The Saddle Maker's Son (12 page)

His emphasis on the word
home
wasn't lost on her. “I know that.”

“Just making sure.”

What did he know about any of this? She picked up her pace. So did he. “What's wrong with you?”

“I have experience with how green the grass can be on the other side of the fence.”

“I don't. I'm perfectly happy with the grass on my side of the fence.” She slipped through the door he held for her—somehow it didn't seem as nice now. More of his effort to put space between her and the church. “Besides, since Leila left, I've been given no opportunity whatsoever to walk barefoot in the grass that's growing beyond that fence you're talking about.”

“Which is as it should be.”

“What does it matter to you?”

Red scurried across Tobias's face. His mouth opened. It closed. He let the door slam shut. “You're right. Sorry.”

A man had said she was right. And said he was sorry.

Again, wonders never ceased.

Heat melted away knots of uncertainty. Tobias leaned against the corral fence, the early May sun beating on his face. No matter what others said, he liked a heat that seeped into a body and warmed from head to foot. No more snow. No more ice. No more icy void inside.

He heaved a breath and enjoyed the scent of dirt and manure and the way his daed handled Bobbie McGregor's horse. Over a week's time they'd graduated from the blanket on his back to a saddle. Today was the day that the toffee-colored quarter horse with a deep-black mane and tail would learn the art of carrying a rider. So far he'd been fairly eager to please but was on the flighty side. Whoever had begun his training had left him with a few bad habits. He seemed shy and uncertain, unusual for the normally even-tempered quarter horse.

Daed exuded patience with horses, just as he did with kinner. He was a patient man in most regards. Tobias had tried his patience on numerous occasions, but he'd never seen the man raise his voice or his hand in anger. Horses responded to his hand and his voice, infinitely soft and warm.

Soft and warm. Two words that made him think of Rebekah. He leaned his forehead against the fence post for a second and groaned. Since the meeting with Jesse, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head. The girl didn't understand a woman's place, of that he had no doubt. She talked when she shouldn't. She hugged a man who'd left the community and taken her sister with him. The man was her brother-in-law, so why did it bother Tobias? He couldn't say why. Maybe because she'd looked so longingly at the man. Because she'd been so transparently interested in the church and everything about it. As if she might be considering what it might be like to go there on a regular basis.

He had already shown he was not a good judge of women when it came to relationships. He needed to watch himself. Yet when he closed his eyes that night after their return home, she'd been there, messing with his mind. Her smile. The way she looked at him with those bright blue eyes as if she knew something he didn't. She had gotten under his skin somehow. No doubt about it.

“What you are doing?” Bobbie's scent of roses arrived before she did. She slid in next to Tobias, a frosty can of Dr Pepper in one hand. She wore jeans so faded they were almost white in the knees and behind, along with a blue T-shirt that read C
OWGIRLS DRIVE TRUCKS
and well-worn cowboy boots. “You look like you have a headache. Better get over it quick. Your dad is going to need your help with Cracker Jack.”

“What kind of name is Cracker Jack for a horse?”

“My kind of horse, my kind of name.” She sipped from the soda and grinned. “What? You think his name should be Toffee or something?”

“It should be whatever you want it to be, I reckon.”

“You should see Ariel, my thoroughbred, the one I do barrel
racing with. Now, there's a piece of horseflesh. Cracker Jack is different. I saw him and I knew he needed some loving. He needed an owner who would whip him into shape and turn him into a working horse.” She threw her free hand into the air like a bronco rider attempting to keep his seat during a buck. “Love at first sight.”

Tobias couldn't help but laugh. “Horses are easy to love.”

Much easier than people.

“That they are. I'm an animal person myself. They love you no matter what and they don't talk back. They sure never break your heart.”

Who had broken her heart? She didn't look like the type to wear it on her sleeve. “I suppose that's true.”

“I don't suppose you do any barrel racing?”

“Nope.”

“You should come watch me race when the county fair comes to Beeville.” She leaned closer, her eyes bright with humor and something else. Curiosity. He'd seen that look before. Something about Plain men presented a challenge for certain Englisch girls. He'd fallen for that once, but never again.

Serena would say never say never. Or some such silly thing. Then she'd smile that smile and have him hooked all over again.

“Not something I have time for, but thank you for the invitation.” He sidestepped, putting more space between them. “Cracker Jack has a nice structure. His body should take the pounding for cutting the herd well.”

“Yep. I won't be riding him when he's working, but Dad's ranch hands are good with horses. They appreciate a good working horse.”

“They need any saddles? We do the basic cutting saddle.” He would keep his mind on business. Period. “Give you a good price.”

“I'll spread the word to them. You know how it is. They go through them fast, but it's a big investment to replace one.” She pulled herself up the fence, flung one leg over, and balanced herself on the top rung. “Cracker Jack had a rough start. The people that sold him said they rescued him from some guy who didn't take care of him. But that's okay. He'll rebound fast. What's next?”

“Next Daed rides him.” David strode across the yard from the shop. He tugged the brim of his straw hat down against the sun and grinned at Bobbie. Tobias might as well have been in another state. “I didn't miss anything, did I?”

“Nope.”

“Just talking horseflesh and barrel riding.” Bobbie slapped at a fly the size of her finger. “There's an exhibition at the fairgrounds this weekend. Y'all should go. It's fun and the horses are beautiful.”

David flushed beet red. “I—”

“He has work to do.” Tobias would draw his last breath before he would let his younger brother experience the pain he'd dragged himself through with bad decisions and worse judgment. Bobbie seemed like a nice woman, but she was Englisch and David didn't need to get tangled up in that. “Let's get in there and help Daed.”

Tobias pushed through the gate, David on his heels, his face still mottled red. They made their way to where Daed had the horse tethered. Tobias's breath quickened as it did every time. A twelve-hundred pound horse could do some damage when spooked or downright angry. “You ready?”

Daed nodded. As he had done every day for the last week, he laid the red saddle blanket over the horse's back. The horse nickered, an anxious sound, and shook his head. “Easy, boy, easy, hush, big guy.”

Daed's murmurings reminded Tobias of the nights when he'd listened to him rock Liam to sleep as a fussy newborn baby missing his mama's milk. Whispered lullabies in a gruff voice tight with unshed tears. Always unshed within earshot of the eight other kinner in that house who all cried their own tears many nights, their sobs muffled in pillows, after Mudder's passing.

The saddle went next. Tobias stroked Cracker Jack's forehead and whispered his own sweet nothings. The horse's glance was watchful, worried. His breath quivered and his lips spread apart, revealing a set of teeth ready to nip.

Now the cinching part. Cracker Jack two-stepped backward and tossed his head up and down.

“You sure he's ready for this?” Tobias tightened his grip on the reins and held steady. David stayed close, his expression watchful. “He's awful skittish.”

Daed's gaze never wavered from the horse. “He's a little nervous, but he's ready. He has to learn to trust us.”

Still murmuring sweet nothings, Daed eased his boot into the stirrup and put his weight into it. His right leg swung over the horse's body and he landed softly in the saddle.

Cracker Jack snorted and reared. His back arched. His long neck and head lowered in a second arch.

The force of his determination knocked Tobias back half a dozen steps. He hung on to the reins for dear life, but it didn't matter. The horse bucked and swiveled and bucked again, screaming in fear all the while.

Daed gripped the horn with one hand, his other flung in the air like a bronco rider. It did no good. A second mighty buck by the enormous, powerful creature sent him flying.

The sickening crunch of bone against sun-hardened earth
echoed in Tobias's ears. He fought to control the animal. The reins jerked from his grasp as Cracker Jack fought with every ounce of strength to remove that alien weight from his back. His front hooves battled air. He reared on his back legs, front hooves flailing.

Tobias scrambled back and back until he found himself wedged against the fence.

David flapped his arms and yelled. “Haw, haw, come on, back off, haw!”

The horse whirled. His hooves trampled Daed.

Daed didn't move. He didn't cry out. His straw hat lay crumpled just beyond the reach of his outstretched, motionless hand.

“Daed? Daed!”

Nothing.

Choked with apprehension, Tobias stumbled forward, flapping both arms. “Move on, move on, haw.”

Cracker Jack ducked his head and whinnied, a fierce, high sound. He raced away, circling the corral fence.

Aware of Bobbie shoving through the gate and racing across the dirt, Tobias dashed to his father and dropped to his knees. “Daed?”

Blood seeped from a cut across his cheek. One leg twisted at an unnatural, painful-looking angle. His eyes were closed, his features flaccid. “Wake up. We have to get you up. You're okay, we just need to get you up.”

“Is he dead?” David's voice cracked. He dropped to his knees, his anguish etched across a face exactly like his father's. “He can't be dead. We have to get him help. Help me lift him.”

He shoved his arms under Daed's limp body and tried to lift. “Come on, help me.”

“We need an ambulance.” Tobias put a hand on his brother's shoulders. “We have to wait.”

“Don't move him. It could make it worse.” Bobbie had a cell phone to her ear. She crouched next to Tobias. “Don't touch him. I'm getting help.”

“It'll take too long for an ambulance to get here.” David jerked away from Tobias's touch. “We can put him in your truck and drive him to Beeville.”

“Bobbie's right. If the horse stepped on his back, we can't chance moving him.” Tobias kept his voice soft, his own desire to do something, anything, welling inside him, making it hard to breathe. “We'll make it worse.”

Bobbie talked into the phone for a few seconds and muttered, “Yup.” She slapped it into her front pocket. “They're on their way. Stay with him. I'll deal with Cracker Jack.”

Cracker Jack stood at the far end of the corral, reins dragging the ground, his flanks wet with lather. Within seconds, she had sweet-talked him into letting her remove the saddle and tie him to a fence post. The raging animal of a few minutes earlier had disappeared, leaving behind a docile creature who searched his owner's pockets for apples or carrots.

“He's not a bad horse.” She knelt next to Tobias. Her hands shook. “He's been badly treated in the past.”

“I know.”

It would take time, too much time, for the ambulance to arrive. Tobias wanted to holler. He wanted to throw Daed over his shoulder and carry him to help. Instead, he bowed his head and breathed. He leaned closer, squeezed his father's unresponsive hand, and whispered, “Wake up, Daed, please wake up.”

The jars of freshly canned tomatoes glistened in the sunlight that glowed through the kitchen window. The aroma reminded Susan of homemade spaghetti sauce. Of suppers spent around the table as kinner when Mordecai had been on a practical joke streak a mile long and Mudder and Daed pretended to bicker over her cooking or his dirty clothes. It smelled like contentment. Steam billowed from the mammoth pans of tomatoes and green beans on the stove, alongside the wet bath filled with sterilized jars ready to receive their bounty. Sweat dripped down her temples and tickled her cheeks. She wiped the edges of the jar mouth with care not to let the towel touch the contents. “This one is ready for a lid.”

“That's the last of the tomatoes.” Rebekah bustled along behind Susan, adding flats and rings to the steaming jars. “How are the green beans coming?”

“Everything is snapped.” Abigail wiped her hands on a ragged dish towel, her face flushed with the heat of the propane stove mixed with humid May air. Summer had arrived on the first day of the month with a ferocity usually reserved for July in South
Texas. As if Gott knew a canning frolic was afoot. “The girls are chopping cucumbers for the pickles now.”

Hazel stuck a cucumber slice in her mouth and crunched. “I'd rather eat them.” She giggled, further mashing her words through a full mouth. “Pickles are a lot of work.”

“But they're mighty good with a hamburger.” Abigail patted the little girl's kapp-covered head. “So stop eating them and start chopping. You'll be glad you did next winter.”

Despite the heat and the sweat, Susan loved canning frolics. Having all her favorite women in the same room—crowded though it was—meant lots of chatter and laughter. Different from school where quiet was priceless. Plus, she had a chance to let someone else be in charge. She could relax and not worry about being responsible for the kinner. Canning vegetables was much easier.

“Sorry we're late.” Martha Byler stuck her head in the door. The girl looked like Tobias in the face, but without the five-o'clock shadow. The hair peeking from the back of her kapp was dark blonde and her eyes blue. “Nyla was running a fever this morning. I made some chicken soup and left her with Ida reading
Little House on the Prairie
to her.”

“I love those books.
The Long Winter
is my favorite.” Susan's opportunity to keep her commitment to talk to Levi's oldest daughter had arrived, right on time, and she was talking about books. She couldn't help herself, it seemed.

“I like them all.” Martha didn't seem to mind. “And the girls love for me to read to them.”

Susan couldn't help but smile at that. Her teacher heart was happy to hear it. She trotted across the room to the table, picked up a knife, and held it out. “Last woman in has to chop the onions.”

Accepting the offer, Martha smiled and shooed Lupe and little Liam into the room. “I don't mind onions, especially when that means pickles later on.”

“Where's Diego?” Susan patted Lupe's shoulders. The girl settled into a chair next to Hazel. “Working with the men?”

“With Milo, tilling the space we'll use for the garden,” Martha answered for Lupe, who ducked her head, a shy grin on her brown face. “He likes playing in dirt and we're way behind in our planting.”

“I like playing in the dirt too.” Susan liked gardening. Gott was good. She handed a small paring knife to Lupe. “Cut the cucumbers in chunks before Hazel eats them all.”

Lupe looked puzzled, but she took the knife.

“Have you ever seen anyone can before?”

The girl shrugged, her eyebrows lifted.

“We cook the tomatoes, put them in jars, and seal them so we can eat them in the winter.”

Lupe nodded, but Susan could tell she didn't understand. It didn't matter. She probably would be long gone before winter. The thought made her heart squeeze. Jesse hadn't gotten back to Will yet, but he surely would any day now. “How do you say hot in Spanish?” She pointed to the stove. When all else fails, do what comes naturally. Teach. “Hot.”

“Caliente.” Lupe obliged.
“Estufa está caliente.”

“Estufa está caliente,” Susan repeated. “Everyone now.”

The ladies repeated the phrase in chorus, Hazel trailing behind by a word or two. Liam yelled, “Caliente!” after everyone had finished, only it sounded like “cold tea.” They all laughed.

Susan squeezed into a chair next to Martha and picked up a huge onion. The greenhouse vegetables had done well this year.
She plopped it on the cutting board and picked up another knife. “How are you settling in here in Bee County?”

Martha wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “These are some strong onions.” She giggled. “Good. We're doing fine. The house needs some work, but Daed and the boys are busy setting up the shop. That's more important right now.”

“Do you need any help? We could organize a frolic. Help clean the place up, plant the garden.”

Martha flashed a smile. Susan got a glimpse of what Levi's wife must've looked like. “That would be nice. Ida and Nyla help as much as they can, but they're still small. Between the laundry and the cooking and the baking . . .” Her cheeks turned red. “I don't mean to complain. I love taking care of them.”

“I didn't think you were complaining.” Susan got to work on her own onion, careful to keep her voice light. “It's a lot of work for any of us. Everyone needs a little help now and then.”

She separated the onion into nice rings. “In fact, I was thinking I could make dinner for your family Sunday night at your house and you could come to the singing here at our house. My treat.”

Martha frowned, her nose wrinkled. “Did Daed put you up to this?”

“He just wants you to have the same fun other girls your age have.”

“Why's he in such a hurry to marry me off?” She smacked the onion with more force than necessary. “Who does he think will take care of Liam and Nyla—”

“He's not in a hurry.” Susan touched her arm. “Believe me, he's not. The fact that he wants you to have this time in your life speaks to how much affection he has for you. He wants what's best for you. What's meant to be for you as Gott's child.”

Tears brightened the girl's eyes. She sniffed. “I think maybe Gott intended for me to take care of my schweschders and bruders.”

“For a while, but not forever. They're getting old enough to take care of themselves and each other. To help you too.”

Martha sighed. The knife hung in the air as if she'd forgotten it in her contemplation of her future, surely an uncertain and scary proposition for a sixteen-year-old.

The sound of someone banging on the door startled them into silence. Simon stumbled through the back door. He looked so much like his brother Jesse, but his face would never lose its childlike innocence. Gott had given Leroy and Naomi the gift of a special child. His hat flopped and hit the floor. “There you are, Martha. I looked for you at your house. Levi got thrown from a horse. He's headed to the hospital. Tobias sent me to tell you.”

“Is he hurt? Is it bad?” Susan stood. The knife dropped to the table with a clatter. “We need to—”

“Where is he?” Martha's face had turned as white as the onion in her hand. She dropped it and it rolled across the floor and disappeared under the stove. “Is he dead?”

“He's not dead. We don't know how bad he is, though. He wasn't talking and his eyes were closed.” Simon's inability to find words was worse when he was under stress. He scooped up his hat and slapped it on his head with more force than necessary. “An ambulance took him to Beeville. Mr. Carson is out front with his van to take y'all.”

“Is Tobias all right? Was he there?” Rebekah took Liam's hand. “Was he hurt?”

“Tobias is fine. So is David. They're on their way to the hospital.” Simon turned as if to lead the way. He'd been given a job to
do and he was trying very hard to do it to the best of his ability. “Hurry up. Let's go, then.”

Susan turned to Abigail, who was staring at Rebekah with a bemused look on her face. Susan touched her sleeve. “We'll all go.”

“I'll stay with the canning. We can't have all this food spoil.” Abigail gave Martha a swift hug. “I'll pray.”

Praying would be their job, in the van and at the hospital. That's what the community did when trouble visited. She'd barely had a chance to begin to know Levi. The force of her desire to know him more stunned her. Susan took a breath. This wasn't about her. His kinner had lost a mother. They couldn't lose their father too. She put an arm around Martha. “We'll go together.”