Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series) Page 2

  Julie huffed. “Pass the time, huh?”

  In the sticky air, she could actually feel the unused seconds scampering by, seconds that were already divided and delegated. With her oldest son graduating from high school in a month, then leaving for boot camp, there was a graduation party to plan. A guestroom to paint before her mother’s arrival for said event. And she had three days—three short, already-spoken-for days—to perfect a solo in a fantastic new song for Sunday morning’s service. Thaddeus Bartell, a record producer looking to branch into the inspirational market, was bringing his Nashville business partners to hear her sing with the choir.

  She’d practiced so hard. Could she hit that high note at the end? If she nailed it, if the rough rafters of The Barn Church shook with it, Bartell’s associates would surely be impressed. And finally, finally Julie would get her dream life of having a family and a singing career.

  She closed her eyes, fanning her face. Sunday would be a great day. Sundays always were—the only day she felt close to her family and God. What more could a woman want?

  But if her husband didn’t call her, or show his face here at the stables in the next two minutes, she would have to skip the just-the-two-of-us ride that he wanted. She was already squeezing in taking Rachel out for pizza that evening—a reward for finally finishing a large science project, an incentive to buckle down on schoolwork through the end of the year, with the possibility of a little attitude adjustment thrown in for good measure.

  Then, of course, choir rehearsal tonight.

  She glanced at her watch. Twenty-five minutes and counting.

  On second thought, no. With Rick late as usual, she simply couldn’t fit the ride in, too. And she refused to endure another harmonica solo.

  She turned to leave, just as Rick pulled up in his truck at the far end of the barn. He moseyed toward her with his Stetson on his head and a shopping bag in hand as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Here ya go. Bought you some new riding gloves at Benson’s.”

  “You’ve been in town? At the hardware store?”

  He handed her the bag and she looked inside. “They’re leather.”

  “They were on sale.”

  She checked the tag for chromium-free tanning, but merely touching them made her hands start to itch.

  “I can’t wear them.” Like most leather products. Remember? No, he didn’t remember. Just like he didn’t remember he’d promised to never again loan her gloves to kids taking riding lessons.

  “I’ll just ... get myself another pair later. I’ve already got Tempo ready to go.” She gave him back the bag.

  “So you don’t want them?”

  “No ...” What part of I-can’t-wear-most-leather-products didn’t he understand? She used a synthetic saddle, synthetic reins.

  He stood perfectly still. Watching her. Debating ... something.

  While she waited.

  And waited.

  “You’re late. You could’ve called.” Something she’d been teaching their oldest son.

  Rick didn’t reply. No apology for being late and not calling, nothing. So there they stood, staring at each other.

  Finally Julie turned. Behind her, he took a long breath and followed her into Tempo’s stall.

  He patted the brown and white Paint. “She’s been moody the last few days.”

  The mare side-stepped and shuffled her feet, as if restless to get moving. Julie could relate. She grabbed the saddle horn. “Be still, girl.”

  From behind, Rick slid his arms around Julie and clasped his fingers over her I’ve-had-three-babies belly.

  “Don’t.” She stiffened as he pressed his lips to her hair. She’d spent her young life trying to squeeze into her petite mother’s shadow and had never succeeded. “I’ve asked you before.”

  Why didn’t he listen to her anymore? Listen and remember things she said. He remembered everything about the horses—their diets, their owners.

  She felt him freeze, but couldn’t make herself turn in his embrace.

  “Julie.”

  “Don’t.”

  She knew what he was going to say. That she wasn’t fat, that she was still attractive to him, and being with her meant even more to him now because of the life they’d built, the storms they’d weathered together. Like her third pregnancy, which had added new dimensions to her full-figure. Like caring for Ben as a baby with his medical needs, which had left her no time to worry about fitness and exercise.

  But Rick’s weight gain in their nineteen years of marriage totaled a mere twelve pounds, all of which was perfectly-placed muscle. He couldn’t possibly understand her insecurity and why his repeated requests to make love with their bedside lamp on were impossible for her to grant.

  “Can we just go?” she asked.

  “Want some help into the saddle?”

  She felt her eyes widen. “No,” she stuttered. Rick giving her a boost would certainly result in a hernia. For him. And wouldn’t it be fun explaining that injury to family and friends. To her mother.

  “All right. Have it your way.” He slipped away.

  She cinched the strap around Tempo and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Didn’t Rick know that she was sick of repeating herself? To him? To the children?

  Sean was the easy child—if there was such a thing—who mostly listened to her and followed her instructions, but he’d be leaving soon. Fourteen-year-old Rachel listened when doing so was to her advantage, but conveniently forgot chores she didn’t want to do. And little Ben, well, Ben was only seven, a precocious seven, but still; with his health issues, his hadn’t been and wouldn’t be the easiest road.

  If her music career finally flourished, Rick and the children would have to do more for themselves. Maybe then they’d appreciate her. Value her.

  She led Tempo past a dozen stalls toward the searing sunlight. Placed a foot in the stirrup and tried to boost herself up. Her feet seemed stuck to the ground. Or her rear end was tethered to it. Where was a step-ladder when you needed one?

  Something inside her flashed hot, and within seconds, boiled violently. She stomped her way to the fence. She tied off Tempo at a post, and fighting gravity, used the fence to climb her way into the saddle.

  Dear God, something has to change—in my life, in my marriage. Please help me sing well enough Sunday that Thaddeus Bartell will offer me a contract. And I need my husband, my family, to hear me—really hear me—or me having a career outside the home isn’t going to work.

  “I’ll be in the paddock walking Tempo,” she called over her shoulder. Maybe that would hurry him up.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Do you still want to do this?” she yelled. “We should have started thirty minutes ago.”

  ***

  Three stalls down, Rick unlatched the door and slid it aside, catching the tip of his thumb. A blood-blister formed. He shook his hand against the sting, and with the double-take, noticed and avoided a fresh pile of horse dung in the doorway. Win some, lose some.

  With horses he almost always won. Folks brought him problem horses all the time. He could break them. He could teach them. He could turn them into whatever the owner wanted, for show, for farm work, for recreation.

  Julie had been a different matter since Ben’s birth. With her, Rick almost always lost.

  He saddled Dutch, a burly old Morgan with wide hips. Dutch nipped at his front shirt pocket.

  “I know, I know.” Rick retrieved a peppermint ball and offered it to the stallion on a flat palm. Dutch crunched the hard candy with glee and blew sweet breath in Rick’s face.

  He rubbed the horse’s jaw. “Yeah, you’re a real ladies’ man. Too bad a mint can’t fix other mouth problems, huh, boy?”

  There was a time when Rick made hurrying a habit, to appease Julie. And he used to answer her every question, when she fired them at him like a human machine gun. He had tried, in every way he knew since Ben’s unplanned arrival, to make their life together
something she could be happy about, rather than a reason for constant complaining.

  But no matter what he did or how he did it, with Julie, he always came up short. Falling short all the time could eat at a man, wear him down until he didn’t even try to reach as high as he once had. Like a volunteer coach who knows his team will be last place in the city league, sometimes a man simply needed to lower his expectations. Sometimes you just tried to make it through the season, so to speak, with as little conflict and aggravation as possible.

  Yet ... a dying ember still had a little spark. And Rick had an idea for adding some much-needed fuel to his and Julie’s fire. The two of them alone in a mountain cabin? The notion appealed to him on many levels.

  He just wanted to make her happy. He wanted her to look at him the way she used to, before Ben was born. Rick didn’t know why their marriage had deteriorated after his youngest son’s birth. What he did know—what he’d only recently admitted to himself—was he didn’t know how to get out of the rut.

  He patted the horse’s thick neck, led him out of the stall, then ducked into the tack room and grabbed a blanket and a rifle.

  “Easy, boy. We’re just going for a ride.” Dutch wouldn’t spook, no matter how skittish Tempo was today.

  Rick latched a strap over the blanket and stowed his gun in the saddle’s side pocket. He let the animal stroll out of the high-ceilinged barn and across the paddock, then mounted him. Julie was already astride Tempo, who paced the fence and whinnied like she was in a heated argument.

  He passed through the wide gate, brought Dutch alongside, and bent forward to make eye contact with his wife.

  “I won’t lend out your gloves anymore.” He thought of the vacation brochure hidden in his pocket. “Let’s take the short trail through the woods, ride down by the creek. I have a surprise for you.”

  ***

  Julie nudged her impatient horse to a trot.

  “Fine.” She glanced at her watch. “Just make it quick. I’ve got to be back at the house in less than an hour.”

  She’d lost so much time already and time was the one thing you could never get back. Could Rick not wait until after Sean’s graduation to spring something else on her?

  She led the way in silence, finally exiting the woods with Rick close behind.

  “Water’s coming back up.” He brought Dutch beside Tempo. “Been more showers this month than expected.” They swayed together in the late afternoon sun and Rick reached for her hand. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

  His thumb caressed hers as she took in the lovely scene before her. Black-eyed Susans coated the gentle slope down to the creek. The same flowers, in the same place, where she and Rick had spread an old quilt on the ground eight years ago. Who knew strong antibiotics could counteract birth control pills? Nine months later Ben was born—complete with cleft palate, life-threatening sleep apnea, and chronic ear infections resulting in permanent hearing loss.

  Her insides shuddered. This was the surprise? She looked at him and noticed the blanket.

  “Are you kidding me? You can’t possibly be serious.” She laughed and pulled her hand free of his. What else could she do when picturing herself outside and naked. Only the birds and the bugs would see, still ...

  “Thank God I’m sterile—tubals cannot be overrated. But even if I had the time, there’s no way I’m getting busy on the grass out here in broad daylight.”

  Her husband squinted at her, drew a long breath through his nose, held it, and finally exhaled as he adjusted his cowboy hat. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not in the mood.”

  She squeezed Tempo’s reins. “Now wait a minute. You can’t possibly be mad at me. If any of your surprise plans are ruined, it’s not my fault. I was in the stables on time, waiting to ride as you asked. Which means I suffered through most of the thirty-minute classic country music sweep on WCIK. I’m giving you my undivided attention.”

  He shook his head. “You sure are. And your undivided mouth too.”

  “What did you say?”

  A sleek, quick line surged out of the greening reeds beyond Tempo’s feet. Julie locked both hands around the front of the saddle.

  In a blur of movement, the hissing cottonmouth lunged. Its body whipped to strike. Recoiled, and lunged again.

  The mare’s piercing scream confirmed Julie’s fear. Her horse had been bitten.

  Tempo reared like Pegasus, kicked like a mule and took flight, racing along the river’s muddy edge. Behind them, Rick’s rifle fired once, twice, its blast echoing through the watery valley. The horse surged up the flowery bank to dry ground picking up speed.

  Julie didn’t dare let go.

  “Not the trees!” Rick’s voice spun through the wind-tunnel in her head. “Julie! Keep her in the open!”

  She couldn’t answer. Her grip slipped and she listed to the left. Desperate to avoid being thrown, she squeezed the horse with her thighs. Tempo took it as a command, turned again, and arrowed straight for the thick stand of trees. Ears back, the horse lowered her head and barreled through.

  The low branch materialized from nowhere. Julie hit it full force. She flipped over Tempo’s hindquarters.

  The mare’s rear hoof caught Julie’s jaw; Julie heard it snap.

  She landed on her left arm, and felt it snap, too.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rick shoved his rifle back into the scabbard on the saddle. Heart cramping in his chest, he urged Dutch into a full gallop. His stomach pitched. The crazed, frightened look he’d seen in Tempo’s eyes meant any prior connection between man and beast was null and void; the beast was now in charge.

  Tempo wouldn’t stop until something stopped her.

  At the tree line Rick jerked Dutch to a halt. He jumped to the ground, looping the reins around a budding limb, and skirted through the dangling moss, swatting and ducking branches.

  “Julie!”

  The thick foliage muffled Tempo’s quick cadence beating deeper and deeper into the woods. Panicked, Rick dodged down the battered path Tempo had forged, then stumbled into a clearing.

  And lost the trail.

  “Julie!!” He stopped, rested his hands on his knees, and gulped air.

  Then he heard it. A high, faint sound like a wounded animal. He searched the open area, peering through crooked limbs and matted underbrush.

  “Julie! Answer me!”

  He almost stepped on her. She was balled up, lying in a shadow, clutching her arm. Blood streamed from her mouth, coating her neck.

  “Oh, thank God.” He knelt beside her.

  ***

  From far, far away, her husband’s voice told her to be still.

  “Don’t move, Julie.”

  But she needed to get up. Didn’t she?

  What was wrong with her eyes? They wouldn’t open. And Rick was yelling at someone.

  “Operator, you still there? We’re in the woods about a half mile west of the north end of the stables. Matthew’s Stables, that’s our property. Tell them to come in off, um, Cloverdale Circle and cut across the open pasture down to Clover Creek. And tell them to hurry, she’s breathing, but she’s bleeding pretty badly.”

  Julie was stunned, far worse than the first day of third grade when Billy Bergman purposely stuck out his legs as she walked past the swings on the playground.

  Aaah-ha, ha! Fat, fat Julie Pitts. She fell down and made a pit!

  She needed to get up.

  She leaned on her left arm. Pain splattered black ink across her mind.

  ***

  Julie still couldn’t open her eyes. And she was cold, very cold.

  An unfamiliar voice faded in and out. “Looks like ... arm and ... problems.”

  A gentle hand squeezed her ankle.

  “Julie.” Rick. “Be still. I’m right here.”

  What happened? She’d been in the stables waiting for Rick. Then riding by the river ...

  Her body started shaking. She wanted so badly to open her eyes.

  “We n
eed you to move, Mr. Matthews,” someone said.

  Gloved hands touched her. They were talking about her like she couldn’t hear them. Something was around her neck. But no one held her hand.

  “Mrs. Matthews, we put a collar on you. Julie, can you hear me?” The voice that had told Rick to move was talking to her. “The brace will keep your neck straight.”

  She heard the metallic clang of buckles, the scratch-rip of Velcro.

  “Julie. You’re on a backboard. We have to belt you down for safe transport to the hospital.”

  The hospital. She was hurt, and they were taking her to the hospital.

  Wide straps tightened across her body.

  No. Please don’t tie me down.

  Fat Julie Pitts. Tie her up like a pig and she looks just like the first Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe we should put an apple in her mouth! Aaah-ha, ha!

  “We’re going to secure your head, ma’am. Are you with us? It will feel like a helmet with a chinstrap. I’m sorry, but it will be uncomfortable.”

  No, please. Don’t put that on me. Don’t put that on my head.

  Now, Julie, each student in the class has to wear the hat she gets. It’s just for a minute. Any boy here will trade you for that football helmet when I restart the music.

  Aaah-ha, ha! Look at Julie Pitts. Maybe she’ll be a ‘Pitts’-burgh Steeler. She’s already the size of a football player.

  They secured her head. She tried to scream, but managed only a gurgled moan.

  “Julie, we put an air-cast on your left arm. It’s strapped down so you won’t aggravate it further during the ride.”

  She was lifted. Somehow lifted and pushed into a roaring cave bright with eyelid-piercing light.

  Ba-bam! Doors slammed.

  Pain hammered through her face. The bliss of darkness returned.

  ***

  The ambulance pulled away carrying Rick’s wife, and left him at the edge of the woods beside his horse. All he could think as he watched the flashing lights shrink in the distance was that the paramedics hadn’t let him ride with her. A gentle yet firm hand on Rick’s chest had stopped him from climbing into the back of the ambulance. “Sorry, Mr. Matthews. Regulations.”