If We Make It Home

by Christina Suzann Nelson

  She must notice the she’s-lost-her-mind-again look on my face.

  “What? We did. That’s not weird. My mother milked her faithfully in the morning and again at night. Every morning and every night. She said that Mavis took care of us, and it was our duty to take care of her.” Jenna walks right up to the head of a huge bovine and hugs it around the neck. When she looks back at me, her eyes are filled with tears. “We have to get these cows back to their owner before something awful happens to them.”

  We’ve left Ireland in the hay, and I’m glad of that right now. The last thing I need is her bleeding-heart environmental argument to join with Jenna’s off-the-wall thinking. “Listen, I know you’re a mom, and you just want to love on every creature in the world. Trust me, I think that’s very commendable. I’d like to learn how you give your heart so easily, but this isn’t our battle. We have a friend who’s in serious need of a doctor.”

  A tear drips over her cheek. “I know. You’re both a mess.”

  I raise my eyebrows, giving her a mock-offended glare.

  Jenna’s mouth turns up in a smile. “You’re right, but we can’t just leave them here like this.” She runs her hand down the cow’s boney back. “Help me milk them.”

  “If we do that, they’ll know we were here.”

  “Not if we’re gone before they return.”

  My pulse beats loud in my ears. It’s not like we could stay here forever, but I thought we’d have more time to get healthy. “Ireland isn’t ready to move. Her foot is a mess.”

  Jenna nods. “But that foot isn’t going to get better without a doctor’s help.” She opens one of the feed bags. “You know I’m right.”

  I draw my fingers over my skin. Most of the itching has faded, but what was once soft and supple, is now bumpy and hard. “Daniel will never be able to find me attractive again, you know. When I left, I didn’t expect to come home without my looks. I thought he’d be worried. He’d remember he loved me. And then there I’d be, and his heart would come back to me.”

  “Sounds like the Disney version of life.” Jenna pats the hollow along the side of a cow, then she sets a bucket under it. “It’s not your face Daniel loved. It was your heart. He just needs to see that the same heart is still in there.” Milk sprays into the pail. “It is going to take time, but I have never known you to be the kind of woman to give up easily, or at all.”

  I pull my shoulders back, straightening my spine, but the confidence that should come with the posture fails to appear. “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are.” She stands, bringing me the bucket. “Here, take a good long drink, then help me finish the milking. We need a plan.”

  Dipping my fingers into the milk, I slide a layer of cream off the top then rub it into my face.

  Jenna wrinkles her nose.

  “Skin cream.” I hold back a laugh. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, right?”

  “Always the princess.” She nudges me with her elbow and sets another bucket at my feet.

  After drinking down all my stomach will handle, I take the remaining milk to Ireland while Jenna is busy. “Here. Do you want this?”

  Ireland takes it without hesitation and drinks until it’s almost gone. “Don’t tell Jenna.” She winks.

  And I understand. I wipe my fingers across my lips.

  Ireland gets my hint and cleans the foam from her face. She’s still beautiful even with chapped lips and wind-burned cheeks.

  “What’s taking you so long?” Jenna calls.

  “Just checking on Ireland.” I approach the cow. Behind her is a large pile of steaming excrement. The scent curdles the fresh milk in my stomach.

  “Just reach down and gently grip the bottom of the udder.” She holds a hand out, squeezing her fingers one by one into her palm.

  The action looks simple enough, but the actual touching of the cow in a place like that, ugh. This is not the kind of homemaking I would have taught on my show. The cow’s skin is warm to the touch. To my surprise, she doesn’t kill me for being down there. My first few attempts bring nothing, but then I remember how Ireland marched through the cold without one of her boots and how Jenna hollered at that crazy man. And how we buried a woman on the mountain, and kept going without a guide. I will not be undone by a milk cow.

  Taking a firm hold, I squeeze just how Jenna showed me. The milk sprays out. I’ve done it. I’ve beat this obstacle. That’s how we’re going to get home. One step at a time.

  IRELAND

  I sit at the edge of the opening. No one thinks it’s wise for me to go far, seeing as how I don’t move fast, but the longing for fresh air screams from my core.

  “Let’s make our plan.” Vicky taps one finger on her other wrist like someone checking a watch. “The morning is half over, and we can’t just sit here waiting for those guys to get back with the trailer.”

  A shiver passes over me. “These kind of men would kill us to preserve their secret. I’ve met groups like this while protesting. They’re the kind who come back in the middle of the night. We’ve got to get out of here. At least you two do.”

  Jenna shakes her head so hard she looks like she’s trying to dislodge a crab from her ear. “We don’t go anywhere without you. We’re a family. Family sticks together.”

  “Not my family,” I say.

  “Ireland, enough. You’re part of my family, like it or not. And I don’t care what kind of stunt you pull, you’re not getting away from me again.” Jenna crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Now, what is our plan?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” Vicky paces in her five-foot section of barn. “Those men aren’t interested in these cows for any reason besides making a buck. Their plan is to haul them out in the middle of the night, right?”

  Jenna nods. “That’s how I understand it.”

  “Well, then. If they’re busy here, loading the cows, who’s at the farmhouse?”

  “Could be a wife or someone,” I say.

  Vicky’s forehead wrinkles. “Yes, there could be others. I hadn’t thought of that. But there might not be. There must be a phone up there. And if there’s a woman, she’s likely going to have some compassion for our situation.”

  The smile that spreads across my face is tight under my chapped skin.

  Jenna reaches for my hand. “I hear what you’re saying, but how do you expect to make it to the house without being seen? How do we get past the men?” She pulls my fingers straight and the piece of wood in my palm feels like it’s cutting deeper.

  I breathe in, stretching my diaphragm, blowing out the used air through circled lips as I count to five.

  Jenna pinches the exposed end and wiggles it, moving the sliver part-way out.

  My stomach wobbles, threatening to expose my vegan failure.

  Vicky keeps pacing, avoiding any eye contact with my medical situation. “We hide around the back of the barn after dark. When they go inside, we go to the house. How long will it take to load the cows?”

  Jenna squints at my palm. “I’m not sure. Probably at least twenty minutes.” She gets a better grip then pulls hard, the sliver of wood coming free followed by a flow of bright red blood.

  I clamp my palms together, trying to embrace the pain as a sign that I’m alive, but the room begins to spin as adrenaline courses through my pounding veins. Three cleansing breaths and I regain partial control. I’m finding my center. I’m leveling out. “Thank you.” I can’t take my gaze away from my clasped hands.

  “It’s a risky plan.” Jenna pats my arm. “But I don’t have another.”

  “Then this is the plan we work with,” I say. “We have to make this place look like we haven’t been here. We’ll need the time. No more milk. Those cows need to look like they’re more than ready for a milking.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Vicky tosses me a conspiratorial wink.

  Jenna scoops up grain from our pile, and fills her pocket. “We’ll need to have a look at the road to the house. Is there anywhere we
can hide if we need to?”

  Vicky moves to the door. She pushes it open an inch, her eye pressed to the crack. “I can’t see much from here, but we have a problem no one has mentioned.”

  Jenna steps toward her. “What?” There’s terror in her voice.

  “We’re locked in.”

  JENNA

  There’re only two options and breaking the door open isn’t a good one. That leaves us with door number two, a window at the top of the hay pile. I let my gaze settle on our only escape route.

  “I don’t like what I’m seeing.” Vicky drops onto a hay bale.

  “It’s not so bad.” I pull straw from my hair. “In fact, it’s a better option. Less chance of being spotted.” I climb the layers of bales until I reach the opening. It’s wide enough to easily pass through, and there’s a rope and pulley for hoisting hay up. “We can do this. No problem.”

  With the plan in place, we wait for the sun to sink and the darkness to give us cover.

  The time passes with too little to do. I’ve started rubbing cream onto Ireland’s foot. It did wonders for Vicky’s rash, so I figure it won’t do any harm.

  The skin is still red, but I thank God that there doesn’t appear to be any black spots. I remember my first-aid class well enough to know that’s when it’s really bad. A few blisters have formed, but she has more than her fair share of those on the good foot too.

  Ireland flinches as I rub over a raw patch. “Jenna, when did you know you loved your children?”

  The question is so far from what I’m expecting that I suck in a quick breath.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe that wasn’t a sensitive question.”

  “No. You just caught me off guard.” I sit back against a bale with Ireland at my side. “I think I loved them from the moment we decided to have children. Or that could have been just the idea of them.”

  “What made you want them so much?”

  I notice Vicky’s ear tipped to catch our conversation, but she keeps her gaze away. “I think it was my mom. I missed her so much, and I wanted to get her back. I wanted to feel the mother-child kind of love again. You know, as I’m saying it, I understand it so much better than I ever did before. It’s part of my holding on so tight. I’m afraid I’ll be alone again.” I’m slightly sickened at this. I’ve used my kids for my own comfort. Sure, I love them for themselves, but too much of my love has been about the hole they fill for me.

  I shake my head. “I’ve held on way too tight. It’s a mother’s job to love her children and protect them. Teach them. But it’s also a mother’s responsibility to set them free and rejoice in the independent people they’ve become.”

  “You wanted children because you wanted to be like your mother.” Ireland inspects her injured hand. “I walked away from River because I was afraid I would be like my mother. It’s ironic really.” Ireland wraps her index finger around one frizzy gray curl. “I wish we would have stayed in touch. Maybe you could have helped me be a mom.”

  “I would love to do that still. River is young. You have time to build a relationship.”

  Ireland smiles, but it’s sad, broken.

  “I think I get what you’re both saying.” Vicky’s eyes remain glued to the wall. “I started off wanting to be different. I wasn’t going to cut my kids out. But then it became easier to hold them at a distance. Love and relationship is messy. It’s dangerous. There’s no better way to get your heart broken. I wish I’d taken the risk.”

  I link my fingers with Ireland’s. “It’s not too late for any of us. We’re not dead.”

  One of Vicky’s cheeks rises in a crooked smile. “No, not yet.”

  “Listen to us.” I stand. “Can you imagine how hard it was for Hope to know she’d be leaving Em motherless? We haven’t talked about our responsibility to Em. We need to get ourselves home and love that girl. Someday, she’s going to get married. We need to be there. She’ll have children, and they’re going to need three great-aunties. That’s us.” My pulse is firing, and I’m ready to take on that horrid rancher with my bare hands. This fight is nowhere near done.

  Chapter 26

  JENNA

  The one thing I’ve missed by watching life play out on television is the actual feelings that come along with the action. We’ve crouched on the very top layer of hay, the window cracked so we can see movement at the house up the road. A long stock trailer pulled in about twenty minutes ago, right after the sun set. My legs burn with the effort to stay still, while at the same time, the cold that pushes through the shutters freezes me to the bones.

  “Ireland, how’s the foot?” Vicky asks.

  “It’s good.”

  She’s lying. There’s no real point in asking Ireland how she’s doing. She’ll always say what she thinks we want to hear.

  In the distance, metal clanks and an engine growls. As if they’ve received their cue, the cows begin to moo. Their voices rise into a chaotic mix of hunger and panic. I didn’t anticipate this. Now we’re without the benefit of hearing what’s going on outside. I press my eye against the slight opening. There’s still no one in sight, and the sky is as dark as it’s going to be with a nearly full moon. “We should go now.” I turn back to Vicky and Ireland.

  Fear is evident in Vicky’s wide eyes. “What if they see us?”

  “The last guy is in the house now. If we wait until they start driving this way, we don’t stand a chance. It’s now or be caught.”

  Ireland nods her head. She lifts the rope with our pack already tied onto the end. The other side is fastened to a beam above us.

  I take another look, searching the area by the house and following the road all the way to our barn. I can’t see anyone, but I could be wrong. Opening the shutters, I motion Vicky forward. She has to go first for our plan to work out well. Once she’s down, I’ll help Ireland get out the window and then Vicky will help her land without soaking her foot in the mud.

  Vicky lets the rope fall to the ground then swings both legs out the window. She lays with her stomach on the edge, her hands tight around the rope and a glare piercing me. “If I get shot on the way down …”

  “What, Vicky?” Ireland says. “What will you do to us if you get shot?”

  Vicky’s expression softens. “I don’t know.”

  “Chances are we’ll be right behind you.” I squeeze her hand. “You’ve got this. Now.” My skin is damp with perspiration and my heart races like I’ve run all the way home. This is the beginning of the end.

  Vicky wraps her arm around the rope and lowers herself the ten feet to the ground. A groan travels back up to the window when her feet hit the mud. She unties the pack and flicks her wrist, sending a wave up to us as a signal.

  “All right, Ireland. Try not to put your foot in the mud when you get to the bottom.”

  “No problem. I can balance for ten minutes if I have to.” She grins. “Yoga.” The bright t-shirt we used to wrap her foot seems like a mistake now that it’s waving outside the barn window like a come-get-us flag. She’s down in a matter of seconds, and it’s my turn.

  I’m not a climber. I don’t even like glass elevators. My house is a one-story, and that’s how I like it. Just looking out this window gives me a quaking stomach and wobbly legs. Below, Ireland and Vicky are waving frantically. A light moves in the distance, cutting the darkness at the farmhouse as the door opens. It’s now or never, cliché or not.

  I wiggle my legs out, grip the rope, and push myself over the edge, but I’m too much weight for my arms to manage the lowering. In panic, I cling to the siding, my muscles burning and shaking, my bones crying to break. Then I lose my grip, and I’m down. The air is forced from my lungs with the impact. Mud splashes up around me, plopping onto my face, my arms, my chest.

  “Get off me.” Vicky cries in a desperate blend of yell and whisper. “You’re breaking my leg.”

  I roll to the side, my arm squishing into the mud. “Sorry.”

  She mumbles something I don’t think was meant to b
e forgiveness.

  Ireland grabs my hand and pulls me up then does the same for Vicky. The bandaged foot is sunk so far into the muck, it isn’t visible. So much for hygiene.

  I tug them toward the side of the barn. “Let’s get around the corner until they get down here. There’s a lot of movement at the house.” Each step we take sounds like the gross way Calvin used to swish pudding around in his mouth. I can hear his sisters screaming at him to stop in my memory. I hope I get the chance to be irritated by little things like that again.

  We lean against the back of the shed, the moon lighting the field in front of us. The mud is cold, but nothing like the freezing we felt as we made our way to this barn.

  Behind us, the clank of metal echoes through the night, joined by the shouts of men. They may be moving the cows under the cover of darkness, but they’re not good at stealth. The rumble of a diesel engine is close, only the width of this barn from us now. I nearly trusted these men with our lives. My skin crawls. It could have been me that killed the three of us.

  Ireland nudges me with her elbow so hard it stings. “What’s that?” She points into the field.

  Something is moving this way with a slow strutting gait. As it moves closer, the silhouette becomes clear, the steam rising from his nose, the beefy hump along the top of the neck and shoulders. It’s a bull, and we’re trespassers in his pasture.

  VICKY

  I open my mouth to scream, but Ireland saves me by slapping her hand over my face. That monster with the eyes that almost glow in the moonlight is staring straight at us. We must look like dinner. My heart beats so hard is takes the full expanse of my chest and cuts off my ability to breathe. What’s the proper reaction to this situation? Do we play dead, or run for our lives?

  He moves closer. Stops. Digs his front foot into the ground.

  My decision comes easy. We run.

  I grab Ireland by the hand and pull. The mud holds tight to my feet, slowing my movement and endangering my life more than the outlaw ranchers with their shoot-now-ask-questions-later attitudes.