Chapter Five Mattie

FIVE : MATTIE

DELANEY HORSE FARM

NOVEMBER 1969

Moonlight Sky nickered and nudged my hand from the opposite side of the fence, making me smile, no matter my surly mood. "I know, I know. I've missed you too."

After my argument with Nash, I'd found my horse in the small pasture, closest to the stables. Thankfully she looked good. Healthy. Her chestnut coat shone in the sunshine, and her eyes were bright and clear. If I didn't know she'd been bred, I wouldn't suspect she was pregnant. With this being her first foal, she wouldn't show as early as an older, more experienced mare.

I continued to rub her neck, thinking back to the spring when she was born. A blue-roan colt had arrived the week before, and Mark claimed it as his own, naming it True Blue. Mama woke me when it was time for the next foal to arrive, and I ran to the barn. The moon shone in the inky sky, and a silvery beam, almost heaven-sent, came through the window and touched the white blaze on the newborn filly's nose. I was smitten.

Footsteps drew my attention.

I turned as Dad approached. Moonlight bobbed her head and walked to him. His lips lifted just a hair as he rubbed her neck.

"She's always looking for something sweet."

I didn't respond. Even though I could see for myself Moonlight looked healthy, my irritation with his decision to breed her hadn't diminished.

We stood in silence, watching Moonlight wander off to nibble at a patch of grass.

"I had a good offer from Brooks Farm to breed her with their stallion, Sir Admiral," he finally said. "They lowered the stud fee and want to buy the foal if it's a colt."

I glanced over to find Dad's attention still on the horse. His words were measured in the careful way he always spoke. Never full of emotion and passion, like me, or with humor and ease, like Mark.

He leaned his forearms on the top fence rail and squinted in the sunlight, causing even more wrinkles to appear on his weathered face. "We always planned to breed her. She comes from good stock. Her offspring will fetch top dollar." After another stretch of silence, he said, "You can take her out. Just go slow and easy." Then he turned and walked away.

A long breath pushed past my lips.

I knew I was acting immature. I'd wanted to be taken seriously since I was a kid, but how could I expect anyone, especially my father, to treat me like an adult when I acted like a petulant child?

I decided to hold off on the ride and climbed up and sat on the fence. Moonlight glanced at me, but when I didn't call her over, she continued to graze.

My eyes traveled her sleek, strong body.

I had to admit it made sense that she would be bred now that she was old enough. Her sire, Glory's Blaze, had an impressive pedigree, as did her dam, Midnight Pride. If I were honest, my annoyance at finding she'd been bred came more from the fact that I'd wanted to choose the sire myself. Before Mark died, I'd started to research stallions, some as far away as Colorado. With Moonlight's chestnut coat and lineage, I'd hoped to find a sire that would produce an offspring with buckskin coloring.

A pang of guilt ran through me.

Was it Dad's fault that I'd disappeared for a year? I'd still be in California if I hadn't been summoned home. The business of raising and selling horses had to continue, whether I was present or not.

I glanced at the green-roofed stables behind me.

Dad mentioned the sire, Sir Admiral, came from Brooks Farm, a well-run Tennessee walking horse operation north of Shelbyville. I couldn't remember if that particular horse was on my list of possible sires, but now my curiosity was piqued. What was his coloration? Did his pedigree include names of horses I would recognize?

There were two ways to get the information I sought. Ask Dad, or look in the records stored in the office, located at the back of the stables. Since the latter seemed the path less likely to create conflict, I hopped down off the fence and hurried in that direction.

The stable door sang out as I entered, but a quick glance down the long aisle of horse stalls told me I was alone. I crept to the office. Even though I'd been here too many times to count through the years, I had a feeling of trespassing where I didn't belong.

In the office, I pulled open the top drawer on a four-drawer filing cabinet wedged between the desk and the wall. Various ledgers were stored here. Sales and purchases. Supplies. Employee information. But there was only one I needed now. A familiar thick black binder. Using both hands, I took out the book that held the names and information of every horse associated with Delaney Farm since before Dad married Mama. Stallions. Mares. Foals. Sires and dams. I used to love reading through the names, picturing the horses in my mind. As a girl, I dreamed of working alongside Dad in the family business. I had big plans for the farm in those days.

But then everything changed.

He and I couldn't get along, while he and Mark grew closer. They'd talk about football and things I had no interest in, and Mark started spending more and more time with Dad instead of with me. I resented it. Resented my own father for taking my brother away from me. I once tried to explain this to Clay. He was older and known in our hippie community for having wisdom, and I respected his opinion. But when I claimed my dad was the reason Mark was dead, Clay wouldn't have it.

"It sounds like you were jealous of their relationship," he'd said, while smoke from a joint swirled around his head. "Your brother needed his dad to help him become a man, but you wanted to keep him all to yourself."

The recollection didn't improve my current mood.

I flipped open the ledger. Handwritten notations filled the pages. Although individual files were kept on each horse, the ledger told the history of Delaney Farm. I would have enjoyed reading through the many names and reminiscing, but I wasn't sure when Dad might come back. I didn't want to be caught prowling through things that may not be my business anymore.

I'd just landed on the page with the information on Sir Admiral when I heard a door shut and a low whistle come from somewhere in the building. Should I remain where I was and risk getting caught? The whistling grew louder. I recognized the tune—"Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond. Since Dad wasn't into popular music, I doubt he'd know it.

Sure enough, Nash appeared in the doorway.

The whistling stopped.

His brow rose. "Sorry. I didn't know you were in here."

I'm sure I had guilt written across my face. I gave a shrug. "I wanted to find out more about Sir Admiral."

He nodded toward the desk. "Find what you're looking for?"

"Yes." I glanced back to the ledger. "This says he's a bay sabino Appaloosa. That's surprising. His coloring isn't what I expected Dad would want in a sire."

"He's a beautiful animal."

I looked up. "You saw him?"

"Kurt and I trailered Moonlight up to Shelbyville. We weren't there long. Sir Admiral knew exactly what to do."

Even though I'd grown up on a farm, I felt my face grow warm. I returned my attention to the ledger. "His sire was Big John Blue. I've heard that name before."

"He has an impressive pedigree. Having a foal from his bloodline would be good for Delaney Farm. We'd be able to use that in marketing."

It was my turn to be surprised. "I don't remember you ever having an interest in horses. Cars and football were all you thought about in high school."

Nash pointed to a stack of books on the floor next to the desk. "I've been reading up on horse breeding, farm management, bookkeeping. Your dad took a risk hiring me. I want to prove to him that he didn't make a mistake."

I couldn't help but be impressed. "Is the farm doing well? Everything looks good."

Concern crossed his face. "Some of the owners who raise performance horses got wind that your dad was on board with legislation to ban the practice of soring. Granted, not everyone who enters their horses in competitions uses chemicals or chains and stacked shoes to make the horse lift its feet higher, but your dad and others feel it needs to be stopped. There's been some trouble because of Kurt's stance. False accusations. Rumors of abuse here at Delaney Farm. It's hurt business."

My blood boiled. "I'll never forget the first time I saw a horse that had been sored. The poor thing was in horrific pain. He couldn't even stand up. It's a vile practice, and I agree with Dad. There needs to be legislation against it."

His mouth quirked. "I think the American Horse Protection Association is looking for volunteers to go to Washington. You'd be perfect for the job."

His teasing didn't offend me. "Maybe I will." I returned the ledger to the drawer and stood. "So," I said as we moved from the office into the interior of the stables. "What's the routine around here? Is it just you and Dad, or do you have other help?"

I'd seen at least twenty horses in the pastures, with others in paddocks. Between feeding, grooming, exercising, and a plethora of other daily duties, caring for the animals and farm was a big job. Then there were hayfields that needed to be cut, fence and equipment to maintain. Farming isn't for the faint of heart, that's for sure.

"Before I was hired, Kurt did everything himself. Your mom told me he was exhausted, but he wouldn't hire anyone until I came along. It's still a lot of work for just the two of us, but we manage."

We exited the stables into midmorning sunshine. I glanced up to the house. "I better check on Mama. If she's awake, she might be hungry."

We parted, with neither of us bringing up the unpleasantness from earlier. I made my way to the house. Dad was in the kitchen washing out a small bowl.

He glanced at me when I came through the back door. "Your mama would like you to help her get a bath, if you feel up to it."

A tremor of apprehension rolled through me. "Is that okay? I won't hurt her?"

"She enjoys soaking in the warm water. Just be gentle when you help lift her."

I hurried upstairs. Mama sat in a chair by the bedroom window. Her eyes were closed as warm sunshine spilled over her swollen face.

"Mama?"

She smiled when she saw me. "My Mattie. It's so good to have you home."

I took her outstretched hand. "Dad said you'd like to take a bath."

"Your father is good to help me sponge off, but sometimes a good old-fashioned soak in the tub works wonders on my spirit."

I helped her get to her feet. She leaned heavily on me as we made our way to the bathroom in the hallway. The slow steps. The weakness I felt in her body. It all seemed surreal.

"I remember helping Granny when she got to the point she couldn't bathe herself," Mama said, out of breath after the short walk. I closed the lid on the commode so she could sit down. "Granny had always been so independent. It was hard for her to accept help. Especially from me."

Working together, we got her undressed and into a tub of warm, sudsy water. I wadded up a towel and placed it behind her head as a cushion.

"Tell me about California," she said, her eyes partially closed. "Is it as pretty as everyone says?"

Regret choked me as my throat convulsed.

I should have never left. I shouldn't know what California looks like because I should have never been there. Mama'd needed me here. If I'd been home, I would have seen her growing weaker and insisted she see the doctor. Had my selfishness put Mama in jeopardy?

"Mattie?"

I found her gentle gaze on me. Tears spilled down my cheeks. "If I hadn't gone away... if I'd been here, you wouldn't be..." Silent sobs overtook me.

Her wet hand found mine. "Listen to me, Martha Ann. No doctor or medicine or procedure could add a single day to my life. God's Word says all our days are recorded in his book before we're born."

I sniffled. "But—"

"No buts, sweetheart." She sank a little deeper into the water and closed her eyes. "Now, tell me about California. What do the beaches look like?"

For the next thirty minutes, I talked about palm trees, the sound of the ocean, and anything else that came to mind. But all the while, guilt settled on me like a farrier's anvil. I'd felt justified in my leaving, with anger at my father the driving force. I'd claimed grief over my brother's death kept me from returning home. He was my twin, after all. We were connected in a way other siblings weren't. How could I go home knowing he'd never be there again?

But being here with Mama now, looking into her eyes and knowing my absence had hurt her, I recognized my actions for what they were: selfishness, pure and simple.

How could I have done that to her?

When the water grew cool, I helped her don a clean nightgown and assisted her back to bed. She panted as though she'd run a marathon.

"I'm as weak as a newborn kitten these days," she said with a slight chuckle. "Who would believe I used to lift hay bales and drive a tractor?"

"You rest, Mama." I fluffed her pillows and tucked her in. "Are you hungry? I can bring up some lunch."

She shook her head, her face pinched. "Your father brought me some soup earlier. Tell him I need my medicine, will you please, dear?"

Before I could answer, Dad spoke from the doorway. "I'm here, Ava."

I stepped back as he moved in close to the bed. With his work-rough hand, he smoothed Mama's puffy cheek. She smiled up to him with such adoration shining in her eyes, I had to look away from the private moment.

"With Mattie's help, I've had a nice bath. Now I'm ready for a nap."

Dad took a pill from a bottle and helped her take it with water. Mama shut her eyes and didn't say more.

"What is that? The medicine, I mean," I asked quietly.

"Morphine." He didn't look at me. "It's a low dose for now. The doctor will prescribe something stronger if... if she needs it."

"Is she in a lot of pain?"

He didn't answer right away, his focus never leaving Mama's face. "It comes and goes, but the doctor said it will get worse. She didn't want to take anything for it at first, but..." He didn't finish. "Nash made sandwiches. You go eat. I'll stay with her a while."

I left the room, my emotions confused and raw. I'd never witnessed my father like this. Tender. Helpless. He wasn't a man of many words, but I'd never thought of him as weak, either in body or mind. He worked hard from dawn to dusk, maintaining the farm by himself for the most part. Mark had helped, especially during haying season, and we'd both had chores in the barns and stables. I didn't mind helping when I was younger, but after I started high school, time with my friends and special boys was far more important.

That's when Dad and I began to clash.

The kitchen was empty when I arrived, but a plate of chicken salad sandwiches sat on the counter. I took a bite while I stood, and it immediately carried me back to warm summer days, eating lunch here in the kitchen with Mama and Mark. Mama had a secret ingredient that made her chicken salad stand out among all those brought to church potluck dinners: dried apricots from our own trees. Where most of the other ladies used apples or even grapes, the bits of apricot Mama added gave it a unique sweetness the other dishes lacked. I was surprised to taste them now, knowing she wasn't the cook responsible for it.

I poured myself a glass of cold milk, something I hadn't enjoyed since I left home, and settled at the table. Dad joined me a short time later.

"She's resting. Thank you for helping with her bath."

I nodded.

"Doc Monahan or one of his nurses comes out to check her once a week."

Frustration rose in me. "I don't understand why he didn't keep her in the hospital and treat the disease. They're making all sorts of advancements in the medical world these days. Did you get a second opinion? Surely there was something they could've done. I can't believe they would just send her home to die without a fight."

Accusation laced my words. I prepared myself for his angry rebuttal, but he just sat there, looking defeated.

"Doc said we could stay in Nashville and try radiation and chemotherapy, but he warned it would be hard on her. She'd be very sick, and it probably wouldn't change the prognosis." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "She wanted to come home, so I brought her home."

"And that's it? You simply agreed?" I snapped. "You're just going to sit by and watch her die? Well, I won't. My brother was killed because you wouldn't talk sense into him and keep him from going to Vietnam. Now you won't do everything you can to convince Mama to go to the hospital in Nashville. I can't understand you at all."

He didn't respond.

I wanted to battle things out, make him see I was right, but he remained silent. He stood and moved to the door.

"I'll be in the barn if your mother needs me."

I watched him leave the house, fuming that he would simply give up. The unfairness of the situation made me want to scream. Mama refused to seek treatment. Dad wouldn't make her do it. Mark wouldn't listen to me and went off to war.

Stubbornness, it seemed, ran through our family like a raging river.