Chapter Nine Mattie

NINE : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

NOVEMBER 1969

Mama surprised us with a request four days after my return home.

"I'd like to come downstairs for supper," she announced that morning. I had just helped her bathe and was towel-drying her hair. Dad, who hovered nearby, told her it was fine if she didn't overtire herself. He and I hadn't spoken to one another much since our argument over Mama's health. Tension between us was obvious, and I wondered if Mama's desire to join us was an attempt to ease the situation. Later, while Nash helped get the meal on the table, he quietly told me Mama hadn't been downstairs in weeks.

"She's happier now that you're home."

I waited for him to scold me for leaving in the first place, but he didn't.

Memories from last night's supper floated through my mind while I finished washing the breakfast dishes. Dad had carried Mama down the stairs, a feat which admittedly impressed me. I roasted a chicken with carrots and potatoes and made a salad, topped with Mama's favorite Thousand Island dressing. Although she ate sparingly, she declared it a feast and wore a contented smile when Dad carried her back to bed.

I took the entire evening as a sign that I needed to ramp up my efforts to get Mama to Nashville to see a specialist. Giving up simply wasn't an option in my opinion, which is exactly what I felt my father had done. I understood Mama didn't want to subject herself to radiation and chemotherapy. The horrific side effects of the aggressive treatments were not something I wanted her to endure. She also didn't want to amass thousands of dollars in medical bills, considering the farm hadn't been profitable for some time. Yet if there was even the slightest chance the tumors could shrink and begin to disappear, wouldn't it all be worth it? The cancer would go away and we'd have a healthy Mama again.

I put a coffee mug in the cabinet and slammed the door in frustration.

I couldn't fathom why my father didn't push back. Wouldn't he want to do everything within his power to keep the woman he loved alive? I couldn't bring myself to believe he didn't care about her. He wasn't a man given over to letting others see his emotions, but I'd witnessed enough evidence over the years to feel confident he loved her. He always opened doors for her and helped with household chores. Store-bought gifts were rare but every now and then he'd bring her a bouquet of wildflowers from the pasture or a handful of pretty fall leaves.

Memories of the time I caught them dancing in the kitchen to old-fashioned music floated across my mind's eye. Mark and I were supposed to be asleep, but I'd come downstairs to get a drink of water. Hearing the radio, I crept to the doorway and peeked in. Neither of my parents knew I was there, and I'd watched in dumbfounded fascination as Dad held Mama close and swayed to the ballad. I was at the age where I was just noticing boys, and I wondered what drew Mama to such a quiet, reserved fellow like my father. The saying opposites attract certainly described them to perfection.

The back door opened, interrupting my thoughts. Nash and Jake came in with a cold wind. The dog limped over to his bowl, which was empty, and looked at me.

"Sorry fella, I'm not your owner."

Nash chuckled. "Don't let him fool you. He's eaten already."

I noticed his face was red from being out in the chilly weather. Snow was in the forecast, which always made life on the farm harder. "Do you want some coffee? I think there's still some in the pot."

He seemed surprised by my offer. "Sure. That'd be great. The temperature is dropping fast."

I poured the remainder of coffee into a mug and handed it to him. Unlike me, who loaded up the bitter liquid with sugar and cream, I'd noticed yesterday morning that he took it black.

"I came by to let you know I'm going into town. Do you need anything?"

I bit my lip. There were a few personal items on my list but nothing I could ask Nash to pick up. I'd have to go shopping for myself another day.

"I can't think of anything. What takes you to town in this weather?"

"The furnace is out in the cabin. I'm hoping to find parts at the hardware store, but the contraption is ancient. I may be out of luck."

"I don't suppose anyone has used it since Granny passed on."

"Probably not. I didn't need a heater when I first moved in." He downed the last of the coffee and went to rinse the cup then turned to me. "You sure there's nothing I can get for you?"

"Thanks, but I'll probably go into town myself next week." I paused, wondering if I should share my thoughts about Mama's prognosis with him. Last night I'd seen how considerate Nash was to Mama, and she'd treated him like family. Surely he would agree with me about the need to try everything within our power to save her.

"I'm thinking about going to talk to Dr. Monahan. About Mama."

He gave a slow nod. "That's probably a good idea."

His favorable response pleased me. "I'm convinced more can be done. I want him to give me the name of a doctor we can take her to see in Nashville. A specialist in Mama's type of cancer."

He rubbed his chin. "Mattie, I don't know the details, but Doc discussed this with your folks after your mom's surgery revealed the cancer had spread. He doesn't think chemo would help at this point."

"Doc Monahan is a family doctor. He treats kids with broken arms and tonsillitis. He isn't an authority on cancer."

"That's true, but he's been a doctor a long time. I'm sure he's seen his share of cancer patients. I think he knows more about it than you do."

Irritation swam through me. "This isn't about my ego, Nash. This is about my mother. I don't want to lose her a year after losing my brother."

His expression softened. "I get that. All I'm saying is, the decision is your mom's, no one else's."

"That's not good enough for me. And it shouldn't be good enough for anyone who claims to care about her. Would you just let your mother give up and die?"

His jaw tightened. "I'd respect her wishes, no matter how difficult it might be to do that."

"Well, that's where you and I differ. If Mama won't go see the Nashville doctor, then I'll go myself and find out what they think. With so many advances in medicine these days, it's foolish not to seek out every possible cure."

"I think your mom would tell you life and death are in God's hands, not in medical advancements."

I narrowed my gaze on him. "I never thought of you as a religious person."

"I'm not, but I admit I envy your mom's faith. I've never seen anything like it. But as for me, I have a hard time believing in a God who allows so much suffering in the world."

"For once we agree on something. Maybe you'll come around to my side after I talk to the doctors."

He held my gaze for a long moment. "I hope you get the answers you're looking for. Your parents have been real good to me. I'd never wish anything bad for them."

He whistled for Jake, who'd wandered into the living room while we talked, and I watched the two of them leave the house. Nash wasn't an ally yet, but once I had more information from knowledgeable medical professionals, I felt certain he'd see I was right.

I went upstairs and found Mama bundled in a hand-knit afghan, reading.

"It feels like it's getting colder outside." She glanced out the window. "I wish I could help get the horses settled in the barn. There's always so much to do when a storm is coming. I'm glad your father has Nash to help him."

"Nash had to go to town. The furnace is out in the cabin. He went to find parts."

Concern filled her eyes. "I hope he isn't gone long. Your father will need help before the snow gets here."

I hated for her to worry. "I guess I could go see if there's anything I can do." The idea didn't thrill me, but if it made her feel better, I'd make the sacrifice.

"I know your father would appreciate that, dear." A sweet smile replaced the frown.

Mama was dozing by the time I changed from my hippie clothes into some of the winter things I'd left in my closet and made my way to the horse barn in a bitter wind. With temperatures quickly plummeting, the stalls that were empty only yesterday now held animals in need of care. Some of the horses were left out to pasture, but they were usually the younger ones, with no health concerns, and could withstand the cold better than some of the older animals.

Moonlight poked her nose over the half door to her stall when I approached. "Hey, girl." I rubbed her nose, noticing someone had draped a horse blanket over her. "I guess you're happy to be one of the lucky ones to come in out of the cold."

She knickered and nudged my hand.

"I don't have anything for you this time. I'm here to work."

When I finished petting her, she returned to her feed bucket, hanging where she could easily reach it. I suspected Dad had begun to increase her feed, mixing in a mineral supplement to keep her and her unborn foal healthy.

Thinking about Moonlight's baby brought a twinge of unexpected excitement. Even though I hadn't been able to choose the sire myself, the anticipation of new life lifted some of the dark clouds that hovered because of Mama's illness. Maybe it could do the same thing for her, I realized. Clay always said positive energy could heal anything. That's what Mama needed. An optimistic vibe, not discouragement and hopelessness. Words of life, not death.

I found Dad in the barn, loading rectangular bales of golden hay onto a trailer hitched to his old tractor. Despite the cold, sweat poured down his face.

He seemed alarmed to find me there. "Is your mother all right?"

I nodded. "She's resting." An awkward silence thickened between us. I'd rather eat straw than spend time with my father, but I'd promised Mama. There was nothing to do but push forward. "She thought I should come see if you needed any help, since Nash had to go into town."

His brow rose as he stared at me.

Heavy silence stood between us.

This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come. I was about to walk away when he indicated the tractor trailer.

"I could use a hand with the hay."

Nothing more was said between us.

I went to the storeroom and found a pair of leather work gloves. With my hands protected, I hefted a bale by the wires holding it together onto the trailer. Each one weighed fifty pounds or more, and by the time I'd moved half a dozen, I was sweating as much as Dad. A year in California's hippie communes had made me soft. While some members worked out in the world to support our family , which is what Clay always called the group of forty or so people who followed him, the rest of us spent time meditating or listening to Clay teach about how the world needed love, not war. Household chores, tending the garden, and helping with the children in the family were shared by all, but nothing required the muscles I was using now.

By the time we'd loaded the trailer, I was breathing heavily.

"You best go inside and rest," he said, eyeing me. "I'll finish unloading it."

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

He studied me a moment longer, then nodded. I climbed onto the hay and sat on a bale while he drove out of the barn into the cold air. Tiny flakes of snow spit from thick clouds as we made our way to the north pasture where a group of horses trailed us, eager for an easy meal.

Dad stopped the tractor in front of a three-sided shelter. Without speaking, we got to work. Each pasture had similar shelters where the animals could get out of the wind and rain. After we unloaded a half dozen bales, we left the horses happily filling their bellies and headed to the next field.

When we finished and returned to the yard, Nash was there, waiting.

Dad shut off the tractor engine.

"Looks like you two got some work done while I was gone," Nash said.

Dad glanced at me. "Might be best if you checked on your mother now."

I felt dismissed. As though my hard work had somehow been inferior, and he'd had to make do with me until Nash got back.

I climbed off the trailer and marched toward the house.

· · ·

Mama sat in an overstuffed chair by the bedroom window. She smiled when she saw me in the doorway, but it quickly faded. "What's wrong, Mattie?"

I hadn't meant to let her see my irritation. After I'd returned to the house, I watched through the window as my father and Nash headed to the cottage, no doubt to work on the furnace. Just yesterday I'd watched them tinker on the tractor, their heads together beneath the raised hood. At one point, Dad laughed heartily at something Nash said and slapped him on the shoulder the way men tended to do. I'd turned away. The scene hurt to watch. They looked like father and son, working side by side, laughing, and enjoying each other's company.

I plopped down on the end of Mama's bed. "I helped Dad like you asked, but the minute Nash appeared, he didn't need me anymore."

Empathy filled Mama's face. "I'm sure he appreciated your hard work, dear." She grew thoughtful. "Nash has had a difficult time since he came home. He refuses to see his father. Wants nothing to do with him. I think his coming here has helped both your dad and Nash. They each carry heavy burdens. I believe God brought Nash to us because he needed your father and your father needed him."

"Dad needed Mark, his real son." I shook my head. "I don't understand how you can still think God cares about us. About the details of our lives. If that were true, he wouldn't have let Mark die and Nash live. It would have been the other way around."

"Mattie," Mama said, her voice stern. "God doesn't mind us asking questions when hard things happen, but when we start telling him who should live and who should die... well, that simply isn't something we should ever do. Nash survived for a reason, and I'm grateful he did. He's hurting, Mattie, and I don't just mean because of his missing arm. I think it goes back to his childhood, long before the war. Deep inside, he's wounded. If a friendship with your father helps heal that, then I thank God for it."

I wouldn't argue with her. There was no point. The truth is, I didn't wish Nash had died in Vietnam. I just wish Mark had lived.

I noticed the lid to the old trunk in the corner of the room stood open. Mark and I used to prowl through the musty chest from time to time, looking for treasures. What we found, however, was old-fashioned clothing, baby things, and some miscellaneous items I couldn't recall.

"I was feeling nostalgic," she said when she found my attention on the trunk. She reached for something in her lap and held up a miniature nightgown. "You and your brother were such tiny things when you were born. I remember how excited we were to have a boy and a girl."

My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard.

"Neither your dad nor I could recall anyone in our families ever having twins," she continued, not realizing how painful it was for me to listen to her share her memories. "It was such a blessing, especially because I never became pregnant again." She sniffled as she looked at the gown. "Seems like yesterday I was running after the two of you. Two peas in a pod, I called you, but Mark—" Tears filled her eyes as her voice cracked.

I couldn't do this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"I just remembered I need to take some chicken out of the freezer." I stood, feeling like the worst daughter in the world. I couldn't help it though. Her journey down memory lane was simply too painful for me to join. "You said you wanted soup for supper, isn't that right?"

She wiped a tear that slipped down her cheek. Then she smiled, albeit, not as broadly as earlier. "Yes, soup sounds nice. Especially on a cold day."

"I'll bring your lunch up in a little while." I didn't wait for her response before I fled downstairs. So as not to be a liar, I took out a package of rock-hard chicken and set it in the sink with a thunk .

I blew out a breath.

I know Mama wanted to talk about Mark. About his life and his death. But I'd spent the past year doing everything I could to forget. To push the memories, even the happy ones, to the deepest, darkest part of my soul where they couldn't hurt me. Unearthing them now was the last thing I needed. Nothing good could come from reliving that kind of pain all over again. I was on shaky ground as it was, just being back in this house, dealing with Mama's cancer and my rocky relationship with Dad.

I stared out the window at the gray, wintery day.

The way I saw things, I had two choices if I was going to survive: set boundaries and make sure no one penetrated them, or catch the next bus to LA and never look back.

I kept busy in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for soup and baking some corn bread, mainly to avoid going upstairs. When that chore was finished, I threw a load of laundry into the washing machine, folded towels that were in the dryer, and swept the porch despite the frigid breeze. When I couldn't stall any longer, I prepared a soft-boiled egg and toast and carried them to Mama's room. I found her curled in bed, the tiny nightgown clutched in her hands, sound asleep.

Quietly, I set the lunch tray on the side table. I hated to wake her, but the food would be cold soon. I'd wait and see if she awakened.

The lid of the trunk remained open. It looked as though Mama had rummaged through it to find what she was looking for. Seeing the familiar items brought a flash of pain, but I refused to let it settle.

I set about putting the contents of the chest back in order. When I came to a shoebox I assumed held photographs, I was surprised to find it contained an old leather-bound book and two bundles of yellowed envelopes, each tied with string.

I sat back on my haunches and lifted out the book. The edges were quite worn and Die Bibel was stamped on the front cover in faded gold lettering. A crackling sound issued from the book's spine when I opened it to the first page. Fancy printed letters repeated the words Die Bibel with Berlin, 1908 beneath them. A handwritten message would surely give a clue as to the ownership, but I couldn't make out the words. It was written in a different language.

"What are you doing?"

Dad's voice startled me, and I dropped the book. I whirled to find him in the doorway, his hard glare fixed on me.

"Mama was feeling nostalgic. She wanted to see some of..." I faltered. "She took some things out of the trunk."

His gaze landed on the book in my lap. "Put that away. You have no business looking through things that don't concern you."

Taken aback by his harsh tone, I huffed. "I wasn't being nosy. I was simply cleaning things up."

He stood there a while longer before he turned and left the room.

What in the world was that about?

I picked up the book again. What was so important about the old tome?

With a stealthy glance toward the doorway to make certain he was gone, I studied the cover. Die Bibel. If I had to guess, it said The Bible , but why would Dad get all worked up about an old, foreign Bible? He'd never shown any interest in religion. Never went to church with us. Never prayed over a meal.

A door banged somewhere downstairs. I heard Dad's voice as he spoke to Nash.

I returned the book to the box, put the box in the bottom of the trunk, and threw a quilt on top of it. With everything back as it was, I woke Mama and helped her with her lunch. All the while, however, my eyes drifted to the trunk.

Something stirred in me.

It was the same feeling I used to get when Mark would suggest we do something we knew we weren't supposed to do, like jump off the loft rafters into a pile of hay or hide a snake in Granny's bed.

Dad said the box and its contents were none of my business.

Exactly the reason I knew I'd make it my business.