by Bonnie Leon
Everything had happened so quickly. She'd gone to Mr. Woodson's home, and almost before she'd said three words, he'd hired her and asked her to start the following morning.
She had so much to do—talk to Laurel, figure out a schedule, and take care of chores she couldn't do during the week. It would mean that Luke and Brian would have to do more around the house. She'd have to talk to them. It all felt a little overwhelming. “Hmm. A working woman. Who would have thought?”
When Jean approached her driveway, she spotted their Guernsey grazing alongside the road. “How did she get out?” She scanned the fence line. It looked all right, but the pasture was empty—no horses, sheep, or goats. It was empty!
“Oh Lord, now what?” Taking Susie's hand, she approached the grazing cow. “Come along now, Penny, let's get on home,” she said gently. With a glance at Jean and a flick of her tail, the bovine moved further down the road. She had no intention of returning home just yet. A pair of goats chomped on greenery along the fence line, and one of the horses pulled tufts of grass up by bunches along the Jenkins's property line.
Susie held out her hand toward the cow. “Penny. Come on, Penny,” she said in her sweet voice.
Jean scanned the field, searching for Luke and Brian. They were nowhere in sight. “I wonder if those two took off to do some fishing.” She hefted Susie and hurried to the house, calling for Brian and Luke. They didn't answer.
Walking past the gate, she noticed it was open. “Those boys. It was probably Brian.” She pushed the gate open wide, then headed into the house.
Luke and Brian weren't anywhere inside. Setting Susie in her crib, she said, “You be a good girl,” and handed her a doll. “I'll be right back. You play with your baby.”
Leaving the house, she ran for the barn. Grabbing a pail, she filled it with grain and headed back to the road. “This ought to work,” she said, walking cautiously toward the goats. With a bleat, they dodged out of her way and settled into another batch of tender willows. With a sigh, she changed her target and approached the cow. “All right, Penny, you love grain. Come on now.” She shook the pail. Grain rattled. Penny glanced at Jean and kept munching as she meandered away.
Jean stopped. How am I going to get them back inside the pasture? Grain just isn't tempting enough when they've got fresh clover and tender grass. Pretending to ignore the animals, she walked nonchalantly down the road. Maybe if she got past them, she could herd them back down the driveway and into the pasture. But the animals were onto her, and each time she got close, they simply walked on.
Her frustration growing, Jean looked up and down the road and across the pasture to the Jenkins's. She needed help, but who? Tom and Adele had gone to Anchorage. Robert was in town with his family. Where were the boys? “Luke!” she yelled. No answer. “Luke!” Still no answer.
Jean thought a long while, then decided that the only answer was to climb through the fence and walk beyond the animals inside the pasture, then climb back over and herd them home. She set the bucket of grain on the ground, pulled the back of her skirt between her legs, and tucked it into the front waistband. Pushing down on the bottom fence wire with her foot and lifting the middle one, she stepped through. Her skirt caught on a barb. Trying to free it, she pricked her finger. “Ouch!” Blood oozed. Putting it to her mouth, she suppressed growing aggravation. “Lord, I need your help,” she said, freeing herself. She walked a little way out into the field, passed the animals, then with trepidation climbed back through the fence, this time without injury.
Breaking off a willow branch, she walked toward the animals, swinging the spindly limb back and forth. The animals turned and walked ahead, occasionally grabbing a mouthful of greenery. As they approached the end of the driveway, Jean wondered how she would turn them.
Maybe the grain will work now, she thought and picked up the bucket. Shaking it, she said, “Come on now. Let's get on home.” The cow swung her big head around, looked at Jean, and moved past the drive. A goat leapt over a clump of berry bushes and started munching. The other one followed. Swishing away mosquitoes with its tail, the horse stopped and shook its hide.
Pesky insects were devouring Jean's bare legs. She could feel itching welts rise, but she ignored them and walked up to the gelding, running her hand down his back and tempting him with grain. He buried his nose in the bucket and munched, then happily followed Jean down the drive. She walked through the gate, and the horse followed.
“That's one,” she said with some satisfaction. She headed for the road only to find that the rest of the animals had continued their wandering. She walked back down the drive and stopped at the road. “What am I going to do? I can't just leave them out,” she said, feeling the sting of tears.
She sank to the ground and sat leaning against a post. “Will, I need you.” Resting her arms on bent knees, she allowed the tears to come. “I can't run this farm without you.”
A pickup backfired, and Jean looked up to see it and the animals heading her way. Quickly wiping away the tears, she stood, hoping for help until she saw that the driver was Ray Townsend. She tensed. He was the last person she wanted to see.
He stopped and clumsily climbed out of the truck with his bum leg. “Afternoon, Mrs. Hasper. Seems you could use a hand.”
“Someone left the gate open, and the animals got out,” she said, watching her livestock amble past.
Ray hobbled toward her and stopped, resting his weight on one crutch. His leg was still in a cast. He studied the livestock. “Do you have grain? Usually all you have to do is let them know you've got it, and they come running.”
Jean lifted the bucket. “I've tried that,” she said caustically. “The only one interested was the horse.”
“Hmm. Usually works.” He scanned the bushes alongside the road. “Guess there's too much good stuff out here to eat.” Ray tottered back to his truck. “I s'pose I could stand here and keep them from getting by while you drive them back this way.” He leaned against his truck. “Wish I could be of more help.”
Jean clambered through the fence, then climbed back through when she got ahead of the animals. Breaking off another willow branch, she herded them toward Mr. Townsend. The cow and sheep ambled along and automatically turned in at the drive. The goats weren't ready to settle down and tried to dart past Ray. He managed to head them off by extending one of his crutches, and they finally trotted down the driveway.
“Climb in,” he said. “I'll give you a ride.”
“I'll walk.” Jean barely glanced at him.
Ray climbed into the truck and followed her, then helped her guide the animals into the pasture. Leaning on the gate, they watched Penny graze, seemingly content to be home.
Ray turned and looked out over the farm, his eyes wandering from the house to the barn and over the fields. “This is a lot for a woman to take care of.”
“I have my son and Adam, and the neighbors,” Jean said curtly.
Her sharp tone didn't put off Ray. He continued pleasantly. “You've been on my mind. I've been wondering how you're faring.”
“We're fine.” Jean didn't want to have a conversation with this man. “Thank you for your help. I'd better get inside.”
“I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am—about everything.” Ray rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to help. I'm sure you could use an extra hand.”
Jean eyed Ray's bum leg. “Doesn't look like you're in any condition to help, Mr. Townsend.”
“I'll only have it a couple more weeks, and it doesn't keep me from swinging an axe and doing odd jobs. I'm pretty good around the house. I know a little about plumbing and carpentry. I can repair most anything. And after this cast comes off, I can do more.”
Jean needed the help, especially now that she'd taken the job at the store, but she wasn't about to let Ray Townsend soothe his conscience by working for her. “We're not your responsibility Mr. Townsend, but thank you for the offer.” Barely able to look him in the eye, she added, “We don't need your help.�
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Ray didn't look as if he believed her. “All right then. Still, if you find yourself needing anything, let me know.” He hesitated. “Will asked me to look after you.”
Jean felt as if a jolt of electricity had hit her. Will had asked this man to help?
“Celeste said you'd be working at the store, so I 'spect you'll have less time to put in here at home.”
“How did you know about the job? I just got it.”
“I stopped by to say hello to Celeste before coming out here. I don't think she meant to gossip.”
“Of course not. I was just wondering how you knew. I barely know.” Jean managed a smile, and Ray returned the gesture. Uncomfortable, she started for the house. Jean didn't want to be friends with Ray Townsend, but not wishing to be rude, she stopped and looked at him. “Thank you for your help,” she said in a dismissive tone and continued on.
“Anytime. I was glad to do it. Just remember, I'm here if you need me.”
“We'll be fine,” Jean said, not bothering to look at him as she started up the steps. She didn't want Ray Townsend to be kind. And even if it were true that Will had asked him to help, it made no difference.
Chapter 13
PASTOR SUNDERSON CLOSED HIS BIBLE AND LEFT THE PULPIT WHILE THE CHOIR filed onto the stage. Mrs. Hudson, the director, took her place in front of the group, her broad hips swaying from side to side as she walked. She turned and smiled at the congregation. “Please turn to page 325 in your hymnal and join us in worship while we sing 'It Is Well with My Soul.'”
Jean nearly groaned out loud. She wasn't sure she could get through the song. It had been written in 1873 by Horatio Spafford after his wife and three children perished at sea. How could he trust after losing his entire family?
Mrs. Hudson and the choir began, and the congregation joined in. “When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul. It is well, it is well, it is well with my soul.”
The song tore at Jean's heart, and she couldn't stop the tears. She tried to sing, but sorrow choked off the words. Lord, I need that kind of peace. I feel like I'm falling apart.
The song closed, and the minister returned to the podium. “Such a beautiful song, written by a man who clearly knew his Savior.” He opened his Bible. “We read in Isaiah 66:12 and 13, 'For thus saith the Lord, Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river, and the glory of the Gentiles like a flowing stream: then shall ye suck, ye shall be borne upon her sides, and be dandled upon her knees. As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem.'”
He looked up. “Like a mother comforts, so I will comfort you. What a picture of tenderness. We are the Father's children. He will hold us close and carry our burdens.”
Jean knew God offered comfort, but she could only feel grief. His promised peace seemed out of reach. She fought to listen to the minister's words.
“God is here with you, right beside you. Reach out and take his hand. He will pull you to his side.”
Jean visualized the Lord standing beside her, and she felt a touch of peace and quiet. If only she could hang on to it.
The minister finished his sermon, then closed in prayer. Jean still felt the touch of God. She was afraid to open her eyes. The world's reality waited for her. If only she could hold it off, even for just a few moments.
The congregation was dismissed. Susie wiggled, then turned and hugged her mother around the neck. Jean was forced to open her eyes, but God's presence remained, and a gentle voice whispered to her. You are not alone. I am here, always and forever.
The voice had seemed almost audible. Jean glanced around to see if someone had spoken, but Laurel and Adam were visiting with another couple, and Luke and Brian were already heading for the aisle. No one could have said what she heard.
The words felt like salve on the raw aching place inside. Jean knew peace would replace her loneliness—maybe not today, but one day. She kissed Susie's cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you,” the little girl said and tightened her hold.
With a smile, Jean eased her off her lap and stood, then sidestepped toward the aisle.
Ray Townsend's eyes caught hers. He smiled, but his eyes remained sad. Jean quickly looked away. She wasn't ready to be cordial or friendly and hurried down the aisle, hoping to avoid him.
Luke waited for her at the back of the church. He nodded at Ray Townsend. “What's he doing here? He shouldn't be allowed in the door.”
“Hush. Someone will hear you,” Jean whispered.
“I don't care. Everyone knows what kind of man he is.”
“No. Only God knows, and it's none of our business.”
“None of our business?” Luke asked incredulously. “He killed my father, your husband.”
Jean gripped her son's arm and looked straight at him. She hated being forced to defend Ray Townsend, but she knew for Luke's sake she must. “He didn't kill your father. It was an accident. And whoever Ray Townsend is or isn't has nothing to do with us.” She took Susie's hand and headed for the door.
Luke followed. “If I had my way, he'd be the one dead. I don't understand a God who lets a good man die while someone like Ray Townsend lives.” He spit out the name Townsend with venom.
“God's ways are not our ways,” Jean said. She'd heard those words so many times and believed them, but now they sounded empty.
She stepped onto the porch and into the July sunshine. The minister grasped her hand. “So good to see you this morning, Mrs. Hasper.” He smiled at Susie. “And you, too, young lady.” Susie flashed him a bright smile. He turned warm eyes on Jean. “Remember, if there's anything we can do, please let us know.”
Jean nodded and forced a smile. “I will. Thank you, Pastor Sunderson.”
He continued to hold her hand. “The pain of losing a life partner can feel unbearable. I remember when my father passed away—it was extremely hard on my mother. She seemed lost for a very long while. Please don't expect too much too quickly. It takes time.”
“I'll try not to.” Jean didn't want to talk about it. She just wanted to get away, to run home and hide from the world. She pulled her hand loose and started down the steps.
Luke took his mother's arm. “Me and Laurel and Brian are here for you. We'll help.”
“I know. Of course …” She hesitated and managed a smirk. “I hope you don't help the way you did when all the livestock got out.”
“That was Brian's fault, although I admit I should have checked.”
Jean patted his arm. “I'm only teasing. Things happen.”
Miram Dexter and her bosomy mother and squat father walked past them. Mrs. Dexter nodded. Miram slowed her steps and offered Jean a smile. Hitching up her glasses, she said, “Nice to see you, Mrs. Hasper.”
“Good to see you, Miram. I hope everything's well at your home.”
Miram shrugged and hurried to keep up with her parents.
“I worry about that girl. She seems lonely,” Jean said, watching her.
Laurel joined her mother and Luke. “Who, Miram? I think she is. Mrs. Dexter is more of a jailer than a mother. Poor Miram can barely turn around without her mother being there. And I don't know what's going to happen between her and Ed Ketchum. Mrs. Dexter doesn't like him, and she's doing everything she can to keep them apart.”
“Poor girl.”
Nothing was said for a moment, then Laurel asked, “Mama, would you like to have supper at our place?”
Jean felt weary. She loved spending time with Adam and Laurel, but today she needed the comfort of home. “Maybe some other time. I'd really just like to go home.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I'm fine.”
“Well, how about if we come to your house? I'll do the cooking.”
“I'd like that.”
Adam walked up, and Laurel tucked her arm into his. “Adam, we'll be having sup
per at Mama's, but I'm doing the cooking.”
“Sounds terrific,” Adam said.
Laurel looked up at her husband, her eyes full of joy. She was absolutely beaming.
Jean studied her. “Something's up. What is it?”
“Nothing,” Laurel said, her smile bright. “We just want to spend time with you.” She kissed the tip of Susie's nose. “We'll go on home and change, then be over. I'll bring supper fixings.” Arm in arm, she and Adam sauntered toward their truck.
Jean spotted Ray Townsend striding toward her and looked for a way of escape. She couldn't find one, so she smiled and greeted him.
“Mrs. Hasper, I wondered if you'd thought any more about my helping out. As you can see, I got the cast off and my leg's nearly good as new.” He slapped it as if to prove his point. “I'm ready for any kind of work.”
Luke stepped between his mother and Ray. “We don't need your help. Stay away from our place.” He grabbed his mother's arm and led her away.
Although unhappy at her son's disrespectful behavior, Jean didn't know what to say. She glanced back at Ray. He stood with Celeste and Robert, his eyes grieving. Jean could feel his pain, and her mind reeled at the injustice done to him. How would it feel to be accused of being a murderer if the charge weren't true? She stopped, and Luke's hand lost its grip. “We're not going to behave this way.”
Luke gaped at her. “What way?”
“I understand your anger, but you're a Hasper, and disrespect is not acceptable. And I don't need you speaking for me or making decisions about the farm, including who works for me and who doesn't.” Taking another quick look at Ray, she realized he needed to help them. He'd taken on the burden of Will's death. Maybe it was his fault, but he hadn't decided Will should die. It was Will who'd done that. “It must be awful to think you're responsible for someone dying,” she said quietly.
Jean looked at Luke. “Ray wants to make amends. He feels responsible and obligated to us. I think we ought to let him help. It might make it easier for him to put this awful situation behind him.” Jean couldn't believe what she was saying.
