Matt managed a half-fence dismount and realized as he did that the longer stirrups on western saddles did have distinct advantages. “Imagine the perspective you could get with the right angle and camera lens. To one end, wide open countryside that doesn’t hint of commerce, to the other, a crowded little English town.”
They sat on the fence talking as the horses nibbled grass and occasional carrots. Just as Matt started to suggest an early dinner, a sheep bleated next to him. He jumped, startled, but nothing like Lane. She squealed in a higher pitch than he thought her deep voice possible! She fought to clean off her hand and at a second bleat, ran down the cobblestone street.
The scene was hilarious. Lane, the fearless rescuer of inner city men from ferocious sheep tore away from the scene of a flock as though her life depended on it. Matt didn’t know what to do. There were the horses to consider, but they weren’t more important than Lane. Had she been bitten?
Lane disappeared around the corner of the street running blindly. Tears of fright streamed from her eyes. Without thinking of the consequences, Lane wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Instantly the hives that were slowly appearing on her hand swelled her eyes shut, forcing her to stop running. She leaned against a building gasping for air and begging for help. A man dashed from a gun shop to her assistance, and at the sight of Lane’s face, ran for the pharmacy.
Matt arrived in time to see that Lane needed immediate medical attention and not certain what to do. She grabbed his arm gasping frantically, “Pri-pri-primat-tine.”
Matt didn’t know where to go. He dashed inside a gun shop, but the place was empty. Lane was gesturing down the street so he rushed into a tearoom next door and asked where to go for the medication. Seconds later, Matt and the man from the gun shop passed one another in their frantic attempts to help Lane. Both, consumed with the thought of getting the woman breathing again, didn’t notice the other.
The “gunman” fumbled with a bottle of Benadryl, trying to read dosage. Lane grabbed for it and managed to open it and take a swig. She knew it’d help, but she also knew it was only a matter of time before she couldn’t keep her airways open by coughing.
Matt raced to her side tearing open the inhaler box and fumbling to affix the mouthpiece. Lane grabbed it and clutched it to her mouth. A wild round of coughing and gasping followed. “My ba—back. Pound my back.”
With each cough, Matt ruthlessly pounded her back trying to help open the airways. Eventually, in complete exhaustion, Lane sank to the ground leaning against a building and surrounded by a crowd of gawking tourists. She held her hand up in request for the Benadryl. The man opened it and handed it back to her. “Are you sure?”
Lane nodded and took another swig. “I think I feel the swelling going down around my eyes. Is it?”
Matt looked at her closely for the first time. She looked truly hideous. One eye was swollen completely shut while the other left a slit for eyesight. The uneven swelling gave her face a macabre distorted look like you’d expect from a black and white horror flick.
“Well, you’ve looked better. I don’t know how bad it was, but the swelling on your hand looks about the same. Why did you run? That had to make it worse! Surely you know that.”
Neither of them noticed as the man from the gun shop dispersed the crowd and retreated into his store. Lane took another puff on the inhaler and eyed the Benadryl with a practiced eye. “If this doesn’t go down more in five minutes, tell me. I’ll need to take more.”
Matt sat with her until her breathing grew steadier and her speech was no longer rapid and stuttered. Suddenly, she sat up. “The horses! You’ve got to get them back.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to just leave you here—”
“I’ll be fine. Go walk them back to the stables and sign for them.” She hesitated. “I know it sounds stupid, but I need you to bring the car as close to here as possible. I don’t want to give my lungs any more of a workout than necessary. Oh, and coffee. I need coffee. The caffeine—”
Matt started down the street after the horses and then hesitated. He did an abrupt about face, disappeared into the tearoom, and emerged minutes later followed by a woman carrying a mug of steaming coffee. The woman crossed the street to Lane, but Matt entered the gun shop next door.
Within what seemed to be minutes, the horses were stabled, Lane was full of high-octane coffee, and Lane’s Lincoln was parked on the cobble-stoned streets of New Cheltenham, waiting for Matt to arrive and drive Lane back to Rockland. An occasional shop owner stepped out to complain about the vehicle, but the sight of the woman from the tearoom and the man from the gun shop sent them back inside after a smile and a wave.
~*~*~*~
“Want to tell me what that was about?” Matt’s voice held an edge of amused sarcasm.
“It’s called an allergic reaction. I was close to anaphylaxis if you must know.”
He shook his head and captured her hand. “I was thinking more of the running part.”
“I’m allergic to sheep, Matt.”
“Nuh-uh. That’s not what this was.” Matt released her hand and slid his arm along the back of the seat cupping his hand behind her head.
It was evident that she was embarrassed and didn’t want to discuss it. After a few seconds, she stammered, “He startled me and licked me, and the reaction began.”
Matt chose to drop the discussion for the moment, but something didn’t feel quite right. He knew he was being duped somehow or another. As he handed her a fresh cup of coffee an hour later, he saw that her eye was still swollen and looked uncomfortable. “I’m going to get you a tube of that cream that takes down allergic swelling.”
Ten minutes later, Lane relaxed against her pillow as Matt carefully applied cortisone cream to her puffy face. “I can’t believe I rubbed.”
“There are tear stains here Lane. You were crying.”
“My eyes water when—”
The silence eventually prompted her to open her eyes. Matt sat, his face inches away from hers scrutinizing the effect of the cream. “Well—”
“That’s not true and you know it. I am trying not to laugh here, but you’re not making it easy. That sheep didn’t just startle you or give you a reaction and we both know it.”
Lane’s skin evened out for a few seconds. The pale patches reddened into an even color. She started to speak several times, but each time she clamped her jaw shut. Matt chuckled. Lane tried to hide her irritation, but didn’t quite succeed, which in turn changed the chuckles to laughter.
“It’s not funny.” Lane growled.
“Is too.”
“Hmph “she muttered looking for something, anything, to throw at him, but unwilling to give up her coffee.
“You know you’re not going to get out of telling me the story.”
She eyed him stonily and kicked her shoe off tossing it across the room as she did. “Should have aimed it at you.”
“How long have you been afraid of sheep?”
“Can you order room service for six? I’m going to be starving and don’t want to have to wait.”
“After you tell me how long you’ve been afraid of sheep.”
“Sixteen years. I want a steak, baked potato, and salad. Medium well.”
Minutes later, dinner ordered, Lane’s face slathered in cortisone, and nursing her coffee, Matt entertained her with card tricks. She relaxed with each attempt to thwart him and in no time had forgotten his question. This, of course, is exactly what he wanted.
“So three, huh. Who knows?”
Lane shrugged. “You. Maybe Dad.”
“Maybe?” Matt couldn’t believe the irony.
“I’ve never told anyone, but he’s pretty observant.”
Her nonchalance didn’t deceive Matt. He passed the inhaler and said, “Puff up!
“So, I find this a little comical. I distinctly remember a girl in jeans and a flannel shirt howling at the idea of sheepophobia.”
“Not quite. I was teasing about the
idea of sheep being menacing. You acted like they’d rip you to shreds or trample you. Those are ludicrous notions.”
“But you ran like your life depended on it.”
“But it does—”
Matt eyed her with a look of mocking derision. Each second that ticked by increased his mirth. Lane looked, well, sheepish as she realized someone else knew of her secret fear.
“I’ve never told anyone—”
“I’m waiting…”
She curled on her side hugging her pillow to herself. “I was three. I’d gone outside without permission and wandered down the driveway and out to a pen of sheep for shipment at the end of the drive. Most of the sheep were on the far side of the pen, but one must have either been closer or walked over when she saw me. I was trying to decide whether to go back when a ewe bleated next to me. I jumped, looked up and from my little three year old perspective, a huge sheep towered over me.”
Lane swallowed hard taking another sip of her now cold coffee. “She must have touched me or something because as I ran to the house my hand grew red and swollen. I don’t think I told Mom what was wrong, and when we realized I was allergic to the sheep later, they just assumed my fear was of the hives. After that, I avoided sheep.”
Matt sat thoughtfully for some time. “But you rescued me—”
“From inside a Jeep with no chance of a sheep hurting me.”
As though she hadn’t interrupted, Matt continued. “You went inside the barn to dump water on Tad even though you knew there was a lamb in there.”
“I am not afraid of the lambs. Just the sheep.”
A dawning realization crept slowly over Matt as he remembered his visit. “But, Lane, you went to the pasture to get my boots and my book.”
“Patience—”
Shaking his head, Matt smiled at her. “Thank you. That book meant a lot to me and now it means even more.”
“What’s so special about that book?”
Matt’s explanation was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Sounds like dinner is here!”
Fifteen
Friday morning, Matt sat in bed reading Warren’s email, finally understanding things that hadn’t made sense in the past. A man like Warren had too much common sense to be influenced foolishly by a group like the Brethren, but pride is something to which no human has immunity. However, unlike Warren, Matt thought it best to share the email with Lane. Perhaps if she could see the process and the grief, she’d understand what now seemed so incomprehensible.
The morning passed slowly. He and Lane had agreed to meet after lunch. They’d planned to spend the afternoon in the park and the evening at the movies. As Matt exited the train at the Towers’ Station, he saw Lane waiting for him leaning against a support pole.
“Good afternoon milady, Lane!”
She held out her hand. It was an awkward angle, but Matt took it willingly and turned toward the stairs. Lane didn’t follow. She stared at him for a moment and then held out her other hand.
“What? As much as I’d like to, I can’t walk around holding both your hands Lane, it’d be a bit awkward to say the least.”
“Cards, Matt. I want cards.”
“You want—” Matt dug a stack of the “get off the streets free” cards and handed them to her. “Lane, you don’t have—”
But she was already gone. He could sense from her posture, the tone of her voice, and the extreme courtesy she showed, that she was dying to herself in a way she had never done in the past. However, with each card she relaxed slowly, but visibly. He knew she’d go back to the hotel room tonight, write a letter, and assure Patience that she’d given out all the cards Matt had.
Once the final card was handed to an elderly man with no teeth and shaking hands, Lane raced into the bathroom. Somehow, Matt knew she was washing her hands and that made him appreciate her even more. While Patience had shown genuine love and compassion for the street people, Lane had given of herself and then some.
She exited the room, saw a drinking fountain, and made a beeline for it. It was amusing to watch Lane punch the button with her thumb, let the water run for several seconds, take a sip far from the spigot splashing some onto her nose, and pull her hair out of the way of the spraying blast. Her ears glinted in the station lights.
As they climbed up the station steps onto the city streets, the wind caught Lane’s hair and tossed it away from her ears confirming Matt’s suspicions. “You did it.”
“Did what?” Lane, her mind on enchiladas from a street vendor near the park, wasn’t thinking about her ears.
“You pierced your ears.”
“Well, technically I had them pierced. I am too much of a coward to do it myself. I never understood how Patience and the boys could handle branding.”
“How do you brand a sheep anyway? All that wool…”
Lane laughed. “You wrestled the things all day every day for a week and still didn’t see it? We brand their ears.”
“Oh. I thought that was something else.”
Changing the subject, Matt slipped his hand into hers and pulled her a little closer. “I’m proud of you.”
Surprise filled Lane’s eyes. “Proud of me? What for?”
“The subway. That was really hard for you, but you did it, and you did it with compassion and grace.”
“Patience—”
He ordered their enchiladas and handed Lane hers before he continued. “Patience will appreciate it, and it was a lovely thing about her, but it was also second-nature to her. You stepped out of your comfort zone and into a whole new world in order to bless your sister and show love to the hurting. That is a beautiful thing.”
~*~*~*~
Warren opened Matt’s reply with trepidation.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Not the answer you are hoping for
Warren,
I first want to thank you for trusting me with your story. I know that it was probably very difficult to write and relive those difficult times.
I’m going to take this to my pastor if I may. I think he’ll be sure to guide both of us wisely. Is that all right with you? You can meet with him when you’re here or not, as you prefer.
I do think that I am not out of line to recommend that you go to Martha before you leave and apologize. I’d say something like, “Martha, I hurt you. I was wrong and I let you down. Please forgive me.”
Keep it short, simple, and without a hint of justification. Tell her you love her and that you’re committed to correcting any wrongs that can possibly be righted. I think she’ll respond favorably to that. Who wouldn’t?
I wouldn’t have known what to tell you had I not gotten similar advice a couple of years ago. At the time, it was very hard for me to apologize, but it was the best thing for me.
Tomorrow night is the opera. Ugh. Pray for me. I borrowed a friend’s suit so at least I won’t embarrass Lane by being underdressed. So, I get to have my ears and my body tortured— all for your daughter. It’s a good thing she’s worth it or else…
Miserable, but happy in Rockland,
Matt
~*~*~*~
The house lights flickered. They sat in the Rockland Art’s Center waiting for the opening strains of La Boheme. The music swelled, the singers stepped on stage, and the opera began.
Matt felt her fingernails dig into his palm and slid his eyes sideways. The look of utter pain and disappointment on Lane’s face was priceless. He’d dreaded this evening for a week, but now watching Lane as she winced through the vocal gymnastics on the stage made the misery worth every second.
She dug through the minuscule evening bag and pulled out a purse-sized Kleenex that she promptly shredded. Matt choked into his sleeve when he realized that she was creating earplugs from the scraps and whispered, “Isn’t it marvelous? Who knew it’d be so great!”
A new look of dismay crossed Lane’s face. She turned to him with a grimace intended to be cheerful and nod
ded before she wedged another wad of Kleenex in her other ear. Several minutes passed before she dared look at Matt again. He appeared enraptured with the music, but a smirk lingered around his mouth.
She nudged him whispering, “If you really want to go, I’ll understand.”
“Oh no, I wouldn’t want you to miss this for the world!”
With a look of utter disgust, Lane hissed back, “I’m going to enjoy this from the fountain out front. Enjoy.”
Matt followed her up the aisle and out of the auditorium. The doorman raised an eyebrow as they giggled their way through the lobby, out the revolving doors, and into the Rockland Center Square. “That was awful! How can people stand that stuff?”
Matt laughed and draped an arm over Lane’s shoulder. “Oh come on Lane, you looked like you loved it!”
“Seriously. Do you know anyone who actually likes that? Do people go because they think they’re supposed to enjoy it or because they really do?”
“Well,” Matt began, hoping he wasn’t asking to be shoved back into the musical torture chamber once more, “I know that Hope and Jay love it. Jay told me I’d love it. I told him he was nuts.”
They walked along the street, over a block, and down Boutique Row. The lights of the city were magically beautiful against the black night sky. “I bet he thinks you’re going to eat your words.”
“He can think it, but that don’t make it so. There is something seriously wrong when a single syllable takes thirty seconds and is stretched into a dozen new ones.”
Lane’s snort was decidedly indelicate. “It makes me want to sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ and ‘Jingle Bells!’”
They’d made the loop around Boutique Row back to the RAC. Matt heard Lane humming and nudged her. “I dare you.”
“Dare me to do what?”
“‘Jingle Bells.’ Top of your lungs. Standing on the edge of that fountain.”
She jumped up onto the seat that ran around the fountain and put her hands on her hips. “And if I do?”
“I have to do your dare. Anything legal as long as it isn’t promising not to talk about the Brethren when your dad goes home.”
Argosy Junction Page 18
