Never again, she told herself. She would never make that mistake again. One would think, given a lifetime of experiences with her brother, that she could have seen what was right in front of her face.
Horses and dogs . . . and no men. As long as she had horses and dogs in her life, she could be perfectly happy—and have a lot less stress.
Thanksgiving 1941
A bitter wind pushed Andrew toward the barn to complete his morning chores. Inside the house, Helen and Mother Greyson were up early, preparing for their Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey they’d raised and fattened themselves. Mother Greyson’s prize dressing. Corn bread with honey butter. Peas with pearl onions. The corn casserole that Helen always made. And pies. He couldn’t forget the pies. Pumpkin and chocolate cream and apple. Delicious odors had filled the house since yesterday.
The Hennings would have a full house for Thanksgiving. Twelve people, including the Finkels and the Morgans, a young couple from church. They would set up a second table in the living room since the one in the kitchen couldn’t hold them all. Knowing his family and his friends as he did, he expected a day filled not only with good food but also plenty of laughter.
He could use the laughter and the distraction it would bring with it. There were so many reasons not to laugh these days. The German consulates had been closed by the State Department in June, raising tensions. In August, peacetime military service had been extended from twelve months to thirty months—he thanked God again that his name hadn’t come up in last year’s draft—and the nine-hundred-thousand-men limit on selectees had been removed. Last month the Nazis had torpedoed and damaged the US destroyer Kearney, and less than two weeks later they’d sunk the Reuben James with some one hundred lives lost. Both of the ships had been off the coast of Iceland, which suddenly seemed all too close to American soil. He felt the war pressing in upon his home and family and knew he couldn’t keep the danger from happening any more than he could stop the Snake River flowing from east to west across Southern Idaho.
God help us.
“Hey, Dad. Wait up.”
Startled from his dark thoughts, Andrew stopped and looked over his shoulder, watching as Ben hurried after him, the lights from the house illuminating him from behind. Andrew’s heart caught for a moment. He couldn’t begin to express how proud he was of the boy. Ben had thrown himself into his college studies and into his part-time job in Boise. And this was the kid who’d wanted to quit school when he was twelve.
“Didn’t expect you to be awake yet,” Andrew said as his son arrived at his side.
Ben shrugged. “I do a lot of studying early in the morning. I’m used to being up by now.”
They moved on.
Inside the barn, out of the wind, it was warmer. The hay, straw, and animals helped. The two milk cows were inside, awaiting them. One of the cows bawled impatiently. Ben went straight to her, taking a bucket and three-legged stool with him. Andrew put hay into the trough in front of the cows, then mimicked Ben with his own bucket and stool. Soon the only sound in the barn was of milk spraying the sides of the buckets. Andrew pressed his head against the cow’s warm side and felt himself relax into the rhythm of the milking.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“One of my friends is interested in flying like me. He’s going to Canada to join up there. He’s not old enough to be a pilot, but he can be part of the aircrew.”
Dread coiled in Andrew’s gut. “You aren’t thinking of doing the same? You haven’t even finished one semester of college.” He stood and looked over the cow’s back. “You could ruin your chance of being a pilot if you give up now.”
Was it sound advice any father would give a son, or were they simply words to keep the boy safe at home? He wasn’t sure. A little of both, he supposed.
“I won’t throw it away, Dad. But I thought you should know what some of the guys my age are doing. We don’t think it’s right, America ignoring what’s happening.”
“America isn’t ignoring the war. They’re trying to stay neutral, if possible. There’s a difference.”
“How many other nations does Germany have to invade before we do something to stop them? They’ve taken most of Europe now. Greece, Yugoslavia, and Crete just this year.” Ben lowered his gaze to the bucket. “Britain and its allies need our help.”
Andrew sank back onto the stool, having no words to dispute his son’s assertion. In fact, he agreed with Ben. Andrew didn’t think America was doing enough.
What will be enough, God? What will be enough?
Chapter 6
Nicki Day was a wiry woman with short, spiky steel-gray hair and hazel eyes that sparkled behind a pair of turquoise-rimmed glasses. She wore fitted jeans and black boots and carried a cowboy hat in her left hand that she slapped against her thigh at regular intervals. Ben guessed she was in her early sixties, although he supposed she could be even a decade older than that.
“Mr. Henning.” She greeted him with an outstretched hand. “Welcome to Shady Lane.”
It was an appropriate name for this property tucked away in the foothills north of Boise. An abundance of trees had been planted on the property, including on either side of a long driveway. Irrigation had turned what was naturally a desert covered in sagebrush into a green oasis.
Ben took her hand and shook it. “Thanks for making time to meet with me.”
“I’m the one to do the thanking.” She motioned with her hand, and they walked together toward a long, wide building painted a dark red. Inside, stalls lined the sides of the stables while an arena filled the center.
Ben released a soft whistle. “This is nice.”
“We think so.” Nicki’s smile brought out more of the wrinkles in her face.
“It dwarfs the barn on my farm.”
“We have fifteen horses at present. Nine are boarded. Six of them are ours. We give riding lessons and do horse training as well.”
Ben stepped to the nearest stall where a gray horse had thrust its head over the door. He stroked the animal’s neck.
“When I heard about your plans, Mr. Henning, I decided I wanted to be a part of it. And I’m sure you’ll find a number of volunteers among our boarders and students once we get the word out. Plus my husband and I want to donate three English saddles, along with blankets and other tack. They aren’t new, but they’re in excellent condition. You can take them with you today.”
Surprised, he couldn’t speak for a moment. In his mind, he ticked those items off a list of future purchases. “That’s very generous of you,” he said, recovering himself. “Especially since we’re not operating yet.”
She shook her head. “I trust Larry’s recommendation.”
Ben would never be able to repay Larry Dennis for his assistance. Larry was a counselor by profession, the first one to catch Ben’s vision for the farm. Now, with Nicki Day’s help—another open door—it looked like he would soon have volunteers to help with the riding-program aspect of the Harmony Barn.
Nicki took him down one side of the stables, then across to the other side. She stopped at the third stall from the end. “This is Paisley.”
Ben looked into the stall at the black-and-white paint. The horse flicked its ears forward, as if sizing Ben up.
“He’s the real reason I asked you here today. We’d like to donate Paisley.”
Stunned, Ben looked at the woman, once again struck wordless.
She continued as if she hadn’t noticed his reaction. “He’s ten years old. Very calm. Three of our grandchildren learned to ride on him, almost before they could walk. Nothing much disturbs Paisley.”
“Do you want to sign a lease for a year at a time?”
“We don’t want to lease him to you. We’re giving him to you. Naturally, we won’t transfer papers until your nonprofit status is in place.”
“Naturally. That’s how I’d want it too. And that shouldn’t be much longer. My attorney’s getting that all finished up.” He looked at the horse again, gra
titude swelling his heart. How like God to encourage him in this way after his disappointing encounter with Craig two days earlier.
* * *
Ashley stood beside a fence along with nine other volunteers, taking in the small herd of horses in a pasture devoid of grass. How had this been allowed to happen, she wondered as she surveyed the rail-thin animals. Neighbors had to have seen what was going on here. People driving along this country road had an easy view of the pasture and the horses within. It was obvious the animals had been underfed for a long time. Many, many months. Starvation hadn’t happened overnight.
The equine rescue network had called Ashley early that morning, soon after Animal Care and Control confirmed the abuse complaint. Most of the volunteers from the network had arrived within half an hour of receiving similar phone calls. No one said a word as they stared at the horses. Sadly, too many of the people with her had seen similar situations before. Anger and sadness swirled inside of her. There was no excuse for this. None at all.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she told herself not to judge others so harshly. Who could say what had befallen the owner? Perhaps he wasn’t simply evil, as had been her first thought. Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps he was dying. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to let go of the horses he’d once loved even when it had become obvious he could no longer provide for them. She would like to believe there was some logical reason rather than it being plain and simple cruelty. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes again.
“You been at this long?”
She turned to look at the man who’d spoken. The cowboy’s dark face had been leathered by years in the sun, and she couldn’t be sure of his age. “A little over a year,” she answered.
He shook his head. “Takes the wind out of me, every time.”
“Me too.”
He glanced up at the sky. “Wasn’t that long ago that horse rescue networks didn’t even exist. At least that’s changed in my lifetime. You’d be too young to remember what it used to be like.” He held out a hand. “My name’s Rory.”
“Hi, Rory.” She shook his hand. “I’m Ashley.”
“Are you here for transport?”
“No, I’ve got a little place of my own. I rehome any rescues I take in, once they’re well enough. I’ve got room for two right now.” She thought of Ben’s farm, of those forty acres, and wondered how many horses he meant to keep there once everything was up and running.
Behind her, she heard someone call her name. “Looks like I’m up. Nice to meet you, Rory.”
“You too.”
About an hour later, she found herself driving toward home with two horses in her trailer. Sometimes she was able to turn a rescue around quickly, finding a horse a permanent home in mere days or a week or so. But the horses she’d picked up today needed lots of care before they would be ready for adoption. It would be awhile before they’d be out of danger. They were starved enough that they might still die.
When she pulled into her driveway, she was surprised to see Ben Henning’s truck parked near her shed. He was leaning against the tailgate, Dusty once again in the truck bed in the shade.
Silly, the way her heart fluttered at the sight of him.
He waved as he pushed off the tailgate. “I was just about to leave,” he said when she’d cut the engine. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by unannounced.”
“I don’t mind.” Which was crazy. She probably should mind.
He opened the truck door for her. “Wanted to share something with you.”
“What’s that?” She dropped to the ground and moved toward the back of the trailer.
“Somebody donated three English riding saddles and a gelding to my program.”
Ashley stopped and turned. “Get outta here.”
“Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers.
“That’s awesome.”
Ben moved ahead of her and unlatched the back of the trailer. He kept smiling until he saw the two horses inside.
“Sad, aren’t they?” Ashley asked softly.
“Where’d they come from?”
“A small ranch outside of Star. The owner was breeding irresponsibly. Didn’t have the funds to feed all of the horses on his land. I don’t know if any died before someone finally reported the situation.” Tears welled in her eyes as she stepped into the trailer and untied the rope on the first horse. The chestnut mare looked even worse when she was out in the sunshine.
Ben muttered something beneath his breath, his expression clouding. She liked him all the more for his reaction.
He said, “I’ll get the other one for you, if that’s okay.”
“Sure.”
The sorrel gelding came out as docilely as the mare had before him. Ashley led the way to the shelters, Ben right behind. Both Remington and Scooter, the palomino mare that had arrived the day Ashley met Ben, thrust their heads over the gates of their enclosures. The chestnut mare went into the first empty enclosure, the gelding into the remaining one.
“What now?” Ben fastened the gate closed.
“The vet’s looked at them already. These two didn’t have any underlying medical reason for their condition, other than no food. So I’ll start by feeding them small amounts of alfalfa hay six times a day. Alfalfa’s high in protein and includes electrolytes and phosphorus and magnesium. I’ll increase the amount a little each day over the next ten to fourteen days. By then, they should be eating normal amounts.”
“Do they get any grain?”
“No. Not yet. Feeding a starved horse can’t be hurried. It can take months for some horses to come all the way out of it. But if they make it past the next couple of weeks, there’s a good chance they’ll survive.”
“You’re one brave girl, Ashley Showalter.”
The tone of Ben’s voice drew her gaze to him. His expression was somber but admiring, and it warmed a place inside of her that had been hurting most of the morning.
“Could I help you? Maybe come do a feeding when you’re at work. I can adjust my schedule to my liking.”
The offer brought a small smile to her lips. “Really? You would do that?”
“Yes, really.”
“Thanks. That would help a lot. My neighbors pitch in when they can, but Bill had surgery last week, so I think Cheryl’s got enough on her plate without me asking for favors.”
“No need to ask them. Let me know when to come and how to feed the horses, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
For a moment, Ashley was tempted to pull his head down so she could kiss him on the cheek. But only for a moment. Sanity returned before she could make a fool of herself.
Saturday, November 22, 1941
“You should see her, Ben. She’s a real dish.”
Andrew stopped in the hallway, listening as Oscar regaled his brother with a description of the girl in question—red hair, green eyes, rosy lips.
“I about flipped my wig when I first saw her. I think maybe I’m fallin’ in love.”
Andrew’s eyes widened at that admission. It was the first he’d heard of the girl, let alone the romantic notions she’d given Oscar.
Ben’s voice intruded. “How old are you?”
“You know how old I am.”
“Sure, I know. I just wanted to remind you. You don’t fall in love at fifteen. You got too much ahead of you. You oughta be thinking about college.”
Oscar laughed. “Me? College? Ha!”
Andrew made a bit of noise to announce himself, then strode into the living room as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
The brothers—both of them as towheaded as the first time Andrew had laid eyes on them outside that soup kitchen in Boise—turned matching blue gazes in his direction.
“Chores done?” Andrew asked, although he knew the answer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He went to his favorite chair and sank onto it. “Ben, I’m glad you could stay through the whole weekend. It’s been good for the family, having you here with u
s.”
“I’ve liked it too. And it was good to catch up with Mr. Finkel on Thanksgiving. But I’ll have to head back right after church tomorrow. There’s some work I need to get done before my Monday morning classes. I thought I’d have time to do it while I was here, but I never got around to it.”
Oscar elbowed his older brother in the ribs. “You should be the one thinking about girls,” he said softly. “You act as ancient as Dad sometimes.”
This time Andrew couldn’t pretend he hadn’t heard. “Just how ancient am I?”
“Sorry.” Oscar shot him a sheepish glance.
There was a short silence, then all three of them burst into laughter.
A feeling of gratitude swept over Andrew. He was proud to be these boys’ father. Now if he could only keep Ben from running off to Canada and Oscar from making a fool of himself over some girl . . .
Grinning, he reached for his book on the side table.
Chapter 7
Ben parked his truck at the curb and drew a deep breath before getting out of the cab. His eyes went to the house as he reached into the bed for his toolbox. He didn’t know if his mom actually had a problem with her kitchen sink or if it was an excuse to get him over to the house so she could berate him about the farm one more time.
He drew a quick breath, hating the negative thoughts that welled in him whenever he dealt with her. It didn’t matter that her negativity had come first. He wasn’t responsible for her actions, but he was responsible for his own reaction to them.
“Honor your father and mother,” the Bible told him. Ben had no father to honor, but he could do his best with his mom. He tried to do his best. Always. He really did. But she sure didn’t make it easy for him.
Ben made his way up the walk, rapped on the front door, then opened it when he heard his mom call for him to enter. “I’m in the kitchen,” she added.
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