by Katie Powner
I feel Rand’s eyes on my back as I leave the kitchen and take the front door out to the porch. The mountain draws me as if it has a message I alone can decipher. My heart thumps as the notion there’s something important I need to remember shortens my breath. What was it? What had we been talking about? Someone had peed in the toilet. Who had been here? Who would do such a thing?
No, it had been Rand. You’d think he’d appreciate a good flush, growing up in a cabin with no indoor plumbing like he did. But he is getting old. We both are. Could it be that we’ve been married for forty-four years? Have we lived that much life together already?
It has been a good life. But there are clouds forming across the valley and moving closer. Dark clouds.
I lean against a post and wrap my arms around my body. There is a distinct chill in the air. What did I need to remember?
Though it’s hours yet until the light appears on the mountain, I look up and think of Miner McGee. Always searching, searching, searching.
Searching.
My hand flies to my throat as I gasp. My son. That’s what it is. He could be in danger. That doctor said some diseases of the mind are hereditary. And it must be true there’s a disease in my mind. I sense it lying in wait, crouching like a mountain lion stalking its prey.
Tears sting my eyes, and I cover my mouth. Is this my punishment, God? My memories of his face and his tiny little hands are all I have left of him. Are you going to take them away to punish me for what I did? No, Lord. Please.
No.
I have to fight against the disease. I can’t lose my son again. The mountain towers before me, and I picture Miner McGee, searching, searching. That crazy old man. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times—he’ll never give up.
And neither will I.
NINETEEN
Mitch checked his watch and knocked on the door. How exactly had Frank talked him into this again? Heck of a way to spend his lunch break.
Frank’s voice called from the other side of the door. “Come on in.”
Mitch entered the office and found his old friend sitting behind a desk strewn with papers, books, and coffee mugs. A plastic bag sat on one edge, filled with maybe half a dozen frozen venison chubs.
Frank caught him looking at it. “Someone was cleaning out their freezer to make room for hunting season.”
“So they gave you last year’s meat?”
“It’s from two years ago, actually.” Frank leaned back in his swivel chair and shrugged. “You know how it is.”
Yes, Mitch knew. He and Frank had shared many laughs the last twenty years over the gifts Frank often received from the well-meaning folks in his congregation. Some of them were welcome surprises, like when Miss Ellen would leave sugar cookies on the seat of Frank’s car with a handwritten note. Others were less appealing, such as the couch the Westerly family “donated” to the youth room that only had three feet and was covered in mouse turds.
Mitch muttered something about firstfruits, and Frank gave him a half smile. “Dorothy and I are thankful for it. Have you seen the price of beef lately?”
Mitch grunted.
“But you’re not here to talk about beef, are you?”
Mitch stiffened, and Frank must have noticed.
“No preacher stuff.” Frank held up his hands. “I promise. I asked you to come in as a friend. That’s it.”
Mitch grumbled to himself and plopped down in an old armchair. The arms were threadbare, worn down by the anxious hands of old men seeking advice about how to divide up their land without destroying their families, married couples seeking counseling, and teenage boys wondering if the Bible really said fornication was a sin. And a man rubbing at the fabric and asking what he was supposed to do now that he was alone. How he was supposed to help Bea. What he was supposed to say to all the people telling him God had a plan when all he wanted to do was punch them in the face.
“Your parents missed the service again,” Frank said. “When did you say your mom’s CT scan is?”
“Next Friday morning.”
“Will they be doing any other tests?”
“I think they’ll do the full blood and urine tests at the same time. Dr. Wilson suggested doing it when we were there last week, but Mom was so upset we decided not to. I was afraid she might hurt someone if they tried to stick a needle in her arm.”
“Your mother is a strong, independent woman.”
“You can say that again.”
“And how’s Bea?”
“She had her first doctor’s appointment this week. Said she’s due May fourteenth.”
Frank smiled like he meant it. “That’s wonderful.”
Mitch wasn’t so sure, but he kept his doubts to himself. “Still can’t believe I’m going to be a grandpa.”
Without Caroline. It would’ve been the highlight of her life to hold a grandchild in her arms. To babysit. To knit little pink or blue booties and take a million pictures.
Mitch remembered his last conversation with Frank and looked Frank in the eye. “And how are you this week?”
Frank hesitated.
“And don’t give me any sort of ‘everything’s fine and I’m just blessed to be serving the Lord’ crap.”
“It’s not crap if it’s true.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Okay, is it true?”
Frank heaved a sigh the size of a seventy-person congregation and slumped in his chair. “No.”
Prickles of guilt jabbed Mitch’s chest. He and Frank used to talk about everything. Mitch had prided himself on being the one person besides Dorothy whom Frank could unload on about challenges he faced as Moose Creek Community Church’s only pastor.
Mitch shifted in his seat. “What’s going on?”
Not that he had the right to ask.
Frank pinched his forehead. “Bob’s stirring up trouble again. You know how he gets on different kicks and goes all in without thinking it over.”
Mitch nodded. Bob was a repeat offender in that department. “What’d he do this time?”
“He started a new Bible study in his house about speaking in tongues.”
Mitch waited.
“And told everyone I approved it.”
“Ah.”
“Now there’s a small faction calling for my head.”
It wasn’t hard for Mitch to believe. It was a nondenominational church, technically, but the majority of folks had Baptist leanings. Bob had always tended more toward Pentecostal.
“It’s my own fault,” Frank continued. “He did ask if he could lead a Bible study from his home, and I said I didn’t see why not.”
“Well, now you see.”
“Yes. It was a rookie mistake. I’ve just been busy and distracted by other things and didn’t think it through.”
Mitch knew Frank had walked this road before. As the pastor of a small church, he got less than half the praise he deserved for everything that went right and more than twice the blame for everything that didn’t.
“So you’re going to ask him to stop the study?”
“I tried that. He says he has the right to do whatever he wants in his own home. And he’s right, of course. He just needs to stop telling people I approve of it. But he’s insisting that I did approve. He’s also convinced that if I just read this book he found, I’ll come over to his side on the speaking-in-tongues thing.”
“Danny still on the church board?”
Frank nodded. Danny was Bob’s wife’s brother. He was also related by marriage to Bob’s daughter-in-law.
“Whose side is he on?”
“Bob’s. He wants me to read the book. Everyone’s quite interested in it now.”
“The people who want your head—they’re strongly against speaking in tongues, I take it?”
Frank laughed. “You wouldn’t know it by how unrestrained they are with their own, but yes.”
Mitch chuckled, too, even as the pangs of guilt in his chest grew in intensity. He’d had a hard couple of
years and hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone about God’s will or His “perfect plan”—he still didn’t—but who had been there to check in on Frank? Give him a listening ear?
“I’m sorry.” Mitch dropped his hands to his knees, then put them back on the arms of the chair. “And not just for the tongues situation.”
Frank gave him a similar look to the one he’d given when Mitch first told him about Caroline’s diagnosis. “I’ve been worried about you. It’s a frightening thing to me, to watch someone I care about turn their back on God.”
Mitch squirmed. How could he explain it? He hadn’t turned his back on God. You couldn’t live in Montana and not consider Him. Couldn’t look out over the valley or drive to Glacier without seeing His handiwork. Couldn’t come within fifteen feet of a regal six-point bull elk without being awestruck by the wonder of creation. His relationship with the Almighty was different from what it used to be, but they were still on speaking terms.
“It wasn’t that.”
“What then? Why did you stop coming to church?”
Mitch scrounged for the right words. “I hated the sympathy. People would be talking and laughing in a group, and then when I would walk up, they’d get all serious. And they would say such stupid things. One woman would come up to me out of nowhere and say I needed to wait at least one full year before getting remarried. Like it’s in the Bible or something. Five minutes later, another woman would come along and tell me about her hairdresser or niece or whatever who was single and looking to settle down.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, and I couldn’t tell you how many times I had to listen to ‘We can’t question God’s plan’ or ‘Just be thankful she isn’t suffering anymore.’ Once Bea left for school, I didn’t have the strength to keep putting myself through all that. Couldn’t sit there in the pew and listen to everyone singing without Caroline’s voice.”
“I understand.” Frank folded his arms on the desk. “But we need other people in our lives, Mitch. To help us carry our burdens. That’s how God made us.”
Mitch checked the time and frowned. He could carry his own burdens. And what about Frank? Everyone was always dumping their burdens on him, not helping to carry them.
“Look, I gotta go.” He stood. “Time to get back to work.”
“Please don’t blow off what I said.”
“I’ll think about it.” Mitch moved toward the door. “Good to see you, Frank.”
He dashed out of the office and into the parking lot. Ralph would grumble at him if he was late. As he strode to his truck, he replayed Frank’s words in his head. “We need other people in our lives.” Frank meant well, but he had no idea what it was like to feel like an outsider in your own hometown. To feel like you no longer belonged to the same world as everyone else. He longed for his wife like the fields longed for rain.
At least Bea was back. Maybe he wasn’t much of a friend or church member anymore, but he could help her get her life back on track, couldn’t he? She didn’t want to work at the Food Farm forever. She didn’t know what was best for herself or her baby. And it couldn’t be true that she didn’t care about finishing college. He didn’t know why she’d quit, but he was going to find out. It was the least he could do.
He started his truck with a renewed sense of purpose. He and Caroline had had such dreams for their daughter. Dreams that reached beyond the confines of Moose Creek. Beyond the Food Farm and Friday night football games. Caroline had even named her after two female pioneers in engineering with those dreams in mind.
He wouldn’t let her down.
Bea took her time driving out to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. She hadn’t driven a stick shift in two years, but she was thankful Dad had let her borrow his truck. She’d decided to go check on her grandparents after Jeremy called to let her know he was still in Ponderosa. “I’ve met so many interesting people,” he’d said. “I’ve got so many ideas.”
She’d thought of the bill for her last doctor’s visit and barely swallowed back her father’s words: “You can’t eat ideas.” Instead, she’d said, “That’s great.” He’d promised to bring her back a surprise, and she’d quickly made plans to get out of the house. Didn’t feel like dealing with her dad by herself. Plus, the football team was away tonight, so what else was there to do?
The days were getting noticeably shorter as winter neared. Because of the dense clouds, it was almost dark as she pulled up. She parked and studied the small but sturdy old house and the lights shining from inside. Maybe she should apologize to Grandma for what her dad had done.
She tapped on the door and let herself in. “Anyone home? It’s Bea.”
“Beatrice?” Grandma June was at the kitchen sink. She fixed Bea with a perplexed look. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”
Grandpa came out of his office. “She’s not in school anymore, June. She got married, remember?”
Grandma swiped a soapy hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of suds. She gave him a withering look. “Of course I remember.”
Bea looked back and forth between her grandparents. She’d never heard Grandma snap at Grandpa like that before.
“We just finished supper,” Grandma said. “Did you eat?”
“I’m good.” She was holding out for whatever Jeremy was going to bring home. “Thanks, though.”
“I’ll get you something to drink, then.” Grandma pulled open the fridge. “I’ve got . . . um . . .”
Bea joined her at the fridge and peered over her shoulder while she dug around inside. Bea frowned. Where was all the food? She’d better put together a few groceries to bring out the next time she had a shift at the Food Farm.
And what was going on with Grandma’s hair? She usually kept it short and tidy, but today it was sticking out all over the place.
Grandma clucked her tongue and pulled a can of Budweiser from the depths of the fridge. “This will have to do. It’s the last one. I haven’t been to the store in a while.”
“Oh, um . . .” Bea held up her hands. “No, thanks. Grandpa can have it.”
“Don’t be silly. He doesn’t need it. Here.” Grandma shoved it into Bea’s hands. “It’s nice and cold.”
Bea stared at the can, then gave Grandpa a sidelong look. Why was Grandma acting so strange? He looked back, his cloudy blue, almost gray eyes boring into her as if trying to tell her something, but he didn’t speak.
Grandpa had a beer now and then, while Bea had never acquired a taste for it. Even if she had, she’d never consider it while she was pregnant. Had Grandma forgotten about the baby? She’d always complained about Grandpa’s occasional Budweiser, but now here she stood, watching Bea expectantly.
Bea set the can down on the counter. “I’m not thirsty right now.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Grandma wiped her hands on a towel and motioned toward the living room. “Why don’t we sit down for a visit.”
Bea smiled. This was more like it. She’d spent many evenings sitting with her grandparents, visiting. Her favorite times were when they would sit out on the porch and watch the sunset reflect off the mountain while they talked, except it was too cold and cloudy for that tonight.
Grandpa Rand carefully lowered his wiry frame into his leather recliner, one of the few nice things he’d ever purchased for himself. Behind him, a wooden shelf sagged under the weight of his Louis L’Amour books, and a sweat-stained cowboy hat hung from a hook on the wall.
Bea nestled into her favorite spot on the couch and brought her knees up to her chest. In a few short months, she wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. Her stomach would be in the way. Or should she say the baby would be in the way?
Grandma settled onto the couch close to Bea. “What are you up to these days? Did you work this morning?”
Bea nodded. “I stayed longer than usual. It was busy today, so they needed extra help.”
“I’m not surprised they needed you, dear.” Grandma patted her knee. “You’ll be running that who
le place in no time, I’m sure.”
Bea gave a smile she hoped was at least semiconvincing. Before she’d left the Food Farm this afternoon, MacGregor had said something along the same lines. Not that she’d be running the whole place, but he’d grumbled about how hard it was to find good help these days and hinted he’d be happy to see her move into a full-time position with an eye toward becoming assistant manager.
It would be a good job. Decent pay. Modest benefits. Better than the zero benefits she and Jeremy had now. She’d told MacGregor she’d think about it, but it wasn’t possible. They weren’t going to be sticking around that long. Were they?
“We’ll see,” she said.
“It’d be so handy, wouldn’t it?” Grandma fidgeted with something in her pocket. “So close to home, and you wouldn’t have to worry about running out of milk.”
Grandpa cleared his throat. “Bea might not want to spend the rest of her life at the Food Farm, June.”
Grandma turned on him. “And what would you know about what Bea might want?”
Her voice was sharp and cold. Bea’s eyes widened.
Grandpa looked stricken, but he didn’t back down. “You’re right, I don’t know. But maybe you should ask her instead of assuming.”
“I’m not assuming anything.” Grandma’s voice had the bite of a rattler. “I’m only giving my opinion. Since when is giving my opinion a crime, Rand?”
A lump formed in Bea’s chest, a hard pressure like a fist stuck in between her lungs. What was going on? She’d never heard Grandma speak like that to anyone before and especially not to Grandpa. He held the place of highest honor in her life. In fact, the only time she’d ever disciplined Bea—ever—was the time Bea was about six or seven and Grandpa asked her to take her muddy feet off the coffee table, and Bea had talked back to him. Grandma had swooped in with a spanking Bea still remembered to this day.
