Serendipity

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Suddenly everything made sense. “So this is a restaurant.”

  Bo Carver let out a shout of laughter, and the men did likewise. “Valmer, you got yourself a fine sense of humor.”

  In a matter of minutes, they all had corn bread and bowls of stew in front of them. An old gent offered a blessing and slipped in a word concerning Ma. Afterward, he sat down next to Todd. “Eat hearty and enjoy it. A finer healer you’ll not find for a far, far ride.”

  Please, God, don’t let that be one of the tall tales. From what Todd had witnessed, reactions in this crowd came fast and clear. So far he’d seen these men be protective of the gal, fall readily into mirth, and display their curiosity. Not once had any of them uttered a lie. No chuckles, snickers, or throat clearing followed the declaration that Miss Rose knew her way around sick folks – just the sounds of men diving into good food.

  A full baker’s dozen crowded around the tables, and they all seemed remarkably hale, considering their ages. Perhaps Miss Rose did have some skill. Todd spooned in a bite. The incredible taste of venison stew filled his mouth. If Miss Rose cured her patients half as well as she cooked, Ma ought to be square dancing by breakfast.

  He had no choice but to depend on Miss Rose to care for Ma. Trusting no one else might be more capable – that was a horse of a different color. He needed to weigh his words, consider his actions, and make a decision. But while he did, he was going to satisfy his hunger with this tasty stew. The aroma brought back memories of when Pa and he would go hunting. Ma always made Victory Venison Stew when they returned. Only this was seasoned a little differently – better, actually. Not that he’d ever tell Ma.

  “Mmm-hmm. That little gal’s a dab hand at patchin’ up ailin’ folks. And if she can’t heal somebody, at least our Maggie sure will serve ’em up a dandy last supper!”

  Todd choked on his bite. He swallowed and rasped, “Good food.”

  “Yap. Our Maggie says it don’t take more time to stir a pot with three gallons in it than it does to stir one with three quarts. She cooks everything – and makes it tasty.”

  The oldest one – Paw-Paw, they called him – slurped from his spoon. “Ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do for that gal. She’s one of a kind.”

  Others nodded or echoed his sentiments. Mr. Carver carefully set aside food for his niece before the men relished seconds. Todd wasn’t shy about accepting. His ability to cook included beans, rice, grits, and searing side meat or fresh kill. Oh – he boiled eggs, too. But the yolks never failed to turn a sickening green. These men had no notion what a treasure they had.

  Well, maybe they did. As they put on their jackets and left for the night, two of them set things on the worktable. No wonder her home resembled a magpie’s nest – perhaps Miss Rose wouldn’t accept money for cooking and caring for this bunch of men, so they paid her with gifts. If she didn’t display the stuff, the old men’s feelings would be crushed. It all made sense in a backward sort of way.

  Ma would only be here a few days. He’d talk to her about ignoring the mess.

  A couple of days. Todd grimaced. Added on to the time he’d already been gone, it was an eternity. Barely a handful of times had his father left their farm in Virginia for three days – and never once any longer. Yet to fetch Ma in Virginia and carry her back to Texas took a walloping five days – and that was allowing for five scant hours in Virginia. Stretching the already-unheard-of time to a full week not only increased his debt to his neighbor, John Toomel, who was caring for his stock; it endangered the farm.

  “Hope you’re good at washing.” Mr. Carver jarred him from his worries. “I always dry.”

  Todd eyed the pile of dirty dishes. “For that supper, I would wash all of the dishes twice.”

  “You’ve a silver tongue, Mr. Valmer.”

  At the sound of Miss Rose’s voice, Todd whipped around. Somber stillness replaced her sparkle and sass. “Uncle Bo, I’ll see to the dishes in a bit. Mr. Valmer, we need to talk about your mama.”

  Maggie crossed the kitchen. “Would you prefer we speak in private, Mr. Valmer?”

  He paused a second. “Is it something a woman would wish to keep private?”

  She fought to keep her shoulders from slumping beneath the weight of the bad news. Best he hear it straight out; shilly-shallying just stretched folks’ nerves. “What’s befallen your mama can occur to either woman or man. It’s not something that will remain a secret.”

  With a gentleman’s fine manners, he pulled out a chair and motioned for her to occupy it. And he scooted it back in just right, too. Then he sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, abandoning those manners. “So, then, tell me.”

  “Your mama had an attack of apoplexy. Just how severe it is, only time will tell. Some folks, they’re almost good as new in a few days. Others never do recover at all. Most fall in the middle, and with hard work they learn how to do some things for themselves again.”

  Maggie paused for a moment to let that sink in, taking a sip of the tea her uncle slipped to her. Bitter, but certainly less bitter than what she’d be saying next. “As soon as we opened the blanket and her arm dropped and hung there, I suspected she’d suffered a stroke. I’ve books and a journal to which I refer. They all concur after such an episode, the patient is expected to be exhausted and confused.”

  His light brown brows crinkled. “Confused?”

  “Unable to recall where she is, or even who you are – though it’s safe to assume she recognizes you from how she responds to your nearness. She’s not uttered a word for me. Has she said anything to you?” Please say yes. Please recall her having spoken even a few sentences. . . .

  Wiping his rough hand down very worried features, Mr. Valmer paused. “Sounds. She’s made sounds. As for words . . .” He shook his head slowly. “What would this mean?”

  Experience taught Maggie to save some good news to give after the bad, so she folded her hands on the tabletop and continued to meet his gaze. “Very often, when someone suffers like this, when they lose their ability to speak, they keep functioning abilities of the right side. She might well struggle to communicate, but your mama will be able to do lots for herself.”

  The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched it tighter and tighter with every word she spoke. That tattled on a stubborn temperament – and Mr. Valmer was going to need plenty of dogged persistence in the next several months to hound his mama into relearning how to do things for herself. “Ma’s left-handed.”

  “I see.” Immediately realizing she needed to change the comforting things she planned to say, Maggie nodded to give herself a moment. “We’ll see how much use she regains in her limbs. As I said, there’s a possibility she’ll regain some of her abilities again. But as she’s left-handed, that means she’ll most likely have preserved her ability to speak. Praise Jesus, she’ll be able to talk and make herself understood, to sing and to pray. Of all the losses a body could suffer, I’d imagine that not being able to speak would be the most frustrating of all. We still have another hand that can take over if the other’s injured, but we’ve only one voice box.”

  Mr. Valmer remained silent.

  Folks needed a chance to weigh the information given them. Maggie doubted the stranger would need long, though. He’d been swift and sure in deciding how to treat Jerlund. One glance, and it was plain that Jerlund was one of those special individuals who’d remain a child all his days, but Mr. Valmer treated him like the man he wanted to be. The selfsame attitude – to look past a problem and see the person – that would be the best medicine his ma could get.

  A single deep inhalation expanded Mr. Valmer’s already vast chest, and he let it out slowly as he stood. “Miss Rose, I know you did your best by Ma, but a physician might know something more. I must give Ma that chance. Mr. Carver, I need to borrow a horse.”

  “Son, that’s a fool’s errand.”

  “It’s a son’s duty.”

  Uncle Bo set down the dishrag and came closer. “Your going out, getting los
t, and freezing both yourself and a horse won’t do your ma a lick of good.”

  “I’ll follow the railroad tracks.”

  “At night? In the worst weather we’ve had in years? In territory you don’t know? It’s fifteen miles to Big Dip. Doc Wyant’s probably away at his still, but if he’s in town, you don’t want him. Tomorrow is Tuesday.” Uncle Bo shook his head.

  Bafflement painted Mr. Valmer’s features, so Maggie explained, “He’s usually sober Mondays because of the train going through.”

  “Cold weather and hot coffee – they will sober him.” Determination filled his voice.

  Maggie walked around the table and touched Uncle Bo’s shoulder. “ ‘There’s small choice in rotten apples.’ Mr. Valmer needs a medical opinion from a healer he approves. We may as well let him take our biggest and strongest horse so he stands his best chance.”

  Her uncle gave her a frustrated look.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t seat him on Adam.” Chin rising a notch, she willed Bo to go along with her ploy. He dipped his head and nodded. Thank heavens he’d said nothing. One word, and Mr. Valmer would have known something was afoot. “But, Mr. Valmer, you have to make us an honor-binding promise that you’ll turn around and come right back if you run into trouble or if Adam balks even once. He’s one of the smartest horses God ever made, and he’ll keep you alive if you let him have his head.”

  “Agreed! You have my word of honor. You will see to my mother until I come back?”

  “Of course I will. Now out to the barn with you men. I’m going to take my bowl of stew and go sit with your ma.” And if Adam behaves like I expect him to, you’ll be sitting by my side, fuming, in about fifteen minutes.

  She was quite a woman, Miss Rose. Even with worry nagging at him, as Todd bent his head into the wind and walked alongside Mr. Carver to the barn, he couldn’t help thinking the young gal was what Ma called a touch of serendipity – something unexpected that brought gladness or thanksgiving. In the midst of this whole tragedy, God couldn’t have arranged a better example. Ja, Miss Rose was the only bright spot in this mess.

  And what a mess it was. He’d had to impose on John Toomel while he fetched Ma. Since the two bachelor farmers owned adjoining properties, they bore one another’s burdens most heavily. Now John worked both places, waiting for the promise of Ma’s good cooking – a promise Todd and Ma might not be able to uphold.

  Lord, you know Ma’s needs and what will cure her. If a miracle’s what it’ll take, then I’m begging you for one. Minding the sick isn’t my gift. If Ma’s in a bad way, I can’t take her back to the farm. I’m barely hanging on . . .

  A sudden thought caused him to turn to Mr. Carver and shout through the wind, “What other day does the train go through?”

  The old man shook his head. “First and third Mondays are westward bound. ’Twas off schedule for them to stop today. It’ll be by next week.”

  Todd strode ahead and started to open the barn door. He might well lose his crops and maybe even land over this, but he wasn’t going to lose Ma. He’d haul the doctor back here so she’d have every chance of recovering.

  By the time Todd drew the door shut, Mr. Carver had lit a lamp. The sudden glow sent a pair of mules shuffling off to the right. A kid and nanny goat lay in fresh-smelling hay across from a row of three stalls. On the near end, a gelding stirred, but in the center’s side-by-side stalls stood a matched pair of sorrel draft horses. Todd didn’t blink for fear the miracle might disappear. Belgians! There stood steeds that could plow through snow as easily as farmland fields.

  Mr. Carver walked to the stallion. “You won’t find a stronger mount than Adam. Has endless stamina, but he’s stubborn as sin. He’ll save your life if you let his judgment prevail.”

  “Belgians – they are smart.” Todd extended his hand so the horse could catch his scent. Even in the meager light of one lantern he could see Adam clearly rated as one of the best of his breed. Honor warred with need. “Your niece – she is a good woman, but people sometimes do not appreciate what a certain horse means to his owner. If you would rather I use the gelding . . .”

  “You gave your word to abide by the horse’s inclinations, so it’s only right that I lend the smartest mount I own.”

  Looking into the man’s unwavering gaze, Todd knew he’d freely given not only his consent, but his blessing. “Thank you.” As Todd turned to grab a saddle blanket, Adam nuzzled the huge mare in the adjoining stall.

  “Stop being a lover boy,” Mr. Carver muttered as he produced a halter. Adam was ready to ride in mere minutes.

  Rapidly winding his scarf around his lower face and neck, Todd nodded. “He’s good-tempered.”

  “Hmmpf. When she awakens, your ma’s going to be a handful. Ain’t a creature on earth more high-strung than a woman worrying over her child.” Mr. Carver pulled a stubby pencil from his pocket and pointed at an unpainted board. “Before you hie off, leave us with the names and whereabouts of your kin. Don’t mistake my meaning – your ma would be treated like family here. Other than my wife, no other woman ever walked the face of the earth who cared more, worked harder, or had a bigger heart than my niece. But your ma deserves to be with her own if the worst happens.”

  Arletta couldn’t be reached. Even if she could, his sister let him know Ma permanently wore out her welcome. Ignoring the pencil, Todd strode toward the stallion. “The worst cannot happen. I’m all my mother has. I will return.”

  As Mr. Carver went to the door, Todd swung up into the saddle. About two thousand pounds of powerful horseflesh rippled beneath him, testifying to God’s providence. Lord, I put my trust in you. Lead me to safety so Ma can have the best of care. Amen. Todd kneed the horse and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

  The stallion stood stock-still.

  Some horses were trained with a jiggle of the reins. The Belgian’s only reaction to that cue plopped onto the straw behind them.

  “Barn-sour, saddle-backed mares move better,” Todd muttered.

  Adam set out, took one step, and then shook his head. A firm hand on the reins, a tightened clamp against the beast’s sides with his knees, and Todd gained his cooperation. Adam took a few more steps and corrected course.

  This stallion needed praise and encouragement, but he’d do well. Many a horse needed a coaxing – not often this long, but Todd felt as well as saw the change. The tension that came with carrying an unfamiliar rider eased out of Adam’s muscles. A solid pat on his slightly arched neck acknowledged the trust. Man and beast had an understanding.

  Todd felt some of his own tension ease as he urged Adam ahead. Carver opened the barn door, and snow gusted in. Adam huffed to clear away a few flakes he’d inhaled and kept walking . . . in a large arc back into his stall.

  “The snow may let up in the morning. I’ll try again then.” Mr. Valmer set a pair of crates inside the kitchen. Without another word, he walked back outside.

  “Margaret Titania,” Uncle Bo’s voice held an unnecessary warning tone. This was the second time today he’d used her middle name. “No more sneaky tricks. That’s a smart man.” He shook his finger at her. “He reckoned Adam’s a clever horse, but if you pull another stunt, you’ll rightfully incite Valmer’s wrath. No man appreciates a woman making a fool of him.”

  “I didn’t make a fool of him. I owed it to his mother to keep him from killing himself. Her heart would break if she lost him – and I’d have failed them both.”

  Uncle Bo pursed his lips, stared at her, and finally nodded. “Reckoned you’d say something like that. These crates are for your treasures. Start a-packin’. Whilst you have both a cot and a patient in there, stuff ’s liable to get broke. ’Specially with her strapping son hovering.”

  “He’s got rare wide shoulders and huge hands.”

  Uncle Bo shot her a telling look.

  “I noticed because he needs a change of clothes, just as his mama did.” A little niggle of doubt crept into her mind. Was that the only rea
son? His stature and strength were among the very first things she noticed about him. His deep blue eyes . . . Well, she’d had to pay attention to those in the first few moments, too, to take his measure. And his wet denims had clung to long muscular legs. I noticed his hair’s sandy-colored, too – and there’s nothing untoward about simple observations.

  “Seein’ as your scheme trapped him here, best you pack away all that you can. The nicest things from the parlor, too.”

  Dread swamped her. While the men ate supper, she overheard them weasel out the fact that Mr. Valmer was a bachelor. The notion of Uncle Bo playing matchmaker was enough to make her take to a sickbed herself. “I’ve no reason at all to pack anything from the parlor.”

  “If you treasure them, you will. Big, brawny men cause a lot of unintentional damage in small places. One expansive gesture, and he’d sweep everything straight off a shelf. Little Magpie, we both know you could fill a dozen crates and barely take away a glimmer from the cave.”

  Aladdin’s Cave. Daddy said she’d gladly live in Aladdin’s Cave, but Mama was from here in the holler and expressed herself in a more natural way. She’d said Maggie gathered up pretty things like magpie, and the nickname took. Uncle Bo knew her all too well – he’d said the very thing that would gain her cooperation. But she’d prove him wrong. From her trading trips, she’d learned to fit a lot in a small space. He predicted a dozen; she’d surprise him. “I’ll stack the crates in my bedchamber.” Needing to go sit with Mrs. Crewel again, Maggie washed her hands.

  “Suppose storing them there’s a possibility. I’ll talk it over with Valmer.”

  “That man’s got no call deciding on anything for me or my house. Certainly nothing about my – ”

  “Sure he does.” Uncle Bo closed his hand around hers. “Maggie, my magpie, I gave him leave to sleep in your bed.”