Easter Promises

by Lois Richer

  George actually winked, “So did Dusty.” He winked. What did he know? He’d get paid for shearing four sheep, pack up his things and be on his merry way while Audrey was left to cope with a population explosion that never should have happened. One lamb was perfect. She knew there was a possibility of two lambs, and was ready for that. But seven? And they supposedly would all come at once? She’d be overwhelmed.

  She’d have to resign her post as chair of the Easter Parade, that’s what. Maybe go to part-time at the library. Life had exploded beyond her capabilities and she was just going to have to pull out.

  Audrey had never resigned anything in her life. Audrey Lupine never quit anything, because that’s not the kind of carefully considering woman she was. She was the high school valedictorian, she’d known library science would be her field since her first semester at college. She had perhaps been accused by friends once or twice of preferring the company of books to real people—especially men—but one look around the available Middleburg bachelor pool could explain that in seconds. Now her…yes it had to be said…handsome new neighbor had a front row seat to this whopping mistake.

  Audrey never made mistakes. She planned her vacations a year in advance and considered it a personal failing if the library ever ran out of anything. Oh my, she’d have to tell everyone. Everyone would have to know her enormous miscalculation here. She grabbed the fence post for support, her knees suddenly threatening to give way.

  “Seven!” Lilly pronounced, holding up as many fingers. “That’s a whole lot of baby sheep.”

  Audrey hoped she managed a smile. “Sure is.”

  George, who evidently possessed the ability to take catastrophes in stride, fired up his shears and started on Esther as if he’d simply changed socks or chosen wheat bread instead of white. “They’s all looking fine and healthy, so I don’t think you’ll have too many problems. These mamas know how to look after their own.”

  Audrey did not share his relaxed view. “I can’t have eleven sheep. I’m not prepared for eleven sheep. There’ll be extra feed and vet costs and I don’t have enough barn space for that many sheep.”

  “You’ll have so much yarn!” Lilly pronounced.

  “It may not be that big a challenge,” her father offered. He definitely was a doctor. He had one of those “let’s all try to stay calm” voices all doctors learn to use. “You don’t have to keep them after they’re weaned. It’ll just be a short-term thing.”

  Audrey noticed that while his tone was encouraging and supportive, he did not utter the magic words I’ll help. And why would he? They barely knew each other; he’d made it quite clear he was on leave from his veterinary practice; and this really was her own problem. A consequence for insufficiently supervising Martha’s fleecy courtship. Really, was it that horrible a thing to allow two sheep their privacy during such a thing?

  Evidently it was, for now she was paying for it. Six times over.

  Chapter Four

  Well, it doesn’t get more awkward than this, Paul thought to himself as everyone tried to remain calm and cheerful for the last two sheeps’ shearing. Had he done the right thing by not saying what he thought the moment he’d seen the sheep up close? He didn’t really have much sheep clientele back in Pennsylvania, and he wasn’t her vet. It seemed wrong to interfere. Still, the way Audrey shot him looks after he made the mistake of admitting he suspected before George did, maybe he should have spoken up.

  Lilly was blissfully unaware of the tension in the pen, inspecting the sheep fleece George laid out on a table in the barn, touching the new white fur of the shorn sheep and generally adoring the four ewes now that they were “going to be mamas.” He was glad she’d revised her earlier “stinky” assessment of them, glad to see her having fun, but painfully aware of the lamb bomb that had just been dropped on poor Ms. Lupine. She really did look undone by the whole thing. He’d always thought farmers and livestock owners—or arts-and-crafts types in general, for that matter—to be a more flexible, easygoing sort. He felt the urge to help, to take that look of utter panic off her face, but couldn’t say how she’d react if he did. Offer? Wait until asked? This is why he liked animals—they were so much less complicated than humans.

  Finally, after the shearing had been completed and Lilly was persuaded to walk the path back up to their house, Paul could make a graceful exit. There must have been something better to say than, “Well, if you need anything…” but his neighbor looked close to hyperventilating and he wasn’t good at this sort of thing.

  After making dinner for Lilly, they read one of her library books together, and she settled down with her dolls and some animal toys on the living room rug while he stared at his computer laptop. He’d wanted to write a lot this evening, but he was mostly just staring at that little blinking cursor on his page that refused to turn itself into words. Lilly was arranging the animals and dolls into a farm, he noticed with a fair amount of amusement, with all the participants shouting excitement over the “seven baby lambs.”

  He’d bailed on the blank page and was making some after-dinner coffee when he spied Audrey Lupine marching across the yard toward his back door. He sighed, dumped two extra spoonfuls of ground coffee into the filter and opened the door before she even raised her hand to knock.

  “You said, ‘if there’s anything I can do,’” she explained as she stepped in.

  “Yes, I did. I just put some coffee on.”

  “I’m really a tea person, but, I suppose I could manage a cup.”

  He watched her eyes scan the sparse decor of his kitchen. All the doodads of a home—place mats, curtains and such—had been Caroline’s forte. Paul’s mom was going to come out from Louisville tomorrow to get a start on all that, but for now the house was spartan to say the least. “I’ve got cream and sugar if you like.”

  “Both, please.”

  He hadn’t even gotten the sugar bowl out from the cabinet before she pronounced, “I think I should fire my vet. The breeder was on his recommendation. He should have seen the living arrangement I’d set up to keep Dusty confined to Martha wouldn’t work. I wanted to know what you think, if that’s not imposing.”

  Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. How many times had he, as the vet delivering the bad news, been yelled at, blamed, snubbed or worse? And half of those times it was for problems caused by inattentive owners, not him or even the animals themselves. “Sheep aren’t my specialty, but I don’t think it’s an exact science. Animals are full of surprises. Upsets happen. I know it’s not what you were after, but this isn’t something to fire your vet over. Especially if he’s given you good service with your ewes in the past. You need him now more than ever.”

  “But I was not in any way ready for all four ewes to lamb.”

  “Seems to me, Ms. Lupine, life has a funny way of not caring what we’re ready for.” He hadn’t meant for that remark to be about Caroline and her death, but somehow they both connected those thoughts at the same time, and it made for an even more awkward silence.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quietly, all the fight deflated out of her. “And Lilly’s.”

  “Who’s here?” Lilly came trotting out of the living room, a plastic sheep in one hand and a doll in the other. “Oh, hi. How are the mama sheep?”

  “Very comfortable now.” He watched Audrey smile. “The stack of their wool is almost as tall as you.”

  “You’ll have lots of yarn when the babies come,” Lilly repeated.

  “I’m not going to worry about that just yet.” Ms. Lupine accepted her coffee. “I’ve got more important problems to solve first.” She dumped a generous amount of both cream and sugar into her coffee and stirred. “Dr. Sycamore…”

  “Paul,” he corrected, especially not wanting to be Dr. Sycamore at the moment. Maybe even anymore.

  “Paul,” she said uncomfortably. “This whole business is upsetting to me. I’m not some sort of impulsive, irresponsible person. I think my plans through. I had good reason to breed
only one ewe. I’m quite certain I can’t manage eleven animals.” She hadn’t drunk her coffee yet; her hands still held the mug in a white-knuckle death grip. “I don’t have the barn space or enough pasture or the time to cope with that many sheep. I can’t bear the thought of selling off any of the girls, but I’m just not prepared to deal with all those lambs. It should never have happened. I’m mortified that it happened. Honestly, I’d never have tried to breed Martha if I’d have known.”

  She should have known, Paul thought to himself. Farm life just doesn’t contain itself to neat, mathematical projections. Paul felt a hint of annoyance at the vet who’d allowed her to believe livestock were that predictable.

  “You don’t want the babies?” Lilly asked with sad alarm in her voice.

  “It’s complicated, Lilly,” Paul interrupted, seeing the look on Ms. Lupine’s face. “Lambs take a lot of work, and Ms. Lupine…”

  “Audrey,” she corrected.

  “Audrey’s just worried that they won’t get the care they need. She’s being a responsible animal owner, honey, and that’s a good thing.”

  “How can sending the lambs away be good? You said you wanted a lamb.” Lilly was holding the plastic sheep, the one she’d just been playing “mama lamb” with, which made it all worse. He did think Audrey was overreacting, but people overreact when they get broadsided—he knew that from personal experience.

  “One lamb and seven lambs are very different things,” Paul offered. He motioned for Lilly to come up and sit on his lap. “Do you remember when I told you we were moving?”

  “Yep.” She made the plastic sheep walk around the place mat in front of Paul’s coffee.

  “You told me it was the worst idea ever. That you didn’t want to go away from our old house. Do you remember?”

  “I was mad,” Lilly said, making a frowning face.

  “And we like it now, don’t we? But it was such a big idea then, such a new change, that it felt awful. Miss Audrey’s had a big change thrown at her today. You need to remember that and be nice.”

  Audrey didn’t respond, and Paul knew what he ought to say. He knew what a good neighbor would say, what a good Christian man ought to say. It was just sticking in his mouth, festering with such resistance that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t offer to help. He was here to get away from the vet business, to re-create himself the way he’d promised Caroline. His mind went to the last missionary he’d heard at church, who said that he told God he’d go anywhere but China.

  So God sent him directly to China.

  It was an amusing story then. It was like someone fastened a millstone around his neck now. One that had Paul Sycamore, Doctor of Veterinary Medicine, Anywhere But Sheep etched on it. “It might not be as bad as you think,” he said weakly.

  She got the librarian look in her eyes. “I am quite certain I cannot handle seven lambs in the short term nor can I handle a flock of eleven in the long run.” She took a sip of her coffee, and he watched her eyes narrow. Somehow, it was clear what she was thinking; she was heaping a pile of scorn down on poor Dusty, who was just, well, doing what rams do.

  “It’s not anyone’s fault, you know,” he said, half to her because she was beating herself up something fierce and half in defense of Dusty’s God-given procreative instincts. “Things just happen.”

  “You’re not going to give me that bit about God not giving us more than we can handle, are you?” she asked.

  They must learn that in librarian school. Technically, that was a question, but it was way closer to a threat. “No ma’am,” he said quickly. “That one hadn’t even entered my head.” He was glad it was true, because she seemed to be the type of person who could pick up a lie from a mile away.

  “Do you think God sent you all those sheep?” Lilly seemed to think this was a grand way to look at things. Paul tried to think of chores Lilly might need to do this very minute or an appropriate DVD to pop into the player now.

  “I think,” Audrey said, “that I’m living with the consequences of making a bad choice.” She really did make it sound that dire.

  “Oh,” Lilly consoled, “con-se-quences. I know about those.” She pointed to a red chair in the corner of the kitchen. “That’s my time-out chair. It’s for con-se-quences.” She was so serious, had such an intent look of commiseration on her face, that Paul couldn’t hide his chuckle.

  Audrey actually managed a tiny smirk. “I’d like to put our friend Dusty in that chair.”

  Lilly thought that was hysterical, and erupted into a flurry of giggles. “He’s a sheep, silly. He can’t have a time-out chair!”

  The resulting laughter reminded Paul why Lilly was such a special gift. Even in the worst of predicaments, even when things were beyond hopeless at the hospital or the hospice center, Lilly’s laugh could spill sunshine into a moment. Audrey finally let her snicker dissolve into a genuine laugh. Paul looked at the small red chair and pictured the robust ram—who he’d never even met—teetering on that tiny chair the way George had flipped the ewes to teeter on their round, fleecy backsides. It was a hysterical image, and made him laugh harder.

  “I suppose I should talk to Dr. Vickers before I fire him,” Audrey admitted. “See what he thinks ought to be done.”

  “The breeder who offered you Dusty may have people looking for lambs,” Paul suggested as he finished off his coffee. “You could sell them once they’re weaned and just keep the one or two you were looking for.”

  “That’s true. Still, I’m in over my head.” She gave out a sigh. “I might have to take a leave from the library or go to part-time. And quit the Easter Parade for sure. I could never do both.”

  Lilly’s eyes went wide. “A parade?”

  “I’m surprised they haven’t talked to you about it at school. The school will have a float in it, I’m sure. Middleburg is going to have its first Easter Parade this year, and…until now…I’ve been in charge of it.” She took another sip of coffee. “That’ll have to change.”

  “A parade. I’ll get to be in a parade!” Lilly squirmed off Paul’s lap to march around the kitchen singing, “Parade, parade.”

  “Just wait until I break the news to Howard. He’ll put me in a red chair in the corner.”

  Paul had only met Howard twice, but he was pretty sure Audrey was right.

  Chapter Five

  “You can’t. You just can’t.” Audrey had expected Mayor Howard Epson to be shocked, annoyed even, but he seemed to take her resignation as a personal blow.

  “Howard, believe me, this wasn’t my idea,” Audrey argued as they met at the church Saturday morning. “I’ve got to be realistic. I can’t do it.”

  “They’re lambs. This is a horse-breeding town. It can’t be that hard to find someone to take care of that for you.”

  Audrey leveled her best serious look at the mayor. “Howard, you’re asking me to hire out my sheep to someone else, to fix a problem I made, so I can take on a volunteer chairmanship of a holiday parade?” She didn’t say “be serious,” but she hoped her eyes sent the message. It’s not as if she thought this resignation would go smoothly. Howard was legendary for his ability to talk people into things they’d never have offered. The man was a civic force of nature.

  “I’m asking you to serve your community in a way that only you can. This is your moment, Audrey.”

  “I hardly think I’m the only person in Middleburg who can do this.” She tried a different tack. “Who were you going to ask if I said no?”

  She knew the flaw in her thinking the minute the words left her mouth. It came to her the same instant Howard said, “I knew you wouldn’t say no.” Howard wasn’t the kind of man who bothered with a Plan B.

  Because neither was she. Audrey Lupine was the kind of person who got the job done. Responsible. Dependable. An excellent time manager. After all, she’d had sufficient time to play the leading role in dozens of community theater plays. She’d always kept herself busy, and never for want of available projects. Her single status�
��in a town decidedly lacking in other single people—gave folks the illusion she had loads of free time on her hands. It wasn’t true. Audrey suspected she didn’t have any more hours in her day that God gave anyone else, she just managed those hours exceedingly well. Never overextended herself…until now. Now she’d have to convince Howard to let her off the hook—all because of something so trite-sounding as an “unexpected sheep incident.” And that was how she’d come to think of it in her head. “The incident.” A crime of passion—literally.

  “I can’t accept your resignation,” Howard said formally.

  It was all Audrey could do not to roll her eyes. “I don’t have a choice here, Howard. Those lambs are coming whether I want them to or not.”

  “You can find a way to do both. You’re a very smart woman, highly organized.”

  “Smart enough to know this won’t work.”

  He looked at her, his face taking on those grandfatherly qualities she knew were his persuasive weapons but she couldn’t seem to resist anyway. “Don’t say no now. Think on it. Pray. Whip out those amazing planning skills of yours. God’s a mighty God, and I still believe you’re the right gal for the job. You sleep on it and we’ll talk again later.”

  “I…”

  Howard was already gone, strutting off down the church hallway like a man who’d just turned back disaster. “Lord,” she prayed aloud, “I’m going to need more guidance than that.”

  Unsure of what to do now, Audrey pushed open the doors that led into the empty church sanctuary. She needed guidance. Bucketfuls of it. This was never supposed to happen, Lord. You value life. Every life. How do I value these lambs in the way You want when there’s no way I can take care of them properly? She looked up at the stained glass window to her right, seeing the familiar image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, with a snowy lamb over his shoulders. He looked so calm. She’d loved the image before, now it seemed to mock her ineptitude.

  Why’d You back me into this corner? What possible good could come out of a mistake like this? I know I should trust You, but it’s no use trying to hide from You how panicked I am. I don’t see the sense in this.