“Are you happy here, Grandpa?”
The question seemed to puzzle the older man. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I just wonder if you ever wish you hadn’t given me the farm. If you wish you still lived there or . . . or had done something else with it.”
Grandpa Grant’s expression changed from puzzlement to understanding. “Your mom’s been after you again, hasn’t she?”
“Yes.” Ben never had been able to hide much from his grandfather.
“I’m sorry, son.” He sighed. “I pray for the day my daughter’s heart will be softened.”
Ben found it hard to believe his mom could ever be different from how she was now.
As if his grandfather heard the thought, he said, “God changed you. That was an answer to prayer.”
“Nothing is impossible with God,” Ben replied softly.
“It’s true, son. Remember it. And remember that our prayers never go unanswered, even when things don’t turn out the way we expected or wanted.”
“Because instead of yes, sometimes the answer is no and sometimes it’s wait.” Ben had heard those words from his grandfather more than once over the years. He wished he’d recall them more often, especially when it came to closed doors.
“Indeed.”
“Do you think your grandfather would approve of the changes I’m making to the farm? Do you think he’d be pleased to see it used for equine therapy instead of growing crops?”
“I do. Yes.” His grandfather’s gaze seemed to look into the past. “When I was little, Grandpa Andrew told me that he once resented being forced back to the farm by the Great Depression. Back then, the farm belonged to his in-laws, the Greysons. It went to Grandpa Andrew and Grandma Helen after Frank Greyson died. Grandpa never returned to the business career he studied for and thought he wanted so much. He and Grandma Helen both learned to love the farm, and they raised their five children there.” His eyes focused on Ben, and he chuckled as he gave his head a shake. “You know all that. I’m rambling.”
“I never tire of hearing it, Grandpa.”
“I know, boy. You’ve always been patient with me.”
Tuesday, June 25, 1940
“Andrew?”
He looked up from the newspaper. His wife stood in the entrance to the living room, watching him with concerned eyes.
“You look so worried all the time,” Helen said softly. “Is it really so bad? The war in Europe.”
“It is.”
She entered the room and sat on the arm of his chair. While kissing his forehead, she ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “We’ve survived worse times than these.”
He nodded but wasn’t sure he believed it. Helen trusted in the government to keep them out of the war. But was that a promise that could—or should—be kept? And if it wasn’t kept, had they survived the worst? Or was the worst yet to come?
Norway, Denmark, Holland, and France had all fallen to the Nazi regime that year, a year that wasn’t yet half over. It had been like the tumbling of dominoes. Only a miracle of God had saved the British armed forces at Dunkirk a few weeks earlier. A miracle of God and a flotilla of private boats and heroic citizens, ferrying over three hundred thousand troops from France to Britain.
His thoughts shifted to Ben. Seventeen and keenly interested in the war news. Seventeen and determined to join the Army Air Corps.
“Andrew?”
“Hmm?”
“I know you’re worried about Ben.”
He gave her a brief smile. After almost eleven years of marriage, they often understood what the other was thinking or feeling without a word being spoken. And when they did speak, they frequently said the same thing at the same time. It made him love his wife all the more, to experience how aligned they were.
“But if war does come,” Helen continued, “would you have to go too?”
“It’s doubtful. I’m probably too old for them to want me in the army.” He’d turned thirty-five earlier that year. Was that too old to serve? He was in good health. He was strong, although he had a slight catch in one knee that gave him grief now and then. Nothing that made him immobile. “I imagine they’ll need me growing food more than they’ll need me with a gun.”
A soft sigh escaped her, and he knew he’d eased her concerns. Would that he could ease his own as effortlessly.
Chapter 3
Ashley knew the moment she met the mare that the horse would be ideal for equine therapy. The sorrel, fourteen and a half hands high, was calm and gentle. Perhaps even a little on the lazy side. Although thin, she wasn’t diseased. Nor was she starving to death, as was too often the case with a rescue.
Ashley stared into the mare’s eyes and felt the horse saying, “Yes, I’m the one for the Harmony Barn.” Okay, she had some non-horsey acquaintances who would call her nuts if she told them that, but that didn’t make the feeling any less true.
When she had a spare moment later that morning, she called Ben Henning. “I’ve found your first horse.”
“Really? That’s great. How much?”
“Five hundred. Does that work?”
“Yes, and I’m ready for it. I stocked up on some basic supplies. Whatever the vet recommended that I have on hand. And I’ve got plenty of hay and grain. When can you bring the horse to the barn?”
“I’m busy the rest of today, and tomorrow I’m scheduled to work during the day. How about tomorrow evening?”
“That’ll be perfect. I ought to be home by five, so anytime after that would work for me.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” She pressed End and dropped her cell phone into the console of her truck. Then she pulled from the parking space and drove into Boise.
Her mom, Joyce Showalter, waited for her in front of Ashley’s favorite restaurant. Actually, it was more of a diner, like the one in the Happy Days reruns she’d seen. Ashley’s dad had brought her to the Silver Spoon every Saturday when she was little. It had been their special daddy-daughter time. Every Friday at bedtime he’d said, “What do you say we go to the Silver Spoon tomorrow? Just you and me.” She’d always answered, “Yes, Daddy! Promise we’ll go.” And he’d always replied, “Cross my heart.” After her dad passed away, Ashley and her mom had started coming here together. Not as frequently, and it had never been quite the same, but Ashley was still thankful for it.
“Hey, Mom.” She hopped out of the cab of her truck.
“Hi, honey.” Her mom kissed Ashley’s cheek. “Was traffic bad?”
“No. Not too bad.” It wasn’t often they both had a day off in the middle of the week. Ashley’s schedule could be all over the place and didn’t always coincide with her mom’s. “I’m hungry. How ’bout you?”
“Mmm.”
They entered the restaurant and were greeted by Carol, a woman who’d waited on them for the past twenty years. Carol didn’t own the place, but she often acted as if she did. Ashley adored her.
“Hi, Carol.”
“You’re lookin’ good, kiddo.”
“Thanks.”
Carol led them to a table and set laminated menus before them. “Be right back with your water.”
Perhaps one of the reasons Ashley loved this place so much was its unchangeableness. Is that a word? She hoped so because it was what she meant. The Silver Spoon had the same color paint, the same framed photographs on the walls, the same choice of food on the menus, and the same waitress in her blue dress and white apron as when Ashley was a girl and it was her daddy sitting across from her.
“Catch me up, honey,” her mom said, not even glancing at the menu. “What’s been going on lately?”
“Not a lot to tell. But I did get another rescue horse earlier today. She’s not going to stay at my place, though.”
What her mom would really like to hear about was a guy in Ashley’s life, not another horse. Ashley knew that without being told. But her mom was going to go on being disappointed in that regard. Ashley was gun-shy when it came to
men and had no intention of doing anything to change that. Her mom didn’t understand Ashley’s interest in horses. She tried, but she didn’t get it. She thought it should be her daughter’s hobby instead of an overriding passion. She didn’t understand why Ashley wanted horses to be her life’s work.
“Why aren’t you taking the new horse to your place?” Her mom tried to sound interested.
“I met a guy who’s starting an equine therapy barn, and he wants me to supply the horses for him. I think it’s going to be a win-win. Good for his clients and good for my horses.”
“Sounds interesting. Tell me about him.”
“Who?”
“The guy you said is starting that barn thing.”
Ashley needlessly lowered her gaze to the menu—and ignored the request to say more.
Carol returned to the table, order pad in hand. “You two know what you want?”
Glad for the interruption, Ashley ordered a BLT sandwich with fries, a side of ranch dressing, and a Diet Coke. Her mom had her usual chicken salad and iced tea.
“Shoulda known.” Carol stuck the pencil behind her ear before dropping the order pad into her apron pocket. Completely retro. Another reason Ashley adored the waitress and the restaurant. All that was missing was for Carol to smack gum.
“What are you smiling about?” her mom asked.
“Nothing. It’s just fun to be here with you.”
* * *
On Tuesday evenings, Ben met with a group of six other men from his church. They ranged in age from twenty-nine to fifty-seven, and most had been meeting together for the past nine years. The men served as an accountability and Bible study group, but time had knitted them into a band of brothers, closer than close friends.
When Ben became one of them, he’d been sober for not quite a year. He’d been looking for something beyond his twelve-step program. He’d wanted something that would strengthen his Christian faith and help him grow into a godly man like his grandpa. He’d found all of that with these men.
At the end of the evening, the group moved from the living room to the kitchen for decaf coffee and something sweet and sticky. Ben sat on one of the high kitchen stools at the raised counter. Their host, Ken Snow, settled onto the matching stool to his right.
“What’s the latest on your equine program?” Ken had one of those penetrating gazes that made a person feel seen and heard. It was just one of the things Ben appreciated about this man.
“I’m making headway with the website,” he answered. “Todd’s given me lots of pointers. And I heard from that gal I told you about last week. She’s found the first horse for the barn. She’ll deliver it tomorrow night.”
“That’s great.”
“I gotta tell you, Ken. If I could quit doing anything else and concentrate on getting this idea of mine off the ground, I would. Unfortunately, I need to make the money I’ve got in the bank stretch as long as I can.”
Ken shifted. “About that . . . Sue and I talked about supporting your endeavor, and we feel it’s what God wants us to do. You can count on us for monthly giving.”
Ben stared at his friend, unable to say anything for a few moments. He’d prayed for doors to continue to open, and look what had happened here. He hadn’t even asked for donations from friends, yet the Snows planned to support the barn. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. He blew out a breath. “Thanks, Ken. I . . . I don’t even know what to say beyond that.”
“We believe in you.”
“Thanks,” he repeated, hoping he didn’t sound choked up or emotional. Although he was both.
Monday, September 30, 1940
Andrew returned to the farm in Kuna after registering with the draft board. The Selective Training and Service Act had been passed by Congress in mid-September, requiring men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-six to register. Strange how Andrew had feared his oldest son might be headed off to war, yet it was Andrew himself who was subject to the draft that would begin in October.
Instead of going into the house, he walked out into the alfalfa fields. The final cutting of the season would happen in another week or so. Hopefully the rain would hold off until the harvest was done. Right now, there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, but this time of year it was hard to know what to expect. The temperature could hit a hundred or it could dip down to freezing. They could go weeks without rain, or they might get a deluge.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
He looked over his shoulder and watched Helen’s approach. He’d always loved the way she looked in that lilac-colored dress. But then, she looked pretty in anything.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Nothing much to the registration itself.”
“Are you worried about being drafted?”
He squinted up at the blue sky. “I guess I’ll have to leave that in God’s hands. Not much I can do about it, one way or the other.”
Helen slipped her right arm through his left and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I think it’s time we started growing more food for human consumption. Food production could be crucial in the coming years.”
“War,” she whispered.
He answered by pressing her arm against his side.
“What do you intend to plant?”
“Corn, I think.”
“Do we have the equipment we’ll need?”
“Mostly. And we’ll have plenty of time over the winter to buy whatever we’re missing.”
She straightened so she could look him in the eye. “Not if you’re drafted.”
“The draft is only for a year of service.”
“That could change.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “It could.” There was no point lying to her. If the US was pulled into the war, the length of service would undoubtedly change.
She blinked, and he knew she fought tears.
“Even if I’m drafted, the boys will know what to do. And I’ll be able to write letters and give advice.”
She stood a little straighter, tilting her chin upward in a show of courage. “You’re right. The boys and I can handle it. But can we afford to buy new equipment if it’s needed?”
“Yes.” He smiled, thinking how blessed he was to have her by his side. “We’re doing well, Helen. The farm’s turned a nice profit the last couple of years. Don’t worry.”
“I won’t. You know best, Andrew.”
He said a silent thanks to God, for it hadn’t always been that way. She’d doubted him early in their marriage. Doubted that she’d loved him. Doubted he’d been the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
Helen reached up and tenderly laid the flat of her hand against the side of his face, saying with her eyes what she didn’t say aloud. That she understood his thoughts. Then she stepped back and turned toward the house. “I’ll get back to the kitchen. The children will be home from school soon.” She took a couple of steps, then looked at him again. “We’d best talk with them after supper. They need to know what could be ahead.”
Andrew nodded.
“I love you,” she said.
He reached for her hand, and together they left the fields.
Chapter 4
Although he wouldn’t admit it, Ben felt as excited as a kid at Christmas while waiting for Ashley to arrive with the horse. He didn’t know a lot about the mare other than that she was a sorrel and sixteen years old. That was it. But he trusted Ashley’s judgment. After all, she’d come highly recommended. Although to be honest, he wasn’t sure that was the reason for his trust.
It was a quarter after six when the red pickup with the white horse trailer pulled into the yard. Ben waited for Ashley to drive all the way up to the barn. After the truck had come to a full stop, he stepped to the door and opened it for her. “Glad to see you.”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Did you think I wasn’t coming?”
“No. No, of course not. I’m just eager. Once I’ve got a horse on the
place, it’ll feel more real to me.”
She laughed softly as she dropped from the cab, her boots raising little dust clouds. “That I can understand. Come on. Let’s get her unloaded.” She headed for the rear of the trailer. Ben followed and watched as Ashley freed the mare’s rope and backed her out. Afterward, she walked the horse around in a slow circle so Ben could get a look at her. “She’s under fifteen hands. A good size for kids who’ve never been around horses before. And she’s docile.” She stopped walking and rested one hand on the mare’s neck. “With good feed, she’ll probably perk up some, but I don’t imagine she’ll ever be high energy. She seems to live at a slower pace.”
Ben stepped forward and stroked the horse’s head. “I like her, Ashley. Looks like I’m getting a good deal.”
“You are. I put a saddle on her and rode her a bit. She’s got a good way of going. Her mouth’s soft, and she’s sound.”
“Should we put her in the paddock or in a stall in the barn?”
“Let’s start with the stall. That way you can control her feed for the first few days.”
“Sounds good.” He led the way to the barn and opened the door wide.
Ashley took the mare to the first stall and put her inside. Then Ben exchanged places with her, moving around the horse, letting his hand trail over her back and haunches before lifting her hooves one at a time.
“You do know the front end of a horse from the back,” Ashley said as she observed him.
He laughed, but his answer was serious. “I avoid telling lies, Miss Showalter. They come back to bite you in the end. I’ve learned it’s better to tell the truth from the start.” He straightened, patting the mare’s side before stepping toward the gate. “Does she have a name? I forgot to ask.”
Cross My Heart Page 3
