by Tia Louise
“It sounds like a perfect fit for you.”
“Doesn’t it?” She hops up onto her knees and crawls across the couch to sit on my lap. I put my glass aside and hold her waist. “I can’t wait to learn more about it, and you know what?”
I grin at her girlish enthusiasm. “What?”
“I probably would never have known or even considered it if we hadn’t come here—if I hadn’t transferred my course work, and…” she pauses, and her bottom lip catches in her teeth.
“What else?”
“If we hadn’t gone through everything that happened.” She leans forward, holding my neck. “I’ve always used my art to help me heal. Now I can teach other people to do the same thing.”
Relief spreads through my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, hugging her close. “I’m so happy you found this.” I inhale the jasmine-scent of her hair. “I want you to be as happy and fulfilled here as I am.”
She moves to sit beside me on the couch. “I’ll be happy wherever you are, but now I know we’ve come to the right place for us.”
I smile, and we finish the savory broth, and I watch the fire dance off the gold highlights in her hair. We chat about the coming winter, and she tells me about online course options for when we’re snowed in. I point out she might not get much studying done if we’re snowed in for long, and we laugh.
The light is disappearing fast outside, and the clouds are low, cast in dusky orange and blue. She hops up and goes to the window, a worried look on her face.
“What is it?” I say, watching her.
She looks up at me. “I wanted to visit her…” Her voice is quiet. “Jessica.”
A flash of pain moves across my stomach, but I nod. “We’ve got time before the sun sets.”
Her hand moves into mine, and I open the door, leading her across the porch and down the side steps in the direction of the little thicket behind the trees. I know the way very well, and as we walk, the heaviness in my chest grows.
I knew we would do this sooner or later. I didn’t expect it to be our first night back, and I’m worried how this visit will affect Mariska.
Looking back at her, she seems far away, watching the grass move beneath our feet. The painting of our daughter is packed in our things, trucking across the country on its way to us here. I wonder if she’s thinking of it, of her vision.
When we reach the opening, I see the small headstone placed after she and Amy left. Sylvia was here to help me get it right, and she selected a few clumps of perennial flowers for me to plant on each side of the little monument.
Mariska stops right in front of it and drops to her knees. I kneel behind her as she reaches forward and runs her fingers across the cool marble headstone, tracing the outline of our daughter’s name.
I’m watching her so closely, I see the moment her shoulders break, and I’m right with her, pulling her into my arms. She holds my arms, gripping the fabric of my shirt in her fists as she quietly cries. I blink up to the trees, smoothing my hands down the back of her head to the skin of her soft neck and around her shoulders. I hold her as she releases the last of her grief. It’s another step in the healing process.
The never-ending breeze pushes through, and I wait until at last she’s able to sit up, touching her eyes with her fingertips. I cup her cheeks and move my thumbs along the line of her jaw, smiling as I blink away the haze in my own eyes.
She clears her throat, and her gaze returns to the headstone. “After it happened, I wanted to get away from you and all of the pain of this place as fast as I could.”
Her words tear at the freshly healed wound in my chest. “I’ll spend my life making it up to you. I—”
“No,” she lunges forward, holding my face in her hands. “I expected you to be stronger than you were. I expected you not to hurt as much as I did. Will you forgive me? We never had a chance to grieve together.”
Reaching for her waist, I pull her onto my lap and hold her close. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
My Mariska. She knows me so well. She always has. She always knows what to say to heal the pain I can’t show. She holds me now soothing my guilt with words of understanding and pure love.
Her arms are around me, and we melt into each other. Our hearts move together, and we find a place of peace on the other side of this storm.
25
Home
Mariska
The noise of Scout’s hoof beats mixes with the roar of the wind as we ride in a full gallop across the prairie. Overnight packs are strapped to our saddles, and Stuart is on Freckles, letting her stretch her legs and work out her nerves.
Cold air races us across the open prairie, bringing frigid temperatures and the last chance we’ll have to camp out in the cabin before the heavy snows start. I’ve been in school at the University of Great Falls one month, and I love my classes.
It’s amazing to think I might never have found my new course of study if we hadn’t come here. I’ve always been interested in healing and art, but I never considered combining the two. I’m completely consumed by my work, and Stuart is in heaven being back on the ranch. We’ve reached a place of contentment and deep satisfaction in our life together.
I don’t like thinking about the days we were apart. I was so lost and alone, even more so because of how close we’d been. Still, like a bone, we’re so much stronger because of our break. I’m distracted, considering all these things, when I see Stuart pulling Freckles to a halt. I tighten my stomach muscles and do the same, and following his gaze, my heart stops when I see her.
The little grey horse—Jessie is standing near a clump of trees watching us, not moving. I would recognize her anywhere with her shadow-black muzzle and the little moon in the center of her forehead.
My eyes fly to Stuart’s, and he glances at me. Freckles shakes her head and nickers, and she seems to recognize her runaway foal as well. My heart beats so fast it hurts, and I’m surprised by how much I want her back. I don’t want to do anything to scare her away. My insides pull to this little horse, and I remember crying to Sylvia in the hospital, It wasn’t her fault. She was so afraid.
I don’t want her to be out here wild and running, an easy target for a predator or worse, falling and being injured, suffering alone until she dies.
I watch Stuart as he watches Jessie, and I can’t help remembering how he tried to kill her. “What can we do?” I whisper.
“I don’t have any rope or anything to use as a lasso. We’re going to have to let her go and see if we can find her later or see if she comes back around.”
“Do you think she will?” I’m so happy he understands without me having to explain how much this means to me.
I’m desperate to do anything to catch her, yet at the same time, I remember how new she was to us. She had only just started coming around when the accident occurred. First I fainted, falling off the gate and causing Stuart to panic, which startled her. Then Amy and I scared her in the barn, and finally the gunshot. It would be a miracle if she ever came back at all.
“I don’t know.” Stuart looks at the reins he’s holding. “Winter’s coming. It’s not good for her to be out here alone.”
The little horse stays at the tree line watching us, and we continue on to the cabin, keeping her in sight. By the time we reach our destination, she’s gone, and we can only unpack and go inside.
Sliding down from Scout, I pause a moment, holding the Palomino’s saddle. My head is light, and I feel suddenly weak.
“You okay?” Stuart is at my side.
I nod and smile reassuringly. “Too much excitement, I guess.”
“I’ll get the fire going.”
We brought kindling for a campfire, an Indian blanket, and suits for swimming. I unpack the dinner Winona prepared for us and think about how kind she’s been since we arrived. I’d worried she might resent Stuart and me coming in because of our age or because we’re not Bill. I worried she might not like the change. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
She has embraced us like a grandmother, and I guess she feels that way toward Stuart, since he’s been coming here since he was a teenager. I learned she’s Chippewa-Cree, and I can’t wait to get to know her better, see if we share any gifts.
When I went back to Bayville, my faith was shaken. I had lost my baby, my family, and I lost my ability to believe. Now I’ve gotten almost all of those things back again, and as we were packing, Stuart found a letter to me from my Yaya.
I’ll never forget his beautiful face, cautiously bringing it to me. “This was in your grandmother’s journal,” he’d said, handing me a yellowed envelope with my name handwritten on the front.
I opened it, and inside was a letter…
My sweet Mishka,
I worry that someday you might read these documents about your past, and I might not be here to explain them to you. I’m writing this down in case that happens.
You are a beautiful girl of pure heart, and as such, you’ve been given gifts. Faith is the hardest part to sustain. It’s the hardest concept for humans to master.
As a child, you accepted what you are easily because it was in you. You could see people’s motives. You had dreams. You believed so effortlessly.
When you became ill and the doctors said your faith wasn’t real, I knew it was my job to protect you, to protect your gift. It isn’t your abilities I care about, it’s your faith.
You accept that people can change. You know the future, and you’re able to wait for good things to come. It’s what makes you who you are.
Never change. Never stop believing.
Science cannot explain miracles.
All my love,
Yaya
I held the letter close to my chest for so long, allowing the healing words to soak into my heart. It restored my faith in everything that had happened, in everything that brought Stuart and me together.
If I hadn’t dreamed of him lost and dying in the desert, I’d never have run after him. At least that’s what he says, and I let him believe it. He hasn’t seen his sexy backside. I’d probably have followed him even without the dreams.
Tonight as we sit under the stars, I remember that night so long ago when we held each other, sharing everything. Why he became a Marine, why I was alone. I made a wish on a shooting star to have exactly what I have now. Two arms that will never let me go, even when life gets dark, even when I lose faith. Two strong arms to carry me back.
“What are you thinking about?” Stuart’s lips press against the side of my neck sending chills across my skin. We’re wrapped together in the warm blanket, my back to his chest.
“How I’ve almost gotten back everything.”
His brow lines, and he cups the side of my face. “We’ll get there.”
“No—I don’t mean it that way. I’m so happy. And then we saw Jessie.”
“I want you to have everything you’ve lost.”
Thinking about that, I lower my voice. “We can’t have everything.”
Sadness flickers in his eyes, but I reach forward to kiss his lips. “Don’t—I don’t want to be sad.” My lip catches in my teeth, and I tell him. “I haven’t gone back on the pill since I lost Jessica. Who knows what might happen.”
His arms tighten around me, and he pulls me close against his chest. “I’ll take whatever comes as long as I have you.”
It’s another of the million reasons I love this man. Struggling to break his grip, I move into a straddle on his lap, kissing his mouth. Our lips chase each other’s until we consume, tongues uniting. My fingers thread in the back of his hair as his hands slide up my thighs, under my skirt.
He touches me, teasing the soft flesh under my panties, and I moan, rocking my hips over his growing erection. It isn’t long before his pants are down and we’re together, riding out the waves of passion under a big sky brilliant with stars.
Our love has always been a leap of faith, and our connection since those first days so long ago was mysterious and risky. It’s the most certain thing I’ve ever known.
We’re here, we’re together, and together, we’re home.
The end.
Epilogue
Stuart
Mariska wades through the tall grasses in a flowing green skirt and long-sleeved tunic top. She rests a hand on her pregnant stomach as she picks a yellow flower and twirls it in her fingers. Her hair is to her shoulders now in beautiful waves, and she wears a garland of white flowers like a headband.
It’s late April, and while she looks like she could go any day now, the doctor calculated her due date as mid-May, which means we made the little guy shortly after we returned to Great Falls, possibly that night by the campfire.
Had I known she was expecting Stuart William Junior, I’d never have let her ride with me to track down and capture Jessie, much less help me train and finally tame that spirited horse. We’ve been a lot more careful ever since. As much as Mariska fights me, I can’t help being extra protective of her at this time.
Now Jessie is part of our herd, and she is the calmest horse on the place. Running away and spending a few months fending for herself was good medicine for that wild horse. When I trained her, she picked up almost exactly where we left off in the process, and doesn’t seem to be like her mother, which is a good thing.
Mariska looks up and sees me watching her, and a brilliant white smile spreads across her beautiful face. I can’t believe there was a time I didn’t think she belonged here. She’s made a place for herself in this wilderness. She and Winona spent the long winter days when we couldn’t leave the house exchanging stories of their heritage and beliefs. Winona has done more talking since we’ve taken over than she did in all the days I’ve known her. She’s become like a surrogate grandmother for Mariska.
I spent the winter months planning and talking to the other ranchers and my uncle. In the spring I’m going to bring more horses on the place, and Mariska wants to start a therapy program for mentally disabled kids. It’s something she learned about at UGF—equine therapy. She also wants to add her art to the mix.
By this time next year, I expect the place will be up and running and alive with animals and children and good things coming out of loss or disability.
Last night, as she lay in my arms, we’d spread our hands over her swollen belly and talked about the past and the future.
“I thought for a time I might never have you again,” I confessed. “Everyone kept saying I was like my dad, and as much as I didn’t want to be true, it seemed like they were right. I decided it was better to let you go. I saw what he did to my mom, how unhappy she was.”
Mariska laced our fingers together and pulled them to her lips for a kiss. “Your mother once told me you are a lot like your father, but you’re also half of her.”
“Bill said I’m all me, and if I wanted you back, I should go and get you. It was the best advice I’ve ever gotten.”
She squirmed around as best as she could with her stomach so extended. When our eyes met, that golden hazel glowed like the sunset. “Have I ever told you I love your uncle?”
I chuckled and kissed her turned-up nose. “About a million times.”
With a little sigh, her smile faded. “Losing Jessica then losing you then finding out all those things about my past… I didn’t know who I was anymore. I cut my hair and changed my wardrobe. I couldn’t bear seeing myself the way I’d been with you. I stopped believing.” Her slim arms slid around my neck, and I leaned down to place my lips to hers. “Then you came back, and the shield I’d put up around my heart began to crack.”
My eyes narrowed and I caught hers. “It’s a good thing I was feeling so bad about myself when I saw you with that other guy… I was hurt and angry and ready to punch somebody in the face.”
“You’re such a caveman,” she laughed. “Poor Pete.”
“He would’ve been poor messed-up Pete if I hadn’t been worried you wouldn’t forgive me.”
She pulled my face to hers then, and we w
ere lost in a passionate kiss, which naturally led to other things.
I’m smiling, thinking of holding her in my arms when I see her grasp the bottom of her stomach. The flower drops from her hand, and her eyes flash to mine, round and worried. I’m over the fence and running to her side before she can even finish saying “My water broke!”
In a sweep she’s in my arms, and I’m running to the truck.
“My skirt! I’m all wet!” she cries, trying to get out of my arms. “Let me go inside and get my suitcase!”
“I’ll come back for it.” Reaching for the visor, I open it and the silver keys hit my lap. I jam it into the ignition when she leans forward, both hands on the dash and lets out the most inhuman groan I’ve ever heard.
“Shit, Mariska…” My fucking stomach slams to my feet, and I throw the truck into reverse before skidding out of the yard onto the two-lane road leaving a cloud of dust and rocks in our wake.
“Stuart…” Her eyes are closed, and her face is white. A sheen of sweat coats her upper lip, and fear clenches my chest.
“Are you okay?” She’s too early, and the thought that something could go wrong, the notion that we might lose this one, has me on edge.
“We’re going to make it,” she gasps, but her fingers are white on the dash, and her eyes squeeze shut as she lets out another little cry of pain. “Just keep driving. Be careful!”
I press the accelerator harder. “Hold on.”
It’s the only bad thing about where we live—we’re miles from the nearest hospital. My mind struggles to stay focused and rational as she lets out another long wail from the passenger’s seat. My palms slide on the steering wheel, and I almost shout when we finally get in the city limits.
Flashers on, I treat every red light like a four-way stop, until finally we’re pulling into the circular emergency drive. I throw the truck in park and hop out. Mariska’s still moaning and now she’s trembling. She’s in my arms, and I charge through the automatic doors like I’m carrying her from a war zone.
