Chapter Seventeen Mattie

SEVENTEEN : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

NOVEMBER 1969

I awoke the morning after Thanksgiving to bright sunshine streaming through the lacey curtains of my bedroom, providing a bit of warmth to the otherwise chilly air. It was half past nine, much later than I'd intended to sleep. Unlike most mornings, I couldn't recall having any dreams during the night. The strange images usually kept me tossing and turning, making me groggy, but today I felt rested.

While I showered, I heard the telephone ring downstairs. By the time I dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, ready to start the day, an unfamiliar female voice came from Mama's room. I crept across the hall and found Dad chatting with a woman I didn't recognize. A glance toward the bed told me Mama slept through it.

"Mattie, this is LuAnn Bradford," Dad said when he spotted me. "She is a nurse. Dr. Monahan thought it best if we had someone come help a little every day."

Although this news caught me off guard, I nodded politely. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

The older woman smiled kindly. "It's good to see you again, Mattie. You probably don't remember me, but I worked in Dr. Monahan's office when you were a little girl. My family and I moved to St. Louis some years ago, but now we're back in Tullahoma. I'm what they call a home nurse now. I make house calls, like in the olden days."

I nodded again, but I wondered why we suddenly needed a nurse. Dr. Monahan visited Mama last week, but I hadn't heard him mention it. Was there something he wasn't telling us about her condition?

The nurse moved to Mama's bedside. "Your father says you're doing a fine job taking care of your mother," she said to me, then focused on Mama. "She looks good, considering all that's going on inside."

While she gently lifted Mama's hand to take her pulse, I glanced at Dad, but his attention was on the nurse's actions. It surprised me to hear that he'd sung my praises to the woman. He certainly never voiced his approval to me.

After listening to Mama's heart, chest, and stomach with a stethoscope, LuAnn returned to where Dad and I waited in silence.

"I was telling your father that Dr. Monahan suggested I visit each morning and assist with bathroom and bathing needs, and generally relieve some of the burden you both have been carrying. I don't live far from here, so it's not a problem."

"Why didn't Dr. Monahan tell us about this when he was here?" I asked. "Mama sleeps a lot and hasn't been very hungry lately, but I haven't noticed any big change."

LuAnn's eyes offered sympathy. "The doctor just wants to be sure you and your father, as the caregivers, aren't overwhelmed. I've tended to many patients in the final stages of life. There are signs the body is beginning to slow down, like sleeping more. Although that can be attributed to the pain medication in part, it's also a natural occurrence. So is loss of appetite, becoming forgetful, and losing an interest in the world beyond these walls. Unfortunately, our bodies aren't meant to last forever. Thankfully, we get new ones when our life here on earth is over."

I stiffened.

Religious platitudes about death being the beginning of something wonderful was the last thing I wanted to hear just now.

Dad had a question about one of the medications the doctor prescribed, and he and LuAnn rounded the bed to discuss the various bottles on a small table. I went to Mama and studied her pale features. Her cheeks remained puffy, and her lips held a slight bluish tinge around the edges, but she was still as beautiful as she'd always been.

"I'm happy to stay with her, dear, if you have something you need to do this morning," LuAnn said when she and Dad ended their conversation. "I'll leave around noon, then be back each morning at eight o'clock. We can adjust that schedule as needed."

Dad agreed, but I kept quiet. While it would be good to have an extra pair of hands to help lift and move Mama, especially when Dad and Nash were busy, I couldn't help but feel everything was about to change.

And that wasn't something I wanted to think about.

I left them and made my way downstairs. Nash and Jake were in the kitchen. I noticed dishes containing leftovers from our Thanksgiving meal were spread across the table.

"Good morning," Nash said, pausing from his task of placing a scoop of stiff mashed potatoes onto a plate that already contained a lump of dressing and a pile of green beans.

"I know our dinner yesterday was good, but is that what you're having for breakfast?"

Nash chuckled. "No. I'm going into town to pick up some feed for the horses. I thought I'd check on my buddy, Fred. He doesn't have family in the area anymore, so I figured I'd take him a plate of food. Your dad said it was okay."

"That's thoughtful of you."

I moved to pour myself a cup of coffee from the percolator. After dousing it with milk and a couple squares of sugar, I leaned against the counter and watched Nash add slices of turkey to the heaping plate, then cover everything with congealed gravy.

Footsteps from the room above reminded me of the nurse's presence.

I heaved a sigh.

Nash looked over. "Something wrong?"

"I wasn't expecting to wake up and find a strange woman in the house."

"Nurse Bradford," he said with a nod. "I met her. Seems like a nice lady."

"I'm sure she is, but I wish Dr. Monahan would've mentioned his plan to have her start coming every day."

"You don't think it's necessary?"

I wrapped my fingers around the mug, letting its warmth seep into me. My emotions suddenly felt raw and exposed, yet after last night, I believed Nash understood me a little better.

"I'm sure she'll be a lot of help. It's just that," I lifted my shoulders again, "I guess I'm still in denial. If things stay the same, with Mama simply napping a lot and us taking care of her ourselves, it feels like we could do this indefinitely. But having a nurse, a professional, come every day means..." I pressed my lips together. If I finished the thought, I'd end up in a heap on the floor.

He gave a slow nod. "I understand."

We didn't say more.

He finished filling the plate and carefully wrapped it with a piece of foil. Watching, I was struck that his lack of a second hand never slowed him down, no matter what he was doing. Whether it was helping Dad with the horses, or working on the tractor, Nash was as capable as any two-armed man.

He returned the dishes of leftover food to the refrigerator, then took his heavy coat from the back of a chair and shrugged into it. Jake rose from where he'd been laying on a rug, stretched, and hobbled to the back door.

Nash picked up the plate, then let his gaze meet mine. "Do you want to come to town with me? Might be good for you to get out of the house, after working so hard yesterday."

The offer, while unexpected, sounded like the perfect escape. "Let me get my jacket."

I hurried upstairs and told Dad and LuAnn our plans. Bundled against the cold morning, I met Nash at the truck parked in the yard. Jake was already settled in the middle of the bench seat.

"I hope you don't mind if he tags along," Nash said. "Fred, my friend, likes it when I bring Jake with me."

We headed toward town. Thankfully the roads were clear, with melting snow pushed off to the edges of the pavement. It took a while for the heater to begin to warm the chilly air in the cab, but it felt good to get outside after being cooped up in the house.

We passed the Allyn farm. "I wonder if Paula is still around. Do you ever see her?"

Nash took his time answering. "She and I have talked a few times since I got back. She quit school and is staying with her grandparents in Lynchburg. They're getting older, and her grandfather has dementia."

"I always liked Paula," I said. "I hope she finds someone to love again someday."

Nash kept his attention on the road.

When we reached the outskirts of town, he steered the truck to a neighborhood of neat homes on good-sized lots. Trees filled the yards, with red and yellow leaves clinging to limbs that would soon be bare. We passed the remnants of a snowman, his straw hat lopsided and his stick arms drooping.

Nash stopped in front of a stately redbrick house and cut the engine. A wreath of plastic pink and purple flowers hung on the front door, looking out of place in the wintry world around them.

"Is this where your friend lives?" I asked.

"Mr. and Mrs. Graham live in the main house, but they're out of town for the holiday. Fred lives out back." He paused, his expression solemn. "Fred is a couple years older than us, so I didn't know him when we were growing up. His homelife was about like mine, and he quit school and joined the Army as soon as he was eligible. He was on his second deployment to 'Nam when he stepped on a land mine. He woke up in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down."

My heart sank hearing the sad tale. "I'm sorry."

Nash nodded. "He's had a hard time since he got back to the States. Mr. Graham was wounded in World War II and received a hero's welcome when he finally made it home. Now he works with vets like Fred and me. He says it's his job to make sure those of us who went to Vietnam know that our service was just as important as his."

His words weren't meant as a rebuke on my stance against the war, but I felt chastised, nonetheless.

"How did you meet them?"

"Someone at the VA in Nashville told me about the Grahams. They open their home every week to a group of us. It's a safe place to talk about what we experienced in 'Nam." His mouth quirked. "I'm not too keen on sharing personal stuff with strangers, but after I got back to Tullahoma, I decided to give it a try. I met Fred here. Since he doesn't have family, the Grahams offered to let him live in their guesthouse."

We exited the vehicle, with Jake leading the way up a concrete driveway toward the backyard. After a couple steps, however, I hesitated.

"Maybe I should wait in the truck. Your friend may not want a stranger showing up unannounced."

Nash slowed his progress and faced me. "I wouldn't've invited you if I thought you weren't welcome. But I'll understand if you'd rather not go in. Seeing Fred in a wheelchair can be a little unnerving."

"I'm not afraid to meet him. I just don't want him to be uncomfortable meeting me."

"He knows about you and Mark. How we grew up together, and how Mark and I went to 'Nam on the same day. He'd probably enjoy seeing a face to go with the name."

I wasn't sure I liked the idea of Nash talking about me and my brother, especially since there was no telling what he might say about me and my liberal ideas. But we were part of Nash's childhood, same as he was part of ours. Our story wouldn't be complete without him, and vice versa.

We continued to make our way around the house. A charming cottage stood in the corner of the backyard, with a wide, brick path going from the patio of the main house to the front door of the small dwelling.

Jake sat in front of the closed door, but when he saw Nash, he began to bark. Before we'd even reached the house, the door swung open.

"Jake, my boy." A moment later, a man in a wheelchair appeared in the opening and reached to pet the dog where he stood, waiting. Uncertainty flashed across Fred's face when he spotted me with Nash.

"Hey, buddy," Nash said when we approached. "This is my friend, Mattie Taylor. We thought we'd bring you a little turkey and stuffing."

I couldn't quite read Fred's expression as we shook hands. He almost seemed embarrassed.

"Come in." He used both hands to make the chair wheels roll backwards into the house.

Jake happily followed. Nash sent me an encouraging smile before we entered.

The small home was cozy, yet I noticed there weren't a lot of furnishings. A small sofa, a television set on a rolling cart, and a table with two chairs occupied the living/kitchen/dining area. A wide, open doorway led to what I assumed was the bedroom.

Nash put the foil-covered dish on the stovetop, then took a seat at the table. I wasn't sure what to do, so I quietly sank onto the sofa.

"I guess the Grahams are glad they went to Florida to visit their daughter and missed this cold snap," Fred said.

While he and Nash chatted about the weather, I surreptitiously studied Fred as he slowly ran his hand up and down Jake's back. Jake, for his part, sat completely still, with his eye half closed, enjoying the attention.

Although Nash said Fred was only a couple years older than us, his face looked as haggard as Dad's. Thin and balding, I would've guessed him to be much older. It didn't seem fair that he'd suffered so much in his life. Without family to help care for him, I wondered what the future held for the man.

"I heard Kenny Beckman was killed last week." Fred's voice held a grim tone. "You probably don't remember him, but he played tight end for the Wildcats back in the day. Left a wife and two kids."

I felt out of place as the two former soldiers discussed the situation in Vietnam. They talked about battles and officers and places I'd never heard of, forcing me to acknowledge that maybe I didn't know as much about the war as I liked to think. Sure, I read news articles and listened to speeches given by leaders at protest rallies, but being in a room with men who'd been there was eye-opening in a way I hadn't anticipated.

Their conversation switched to the farm and preparations for winter.

"Now that the sun's finally out, the horses that have been cooped up in their stalls will need some exercise." Nash glanced at me, as though inviting me to join the discussion. "Right, Mattie?"

"Yes," I said, smiling when Fred glanced my way. "I've always loved riding in autumn. The air is crisp, and the hills are covered in fall colors."

Instead of returning the smile, Fred grew solemn. "I used to ride when we'd visit my grandparents in Kentucky. They had a small place, but it was out in the country. My cousins and I would saddle up and be gone for hours." He turned away. "Guess I'll never do that again."

I glanced at Nash, feeling as though I'd said something wrong.

He quickly changed the subject to the furnace in the cabin, asking for Fred's opinion on gas versus electric since the heater would need to be replaced. But my mind stayed on the previous conversation and the sad fact that Fred would never ride a horse again.

In the year I'd been away, I'd missed the freedom I experienced every time I took Moonlight out for a ride. Big city living was exciting at first, but even though I'd tried to forget my life in Tennessee, the longing to fly across the green hills on the back of a horse never left me. I couldn't imagine living the rest of my life without ever being astride a horse again.

I peeked at Fred.

I'd never known someone who couldn't walk and had to use a wheelchair. I had no idea what it was like to wake up every morning and face the limitations and confinement of a situation like his. It must be a daily struggle to endure the challenges and disappointments of living life without the use of your legs. Although I believed things would be far different if he hadn't gone to Vietnam, my opinion on the war wasn't important to Fred. He had far greater issues to deal with.

I tapped my finger on the armrest.

Nash was obviously a good friend to Fred. Jake was too, from the looks of it. He'd curled up at Fred's feet and snored softly while the men talked. And even though I didn't know the Grahams, it sounded like they truly cared about Fred and the others.

What about me?

I'd just met the man, yet his story had touched me in a way I hadn't expected. For more than a year, I'd been drowning in my own grief and loss. I hadn't come up for air yet when Dad's telegram found me. The thought of losing Mama was unbearable.

Yet meeting Fred, hearing his pain, reminded me that I wasn't the only one with scars.

I tapped my finger again.

I may not know as much about people and the world as I'd thought just that morning, but what I did know about was horses. Tennessee walking horses, to be specific. With their smooth, easy gait and pleasant personalities, our Tennessee walkers could easily adapt to each rider's specific needs. I'd seen young children, elderly people, and everyone in between learn to ride on the docile animals. It's why the breed was so popular.

"Why not?" I said out loud before I'd thought through the idea swirling in my head.

Both men looked at me.

"Why not, what?" Nash asked.

I moistened my lips, hoping that what I was about to say wouldn't offend the man in the wheelchair. "Why can't you ride a horse again?"

Nash shot me a look of warning, but Fred's eyes narrowed when our gazes met.

"I think it's pretty obvious."

I swallowed hard. There was no turning back now. "I've been around horses all my life. I could barely walk when I started riding. Mama likes to tell the story about when I was a toddler and climbed up on a horse all by myself. Scared her half to death when I went tearing down the road on its back."

Neither man smiled at the endearing tale, so I plunged on.

"What I'm saying is, if a child who can't reach the stirrups can ride a horse, why can't someone who's full grown but can't walk do the same thing?"

I glanced at his legs for the first time since entering the house. Bony and toothpick-thin beneath his jeans, I could only guess his muscles had deteriorated since his injury. But if he could just get in the saddle—

"Mattie," Nash said, drawing my attention. He didn't look happy. "I don't think you understand Fred's situation." He glanced at his friend. "I'm sorry about this. Maybe we should go."

Fred's narrowed gaze, however, remained fixed on me. "Do you really think I could ride again?"

His question demanded honesty. "I don't know. This isn't something we've ever tried on the farm. But," I glanced between him and Nash, who now wore a look of cautious curiosity, "when Dad was teaching Mark and me to ride, he put thick leather belts around our waists. He'd hold on to it while he walked beside us, keeping us steady in the saddle. Granted, we were just kids, but, in theory, the principal could apply to an adult with limited mobility."

They both stared at me. Admittedly, the idea sounded crazy.

"You know," Nash finally said. He scratched his unshaved jaw, a half grin inching its way up his face. "If we rigged up some type of back support to attach to the saddle and used the belt, like Mattie was talking about, it just might work."

I stared at him.

Was Nash saying he approved of my wild idea?

"How would I mount the horse?" Fred asked. "I may not weigh much these days, but I don't think anyone could lift me into a saddle."

Nash and I looked at each other. "A platform," we said at the same time.

"We could build a platform that's level with the horse's back. You'd be able to roll onto it in your chair, then mount the horse with some help." I looked at Nash, who nodded in agreement.

Fred's gaze bounced between Nash and me, his expression reminding me of a kid on Christmas morning. "You'd be willing to go to all that trouble, just so I can ride again?"

Looking at this man who'd suffered so much, the answer was easy.

"Absolutely."