Chapter Thirty-three Mattie

THIRTY-THREE : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

DECEMBER 1969

Mama came home from the hospital one week before Christmas.

Her homecoming was delayed by setbacks, pain management issues, and a fever that worried Dad more than anything else.

I felt like I'd been in limbo for days, going from the farm to the hospital, only to repeat it again and again. Everything else, including my questions about Gunther Schneider and my roller-coaster emotions, were put on hold while we waited for Mama.

While she lay in the hospital, I'd read to her from The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the book Mark gave me the night before he left for Vietnam. Bonhoeffer's life was fascinating, and it helped me understand my brother's choices a little better. I still believed both men should have chosen to remain safely with their families rather than risking danger for their beliefs, but I had a new respect for my twin.

The first morning Mama was home, she had a request.

"You need... to decorate... the house... for the holidays," she said, her voice hoarse, and her breath coming in short gasps.

Nurse Bradford was joined by two other nurses, each of whom took a shift, ensuring Mama had round-the-clock care. One of them—I forget her name—had just gone downstairs to get herself a cup of coffee after staying with Mama all night. Dad slept on the sofa despite Nash volunteering to return to the cottage and offering Mark's old room.

"Mama, I don't think any of us are in the mood to celebrate Christmas."

A scowl came to her swollen face. "Christmas... is about... Jesus... not presents. He... is why... we celebrate."

I knew I would lose this battle. "All right. I'll go to the attic later and look for the decorations."

A soft smile replaced the frown. "That's... my girl."

After the nurse returned, I put on a coat and headed outside. A frozen water pipe burst in the barn overnight. While Dad and Nash were busy with repairs, I figured I could help with the horses.

I hadn't gone far when a navy-blue Chevy Chevelle pulled into the yard. An attractive young woman stepped out, her tan hip-length coat lined with brilliant white fur around the collar and cuffs.

"Hello." I walked toward her. "May I help you?"

She chuckled. "It's me, Mattie. Paula."

My mouth gaped. "Paula Allyn?" I couldn't believe the difference in Mark's old girlfriend's appearance. She'd come to his funeral last year, but she'd looked the same as I'd always remembered. Now her hair was bleached blonde instead of brunette, and she wore a thick layer of makeup around her eyes and on her cheeks.

We hugged. "It's good to see you," I said sincerely.

Nash came out of the barn and stopped short when he saw us.

"Nash, look who's here. Paula."

An odd expression crossed his face before he slowly moved forward. "Good to see you, Paula."

She nodded, then sobered when she faced me. "I've been visiting my parents this week, but I wanted to come out before I leave town and tell you how sorry I am about your mom. She was always very kind to me."

"Thank you," I said, my throat thick.

We chatted for several minutes, catching up. Nash was quiet, but I knew he'd run into Paula a time or two since he'd come home, so he probably didn't feel the need to join our conversation.

"I better be going," she said. "It was great to see you again, Mattie. When Nash and I had dinner a couple weeks ago, I was happy to hear you were home."

"Dinner?" I asked, confused.

She cast a shy glance at Nash. "We've only been out a couple times."

I stared at her, suddenly feeling like an idiot for not putting two and two together until now.

She bid us goodbye, with a lingering look at Nash, and climbed into the car and drove away.

Before he could say a word, I turned on him. "You're dating my dead brother's girlfriend?"

He frowned. "It isn't like that, Mattie. We have dinner when she's in town. She's lonely. I was too. We mostly talk about Mark."

I glared at him. "Why couldn't you just be honest with me? Why does everyone in my life feel the need to lie to me?"

"I didn't lie to you, Mattie," he said. "But I didn't think you'd understand. And I see I was right."

"Don't you dare put this on me." A bitter taste filled my mouth. "Mark loved her." I couldn't say more.

I left him standing in the yard and stormed back to the house. The nurse stepped into the hallway when I stomped up the stairs.

"Your mother is resting, dear," she said, rebuke in her tone.

Although I didn't think Mama would hear a freight train if it thundered by, thanks to the morphine, I apologized, tiptoed to my room, and closed the door.

Nash and Paula were dating.

Was I the last person to know? Why would he comfort me, hold me so tenderly, if he had a girlfriend? Mark's girlfriend. I'd trusted Nash. Poured my heart out to him.

What a fool I'd been.

I paced the room like a caged lion. I needed to roar and let off some steam.

There was only one way to do that.

I headed to the barn and saddled Mark's horse, True Blue.

In a matter of minutes, we were flying across the land.

· · ·

I didn't speak to Nash for three days.

Each time he entered the house, I ignored him and left the room. Dad noticed the tension between us but wisely didn't get involved. I busied myself with putting up Christmas decorations and spending time with Mama, who mostly slept. When she did wake for brief periods, she was incoherent. I'd simply hold her hand and carry on a one-sided conversation about the farm, the horses, the weather, always avoiding topics that could send me to the floor.

Two days before Christmas, however, she slipped into a coma. Dr. Monahan was notified and immediately came out to the farm. After he examined Mama, he called Dad, me, and Nash into the living room. With a somber voice, he told us she most likely wouldn't come out of the coma.

"Ava isn't long for this world, I'm afraid."

I stared at the floor, my jaw clenched, while Dad thanked the doctor for everything he'd done for Mama. After they walked outside, Nash and I sat in silence. Floorboards above us creaked as the nurse moved around upstairs. Sunshine streamed through the curtain. Life carried on, no matter that Mama's was ebbing away.

"I'm sorry, Mattie," Nash said softly. "I love your mom. She's always treated me like a son."

The crack in his voice was my undoing.

My vision blurred, and my annoyance with him fell away. "What will I do without her?" Sobs overtook me.

He stood, pulled me to my feet, and let me weep into his chest. His shoulders shook, and I knew he wept too.

Dad returned, and the three of us sat in the living room, stunned and heartbroken.

"I'll go into town tomorrow morning and make the arrangements," he said, his face ashen. "Pastor Arnold offered to help."

I knew planning Mama's funeral would be a heart-wrenching task. "Do you want me to go with you?"

He shook his head. "One of us should be here." He heaved a sigh and stood. "I think I'll go sit with her a while."

I watched as he left the room, his face drawn and his shoulders bent under the weight of grief. The nurse came downstairs, book in hand, and sat at the kitchen table to read. Nash suggested we put on our coats and move to the porch swing.

After we settled, he sent the bench into motion with his foot, the same way Mark used to do when we sat beside each other. My feet didn't quite reach the porch floor, so I'd let him do all the work.

"I should have told you about Paula," Nash said. When I turned to him, he held my gaze. "I'm not interested in her, Mattie. It was just nice to talk to someone who'd loved Mark as much as I did."

I couldn't find fault with that. "I shouldn't have gotten so angry. It isn't any of my business who you date."

He reached to caress my cheek. "I want it to be your business."

I captured his hand and held it to my face. "I can't make any promises, Nash," I whispered. "Things are so..." Tears flooded my eyes.

He nodded. "I know. I'm not asking for any promises... yet."

He kissed me then. His lips on mine, warm and gentle. When he pulled away, there were tears in his eyes too.

"Stay here," he said as he stood. "I have an early Christmas present for you."

He walked across the yard to the cottage. When he returned, he carried a large, flat parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper.

"I know Christmas presents aren't important this year, but I already had this ready for you."

He held it while I tore off the paper.

I gasped. "The painting."

His head tilted. "Did you go snooping in the cottage and see this already?"

I gave a slight chuckle. "I wasn't snooping. Mama sent me to find a photo album that belonged to Granny. I saw this in the corner, but you hadn't finished it yet." I studied the image of a horse and a little dark-headed girl, their noses touching. "This is amazing, Nash."

"It's you."

My eyes roamed the canvas, taking in the beautiful, intricate details. A red scarf around the girl's neck. Dark hair untamed, blowing in the breeze.

"Remember the story of the day I first met you?"

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the child in the portrait. "I was riding Midnight Pride."

He sat next to me. "I figure the horse is a combination of Midnight Pride and Moonlight, but the girl is exactly how I remember you."

I turned to face him, stunned, seeing him— really seeing him—for the first time, my heart unexpectedly but wonderfully blown wide open. "I love you, Nash McCallum," I said, laughing and crying at the same time. "I think I always have."

"I love you too, Mattie. I think I always have."

I kissed him then. Passionately. Completely.

With more love than I dreamed possible.