Chapter Twenty-two Mattie

TWENTY-TWO : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

DECEMBER 1969

Mild autumn weather returned after Thanksgiving, making it feel more like October than December. Frosty mornings gave way to glorious sunshine and cloudless blue skies before the breakfast dishes were even cleared from the table. Most of the horses were put back into the pastures, giving them the freedom to run and stretch their legs after cold days stuck in their stalls. I'd taken Moonlight out for some exercise, although I was cautious not to run her. It felt good to be in the saddle again.

"How is the platform for Fred coming along?" Dad lingered over his coffee, a sure sign he had something on his mind.

"Good," Nash said. "We finished the main structure. Today we need to figure out how steep to make the ramp. It will need rails for safety, too."

Nash and I spent three afternoons together in the hay barn working on the project, taking a prerequisite rest on Sunday at Mama's insistence. I hadn't had a clue where to begin, but somehow Nash knew intuitively what to do. I helped him cut lumber into pieces and held them in place while he hammered nails into them, enjoying easy conversation as we worked side by side. Every so often I'd run across the yard to the house to check on Mama. "We make a good team," Nash said at the end of the first day. The comment pleased me.

Dad sipped his coffee, his eyes squinted over the steam. "You will need to get Dawn's Rose used to someone mounting her from the platform. When will Fred come to the farm?"

"I told him we'd try for Saturday, if the weather holds." Nash smiled. "Mrs. Graham said Fred has started doing his exercises again, working on his upper body and core strength. He hasn't done them since he got out of the hospital."

"Good," Dad said. "Balance and strength will be important if he is to be successful." He glanced at me. "I'll stay with your mother after Nurse Bradford leaves so you can help Nash finish the platform."

With plans for the day set in place, the men headed out to do chores while I tidied things up and checked on Mama.

Laughter greeted me when I reached the upstairs landing.

"I could never keep up with those two." Mama's voice, weak but clear, came from the room. "Twins have such a special connection, and they outwitted me more times than I can count."

I pressed my lips together to keep from chuckling.

It was true. Mark and I nearly always knew what the other was thinking. We communicated with our eyes and hands when we didn't want anyone else to know what we were talking about. Unsuspecting teachers at school were unaware of the silent conversations we had from across the room.

"My mother was a twin," Nurse Bradford said. "Sadly, her sister was stillborn. Mother often talks about how much she misses her sister, even though she never knew her."

A lump formed in my throat.

I knew the feeling of loneliness for my twin. Nurse Bradford was wrong though. Her mother and her twin had definitely known each other the months they were in the womb.

I moved into the room. Mama's eyes brightened when she saw me.

"Mattie, I was hoping you'd come see me before you went out to help Nash."

Nurse Bradford rose from where she was seated in a chair next to Mama's bed. "I think I'll get a cup of coffee while you ladies chat. Ava, can I bring you a soft-boiled egg when I come back?"

Mama grimaced. "I don't think so. Maybe just some hot cocoa to warm me up."

The nurse left us alone. Mama studied my face.

"You look more rested than you have since you got home."

I settled in the chair after Nurse Bradford vacated it. "I've slept better the last couple nights."

A gentle smile lifted the edges of her mouth. "I'm glad. Now tell me about the platform for Fred. When will it be ready?"

I attempted to describe the structure we'd built, adding that it still needed a ramp with rails. "All in all, I think it's going to work. We'll know Saturday, anyway."

She reached a hand toward me, and I grasped it. Her fingers weakly squeezed mine.

"I'm so proud of you, Mattie." Tears filled her eyes. "I know how strongly you feel about the war, yet what you're doing for Fred..." Her chin trembled. "Mark would be proud of you too."

I fought to maintain control of my emotions. When I felt I could speak without bursting into sobs, I said, "Fred and Mark and even Nash are victims of the war. I may not agree with their decision to go to Vietnam, but they don't deserve my hatred. Or anyone else's, for that matter." I sighed. "I felt so sorry for Fred, you know. He'll never walk again. You should have heard him talking about riding horses when he was growing up. If we can get him in the saddle, I'm hopeful we can have him riding again."

"That's my girl. You've never been one to quit once your mind is made up."

Mama wanted to know which horse we planned to use with Fred, how we'd keep him in the saddle, and so on.

"I wish I could be there to help," she said, her eyes drooping. "LuAnn mentioned that she's heard of using horses for therapy with people with disabilities, although she's never seen it done."

"Really? I didn't know it was a thing."

"You should talk to her about Fred. She might have some suggestions."

I sat with Mama after she dozed off, my mind whirling.

I'd never heard of using horses to help people, especially those like Fred who no longer had use of their legs. Nash had proven that losing an arm couldn't slow him down, but to lose the ability to walk would be completely life-altering. Yet the moment Fred mentioned horseback riding in his youth and his obvious disappointment that he would never do so again, the idea of helping him wouldn't let me go.

I hurried downstairs and found LuAnn in the living room, looking through an old issue of Life magazine. She glanced up when I came in.

"Mama's asleep. Do you have a minute? I'd like to talk to you about something."

She laid the magazine aside. "Of course. Do you have questions about your mother?"

"No," I said, then changed it to, "well, yes, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about right now. Mama said you've heard of using horses to help people like Fred."

She smiled as I sat in the armchair. "I was so pleased when Ava told me what you and Nash are doing for his friend. Poor man. I've known people through the years who've become paralyzed, usually after some terrible accident. Many of them simply give up or end up in a nursing home far sooner than they should."

"But what about using horses to help them? How does that work if they can't feel their legs?"

"I read an article in a medical journal not long ago about a doctor in Canada who started a therapeutic horseback riding program. If memory serves, his first patient was a woman who is quadriplegic."

My mouth fell open. "Doesn't that mean she's paralyzed from the neck down? How could she ride a horse?"

"I don't know much about it, I'm afraid." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "But I'm sure I still have the journal with the article in it somewhere. I'd be happy to hunt it down. Apparently, horse therapy has been used for centuries for all sorts of physical and mental challenges. Which makes perfect sense, considering God created those beautiful animals. Surely they have a greater purpose beyond carrying people here and there or pulling wagons and such."

Her comment mirrored my own beliefs. "I've always thought so too. When I take Moonlight out for a ride, I feel better, way down deep."

"I believe Fred will too, once he gets the hang of it."

Nurse Bradford went to make a cup of hot cocoa for Mama while I went out to the barn.

I found Nash already at work, measuring wood for the ramp. He'd removed his jacket and wore a ball cap backwards, with the bill facing the back of his head. His dark hair curled over the rim of the cap, longer than I could ever remember him wearing it in high school. He and Mark were both on the football team, so Coach Cooper's rules on hair length had always prevented them from letting their locks get too long.

With his concentration on the lumber he'd purchased in town, Nash hadn't noticed me yet. I stayed in the shadows and took the opportunity to study him, watching how he used his one hand to do the job of two. I never realized how much I took having two functioning arms and hands for granted until I started helping him build the ramp. To compensate for his missing limb, he used his body—hips, knees, and even his booted feet—to aid him in maneuvering the heavy wood.

I thought about other soldiers like Nash. Young men who'd come home from war without an arm. Some without both arms. How were they coping? Hopefully their homelife was better than Nash's, and they had people who loved them helping them adjust, but I knew not everyone was that fortunate.

Nash straightened and glanced my way. "Hey, I didn't know you were there."

My face heated at being caught spying on him. "I was trying to picture Fred in his wheelchair, going up the ramp," I fibbed. I came forward and stood next to him. "We can't make it too steep, otherwise Fred won't be able to get up it by himself."

"I've been thinking about that too." He reached for a sheet of paper lying on a bale of hay, torn out of a spiral notebook by the looks of the shredded edge. A simple technical drawing of the platform was on it. "I figured we'd make the ramp in two sections, each about six feet long, with some kind of connector underneath that will allow us to dismantle the ramp easily." He eyed the finished structure nearby. "We kept the height of the platform at two-and-a-half feet, so a ramp that's approximately twelve feet long should keep it from being too steep."

I stared at him in amazement. "How is it you can figure all this out? You were awful at math in school."

He chuckled. "I don't mind math, but grades didn't mean anything to me back then. No one at home cared if I went to school or not. It probably would've been easier for my mom if I'd quit and worked full time. I kept going because of Mark. Anytime I talked about quitting, he'd give me the rundown of all the reasons I needed to stay and graduate."

"I didn't know you wanted to quit."

He nodded. "I didn't need to go to school to be a mechanic. I was always good with engines and fixing things. But Mark argued I shouldn't be satisfied just working in an auto shop. He thought I should be the owner of one, and to him, that meant I needed to stay in school."

I smiled, even as bittersweet memories of Mark's enthusiasm for life brought a pang of sadness. "He was the most positive, upbeat person I've ever known. I used to say that he got all the goodness of Mama and I got all the sourness of Dad."

Nash gave me a look. "You aren't sour, and neither is your dad. You both just see the world differently than Mark did. But you're right. He was a glass-half-full kind of guy. I needed him way more than he needed me."

My throat tightened. "I did too."

We set to work on building the ramp, following Nash's specifications. Dad came by midmorning and seemed satisfied with all we'd accomplished.

"As soon as it's ready, let Dawn's Rose get used to it. I don't know if Fred's wheelchair will scare her or not, so you might also find something, like a wheelbarrow, to roll up and down the ramp while she's near it."

"That's a good idea," I said, impressed at his insight.

After lunch, we attached the ramp to the platform.

"We still need to add rails," Nash reminded as I walked up the incline to test its sturdiness, with Jake following behind. The dog had dozed in the corner of the barn the entire time we'd been working but now came to investigate the contraption.

A sense of accomplishment washed over me. "I think this is going to work." I glanced back to Nash where he stood watching me. "You're a pretty good craftsman, Mr. McCallum."

His mouth quirked. "And you're a fine apprentice, Miss Taylor."

"I'm anxious to see what Dawn's Rose will think about it."

"I'll get her saddled and bring her over."

While I waited for Nash, I swept up as much of the construction mess as I could. I'd just put the broom and dustpan away when he returned, leading not just a fully saddled Dawn's Rose but Moonlight as well. She knickered when she saw me.

"Why did you bring her?" I asked, coming forward to pet her.

"I thought Dawn might like a friend nearby when we introduce her to the platform." He paused. "I also thought you and I could go for a ride after we're done, since we've been working so hard."

A warm tingle ran through me. "You are full of surprises today."

"How about I lead Dawn to the platform and you mount her from it. After she gets used to it, then we can take your dad's advice and roll the wheelbarrow up and down the ramp while she waits."

The plan sounded good.

Dawn's Rose seemed unbothered by the new way to mount her. She stood patiently while I walked up the ramp to the platform and climbed aboard.

"Maybe you should lead her, like we'll do when Fred is here Saturday. That way she'll associate the platform mount with being led around the corral instead of riding freely. At least until Fred gets confident enough to take her out on his own."

Nash glanced at me. "I hope this works."

I heard the doubt in his words. "It will." I told him about the article Nurse Bradford read about using horses for centuries to assist people with disabilities. "We may not know what we're doing, but Dawn's Rose does. She'll do what she was born to do."

Nash led us around the barn while Moonlight stood watching. I dismounted when we reached the platform again, walked down the ramp, then came back and did it all over again.

By the fourth time around the barn, I said, "I think she's going to be fine with Fred mounting her from the platform. Let's see what she thinks about the wheelbarrow."

As I suspected, Dawn's Rose wasn't concerned with the wheeled cart in the least. I even sat in it to mimic what it might look like when Fred was in his chair, but she simply stood and waited patiently, no doubt wondering what our strange behavior was all about.

"I'm satisfied she'll do great on Saturday." I climbed from the saddle for the last time.

"I am too." Nash rubbed Dawn's neck, then turned to me. "Do you feel like riding?"

My smile was my answer.

Nash used the platform to mount Dawn's Rose while I climbed up on Moonlight. He told Jake to stay, and we headed out of the barn into waning afternoon light.

"Where to?" Nash asked.

"Let's go to the creek," I said, a sense of inner peace I hadn't felt in ages settling over me. I wondered if Fred would feel the same way when he sat in the saddle again.

We didn't speak as we walked the horses to the far end of the farm, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. The beauty of this land never disappointed, even as nature prepared to usher in winter. Trees with almost bare branches served as reminders that new beginnings would come again someday. Rest and restoration must take place during the cold, hard months before fresh life could appear. Mark loved the lessons nature taught. I could almost hear what he'd say about my deep reflections today.

New beginnings, Sis. Be brave and reach for 'em.

When we came to the creek, we stopped, listening to the sound of water rushing over rocks. I couldn't count the number of times Mark and I had come down here, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback. In the summertime, he would fish while I read a book. When it was cold, we'd build a campfire. It was our private sanctuary, and although I couldn't recall Nash ever accompanying us, being here with him today felt right.

"Do you believe in heaven?" I asked, my voice quiet so as not to disturb the peacefulness of the place.

Nash didn't seem bothered by the question. "I'd like to think there's a place better than this world. No wars. No disease. Just this." He gazed at the beauty around us.

I nodded, suddenly wishing I knew for certain if heaven was for real. Were Mark and Mama right about God and everything they believed? Or were they fools, clinging to made-up fairy tales?

The sun began its quick descent, and we headed back to the barn as the air grew chilly.

"I'll take care of the horses," Nash said after we'd both dismounted. Once again, he used the platform, and I realized it was as beneficial for him as it would be for Fred.

"Thanks for suggesting we go for a ride." I handed Moonlight's reins to him. "It was nice."

His eyes took on a mischievous look. "The first time I ever met you, you were on the back of a horse."

"Really? I don't remember."

"It was the summer when we were eight years old. My family had just moved to Tullahoma, and I wandered away from our house and got lost. Your dad and Mark were coming from town and found me walking along Highway 55. I couldn't tell them where I lived, so they brought me here, to the farm."

He glanced out the barn door to the corral across from the entrance. "You were in there, riding a big black horse."

"Midnight Pride. She was Moonlight's mama."

"I couldn't believe this little girl was sitting up on that big ol' horse and wasn't a bit afraid. Your hair was wild and for some reason you were wearing a red winter scarf, and I couldn't help but be awestruck." He met my gaze. "I'll never forget that day."

I watched him lead the horses away, a sudden awareness of being known, really known , by another living soul. Nash McCallum had been in my life longer than anyone who wasn't blood kin. He'd seen the best of me... and the worst. He'd known Mark. Deeply. Brotherly. In the best possible way.

Why had I never taken notice of Nash before? He'd practically lived at our house during high school when things at his own home were bad. I'd dated a few boys over the years, and I'd been Clay's girl while I was in California, but I'd never seen Nash as anything other than Mark's friend. Something about him now—the man he'd become and how he was determined to overcome what life had thrown at him—made me wonder if I should take a closer look.

I left the barn and headed for the house. I'd visit with Mama before starting dinner. Dad was just coming down the stairs, carrying a load of soiled bedsheets.

At my silent question, he said, "She had an accident." Sadness shone in his eyes. "LuAnn warned it might happen more frequently as your mother's muscles begin to weaken."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Can I help?"

"It's taken care of." He glanced up to the landing. "She will be happy to see you."

Mama sat in the chair with a crocheted afghan wrapped around her, staring out the window when I arrived in the open doorway. She didn't respond when I spoke until I walked across the room and touched her arm.

"Mattie, I didn't hear you come in."

"You looked like you were far away." I settled on the floor at her feet.

A shadow crossed her face. "I was remembering the first time I saw the farm. It was spring, and everything was fresh and new. I had such hope for the future."

It didn't sound like a happy memory. "Was that after you and Dad got married?"

She met my gaze, a troubled look in her eyes. "Have you read the letters from the box?" she asked rather than answering my question.

I nodded. "The ones that came from Hawaii, but I don't understand who they're written to or who sent them. Is Ava Delaney a relative of Granny's?"

Mama's brow tugged into a deep frown. "Will you do me a favor? Go to the cottage and look in the bottom drawer of the bureau in the bedroom. You'll find a photo album. Bring it here, and I'll explain everything."

The strange request baffled me, but I complied. Crossing the yard, I saw Dad and Nash tinkering with the tractor. Only Jake, lying nearby, took notice of me.

I found the album where Mama said it would be. On my way out of the bedroom, I stopped short. There in the corner of the tiny living room was an easel with an unfinished painting on it. A small table with tubes of oil paints, brushes, and a can of turpentine sat next to it. I couldn't recall Granny ever being interested in painting, nor did it seem likely that the art paraphernalia belonged to either of my parents.

That left only one person as the mystery artist.

Nash.

I took a closer look at the image on the canvas. Clearly it was of a horse's head, but light pencil sketches here and there revealed something or someone else was planned to join the animal. The room was too dim for me to make out what they were intended to be, but the surprising discovery of the painting floored me.

Nash was an artist.

I left the cottage, hoping he and Dad wouldn't notice me hurrying away from it. I didn't want Nash to feel as though I'd invaded his private space. When I returned to Mama, she was staring out the window again. This time, however, she heard me enter the room.

Her eyes fell on the album in my lap when I retook my seat on the floor. "There are so many things I need to tell you, Mattie. Things that should have been revealed a long time ago." She grimaced, as though in pain.

"Mama, do you need your medicine? We can talk later."

She shook her head, becoming agitated. "I must tell you now. You need to know."

"All right, Mama." I reached for her hand. She clung to me the way a person clings to a life preserver when they've fallen out of the boat.

When she'd calmed, she looked at me with such intensity, I immediately knew I wouldn't like what she was about to say.

"The letters were written to me. I'm Ava Delaney."

I stared at her, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together in my mind, to no avail. "I don't understand. The fellow who wrote them, Richard Delaney, signed them Your loving husband ."

She didn't respond.

A shocking thought suddenly exploded in my head. I blurted it out before I'd had time to think it through. "Were you married to someone else before you married Dad?"

Her slow nod was in stark contrast to the thundering beat of my heart.

She indicated the album. "Open it."

With shaky hands, I did as she bid. Images of a woman holding a baby met me. She looked like a younger version of Granny. A man I didn't recognize stood with them, in front of what was unmistakably our farmhouse.

"Richard was Granny Gertrude's only child. Her husband died when Richard was in high school, so he took over the farm."

I looked up from the black-and-white photographs, my mind spinning. "This farm? But I thought Granny was Dad's mother."

She shook her head. "I don't believe I ever lied to you and Mark, but I also never told you the truth about who Granny was to you."

"She wasn't my grandmother?" I asked, stunned.

"No, she wasn't," Mama said, regret in her eyes.

I thought back to the small, elderly woman Mark and I had secretly dubbed Grouchy Granny Gertrude. She'd never been affectionate to us the way most grandmothers were with their grandchildren, but she'd bake us cookies and let us look through her stacks of Life magazines on occasion. I hadn't cried when she passed away, I recalled, although tenderhearted Mark had.

"I met Richard in Nashville when I was twenty years old," she began, her eyes on the album. "He was handsome and full of life. He'd joined the Navy to see the world and wanted me to go with him."

Dazed, I sat in silence as the shocking story spilled forth.

"He was sent to Hawaii shortly after we married. While I waited to join him, I came to live here on the farm, with his mother, Gertrude."

I couldn't believe what my ears took in. "What happened to him?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, either to block out the pain of the memory, or the pain from the disease ravaging her body. "He was killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor."

I gasped. "Oh, Mama."

I looked back at the picture of Granny holding a baby boy. My mother's first husband, I realized. Granny must've been devastated when she lost her son.

A thousand questions tumbled through my mind.

When had Mama met Dad? I couldn't recall ever hearing the details of their courtship. I only knew they'd lived in the cottage when they first married, but after Mark and I were born, Granny moved out of the big house into the smaller dwelling.

"I was barely twenty-one years old, but I was a widow. My family, as you know, weren't close, and I didn't want to move to Chicago. I stayed here and helped Granny with the farm. I took a job at Camp Forrest, the military installation that was here during the war."

All I could do was stare at her. The woman I'd known my entire life suddenly seemed like a stranger. "I can't believe you never told me about this. Why did you keep it a secret?"

Tears pooled in her eyes. "I don't have a good answer to that question. I suppose it was because it was my past, and I didn't want to burden you or Mark with it. Granny didn't have family, and even though she didn't show it, I believe she loved you kids."

A sense of betrayal lurked inside me despite her rationalization. "Why tell me about it now?"

Sadness washed over her face. "Because I won't be here much longer, and I don't want you to discover things—about me, about your father, about yourself—without explaining them."

I wasn't sure what she meant and was about to ask when the sound of the back door closing echoed through the house. It was probably Dad and Nash, coming in for supper.

Panic filled Mama's eyes. "Mattie, take the album to your room. I don't want your father to see it."

"Why?"

"Please, just go."

I didn't question her again and hurried across the hall to my room as Dad came up the stairs. "I'll be down to start dinner in a minute," I said, using the door to keep the album out of sight.

"Nash is going into town, so it will just be us. We can keep it simple. Maybe pancakes or sandwiches."

"That sounds good."

He disappeared into the master bedroom while I hid the album under my bed, next to the box of letters.

Mama'd been married before she met Dad!

I felt completely blindsided by her revelation. But now with the mystery about the first bundle of letters solved, my curiosity about the second packet from someone named Gunther Schneider rose exponentially. Who was he and how did he play into the startling history unfolding?

I arrived in the kitchen as Nash poured dry dog food into Jake's bowl. He'd changed into a crisp, white button-down and wore a pair of jeans with shiny black boots I'd never seen before.

"You look nice. Got a date?" I joked.

He didn't smile. "Naw, just meeting a friend in town for dinner."

"Dad's letting me take the night off since you won't be here. Pancakes or sandwiches."

He nodded. "I won't be gone too long. Do you need anything from town?"

"Nothing I can think of." I glanced down the hall to make sure Dad hadn't come downstairs without me hearing him. I lowered my voice. "When you get back, I've got some crazy news to tell you about the letters and Mama's past. And we need to go through the other letters, the ones from the guy named Gunther."

"Sounds like a plan." He grabbed his denim jacket and left the house.

I heard his truck roar to life as I got out the ingredients for pancakes. Jake whined at the closed door as Nash drove away.

"He'll be back soon," I said. "Then we'll both get to spend the evening with him."

While I poured batter onto a hot griddle, I realized I looked forward to Nash's return nearly as much as Jake did.