I’m on fire. I know Jarred’s sincere. But I really don’t deserve these compliments. There’s no way I can live up to them.
He added, “Of course, you’re not absolutely perfect. No one is. But there’s definitely something unique and special about you, Rachel. I’m not one to confide my feelings, yet when I’m around you, it’s easy to be myself. I’ve never really experienced such a comfort zone, but …” He looked down at the floor as if deciding how to continue. He pressed another towel on Cinnamon’s wet body and ran it upward.
When he’d finished, he pushed out a breath and straightened as if he’d just made an important decision. “Let’s just say that I’ve found a confidant in you. And when this sick boy gets well,” Jarred gave Cinnamon an affectionate pat on the head, “We’ll celebrate.”
The thought of Cinnamon’s recovery prompted Rachel to draw in a deep, excited breath. She couldn’t wait to know her horse was okay. She yearned for a sign.
In the meantime, she struggled with the strange but pleasant emotions she was experiencing with Jarred. She wasn’t sure why her cheeks warmed when he said something nice about her. She reasoned that it was because compliments were new to her. But in the back of her mind, she knew it was more than that.
Of course, she was far from an expert in being in love. As she ran a long brush over Cinnamon’s mane, she tried to think of another time someone had paid her a compliment. To her surprise, one came to mind. Mamma had told her she kept their furniture dust-free. But that certainly hadn’t caused her to blush. Nor had it made the pace of her heart quicken.
Of course, it had come from Mamma. Perhaps that was the difference. But Jarred’s compliment … Well, it was from a young, single man. That realization hit her as Jarred replaced wet straw around Cinnamon with fresh, dry bedding.
As she watched him, a new sensation of excitement mixed with fear made her pulse skyrocket. She couldn’t define the feeling. She’d never experienced such an emotion, and she struggled to comprehend what was happening. She only knew that it couldn’t be bad. She was all too aware that when she was around Jarred, her heart did crazy things, so her reaction had to be positive; it couldn’t be otherwise.
“Jarred, you cheer me up.”
A surprised expression crossed his face. After a brief pause, he tilted his head slightly. “That’s the first time anyone’s told me that.”
“Really?”
He nodded. She noted that he’d stopped what he was doing.
“That’s hard to believe.”
“It’s true.” His phone beeped, and he checked it. While he pushed in some numbers, he talked under his breath. “My life hasn’t been like yours, Rachel.”
He looked up at her. “I mean, what I’m assuming your life has been. As I told you, I wasn’t even raised by my parents.”
She sat very still on a nearby bale of straw and listened. After he zipped his medical bag, he sat down on the bale next to her and turned. “Rachel, because I consider you my friend, and because you’re a good listener, would you mind if I run something by you?”
After a slight hesitation, he pushed out a breath and glanced down at his feet before looking up. “It’s about why my parents gave me away. Since we touched on the subject, it’s been on my mind.”
She nodded. “I’d love to listen. Maybe I can help. What on earth happened?”
He studied his boots and fidgeted with his hands as if rethinking whether or not to go on. When he started, his voice was soft. “It all started on my fourth birthday party.”
His gaze drifted off in the distance, and his voice lowered to barely more than a whisper. “My parents let me invite four friends. Including my brother, Matt, and me, that made six. He was seven years old.”
She watched his eyes illuminate when the sun shone in through the open doors. Flecks danced in his eyes, which lightened a notch.
“My mother baked an angel food cake. With white icing. It was my favorite. Dad made homemade ice cream. While we ate, I opened presents. I got a mini race car and track. We saved Matt’s gift for later. He loved to draw. He was an artist.”
“At seven?”
“I’m not sure where he got his talent, but he was a natural. And because he loved animals, he constantly drew them. He dreamed of living on a farm with lots of pets. In fact …” Jarred chuckled. “His bedroom walls were covered with pictures of horses.”
He swallowed. “It was a beautiful day, and we played in the tree house. We chased each other around the backyard.” Jarred raised his hands to the ceiling in joy before dropping them to his lap. “And that’s what I loved most about my birthday.”
He followed with a sad shake of his head. “Matt was my best friend in the world, Rachel.” He paused before locking gazes with her. “He’s with the Lord.”
Rachel drew her fingers over her chest. “I’m so very sorry. I … I … had no idea …”
Without warning, the glow on his face did an immediate change to devastation. She watched in surprise as he lowered his face into his palms. Rachel’s heart picked up to a nervous, urgent pace as she tried for the right words. She wasn’t sure what had happened on his fourth birthday, but whatever it was had been awful. She could tell by the way Jarred stiffened. By how he held his face in his palms and looked down. By the way his low voice cracked.
When he lifted his chin, his eyes sparkled with moisture. His eyes reminded Rachel of morning dew on pumpkin blossoms. A long silence ensued.
“Jarred, whatever happened, it’s okay. Before you came, I was worried to death about Cinnamon. In fact, I went through some pretty bad moments,” she added. “But the second you stepped into the barn, I knew he’d be okay.”
She softened her voice. “Jarred, you’re my angel.”
Chapter Five
That evening, Rachel still tasted Mamma’s delicious dumplings on her lips as she stepped into her room and closed the door. Her temples pounded with great intensity as she considered this afternoon with Jarred.
At her desk, she pressed her palms against them to ease the pain. My headache will pass, but Jarred’s agony haunts him day and night. What happened? And what on earth could a four-year-old do to warrant his parents giving him away?
They hadn’t finished the serious conversation because his pager had gone off. He’d had to rush to an emergency.
She picked up her hope chest for comfort. Sam’s hope chests weren’t large, like some she’d seen. They were small enough and light enough to be carried around. She opened the oak lid and glanced with great appreciation at the detailed horse and buggy.
The beautiful art prompted her to think of her dear friend, Old Sam. Of her beloved horse, Cinnamon. And of Jarred. Because he would make sure Cinnamon lived.
She pulled out her journal and pen and claimed her normal writing spot. The fire downstairs popped, and she automatically lowered her chin as pen met paper.
Today, Cinnamon looked better! He threw his head back and shook his body to rid it of water. I’ve asked God to tell me that Cinnamon will make it. I believe those were signs.
And Mamma talked to Hannah today. She went to the doctor for a checkup, and everything’s fine. But there’s other news, too, that isn’t as positive. About Jarred. I have no idea why he wasn’t raised by his own flesh and blood, but I think he’s almost ready to talk about it with me.
After today, I’m sure the sadness I sense in his demeanor isn’t my imagination. The lines around his eyes deepened.
I cannot imagine what he did that was so terrible, he can’t recover from it. But until I know, I’m helpless. I so want to make him feel better.
He told me that his world was surely different than mine. Obviously, that’s true. I haven’t known him long, but one thing’s for certain. My parents would never have given me away, even if I’d done the most horrible thing imaginable.
She paused a moment to consider what that could be. She stretched her legs and glanced toward the window. The star-dotted sky looked like a puzzle with unfitt
ed pieces.
She breathed in the fresh smell of detergent from her bedding and Murphy’s wood soap she’d used on her headboard. Despite the pleasant fragrances, she frowned, trying to understand how a mamma and a daddy could desert their own child.
She continued penning her thoughts.
Unfortunately, the past can’t be changed. But the future can, if God will let me help Jarred. I know that as strongly as I’m sure that I love to dust. Today, I feel like Jarred and I stepped up our friendship to a more serious level. For him to want to confide in me must have taken a lot of trust on his part.
I hope he’ll finish his story. I’m his friend. And because of that, I have a responsibility to look out for him.
He’s done so much for me. He’s giving. Kind. Thoughtful. It pains me to know that his parents gave up such a wonderful son.
She stopped, looked around, and smiled a little. A sigh of relief escaped her as she took in her comforting, familiar surroundings. The shiny oak floor. The nightstand next to her that her father had made. The blue curtains that decorated the large window overlooking the pasture.
The large kerosene light for night-time reading sat in the corner. The delicious aroma of Mamma’s chicken and dumplings floated from the kitchen, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. She sighed happily. God had given her the best parents in the world.
She rested the book on her thighs and drew her legs up to her body. Mamma and Daddy have helped to make me everything I am today. My thoughts, actions, my beliefs … they all stem from how I was raised. I don’t understand why God doesn’t give everyone two wonderful parents like mine.
I’m not sure what happened in Jarred’s past. She considered her dream. She thought about it as she drifted off to sleep and when she woke up.
As the noise from the crickets and the cicadas floated in through her screen, she came to a decision. She began writing with a renewed determination. With purpose.
I want my dream to come true. But I have another goal, too: to help Jarred find peace and to reconnect him with his parents. It’s up to me to ensure it happens.
That evening, Jarred smiled a little as the tomcat finished the chunks of chicken. Jarred had fed him for a little over a week now. With July fast approaching, the golden tom had stuck around longer than usual.
Jarred spoke in a low tone, careful not to scare him off. “You’re starting to feel at home, yeah?”
Inside, he breathed the pleasant scent of pork roast as the meat and veggies cooked in the Crock-Pot. He turned on the living room television, flipped to the local news, and relaxed back onto his soft, brown sofa.
He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks for all he had. When he opened his eyes, his gaze locked with the five-by-seven photo in the silver frame on the end table. With great care, he reached for the picture and held it on his lap with affection.
As he stared into Matt’s deep green eyes, vivid childhood memories flooded his heart. Matt’s love of horses. Matt’s smile. Matt’s unconditional brotherly love.
Thank goodness Jarred’s folks had sent a picture of his beloved sibling with him. As Jarred looked into the photo, the familiar face stared back at him with tenderness. As always, when Jarred studied the seven-year-old, things they’d done together haunted him until he drifted back in time with his best friend. The boy he had looked up to and trusted.
Images popped into Jarred’s head. Matt teaching Jarred to tie his favorite black-laced tennis shoes. Matt at first base in Little League. Matt helping him up the ladder to his bunk bed. Matt teaching him to shoot the miniature basketball into the hoop on the front drive. Matt encouraging him to blow out the four candles on his birthday cake.
Jarred opened his eyes. He longed to be with his only sibling, if only for a moment. Salty tears stung Jarred’s eyes, and he blinked. But the sting in his eyes couldn’t compare to the piercing sting in his heart.
He sat very still, taking in Matt’s endearing features, even though he knew them by heart. Jet black hair. Two small freckles on the bridge of his nose. A Cubs hat. An ear-to-ear grin that showed two crooked teeth.
Jarred’s heart filled with a combination of excitement and devastation as he relived them chasing each other around their two-story house. As Jarred focused, the scene became clearer and more real. At his birthday party roughly two decades ago, he’d struggled to keep up with Matt. When Jarred had reached out to tag the tail of Matt’s Cubs T-shirt, Matt had surged ahead.
Jarred’s heart pounded as the pleasant aroma of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs floated through the air like a tasty cloud. At the same time, two other kids at the party jumped from the tree house in the nearby catalpa tree.
Jarred pushed out a wistful sigh, and his grip on the frame tightened until his knuckles turned white. When he laid the photo on his lap, his fingerprints imprinted the gold before slowly disappearing.
His gaze wouldn’t leave Matt’s face. For the first time since his death, Jarred had shared some of what had happened. He’d begun to confide the story that had destroyed his entire family. Telling it to Rachel had seemed like the right thing to do. She had listened. Without a doubt, he knew she had his best interests at heart.
He was fully aware that she admired him by the adoration in her voice. The sparkle in her eyes. In fact, her respect for him was a bit overwhelming. He relished her faith in him, and he wanted desperately to tell her the rest of what had happened. It was his hope that she would be able to help him accept the truth.
*
The last half of June started with the early morning breeze floating into the Kauffman barn. The air smelled of straw and manure. Jarred eyed the pool of flies buzzing around the dirty pile waiting to be boxed. He checked the thermometer a second time before meeting Rachel’s hopeful gaze. “His temp’s down.”
Rachel jumped up and down. Her voice shook with excitement. “Cinnamon’s going to be okay! Because our prayers are strong, and so is our faith.”
He enjoyed her happiness; at the same time, he knew that the struggling horse was far from the recovery finish line. He tried for the right words. “Rachel, you’ve probably never seen a horse race.”
She hesitated. “No. But I can picture it.”
He nodded. “If you could view Cinnamon’s recovery as just that, the gun has been fired, and Cinnamon has left the starting line, but he’s far from the finish.”
She lowered her chin a notch. “Would you say he’s equal distance between the start and finish?”
Jarred tapped the toe of his boot while he carefully considered her question. “The last thing I want is to stymie your hopes, but I’d say he’s closer to the starting line.”
He forced an optimistic tone into his voice. “So keep the prayers going. That’s our strongest weapon.”
She pushed out a sigh and squared her shoulders. “I will, ’cause they’re working.”
Jarred talked to her while he continued his checkup. “His lymph nodes are still inflamed. But he drew up water.”
“So the glass is half-full!”
They laughed.
Rachel went to the nearby cabinet and put a lone sugar cube onto the palm of her hand, smiling at Jarred. “This will be the true test of Cinnamon’s recovery.” She knelt in front of her horse with her open hand extended toward him.
Jarred looked on in dismay as Cinnamon expressed little interest in the treat. “Rachel, let’s be patient. As I told you, recovering from a virus isn’t easy.”
She offered a slow nod. “I know.” Rachel went on to relate Old Sam’s story about Strawberry. Then she threw her hands in the air in a satisfied gesture. “That just goes to show you that God does work miracles. I believe that sometimes, He tests our patience first.”
Jarred responded with an understanding smile.
“Like Hannah’s pregnancy,” Rachel said. “We prayed for years and never gave up on a baby. God rewarded our faith.”
She looked at him. Their gazes locked. “Jarred, I’m praying to help you deal
with whatever is bothering you.” She lifted a hand defensively so he couldn’t interrupt. “I’m not begging you to tell me what it is, but I gave a lot of thought to what you said. Something must’ve happened on your birthday to change your life.”
She harrumphed. “This, I know. You can’t control your past, but with God’s help, you can own your future.”
After she finished, she lifted her fingers in the air and pressed her lips together, thinking about the advice she’d just offered. And she smiled a little because she’d told him exactly what she’d intended to.
A long silence passed while they locked gazes. Rachel hoped she hadn’t intruded in his business. That wasn’t her aim.
Finally, he offered a slight nod. “Rachel, you’re very astute for your age.” He paused. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Eighteen.”
After he absorbed her young age, he straightened his shoulders. “Someday, I’ll finish my story. Today, I’d rather not. Trust me, it’s complicated.”
She stood and lifted her chin. “Jarred Zimmerman, don’t you dare give up! It says in the Bible that if you knock on God’s door, He won’t turn anyone away. Even though we make mistakes, God is about forgiveness, and we’ll be in heaven for eternity if we believe. Nothing, bad or good, can even begin to compare with that.”
Reality prompted her to close her eyes and tear up. “Don’t you see, Jarred? There’s nothing God can’t fix.”
An expression that was a combination of shock and uncertainty filled his eyes. The longer the silence ensued, the darker his depths became. Finally, they became so stormy, a chill crept up her spine. She shivered and pulled her arms close to her chest.
She was certain he wasn’t going to share what disturbed him. So she laid her thoughts on the line. “Jarred, I can’t change what happened. But I like you so much, and I want more than anything to help you with whatever bothers you. Just like you asked Cinnamon to do his share to get well, I’m requesting that you do your part in your own recovery. How can I help you if you won’t let me?”
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