. “It smells funny.”
Pulling the dish closer, Kurt ladled a large serving onto his plate. “Looks good to me.” He forked a bite into his mouth. “Hmm, tastes good, too. What is it?”
The burning sensation in Sarah’s stomach cooled. “Zucchini and mushrooms in a light cream sauce.”
“This stuff on top tastes like cheese.” He swirled his fork above the serving on his plate. “Eat up, kids. You’ll like it.” He dug in again, then reached for the stuffing.
Sarah felt like she’d just passed some massive gourmet cooking test at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris and smiled in relief.
The children’s reaction wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as Kurt’s, but they did eat some of everything. Without Kurt’s endorsement, Sarah was sure dinner would have been a complete flop. Kids were so reluctant to try something new.
Accepting her into the family, albeit temporarily, seemed particularly difficult for Beth.
“Beth, do you know how your mother made her fried chicken?” Sarah asked.
“Not really. Just flour and stuff.”
“Tell you what,” Sarah proposed. “If you’ll get the recipe and directions from your grandmother, next time we have chicken, you and I can try to make it like your mother did.” One small piece of fried chicken wouldn’t hurt her, and establishing a better connection with Beth would be a positive step.
Beth cocked her head to the side. “You think we could?”
“I think we can try.”
Staring at Sarah for a long moment, Beth finally shrugged. “Okay. I’ll call Nana later.”
Quietly, Sarah exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Maybe sharing recipes with her grandmother would help ease some of the tension between them.
The apple pie for dessert was a hit with everyone.
As the others were eating their pie, Sarah said, “Toby, I understand you’ve been working on your ventriloquist talents.”
“You mean he’s been admiring himself in the mirror all day,” Beth chided.
“That’s how you learn, dweeb,” Toby countered.
“So how’s it going?” Sarah asked, hoping to avert a spat between the siblings.
The boy’s forehead furrowed, lowering his brows. “I think I’ve got it pretty good.” Concentrating, he repeated the vowel sounds she’d asked him to practice.
“Excellent!” Sarah gave him a thumbs-up.
“That’s easy. I can do it without spending half the day practicing.” Beth recited the vowel sounds controlling her lips about as well as Toby had.
“Hey, my kids have talent.” Clapping his hands, Kurt laughed. “Maybe we can get you two on TV as a ventriloquist duo and you’ll make a bundle of dough.”
Beth rolled her eyes, and Sarah repressed a smile. Not a bad idea for the family to perform together. Maybe at church socials…
“Have you been practicing, Kurt? You could make it a trio,” Sarah suggested.
A horrified look crossed his face and a blush raced up his neck to stain his suntanned cheeks. “Thanks, but no, thanks. Cattle is the only audience that’ll ever hear me perform.”
“You’re just chicken.” Toby’s accusation came with a smile.
Kurt shot the boy a mock look of censure.
“Are you ready for lesson two?” Sarah asked the boy. “Sure.”
“Okay, keep your jaw relaxed and say the whole alphabet.”
Toby frowned in concentration again and raced through the letters at breakneck speed.
Shaking a finger at the boy, Beth said, “Your lips moved. I saw ’em.”
“It’s all right,” Sarah said. “Some letters are impossible to say without moving your lips. Like B and F and M. So that’s when a good ventriloquist has to fool the audience just a little.”
“How?” Beth asked, showing at least a modicum of interest in process.
“You’re going to learn to substitute other sounds that don’t require using your lips.”
As Sarah explained what sounds to use as substitutes and gave Toby some practice sentences to work on, Kurt cleared the table and started to rinse off the dishes.
“I’ll do that,” Sarah told him.
“No, I’m good. You go ahead with the kids.”
Sarah had found ventriloquism a great way to entertain sick children at the hospital. A way to help them and feel good about herself.
She’d been given a talent, a gift from God. If she could pass that on to Kurt’s children, she’d feel doubly blessed.
After the children went to bed and Kurt holed up in his office, Sarah went to her room. Despite the fact she’d awakened early that morning, she wasn’t sleepy.
Instead, a sense of restlessness plagued her, a feeling of heightened awareness of her own needs as a woman, as though she’d been given an extra dose of hormones.
Which was peculiar. As a rule her emotions remained steady with no wild mood swings. She was in control—control that seemed to be slipping.
To divert herself and her thoughts, she decided to do an internet search to find what she could about Western Region Cattle Feeding and their feed lot activities. With a little luck, she could build a strong case for Kurt to present to county and state authorities about the company’s lax feed-lot practices.
Curling up on the bed with pillows propped behind her, she opened her laptop. With a few keystrokes, she found thousands of references to the company. She narrowed her search and began methodically working her way through the websites that appeared the most informative.
She downloaded the most telling reports to a flash drive—complaints and suits filed against the company in a half-dozen Western states, photos of environmental damage caused by Western Region’s practices, copies of internal emails the management had exchanged that had been provided as evidence in subsequent litigation. Finally she located the company’s annual report to stockholders.
Leaning back, she rubbed her tired eyes. Kurt was right. The chances that Western Region Cattle Feeding would pollute the water table on his land were extremely high. He had to stop them.
She checked her watch. A little past ten. If he was still in his office, she’d show him all this evidence tonight and he could begin building his case to present to the county.
Taking the flash drive out of her computer, she went in search of Kurt. She found him in his office, tilted back in his desk chair, his stockinged feet propped on a drawer he’d pulled out. A newspaper lay open in his lap, and he was sound asleep, snoring lightly.
She started to back away from the door.
He opened his eyes. “Did you need something?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His feet hit the floor. “I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes.”
Yeah, right, she thought, wondering if he always snored when he was awake. “This can wait until tomorrow.”
“No, come on in.” He stretched and rolled his shoulders. “What’s up?”
“I was checking Western Region Cattle Feeding on the internet. I think I’ve come up with enough material for you to make your case to the county.”
“Really?” He sat forward, wide-awake now, and waved her into the room.
Plugging her flash drive into his computer, she brought up the files she’d found, summarizing and explaining the importance of each discovery in terms of his case. He paid close attention, nodding often, and asking probing questions as they went along.
When she’d finished, he stared at the computer screen and said, “You’re an amazing woman, Sarah. It would’ve taken me a hundred years to ferret out all this stuff.”
She glowed in his praise. “Chalk it up to a misspent youth. I’ve always loved research.”
He leaned back. “All I have to do is put this stuff together in a coherent way and arrange a hearing in front of the county planning department.”
“I can help you with that, if you’d like.”
When Saturday night arrived, Sarah asked Kurt and his children about going to church the following day. The looks they had exchanged and Kurt’s comments spoke volumes about the distance they had put between themselves and the Lord since Zoe’s death.
The next morning, Sarah got up early to make pancakes and sausages for the family, then dressed and headed into town by herself, heartsick that Kurt and his children had turned their backs on God.
As she pulled into the parking lot of Good Shepherd Community Church, the bell in the steeple played a clarion call to worship. Slipping inside, she took a seat near the back and centered her thoughts and her emotions.
The church was small, holding a maximum of a hundred and fifty worshippers seated on simple wooden pews, which were three-quarters full this morning. A pulpit made of oak stood at the front of the church. High windows marched the length of the sanctuary leading to a single stained glass window depicting the Crucifixion. Angled morning sun caught the glass, sending shards of rainbow color across the far wall.
As the last notes of the clarion call ebbed, the congregation stood and the organist struck the opening notes of a familiar hymn. The minister, an older gentleman with silver hair and the whip-thin body of a distance runner, stepped out onto the stage and held up his hands to welcome the congregation.
Peace and comfort washed over Sarah. She felt at home. As though worshipping in this sanctuary was where she belonged. Forever.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She’d only be here for the summer.
She chided herself for the maudlin thought. She’d never intended to stay forever. Seattle was her home.
The preacher’s voice filled the sanctuary with hope and faith. The choir, though not large, echoed the joyous message. The congregation nodded their agreement and joined in singing hymns with enough enthusiasm that Sarah didn’t feel embarrassed to add her wobbly soprano voice to the mix.
When the service ended, Sarah stood to exit the pew. The woman sitting in front of her turned to greet her.
Montana Hearts Page 6