Chapter Twenty-five Mattie

TWENTY-FIVE : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

DECEMBER 1969

I sat on the sofa in the living room, a fire in the fireplace sending out warmth and comfort into the quiet house, when Nash returned from town. Jake wagged his tail from where he lay in front of the hearth, but not even Nash's presence was enough to entice him from his cozy spot.

"How was dinner?" I asked as he settled on the opposite end of the couch. The light scent of his cologne wafted over, and I inhaled.

"Good." He didn't elaborate. "So what's the big mystery you discovered about your mom? Does it have anything to do with the letters?"

I reached for a stack of envelopes next to me and handed them to him. "These are the letters from the guy in Hawaii to Ava Delaney." I tapped my mother's name.

Nash nodded, squinting his eyes. "And?"

"Ava Delaney is my mom. This guy," I said, moving my finger to the return addressee, "is her first husband."

I let that news sink in.

"Wow." His brow rose. "You and Mark didn't know your mom was married before?"

"Not a peep was ever said about it."

He looked at the letters again. "What happened to him?"

"He was killed when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor."

"That's heavy."

The fire popped and crackled as we processed the shocking realities of the unfolding tale.

"When did your mom meet your dad?"

I shrugged. "It was during the war, but I don't remember the details. I just know they lived here, on the farm, after they got married. Mama was too tired to finish telling me everything and said I needed to read the other letters. The ones from the guy in North Dakota. But I have to admit, I'm kind of nervous about what I might learn from them. I mean, she's got letters from two men, but neither of them is my father."

A startling thought rocketed across my mind, and I gasped.

"What if—"

I couldn't finish the question.

"What if what?" Nash prompted.

I met his gaze, my heart racing as my imagination took off in a direction I didn't want to go. "What if my dad isn't my dad?"

Nash stared at me. "Do you think that's a possibility?"

I fell back against the couch cushion, stunned by the wild implications. "I honestly don't know. I would have never dreamed Mama'd been married before, but it's true. Who knows what other secrets she might have kept all these years."

I heard accusation in my voice, but I couldn't help feeling betrayed by my own mother. Why hadn't she told Mark and me the truth about her past?

"I think we should read the other letters." Nash's calm words slowed my whirling thoughts. "We might be jumping to the wrong conclusion."

He was right. "Thanks for being here with me."

I opened the first envelope in the stack from Gunther Schneider.

"Dear Ava," I read aloud, a tremor in my voice. "I arrived at Fort Lincoln, North Dakota yesterday, a place I had never heard of but now find it is my home. The internment camp is much like the one at Camp Forrest, although it is no longer a—"

The rest of the sentence was blacked out.

"Looks like military censors didn't approve of what Gunther wrote," Nash said.

"I didn't realize they did that back then."

He nodded. "There were a lot of spies around the world, and most of their communication was written. The government censored just about everyone's mail."

I continued reading.

The barracks are made of red brick. They tell us the temperatures during winter can drop to forty below zero. I hope they are wrong. There are many Italians here as well as Germans. I have been assigned to the hospital and look forward to beginning my duties. I appreciate Colonel Foster's recommendation.

I miss our English lessons and your chicken salad sandwiches. I am ever grateful for the time we shared together. It is bold of me to ask, but I hope you will write to me. It would brighten my day.

Sincerely,

Gunther Schneider

I finished reading the letter but didn't return it to the envelope. "I wonder what he means by the internment camp ?"

"When we were in school, I remember Mr. Mott talking about German POWs at Camp Forrest during the war," Nash said. "Maybe he was a POW."

I gaped at him. "A POW? I know Mama worked at Camp Forrest, but why would she befriend the enemy? Especially after her husband was killed in the war."

"The Germans weren't responsible for Pearl Harbor." He took the letter from me and read, "Gunther wrote, I miss our English lessons . It sounds like your mom was a tutor or something."

"That's definitely something she would do, even for the enemy." I reached for the next envelope in the stack. "Maybe the other letters will shed more light on their relationship."

I read the next letter and the next, but they were both similar in content to the first, with descriptions of the camp, the weather, and Gunther's appreciation for the note Ava sent him.

"It doesn't sound as though they had a romantic relationship," Nash said. "These letters were written after her husband died, so she might've been lonely. He may have needed a friend and found one in your mom."

"Possibly, but why would she want me to read these if they didn't have anything to do with me?"

"I can't answer that."

The clock in the hall chimed midnight.

"We better turn in." I counted the remaining envelopes. "There are six more letters. We can read them later. If you want to, that is."

His eyes met mine. "I want to."

The softness of his voice, along with the intense way he looked at me, stirred butterflies in my belly. I swallowed, tempted to move closer and sink into his strong embrace.

I forced myself to look away.

Nash was a good friend. Anything beyond that was a bad idea. Staying in Tullahoma wasn't in my future. It wouldn't be fair to either of us to start something that couldn't be finished.

I stood and he followed suit. Jake slowly rose from his spot near the fireplace where embers glowed.

"Hopefully Mama will tell me who Gunther Schneider is when I see her tomorrow."

I bid Nash good night and carried the letters upstairs. His recollection about POWs being housed at Camp Forrest during the war, along with his earlier math calculations, reminded me that although he hadn't been a good student, barely passing most of his classes, he'd obviously paid attention in school. I found it sad that his parents hadn't cared whether he did well or not.

Dad had always stressed how important it was to get an education, making sure Mark and I did our homework and brought home A's. He'd wanted us to attend college, too, but the war in Vietnam changed things for Mark.

And for me.

My thoughts drifted to the mysterious Gunther Schneider.

Who was he and what had he meant to my mother? The fact that she'd kept his letters was significant. That she wanted me to read them even more so. Nash didn't believe Gunther and Mama had a romantic relationship, but I couldn't shake the unsettling possibility that he'd been more to her than a friend. Even though Dad and I didn't have the greatest bond, he was my father.

My gut churned.

Or is he?

I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to halt that line of thinking.

I'd get answers from Mama tomorrow. Until then, I wouldn't let my imagination run wild.

But it was many hours before sleep finally came.

· · ·

Nash was waiting for me when I came downstairs early Saturday morning.

"I'm going to pick up Fred around ten o'clock," he said from his place at the table.

I nodded. "I'll have Dawn's Rose saddled and ready."

He met my gaze over the coffee cup he held. "I stopped by his place yesterday while I was in town. I've never seen him so excited about anything."

"I hope it works out the way we all want it to. I'd feel horrible if he was injured or disappointed."

Nash stood and carried his mug to the sink. "The fact that someone cared enough to see him and offer more than mere sympathy, or worse, apathy or disdain, means more to him than you know."

The back door opened. Dad and Jake came inside. The dog immediately went to Nash where he received a scratch behind his ears.

"Looks like the weather will be nice for Fred's riding lesson," Dad said. His voice held a touch of excitement, and I realized he anticipated the special visitor to the farm as much as Nash. "I have the leather belt ready, as well as a strap to help keep him steady in the saddle. It might help him feel more secure until he can figure out how to stay balanced."

"I appreciate everything you two have done for Fred." Nash glanced between Dad and me. "Whether or not this works out, just knowing that someone cared enough to try is huge."

Dad nodded solemnly. "Mark would want us to help the boys returning from war in any way we can. I would have wanted someone to do the same for him, had he come home."

My throat convulsed.

I'd never heard Dad talk about Mark since he died. In the days after we received the telegram, informing us of Mark's death, Dad had kept his grief hidden in the busyness of making arrangements, fielding the many phone calls, and comforting Mama. I knew he loved Mark, but his lack of outward emotions had incensed me. He hadn't even cried at the funeral but stood stoically grim next to Mama and me as we wept. By the time Pastor Arnold made his unfortunate comment about Mark being a hero rather than a victim a week later, I was an erupting volcano, unable to stop the flow of hot, angry words before I stormed out of the house for good.

Nash left to pick up Fred.

"I'll get Dawn's Rose saddled," Dad said. "I'd like to help, if that's all right with you."

His comment surprised me. He certainly didn't need my permission. But then I remembered the farm had belonged to Mama's first husband's family, not Dad's, as I'd always assumed. A dozen questions rolled through my mind, but now was not the time to voice them. I needed to talk to Mama first.

"I'm sure Fred would appreciate you being there. I don't really know what to expect as far as his ability to stay in the saddle. It might be best to have both you and Nash on either side of him while I lead Dawn's Rose."

With the plan in place, I hurried upstairs to put on my boots. Nurse Bradford was just coming from the bathroom, carrying a hand basin and a load of towels.

"Good morning," she said, her normal cheery smile in place. "Your mother has just had a shampoo and sponge bath. I'm sure she'd love to visit with you."

I thanked her and made a detour to Mama's room. She sat in the chair by the window, wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe with a pair of Dad's wool hunting socks on her feet. Her body sagged, as though she had no strength to keep herself upright.

"There's my girl," she said, her words slow and weak.

"How are you today, Mama?" I knelt beside her and took her hand. Her fingers were icy cold.

"Tired of all this."

Mama never complained, so it was unsettling to hear her admit her frustration with her illness.

"Do you want to get back in bed? Nurse Bradford shouldn't have left you here by the window."

She patted my cheek. "I'm fine, Mattie. Just a bit worn out."

"Maybe I should stay with you instead of helping Nash with Fred today."

"Absolutely not. LuAnn is here all morning. You go on. I want a full report this afternoon."

I promised I'd tell her every detail and left her after Nurse Bradford returned.

Wearing boots and a light jacket with my jeans and sweatshirt, I headed outside. Dad was just leading Dawn's Rose from the horse barn, saddled and ready to ride.

"Mama seems especially tired today," I said when I approached.

He gave a slow nod. "She doesn't sleep well. The pain is getting worse."

The two of us hadn't discussed Mama's condition since I arrived home. Now wasn't the best time to bring it up, but I had questions. "Why didn't you tell me Mama was sick when she was first diagnosed? I would have come home sooner if I'd known."

He didn't look at me and kept walking. "She didn't want to burden you."

His answer wasn't good enough. "I understand her reasoning, but didn't you think I should know? She needed me."

He drew to a stop and met my gaze, sorrow in his eyes. "She needed you after your brother died."

The words, said without malice, were a gut punch.

The sound of Nash's truck crunching over gravel, however, prevented me from uttering a response, although there wasn't anything I could say that would make what I'd done a year ago go away.

While Dad greeted Fred, I tried to compose myself.

I knew I'd abandoned Mama. I left home a week after Mark's funeral, my anger burning hot. But once it began to simmer, crippling guilt soon replaced it. What kind of daughter forsakes her family after suffering such a tragic loss? Outwardly I pretended it was Dad and his mistakes that kept me from coming home, but deep inside I knew I was ashamed of my own behavior. I'd done everything I could to bury it, but no amount of drugs and free living could ever fully remove the stain.

Now, to hear it put so bluntly from my father, left me wrecked.

After Fred settled in his wheelchair, Nash came over, his keen eyes studying me. "You okay?"

I shook my head. "Not really." When he gave me a questioning look, I said, "I'll tell you later."

He nodded, but I could see concern on his face.

We joined the others. Fred eyed Dawn's Rose while Dad held her steady.

"I don't know about this," Fred said. "She's a lot taller than I expected."

I heard fear in his voice. I couldn't blame him. Although I'd never been afraid of horses, I'd experienced more fear in the past year than I had in my entire lifetime. I still had a long way to go to overcome it, and I suspected Fred did too. We were on different roads, with different circumstances holding us prisoner, but fear, no matter what it looked like, would eventually destroy us if something didn't change. Conquering Fred's self-doubt was a step in the right direction and had to be accomplished before he could successfully ride again.

What did I need to help me overcome mine?

I wished I knew the answer.

"Come see the platform Nash built for you," I said, forcing a smile. "He's quite the carpenter." I glanced at Nash, with a small nod toward Fred.

He took the hint. "It's a thing of beauty, if I say so myself." He got behind Fred's chair and wheeled him toward the barn while Dad and I walked behind them with Dawn's Rose. Nash pushed Fred up the ramp, chatting all the while about the wood, the design, the possible improvements. Technical things that had nothing to do with the size of the horse or the question of whether Fred could ride her or not.

Dad led Dawn's Rose over, letting her head come even with Fred. I noticed the leather belt and strap were draped across the handrail of the platform, ready and waiting.

"Give her a rub," I said to Fred. "She loves attention."

He reached a tentative hand to pet the horse's neck.

"Dawn's Rose is one of my favorite horses. She's very gentle and has one of the smoothest gaits of all the horses here on the farm."

My speech reminded me of Dad's sales pitches when potential buyers needed a little push to complete the transaction.

Fred eyed the saddle. "How are we going to do this?"

As Nash explained the plan—he and Dad would walk with Fred on either side of the horse, holding on to the belt he'd wear—I gauged Fred's reaction. While he didn't appear as uncertain about it as he had in the yard, he also didn't seem convinced.

"What if she bucks or takes off running? I'm a goner."

I patted Dawn's Rose. "This girl has never bucked a rider. Besides, I'll be leading her. She won't have a chance to run. We'll be in the corral where she's used to walking."

Fred took a deep breath. "All right. Let's give it a try. Even if I fall off, I don't guess I could get hurt worse than I already am."

Nash and I exchanged a look, communicating with our eyes. We desperately wanted this to succeed.

It took both Dad and Nash to get Fred settled in the saddle. I held Dawn's Rose steady, but she never flinched and stood patiently awaiting my instruction. While Dad held Fred by the shoulders from atop the platform, Nash came down the ramp and placed each of Fred's feet in the stirrups.

"I ain't gonna lie." Fred gripped the saddle horn with both hands. "It's pretty scary up here." Panic filled his widened eyes.

"We won't do anything until you're ready," I assured. "Nash is going to put the belt and strap on you now."

When all was in place, with Dad on the right side of the horse and Nash on the left, we waited for Fred to decide what was next.

"How do you feel in the saddle?" Nash asked. "Comfortable? Secure?"

Fred's grip on the horn loosened just a bit. "Good, I guess."

"Would you like to walk around here in the barn first?" I asked.

Fred swallowed, staring at Dawn's Rose. "Yeah, but real slow."

"Okay. Here we go." I made eye contact with Nash and Dad. "Nice and easy."

Both men held on to the belt while the strap across Fred's lap anchored him to the saddle. I led Dawn's Rose into a slow walk, and we made a circle, ending up back at the platform. I think we were all holding our breath, as no one said a word.

I looked at Fred. "How was it?"

He continued to grip the saddle horn, but the tension in his face had eased. "Not bad. Can we go again?"

"We sure can."

We repeated the process two more times.

Fred appeared a little more confident with each turn around the barn. "I think I'm ready to try the corral," he said.

I led Dawn's Rose the short distance across the yard. Dad and Nash both encouraged Fred as we made our way to the fenced area. After we'd completed two full circles, Fred declared he'd had enough for today. His body trembled by the time we got back to the platform where Nash and Dad helped get him into his wheelchair.

I worried we'd overdone things, but once Fred was seated and had a sip of water from the thermos Dad thoughtfully provided, a slow grin inched up his face.

"I would'a never thought I'd ride a horse again, but sure as shootin', I did it."

We all smiled at that.

"You did really great," I said, pleased with how well everything had gone.

"I didn't fall off." Fred gave a short laugh, then sobered. "But I felt like I could've there at the end."

Nash laid an encouraging hand on Fred's shoulder. "Your core muscles will get stronger each time you ride. Keep doing your exercises in the meantime."

Fred's chin quivered, and he shook his head. "I can't thank y'all enough for doin' this for me."

Dad stepped forward and put his hand on Fred's other shoulder. "And we can't thank you enough for your willingness to fight for freedom. This is the least we can do, but we're very happy to do it."

Fred nodded, obviously emotional. "I bet a lot of guys comin' back from the war all beat up would like to do what I did today. I'm a lucky fella to have such good friends."

"Do you want to come up to the house for a cup of coffee or a soda before I take you home?" Nash asked.

Fred declined, thanking us again, and bid me farewell. While the men got Fred settled in the pickup, I led Dawn's Rose to the barn and unsaddled her. I had just begun to brush her when Dad found me.

"Fred would like to come out again next weekend."

I glanced up to see a look of satisfaction on his face. "That's great. He did really well."

He nodded.

I thought he would leave, but he lingered, watching me run a stiff brush over Dawn's Rose. After a long silence, he cleared his throat.

"I'm proud of you, Mattie. You gave Fred a gift today. One that will have a long-lasting effect on his life."

He sounded sincere.

I couldn't remember hearing words of praise from my father that weren't directed at Mark. I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Thank you," I finally said.

He left me alone then. I didn't know what just happened, but it felt monumental. Like a shift in the galaxy or something. Dad was a man of few words, so to hear him say he was proud of me—especially coming on the heels of his soul-wrenching reminder that I'd abandoned Mama when she needed me most—completely caught me off guard.

I finished grooming Dawn's Rose, but I wasn't ready to go inside the house. I needed time by myself to sort through the morning's events.

I walked to Moonlight's stall. She put her nose over the half door and nudged me.

"How about we go for a ride, girl?" I said, rubbing her strong jaw.

Ten minutes later, we headed out of the barn into glorious sunshine.