by Sarah Monzon
Jessica untied the lead rope from the hitching post and gave it some slack as she gripped both the rope and the handle on her crutches. The extra slack on the rope was so that she didn’t pull or jerk on Dakota’s head every time she moved the crutch forward. The gate had been a challenge the first time she had tried to maneuver around it, but the girl and horse team had it down pat by now. She led the horse to a ramp and mounted Dakota with as much poise as she could muster.
“Very nicely done, Jessica,” Mrs. Steinbeck praised, mimicking my thoughts.
I grabbed the lead rope as Jessica placed her feet firmly in the stirrups. Her back straightened and her shoulders pushed back as she worked on the posture Mrs. Steinbeck would expect.
Mrs. Steinbeck nodded in my direction, and I led Dakota out in a slow, smooth walk. I watched as the rocking motion of the horse’s hips swayed Jessica’s hips as well. Her once too-tight muscles loosened with the rhythm. We worked using different gaits and motions to reinforce Jessica’s muscle tension, balance, and posture.
“All right, I think that’s enough for today,” Mrs. Steinbeck declared after the thirty-minute session.
As Mrs. Steinbeck walked to where Mr. and Mrs. Burnett were sitting to discuss Jessica’s therapy, I made my way with Jess and Dakota back to the hitching post. I lifted the saddle off the horse but allowed Jessica the responsibility of rubbing down Dakota and leading her back to her stall.
After the Burnetts left, Mrs. Steinbeck stayed behind a bit to discuss some long-term goals for the sessions, and then she departed as well. While there were people around me and a task which occupied my focus, I was given a break from the thousands of thoughts warring in my head. But left alone once more, my mind was swamped in all directions. I was drowning in my thoughts as I struggled to sort them out.
Sighing heavily, I picked up the pitchfork that leaned against the barn and threw it into the old, rusted wheelbarrow. I pushed it down the barn aisle to the first stall. No matter what else was going on in my life, there were still daily chores requiring my attention. Whatever else that needed to be sorted or planned would have to wait till the stalls were mucked and the animals fed and watered.
Father, I prayed in my heart as I scooped, lifted, and sifted a fresh steamy pile of manure. I don’t know what to do. Just a few days ago I thought my life was almost perfect.
I dumped the pile and went back for another.
I thought James and I would get married. That Poppy would walk me down the aisle. That he would be there and hold his great-grandchildren. Those were my plans, God.
I sensed my own frustration mounting at how my plans, my life, had shattered.
For I know the plans that I have for you…
The pitchfork stilled in my hand midscoop. My heart, my mind, my soul, I didn’t know where it came from, but I heard the whispering impression from deep within me.
What plans, Father? Please. Tell me.
Plans to prosper you and not to harm you…
Harm me?
I was incredulous. I was talking with the creator of the universe, and He deserved more than an interruption of doubt from a nobody like me, but how else was I to respond?
What am I to think, God? First my heart is broken to pieces when the man I love chooses to be with someone else. Then, on top of all that, You’re going to take Poppy away from me too. What do you consider harmful, if not that?
Plans to give you hope and a future…
What future, Father?
I screamed within myself. My whole being shouted my confusion, my hurt, and my annoyance. The only future I see is one where the people I love either leave or are taken from me. Where is my hope? So far it looks like my future is one of being alone, by myself.
I will never leave you.
A warm, tingling sensation started at the core of my being and spread throughout my limbs, enveloping me in a supernatural embrace. It calmed my fears and gave me a sense of peace. And I knew. Even without James and even without Poppy, I wouldn’t be alone. I would always be loved.
5
Rebekah
THREE DAYS HAD passed since my experience with God in the barn. My life continued on as normal, my body going through the motions of my daily routines while my mind continuously turned like the cogs in the big clock on Main Street. It flitted back and forth, resting on one thought for mere seconds and then flying off to the next. Needless to say, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.
Every morning during my devotions I turned to the book of Genesis and Rebekah’s story. I hadn’t done it consciously, because the message God had given me in the barn was not to worry or take matters into my own hands but to trust in the plan He had for me. Even so, every morning I found myself turning back to that ancient love story. A sense of urgency rose in my gut and threatened to strangle me with its intensity.
I needed to tell someone my thoughts, if for no other reason than to voice them out loud—maybe work them all out. Normally I would talk to Poppy, but for the first time I didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. So who did a girl turn to when she needed to talk things out? Her best friend, of course.
I met Lisa at the diner downtown and ordered a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries from our server, Wendy. The tangy scent of the night’s special—pulled BBQ pork sandwiches—battled with the heavy aroma of cooking oil, the diner being famous for its beer-battered onion rings. As this was the only eating establishment in our small town, the little diner was packed. That was if you call nine out of the ten tables occupied “packed.” Since it was the beginning of August, the temperature outside was well into the nineties. I licked my lips in anticipation of my cold chocolaty treat.
Lisa sat opposite me on the red vinyl-covered booth. “So what’s up? I haven’t seen you in almost a week. You doing okay?”
Lisa and I spent every moment possible together during her breaks from school. After everything that had happened, she knew I’d need time alone to sort things out. Except I hadn’t been able to.
“Am I doing okay?” A false laugh forced its way past my lips. “No, not really. In fact, I think I’ve gone insane.”
Lisa’s head tilted to the side, and she crossed her arms over her chest. One eyebrow rose over hazel eyes.
“I’m serious! You better have me committed before I ask you to do something crazy.”
“Something crazy like…”
“Like arranging my marriage.”
I hadn’t noticed Wendy approach with our milkshakes until the words had already left my mouth. I prayed she hadn’t heard me, but by the way her eyebrows nearly jumped to her hairline like an Olympic pole vault gold medalist, I could tell she had. Great. New fuel for the gossip fires.
Lisa stuck a straw in her milkshake and sucked hard, her cheeks concaving and giving her a fish face. She pushed aside the tall glass and leaned forward on her elbows. “You’re serious?”
I nodded. “Afraid so.” I put my finger over the opening of my straw and lifted it out of the glass. Sticking out my tongue, I removed my finger and let the delectable sweet treat drip onto my taste buds. Closing my eyes, I savored the explosion of icy goodness.
Lisa scooted back against her seat, the vinyl squeaking with her movement. “Well.”
“I know. But the only thing Poppy wants is to see me happily married, and I haven’t exactly had the best luck with men of late.”
“That’s not your fault.”
I raised my hand to stop her defense on my behalf. “Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I read Isaac and Rebekah’s story the other day, and I can’t seem to get it out of my head. I’ve thought about it so much that Abraham and Poppy are starting to morph into the same person in my mind.”
“Okaaay.”
“Poppy’s getting worse, Lisa.” I snagged her hand and squeezed. Probably too tight. “I don’t know what else to do. Besides, people in India have arranged marriages every day. And what about online dating websites? That’s sort of like a western-culture arranged marr
iage. They say they use an algorithm to match compatibility, but you know me better than any algorithm.”
I glared at Wendy, who was taking an order from the booth next to ours. She’d asked the customer what he wanted to drink but kept casting furtive glances in my direction. I looked back at Lisa and let out a long breath.
“Who am I kidding? Even if you agreed to this crazy idea, that would mean there would still have to be a guy out there somewhere—no, not somewhere, specifically at your school—who would come all the way out here to this dinky little town, all for the purpose of marrying someone he has never met. It’s insane! I’m scared to think what kind of person would even consider it.”
Lisa spoke once I stopped my pathetic monologue long enough for her to interject. “You asked for my opinion, right?”
I nodded and closed my eyes, almost afraid of what I was about to hear. Even after several moments, all I heard was the humming of conversations from other tables and the clanging of pots in the kitchen. I peeked from behind one eyelid. Lisa was grinning.
“Well?” I asked.
She shrugged, still grinning. “You’re right. It’s a very…uh…unusual idea. Dating websites are a sort of contemporary setup, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they arrange marriages. More like they set people up on blind dates. But let me make sure I understand what you’re asking. You want a man to make a commitment of marriage without even meeting you first, right?”
Heat raced up my neck and traveled to my cheeks. When she said it like that, it was even more ludicrous than when I’d said it.
“That’s how it worked out for Isaac,” I offered weakly. “Eliezer asked God to show him the woman who was supposed to marry Isaac, and He did. When Eliezer asked Rebekah to go back with him to marry his master’s son, she did. If we were to do this, and the guy came here, met me, and then decided he’d made a mistake, then of course he’d be free to leave. It’s not like I’d turn it into a shotgun wedding or anything.”
Lisa fiddled with her straw. What must she be thinking?
“Have you talked about it with Poppy?”
I shook my head as I dredged the last fry through a puddle of ketchup and popped it in my mouth. “He’s going to know I’m doing it for him, and he’ll try to talk me out of it.”
Wendy laid the check face down on the table, lingering a moment longer than was necessary.
“All right.” Lisa dipped one decisive nod. “I’ll do it.”
Did Wendy’s step just falter on the way back to the kitchen?
“I’ll be your Eliezer, and with God’s help, I’ll find you your Rebekah, or, well, in your case, your Isaac. We’ll call it The Isaac Project.”
***
“Stop sucking in air, you big lout.” I patted Samson’s bulging belly before yanking the nylon strap and securing the cinch.
Man, it was a hot one. Sweat trickled down my spine as the full day’s sun beat down. It would’ve been nice if there were even a remote breeze, but the air was as still as a stone. At least it wasn’t humid.
I glanced at Lisa, who was slipping Daisy’s bridal behind her ears. “We’d better walk them around the arena before hitting the trail. I need to check the cinch again after Samson stops holding his breath. I don’t really feel like having the saddle slip from under me because this big galoot was being a stinker.”
Lisa grinned. “Yeah, but it would be funny.”
I placed my foot in the stirrup and hoisted myself into the saddle, the leather creaking under my weight. Ah, no better place to be than a horse’s back, and no better view than the one between a horse’s ears. I clicked my tongue, and Samson walked on.
After a few laps around the arena, we dismounted and tightened our cinches.
Lady whined by the fence gate.
“Sorry, girl, but you have to stay.” I gave her a good scratch behind her ears. It was hard to say no to those sad puppy-dog eyes.
Samson and I took the lead, and Lisa followed on Daisy as we plodded down the well-worn trail. The trees spread their branches over us like a canopy, and the forest serenaded us with a beautiful melody—the twittering of birds, the rustling of leaves, the snapping of the twigs beneath the horses’ hooves.
We reached the part of the trail where the woods ended and the meadow began. I reined in Samson and waited for Lisa to ride up beside us.
“Race you to the old oak tree,” I challenged. Without waiting for a reply, I nudged Samson’s ribs with my heels and leaned low and forward in the saddle. Samson’s legs ate up the distance in giant gulps. This horse wasn’t named Samson without a reason. He was tall and strong. With the speed we were going, the wind didn’t so much kiss my face as slap it.
“C’mon boy, faster.” Maybe I could outrun the impending doom chasing me and leave it in the billows of dust Samson’s hooves created.
We reached the weathered old tree, and I pulled back on the reins to slow Samson and wait for Lisa to catch up. I stroked the horse’s shoulder and whispered to him. He had let me fly, if only for a moment.
Lisa cantered up on Daisy, a scowl on her face. It was a bit unfair of me to challenge her to a race when she was riding the Morgan mare.
“Of course you win when you’re riding Secretariat and I’m riding…well…Little Miss Muffet!” Lisa huffed.
I grinned and dismounted. Tossing the reins over Samson’s head, I gave him some slack and walked him to the water’s edge.
It was a beautiful day, if a bit hot. The lake looked cool and inviting, shimmering like glitter in the sunlight. Dropping down on the grassy bank, I plunked off my boots and stripped off my socks. Ah, already that felt better. I rolled my pant legs up over my calves and stood.
The water was cool and refreshing as I slipped my feet beneath the surface. The silt at the bottom of the lake squished between my toes as I wiggled them, burying them deeper.
“So how am I supposed to go about finding you a husband?” Lisa asked as she came up beside me, her own feet bare as well.
My mind went blank. Okay, so I hadn’t worked out all the logistics yet, but it would work out. It had to.
She turned to me, eyes bright. “I know! I’ll put an ad in the school paper for a mail-order husband. That seemed to work well in the eighteen hundreds. Maybe some flyers hanging on the bulletin boards around campus. Oh!” She slapped her thigh, startling the horses. “A big life-sized cardboard cut-out of you, a dozen red, long-stemmed roses, and my very own version of The Bachelorette.”
“Yeah. I’m sure that’ll work great.”
“Seriously though, what do you want in a guy? If you could somehow create the perfect man, what would he look like?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I’d thought James was pretty perfect, and look how that turned out.”
“No cheating scumballs.” Lisa checked an imaginary list on her palm. “Got it.”
Samson lost interest in the water and tried to get to a patch of grass. He strained against the bit in his mouth and the reins in my hand. Not wanting my arm to get ripped out of its socket, I stepped out of the lake and sat crossed-legged in the middle of his intended smorgasbord.
I picked a blade of grass and stared off into the distance. “I want a man like Poppy. Someone who puts God first in his life. Who is dependable and can make me laugh. It would be nice if he liked horses and could help me out on the ranch. No stuffy city boy for me, please.”
I flicked the blade of grass at Lisa.
“Of course, it wouldn’t hurt if he were drop-dead gorgeous and a ‘49ers fan,” I added with a waggle of my eyebrows.
“Oh no. That wouldn’t be the least bit painful.”
Enough about me. Lisa had a life, too. A way more interesting one, actually. “So how is Sam?”
A telltale blush bloomed on her cheeks.
“Things getting serious?” I pressed.
She nodded, her eyes shining. “He’s so wonderful, Becky. I think I’m in love with him. He might…I think he might be the one, you know?”
And I was. Truly. Except for some reason I couldn’t stop the stinging sensation that suddenly came to my eyes. Or the selfish questions echoing in the dark corners of my mind. What about me? Would someone ever love me? Would there ever be the one for me?
Because if I knew one thing, I knew this—the arrangement I’d made with Lisa might produce a husband, but I held out little hope for a happily ever after.
6
Luke
LATE SUMMER SUN shone through the open bay doors. Everyone in the North knows to hoard time in the sun in the summer months because it’s a rare treat come winter. Clipboard in hand, I checked over the equipment in the storage compartment of the pumper.
A long shadow moved across the concrete floor as a tall man entered through one of the bay doors. He strolled over to me with his hands in his pockets, his face darkened by the sun beating down behind him. As soon as he came fully beneath the cover of the fire station, I grinned.
Sam and I were cousins, our mothers being sisters. Both of us, however, resembled our fathers. Sam had the coloring of the all-American boy next door. Sandy hair and eyes the shade of Lake Michigan in July. He was tall and lean—redwood in height and the girth of an Aspen.
I, on the other hand, took after the Irish ancestry on my dad’s side. Dark hair—so dark, in fact, that it seemed almost black, except when the sun hit it at just the right angle so that it shone through with lighter-brown strands woven through. Or so an old high school girlfriend told me once. And where Sam had the smooth face of a newborn baby, my own jawline always sported a shadow. It didn’t matter that I shaved every morning—a couple of hours later I couldn’t tell a razor had touched my face.
We greeted each other with a man hug. The kind where two hands met to make a sort of fist but then got caught in the middle of a manly chest bump with a couple slaps on the back for good measure. I don’t know which guy came up with it, but it sure did stick around. Unlike the secret handshakes my friends and I came up with when we were boys.
