I started to feel a little more confident.
Dan gave me another smile, then clucked to his horse, turned it around, and cantered off toward the herd of cows, the dog racing alongside him.
My heart kicked in my chest. That was my husband looking so suave and western. So at ease on the back of the horse, one hand holding the reins, the other resting casually on his thigh. So in charge of his world. So different from the worn and tired man I had seen the past few months. I could fall in love with him all over again.
I hugged the thought close to me. Love hadn't factored into a lot of our interactions back in Seattle. Fear, frustration. And, oh yes, betrayal.
Definitely not one of the five so-called love languages.
So who knew? I thought as I watched my man slash cowboy being all manly and magazine ad-worthy. Who knew what could happen?
Twenty minutes later the cows moved our way again. As they picked up speed, heading toward the gate, my previous bravado and confidence were replaced by fear that started in my stomach, then spread its icy fingers out to my arms, my legs, my head. I clenched the gate in a death grip, the chill of the metal adding to my ominous feeling that something terrible was about to happen.
C'mon, Leslie, an eight-year-old kid was going to do this.
The cows kept coming, the ground shaking. I was facing death. Dan blurred into the dust-filled distance.
An unwelcome thought pierced my bluster.
We hadn't updated our wills.
Our children would be parceled out among family members. Separated. Would my mother push for guardianship? Would she and Wilma fight over the kids? I could see them already facing each other down, our poor children crying, calling out for their mommy and daddy.
I almost got a lump in my throat. But then the pounding of the cows' hooves grew. I stood perfectly still, trying to make myself insignificant, unthreatening.
The cows got bigger and bigger, noisier and heavier the closer they came, and the only thing that kept me at my post was a larger fear of ridicule and the fact that I was wearing an unsuitable pink jacket. I wanted to prove to Dan, to Gloria, and especially to Wilma that I could do this in spite of my lack of farm experience and fashion sense.
I expected the cows to come in a huge rush, but as soon as they saw the corrals, they slowed down. But the momentum of the herd kept them moving. They pushed past me, a jumble of brown and black bodies, snorting and bellowing their displeasure as they swung large shaggy heads and rolled their eyes in my direction. Heat and steam engulfed me in a bovine sauna. I fumbled with my whip, ready to close the gate that they would respect.
Right.
“Wait, wait!” Dan called out as the herd going past me thinned out. But the cows in the front had seen the end of the line, and spun around, using their large heads to push the cows behind them out of the way, bellowing and snorting and straining against the boards of the corral. They creaked, and I hoped that they would hold the churning herd.
Gerrit whistled and his dog started barking, nipping at the stragglers' heels. A few kicked, but the dog danced out of harm's way and the herd slowly pushed its way into the corrals. The last dawdler trotted past me when I heard Gloria yell, “Shut the gate! Shut the gate!”
That was my cue. I swung one half of the gate closed, wincing at the screeching metal that would surely clue the cows in as to what was coming down.
I ran across the opening to get the other half just as Dan shouted, “Watch that cow!”
I looked up in time to see a large, angry-looking animal turning around. The monster was huge, with buggy, bloodshot eyes. It was ten times my size and coming straight for me.
“Stop it from getting through!” yelled Dan.
He was being crazy, yes? He was making a joke, right?
I stood in the breach, holding the narrow whip he promised they would respect and waving it threateningly even as the renegade cow accelerated toward me.
A hero I was not.
I jumped.
The cow thundered through, then stopped.
From my vantage point behind the gate, I saw the dog scoot out around the cow, face it down. To my shock and surprise, the cow spun around, kicked out behind her, but ran back inside the corrals.
Here was my chance to vindicate myself. Still clinging to the gate, I ran, the opening growing smaller, smaller. The cow turned, faced me again and started coming again as I caught the chain from the other gate. With trembling hands I flung it around, hooking it like Dan had showed me, realizing that me and my pink coat were drawing the cow's attention, hoping, praying, that the cow wouldn't charge.
But it only blinked, shook its head once, as if warning me, then turned and trotted back to join the herd, its moment of rebellion quashed.
My heart thundered in my chest and my arms hung like limp spaghetti. I had overcome. My children weren't motherless. Dan wouldn't have to find someone over the Internet to marry him. I took a long, slow breath as the adrenaline eased.
Dan vaulted off his horse and came running over. “Are you okay?” he asked, all solicitous. He put a dusty hand on my pink jacket, and I didn't even mind.
“I'm fine,” I said, wavery with relief.
“You did good,” he said, hugging me quickly. “You did fine.”
“Way to face that cow down, Aunt Leslie!” Tabitha shouted from the other side of the corrals. She was holding Nicholas. Anneke stood on the fence beside them, her tiny feet clinging to an opening, her arms hooked over the rough lumber. She was laughing at the cows milling about in the corral below her, showing absolutely no fear. Nicholas waved, grinning a wet, drooly grin.
Nathan, the middle boy, strode over and high-fived me. “Good job, Auntie.”
Dan winked at me, then vaulted over the corrals to get ready for the next stage.
I clung to the wooden fence, glancing at the cows. Some stood quietly; others wandered around bellowing for their calves that had gotten separated in the melee. But on my side of the fence, I felt safe. I felt strong. I was woman, hear me roar.
And I was definitely going to walk over and join Wilma, Gloria, and Dan.
As soon as my knees stopped trembling.
Chapter Four
Leslie, do you have pastry forks?” Gloria cornered me as soon as I stepped back into the kitchen, face sore from scrubbing and my wet hair pulled into something resembling a rat's tail rather than a ponytail.
When we got back from working the cows, I had ducked out to wash dirt out of my hair and try to create a kinder, gentler Leslie. No mean feat, considering the dust from the cattle caked every inch of my body, inside and out. My “cute” pink jacket was now a sickly gray and my jeans sported a rip in the knee I probably got from clambering up and down the wooden fence. My head rang from the constant bellowing, so I could hardly see straight. Hardly the idyllic afternoon experience I had pictured in my head when Dan first spoke of this adventure.
Gloria had brought extra clothes along and made the transformation from farmer's wife to hostess in less time than it takes to say “lightning change.” Her tidy hair and impeccable lipstick put me to shame. I should take notes, I thought. Wilma had gone home to change, leaving her alter ego in charge of domestic duties. “We'll need the forks for the cheesecake,” Gloria continued.
Ah yes. The cheesecake. Gloria had brought it. Dan's favorite, she had explained as she put it on the kitchen counter.
I took one look at my artfully arranged trans-fat-laden store-bought cookies and discreetly hid them under a cooking-pot lid.
“I thought I saw them when I unpacked.” My mind scrambled as I pulled open the utensil drawer. The faint odor of burning cheese rose from an oven overloaded with pizza, but I couldn't shake this mission.
“I looked in there already,” Gloria said. “It would be nice to have them.”
That comment, plus the fact that I got the pastry forks from Gloria as a fifth-anniversary present, was a surefire recipe for pressure. I dove into the pantry and then the disastrously
disorganized odds-and-ends cupboard to no avail.
Coming out empty-handed and desperate, I almost collided with Judy, who had arrived carrying a large crystal bowl full of layers of cake, whipping cream, and chocolate shavings. If I didn't know she loved to bake or that the nearest bakery was half an hour's drive away, I would have guessed she bought it and was trying to pass it off as her own.
“Hey, Sis,” she said, handing the bowl to Gloria with a casual gesture. “Dump this wherever.”
Judy turned back to me, and her smile shifted. Grew warm and welcoming. “So farmer's wife, now you can add processing calves to your résumé.”
“The employers will just snap me up.”
“So, what should we do about the pastry forks?”
I stifled a sigh. Persistence, thy name is Gloria.
The door opened again and the kids burst in, enveloping me in another round of hugs and kisses and well-wishes and noise.
And all the while my pizza was overflowing and burning to the bottom of the oven and Gloria's fingers were tapping out her desire for my elusive pastry forks.
This was going to be so-o-o much fun.
Stop dissecting the dessert,” Judy said, pulling the large crystal bowl away from Dan, who was mining Judy's trifle for leftover chocolate. We were all gathered in the kitchen digesting the remnants of the various delicious desserts. It was a tight squeeze, but the family insisted that it was cozy.
“I'm making sure I get all the chocolate,” Dan protested, pulling the bowl back toward him.
“You poke to your heart's content,” Wilma said with a benevolent smile in Dan's direction. “You're probably going to throw it away when you get home anyway, aren't you, Judy?” Wilma asked, lifting an eyebrow that turned the question into a suggestion.
“Gee, Mom, not so sub with the subtext,” Judy said with a laugh, as she patted her ample hips.
I was surprised she could be so blasé. Even as my anger rose on her behalf, Judy seemed completely unfazed.
“Dan always did love chocolate,” Gloria said with an indulgent smile.
“But he didn't always respect it. Remember when Dan and Cousin Ben had that food fight here on his birthday?” Judy laughed and leaned over the table toward Gloria. “That chocolate cake that you made?”
“It would have turned out if you hadn't distracted me.”
Judy dropped her head back and let out a hearty laugh. “Still blaming it on me. I bet you still think I was the one who ate your Halloween candy when really it was Uncle Orest who was always pilfering it when he came over.”
“I did catch you with a Hershey bar.”
“That was my Hershey bar,” Dan said, coming up for air.
Everyone laughed as the conversation splintered, then separated and flowed past again, memories intertwining with conversations about work, kids, and people I had heard only vague mentions of from previous visits. I sat back and let it flit past me. I didn't know the people they talked about and by the time I caught the connection, they were off on another topic. Hard not to feel like a stranger in my own house.
Tabitha and Allison huddled on the floor at one end of the table, their conversation liberally sprinkled with prepositions and exclamations. Near as I could tell, for the past half hour they had been analyzing the latest romance of a mutual friend and hadn't, to my knowledge, come to any conclusion whether they approved or disapproved of the liaison.
Allison bounced Nicholas on her lap, playing peekaboo with him.
The little piker had been a tangle of misery all evening, crying and rubbing his red cheeks against my face when I tried to comfort him, twisting his blankie around his hands when I tried to entertain him. And now he giggled at everything Allison and Tabitha threw at him, charming them with his tenor belly laugh and clapping his chubby hands.
Lovable little turncoat.
And Dan, well, he was looking around at his family, that half-smile of his that never failed to give my heart a little kick, hovering over his well-shaped lips. He looked so content and so at peace that for a quick, sharp moment my envy was bigger than my love for him.
“So, Leslie, when are you going to put the garden in?” Wilma asked.
What? Where did that come from?
“I… I didn't plan on gardening,” I said, flailing into this new topic like Nicholas waking up from a nap.
“You'll like gardening,” Judy said. “Besides, fresh vegetables are so much better than those strip-mined, poor excuses for food that the local co-op tries to pass off,” she continued with surprising vehemence.
“Did that nasty co-op turn down your application to sell your vegetables to them again?” Gerrit asked. I guessed this was an ongoing family joke, and I was glad for the deflection away from me and anything botanical.
“Without even giving us any kind of explanation,” Judy huffed. She puffed out her lip and blew her bangs out of her face.
“I think they should be happy to get fresher vegetables,” Wilma added, obviously put out with a store that wouldn't take produce from her own child. “I'll have to talk to Dennis Verweer.”
“No, Mom,” Judy answered. “I can take care of this myself.”
“Dennis is an old friend of the family.”
“Mom, if I find out that you even mentioned the word produce and my name in the same sentence in front of Dennis, I won't come to Sunday dinner for two months.”
Wilma and Judy's gaze held as I sucked in a breath, amazed at the standoff happening before my very eyes.
“But darling, surely…”
“Three months,” Judy said, holding up three fingers.
Wilma pressed her lips together, glancing at Dan as if hoping to enlist his support, but Dan was still buried in the trifle.
Full of admiration for Judy's bold move, I kept watching. I knew where I had to go now for “Coping with Wilma and Gloria” advice.
“Hey, Judy,” Gloria put in. “Mom's just trying to help.”
Judy just smiled and lifted a fourth finger.
“It was merely a suggestion,” Wilma said, a grudging note in her voice. Her glance skittered away from her daughter and grazed over me, caught and held. Her eyes narrowed as if warning me not to try this at home. I almost held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. Judy was in a league of her own.
Dan looked up from the trifle and wiped his mouth. “Speaking of gardening, once the crop is in, we could work on ours, Leslie,” Dan said with a helpful grin, as if I had been restlessly hovering on the edge of the garden, rake in hand, an avid desire to stake beans burning in my heart. “Wouldn't you like to put a garden in, Anneke?”
“That would be fine,” Anneke chirped from his lap, having gravitated from the kids' table, where Tabitha's watchful eye kept everything under control. She laid her head on her father's chest and wrinkled her nose at me. From any other child this could be misconstrued as a taunt. From my Anneke, a sign of deep affection. I took what I could get from her.
I reached over and stroked a delicate strand of hair behind her ear in a moment of motherly connection. Dan caught my glance, and the smile deepened.
He tucked his hand behind my head and lightly stroked my neck with his fingers. Like he used to when we were courting. And like then, a shiver of delightful goose bumps flickered up my spine. I had missed this and welcomed it now.
“Hey, you,” he said, his voice dropping to that intimate octave that never failed to elicit a smile from me. My heart warmed to him. He was really trying.
“Hey, yourself.”
We had our own highly evolved communication system.
Anneke blinked slowly at me, her imitation of a wink and I winked back at her as Dan smiled at us both.
“So, do you want us to come over and help you with the garden?” Wilma asked, her helpful question pushing a conversational wedge through this quiet moment between me and my husband. Anneke pulled away, making Dan lower his hand from my neck and our little warm family moment cooled.
“We could get some see
ds at the co-op. It wouldn't take that long.” She had obviously given up on her face-off with Judy, but I didn't have Judy's background or forcefulness. I was still working my way through the maze of family relationships here and trying to find my place. But I resented feeling like I was failing a test I hadn't studied for.
“Might be too early to plant yet,” Judy intervened.
“I'm putting my garden in next week,” Wilma insisted.
“What's your hurry, Mom?” Judy pushed back. “Lay off the poor city girl. She doesn't know about gardening.”
“I've planted a few things,” I said, feeling torn between accepting Judy's offhand definition of me and Wilma's push to assimilate me completely into rural life.
“And they all died,” Dan said with a light laugh.
“Not right away,” I protested.
Wilma and Gloria didn't need to laugh nearly as loud as they did. Judy shook her head at her brother's humor.
“I doubt it's that bad,” Judy said.
That's it. In my new will, Judy's getting my diamond earrings.
“I'm good with the greenhouse, but death on house-plants,” Judy complained.
And my opal necklace.
“I think that's why my houseplants died,” I said. “They got jealous and died of spite because I spent more time fussing over patients than I did over them.”
“You won't have to worry about that now,” Gloria said. “I'm sure you're looking forward to taking time away from your job.”
“I liked being a nurse,” I said. “I know I'll miss it.”
“Yes, but now that you're on the farm, wouldn't you rather stay home and putter around the house?”
“I never perfected the fine art of puttering,” I said with my own feeble attempt at a joke.
“Judy could give you a few tips,” Dayton said, pulling himself out of his conversation with Gerrit. “Didn't you give a course on that at the ag fair last year?”
The Only Best Place Page 5
