12. Gray Skies

Chapter 12

Gray Skies

H arper arrived downstairs in the baggy layers of winter clothes. The vivid image of her toes falling off from the cold was still deeply etched into her thoughts.

Oakleigh was heading out the front door, when she stopped mid-stride.

“Wow, Mom,” Oakleigh said, her pitch swinging high as she bit her lip to stifle her laughter.

Maeve swept past them both and pulled her tan hat off the rack. “Oakleigh, knock it off.”

Oakleigh immediately complied with Maeve’s stern, motherly rebuke, making Harper’s irritation rise.

“We need to get ready for Peaches,” Maeve instructed, reaching for the door handle, “And let’s figure out what we can do with these infamous new animals I’ve been hearing about.”

She swung the front door wide and let a blast of frozen air into the warm entryway. Along with it came the irritating, squawking call of the rooster still incessantly echoing from the barn .

Maeve’s brow furrowed. “Does he ever stop?”

“I wouldn’t ask him to,” Oakleigh stated, raising her chin high. “He’s doing what roosters do, Maeve.”

Maeve offered a heavy, exasperated sigh. “The bird is still up for discussion.”

“Nugget, Maeve,” Oakleigh corrected. “Can you believe old Murphy threw him in for free?” she chimed, offering Maeve a sympathetic glance. “He’s like me. He needed a home.”

“I’ve never heard of Murphy giving up anything for free,” Maeve replied, her voice fading away as they headed toward the barn. “That should have been your first red flag.”

Harper kept her distance, following a few paces behind. Her eyes stung from the biting wind. She patted her pockets, attempting to locate where she had stashed her sunglasses. Hearing a loud bark behind her, she sidestepped just in time. Bracing herself, she felt her boots slide on the icy driveway. The happy golden retriever dashed past her nearly knocking her the rest of the way down as he pounced through the snow after Maeve.

Harper tottered, struggling to regain her balance. Feeling stable enough to resume forward motion, her boots again crunched across the snowy driveway.

She had been in cold weather before, but nothing as harsh as the conditions around her. Quickly beginning to realize that wearing mascara may have been a mistake, it was confirmed when she brushed across her eyelid. Glancing at her gloved finger, she noticed a lone frozen eyelash .

“My eyelash just — froze off,” she stammered in disbelief.

“Yeah, that happens,” Oakleigh shrugged casually, as though she had also learned that same difficult lesson.

Maeve pulled open the heavy barn doors, and they followed her inside. Making their way through the musty barn, the horses began to shuffle and whinny as they passed. When they arrived at the last stall, Maeve blinked twice when her eyes landed on the flock of baby chicks scurrying to and fro.

“Oh, Oakleigh,” she emphasized with a touch of dismay in her tone. She stooped down, leaning back on her heels. Running her fingers across her brow, she examined the chirping yellow fluffs. “When you said baby chicks, I didn’t expect them to be hatched yesterday.”

“Not yesterday — ” Oakleigh clarified in an apparent attempt to find any silver lining to her decision. She pointed to the next stall. “The goats are over there,”

Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Are you mad?” Oakleigh winced.

She sighed, appearing to collect her thoughts. “No, not mad.”

Harper scoffed. “Oakleigh read the room — of course, she’s mad.”

Maeve quietly tilted her head, observing the funny little rooster pecking at the ground. “And I suppose you’re the big guy making all that racket first thing in the morning.”

Dozer sat down beside her, looking as though he was also invested in the scene .

Maeve glanced over, giving the dog an amused look. “Did you know about this?”

The excited dog barked like he always did when Maeve gave him the attention he craved.

“Thought so,” Maeve chuckled, reaching over to give his ears a tousle.

“So what do you think?” Oakleigh nervously spoke up.

Maeve stood to her feet and dusted off her jeans. “I think this is going to be one heck of a chore this winter,” she said, observing the baby goats bleating and scampering around the small makeshift pen. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Taking the pitchfork off the wall, Maeve offered it to Harper. “Go ahead and start cleaning the stall while we haul in the feed bags.”

Harper frowned, her eyebrows pulling together as she considered Maeve’s instructions. “Oh, no thanks,” she replied, putting up a gloved hand.

“You’re in no condition for heavy lifting,” Maeve insisted, still holding out the handle of the pitchfork.

“Oh, is that so?” Harper’s lip curled in disgust. “I’m not interested in mucking stalls.”

Now in a stalemate with her stubborn sister, Harper was sure her eyes were going to freeze open — but this was one battle she was determined to win.

Maeve finally shrugged and hung the pitchfork back on the wall. “Let’s get the feedbags inside, Oakleigh. ”

“What’s Mom going to do?” Oakleigh inquired, following on her heels outside to where the feedbags were stacked high.

Maeve hoisted one on her shoulders and headed back toward the barn. “She’s our guest,” she said, noticeably speaking loudly enough to reach Harper’s ears. “She can do whatever she wants.”

Harper found a dark corner and crossed her arms. Using her gloved finger, she pushed up her beanie hat, which kept slipping over her eyes. Harper observed Oakleigh as she picked up a large, heavy bag and flipped it onto her shoulder. She never imagined that her eldest daughter would lift a finger for anyone, let alone gladly participate in manual labor.

Once they had stacked a few bags inside, Oakleigh took the pitchfork off the wall without a whisper of a complaint. She began clearing the soiled hay from a horse stall while Maeve continued to singlehandedly haul in the heavy sacks of chicken feed.

Oakleigh shook her head in frustration, speaking as though Harper wasn’t standing right there. “Why does she always have to make things so difficult?”

“If I remember correctly,” Maeve said, heaving a bag onto the growing pile. “It took you some time to get used to this kind of work.” An amused smile dashed across her face, “I thought Sawyer was going to wring your neck that day you flooded the barn.”

“I thought you were going to throw me out,” Oakleigh grinned, giving her a knowing look. “You probably actually should have thrown me out.”

Maeve leaned on the stack, wiping her brow with the back of her gloved hand. “You know we don’t do that around here. Once a Callaway —”

Harper felt her blood begin to boil.

Oh you’ve got to be kidding me with this.

Oakleigh wasn’t a Callaway, and Harper had heard quite enough.

She pushed off the wall, passing the two without a word, and stepped outside into the muted sunlight. Dark gray clouds were billowing down from the mountains, signaling that another blanket of snow was on its way.

A gust of wind cut through her layers of clothing like a sharp blade, yet her hot temper kept her toasty warm.

She repeated the narrative she had created and had nearly convinced herself was true. Harper had kicked Oakleigh out and sent her away to teach her a hard life lesson. It seemed like the only thing her daughter had learned along the way was that her actions had no consequences.

And what about all the things Oakleigh learned from me?

She had done all the hard work, and now Maeve was swooping in to take all the credit. If they thought hauling a couple of feed bags was strenuous, they should try juggling a megachurch and coordinating the booming staff required to keep things running smoothly.

Harper had raised Oakleigh to be a strong woman with the grit to step into her shoes and carry the family legacy with dignity.

Her mind spun as she paced by the pile of hefty burlap sacks.

“Maeve thinks she knows everything,” she seethed, “but she certainly doesn’t know me.” She convinced herself that the years invested in pilates class would make light work out of the chore.

Going to the tall stack, she hoisted a bag on her shoulders. The awkward shift in weight on her thin frame forced her back a step. Panic rushed through her as her boot lost traction on the icy dirt. Jerking forward to find her balance, the bulky burlap bag slipped over her shoulder, tipping the scales and bringing her down with it.

Reacting to catch herself, she felt her acrylic nails bend back and snap.

She hit the ground hard. The thick snow pants did little to soften the blow to her body — or her ego, for that matter.

Harper lay there, staring at the clouds floating across the gray sky above her while she assessed if anything was broken other than her pride.

“Why does this keep happening to me?” she wondered out loud, now strategizing how to lift her bruised body off the ground. She had done it before and was resigned to do it again.

This time, however, she didn’t have to.

Before she could make a move, she felt a set of arms under each of hers, hoisting her clumsily onto her feet .

It was Maeve and Oakleigh.

“Harp, you all right?” Maeve asked, holding on to her until she was steady.

“That was some fall, Mom,” Oakleigh observed. Her eyebrows drew together as she swiped a bit of hay off of Harper’s jacket. “Maybe you should go inside and rest.”

Harper gulped down the lump of embarrassment that had risen to her throat. “Let go,” she snapped, pulling her arms from each of their their grasps. “Don’t touch me.”

Maeve stepped back, respecting her boundaries, but Oakleigh appeared ready for a fight.

“Can’t you see we’re just trying to help?” Oakleigh snapped.

“I don’t need your help!” Harper fired back, her voice rising with anger. She headed toward the ranch house, feeling her boots slipping again with every step.

Refusing to give them the satisfaction of another glance, she could only imagine them standing there, whispering about her. She managed to reach the porch, and assumed her audience was savoring her embarrassing display, taking every opportunity to bolster their seemingly unbreakable bond at her expense.

Gathering the nerve to finally turn around, she was shocked to see she was all alone. Maeve and Oakleigh had simply returned to their work in the barn as though she hadn’t mattered in the slightest .

“As it should be,” Harper muttered, feeling worthlessness creep into her chest. The brutal fall had caused her already tender back to tighten, and every step made her wince in pain.

When she finally reached her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned heavily on the wall for support. Pulling off her gloves, her fingers stung the moment they hit the air. She shook the glove, swallowing hard as two acrylic nails clattered onto the hardwood floor.

Carefully peeling off the rest of the heavy winter outfit, she retrieved a tank top and a pair of yoga pants from her luggage. Bracing herself on the bathroom countertop, she was relieved that no one was there to witness the feat it took to get the clothing on her body. She looked herself over in the bathroom mirror, lifting the soft fabric of her shirt. Her ribs were beginning to turn a shade of dark purple.

“Another bruise,” she sighed.

She tilted her head and ran her fingers over the faded scar just above her newest injury. No matter how many revisions she had insisted on paying top dollar for, the stubborn mark remained. Harper loathed the memories that surfaced of a time when hiding bruises was part of her daily routine.

She slowly edged her body down on the lumpy bed that was now feeling like a heavenly soft sanctuary for her aching body. The pain of her tender muscles and throbbing ribs was nothing compared to the sting of memories she had fought hard for decades to suppress. Pulling the blankets over her, she used all the methods she had learned over the years to regain control of her spinning thoughts.

Despite her efforts, she felt herself losing the battle. Her breathing quickened, and her lungs struggled to fill.

At what she deemed the worst possible time, there came a sharp knock on her door. Harper pulled her hand over her mouth, hoping to stifle her loud gasps for air.

“Harp,” Maeve’s muffled voice came through the door. “I’m just checking on you.”

“Go away,” she croaked.

“I’ve got an ice pack,” Maeve persisted. “And you know I brought coffee.”

She groaned. Clutching her pillow, she turned away toward the window. “It’s your house.”

The doorknob clicked open, and she heard Maeve’s soft footsteps. “I’m going to put the ice pack here on the nightstand, next to your coffee,” she began. “We keep these on hand around here for a reason,” she explained, filling the awkward silence with a hint of levity. “You’re certainly not the first to hit the ice — just ask Oakleigh.”

Maeve was obviously trying to lighten the mood despite knowing it would be a futile attempt.

“Leave me alone,” Harper whispered.

“As long as you’re here,” Maeve replied. “You’re not going to be alone,”

Harper scoffed callously. “Another one of your house rules, I suppose? ”

“Actually,” Maeve clarified with a dash of pride in her eye, “Oakleigh insisted on that one — and boy, is she stubborn about it.” She quietly stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Harper was finally alone. She lifted her stiff, painful body onto her elbows and wrenched open the drawer of her nightstand in a frantic search for her pain medication.

No.

It was too easy to pop a pill, and she was convinced she was stronger than that.

She nabbed the ice pack. Stuffing it under her lower back, she collapsed on her pillow. She reached for the coffee, brought it to her lips, and took a swig of the rich black brew.

“Dang it,” she exhaled. “That’s good.” Having nothing to dull the onslaught of painful memories, she opted to shut her eyes.

It certainly wasn’t the first time Maeve had brought her an ice pack and a few comforting words.

Maeve was no idiot.

Even if her sister never let on, Harper knew she remembered every gristly detail of the night that changed it all.