The Long Road Home (12 page)

Then he touched her. His one finger wiped away a tear, and she slipped into his arms. He wrapped her snugly against his chest, like a father, or a friend. She buried her face in the warmth of his flannel shirt while he stroked her hair.

Nora snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm, rooting for security as eagerly as did the runt. As she did so, his arm tightened around her and for that moment she allowed herself the escape of feeling protected and cared for. Nora was desperate to feel the touch of human comfort. A hug.

But a hug is a two-channeled effort. As she garnered strength from him, he gathered the same from her, and in the sharing, a subtle bond was forged. They would never again look at each other without remembering this moment of closeness.

She didn’t know how long they stood there like that. He
did not press her with questions nor did she offer any explanations. But as time passed, the arms of her comforter became the arms of a man. She smelled his skin rather than his jacket, and under her cheek, his heart pounded as heavily as her own.

He smelled too good, this felt too good, and she hadn’t had a rush like this in so long it caught her by surprise. She’d thought that part of her died long before Mike did.

But this feeling was wrong. He was her hired hand—a drifter. If she wasn’t careful, she’d confuse business with pleasure. My God, she wouldn’t be like Mike.

Nora straightened and without looking into his face, released herself from his hold. The moment was awkward. It required words. She took a deep breath of the cool air and struggled for something to say. But her mind went blank and her throat went dry. So without speaking, she simply turned and walked back to the pen to peer in and feign interest as her mind cleared.

C.W. said nothing either but stood with his arms hanging at his side. He struggled to define his sudden confusion but couldn’t. He only knew he felt as though someone had given him a gift, something beautiful, then snatched it away before he could even see what it was.

Nora stood at the pen, feet together and arms over the rail, and watched the two baby lambs sleep beside their mother. So, she thought. This was birth. A continuation of life, a renewal. She sighed deeply, the cycle of emotions coming full circle within her. Before her, the runt rested his chin on his adopted sister’s rump and his bony ribs expanded and fell with his quick breaths. She knew he’d make it. He was a fighter. Little fellow, she thought as her chest swelled, you’re an inspiration.

Her gaze swept the barn for the second time that day. This time she took in her sheep, the line of grain troughs, and the mysterious tools with a more positive perspective. They
weren’t so mind-boggling, they were just different. All things she could learn.

She smelled the sweet hay, the musky wool and the woodsy sawdust. Smells that she already felt akin to. This was her home. These were her babies. Deep in her core, she felt a rebirth of conviction.

“C.W.?” she called over her shoulder.

He walked to her side and raised his boot upon the gate.

“Boss?” he queried, swinging his head her way.

She almost smiled at the title. The degree to which he cocked his head, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the shine in his eyes as they met hers, rekindled the tenderness they had shared a moment ago.

“I don’t know how to say this eloquently, but…thanks.”

He pushed out his lips to avert his smile. “Don’t mention it.”

Nora released a satisfied sigh. She knew he understood. He was all right, she decided. “I hear you have a lot of books on sheep and farming. I’d like to borrow them—all of them. And anything else you’ve got that might help. I’ve got a lot to learn and I better get started.” She turned her head and met his gaze. “Will you help me?”

He studied her as he considered her request. She appeared so frail, even scrawny, but her eyes shone with so much determination, it was a pleasure to witness. He could not help but admire her fighting spirit and tenacity. Did she realize how much she resembled that runt of hers?

“Of course I’ll help,” he replied.

She flashed a smile. The darkness could not conceal her gratitude. From the pen, her runt nickered with contentment.

This time, Nora’s heart replied.

C.W. ARRIVED AT the barn early the next morning to check on any new births and to see how that spunky runt was faring. When he walked in, however, he spied Nora already sitting on the pile of hay in the corner of the barn, smiling a smile as bright as the morning sun. The runt was in her lap, lazily stretching his neck under her scratching fingers. Other lambs clustered around, curiously sniffing her shoulders and nudging her outstretched leg.

He leaned against the wall at the entry and watched with fascination as Nora pulled milkweed pods from her pocket and blew their seeds into the air. The sun that flowed through the cracks in the barn wall filtered through the darkness and illuminated her hair, giving it the aura of a golden halo. Around her, the milkweed seeds floated in a lazy pattern. She reached up and caught a fairylike seed on her fingertip, then giggling, balanced it like a tiny ballerina atop the runt’s nose.

She laughed again and scratched his ears playfully. C.W. couldn’t help but chuckle himself.

Nora glanced up and the smile on her face froze. Along her
cheeks and ears an apricot-colored blush spread as she stuffed the pods back into her pocket.

“I—I didn’t hear you come in,” she stammered.

“I’m glad. That was quite a sight.”

“What? You mean… I hope it’s all right that I’m in here. Willow was bleating in the corner and seemed so lost, I couldn’t resist petting him. How did he get out of his pen?”

C.W. straightened and walked the distance to her corner.

“These little ones can hop in and out through the slats. It’s no problem. And don’t worry. The lambs love attention and we don’t have much time to offer it. Besides, boss, they’re yours.”

She seemed to weigh his words before breaking into a wide grin. Her eyes sparkled and she heaved a sigh of relief. It was obvious she loved the lambs, and that runt in particular.

He reached the railing and lifted his foot upon the lowest slat. “Willow, you say?”

She nodded. “I named him that for his size and valor.”

He mouthed an “ahh” and watched with growing respect as she rose slowly, careful not to frighten the lambs. Offering his hand, he helped her to her feet. As she brushed away the hay, he held back from picking out the stray straws from her hair.

“If you have a minute, I thought I’d show you around.”

Her eyes brightened. Something about her, an innocence maybe, shook him, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s take a walk toward the pond.”

He led her past the hay fields, shorn now like a sheep’s coat. With an outstretched arm he guided her vision across the fields, past the round bales of hay to the new line of fences, and beyond, to where the creek twisted in a serpentine pattern.

“These pastures here have been well managed,” he began. “The market value of this land is relatively high. But over
there—” he pointed to a hillside that had reverted to brush and wood “—that pasture is worn out and the grazing is poor. Bad for the sheep, bad for the land. Too much of America’s pastureland is reverting to brush and low-value woodland.”

“So I see,” she replied, taking in the abandoned acres. “I really must begin to reclaim it.” She frowned. “But, isn’t that expensive?”

He studied her anxious expression and realized that this lady was truly worried about her cash flow. He decided to call Sidney.

“Not really,” he said reassuringly. “There are low-capital methods of improving pasture. And it will improve the market value of your farmland just as open space. Besides, it’s a necessary investment if you ever plan to increase your flock.”

“Well, I do.” She gazed across the fields. “So, I’m a grass farmer, too.”

She was smiling and from the way her eyes gleamed when she overlooked the fields, it was clear that she was committed.

“You bet. I’ll bring you some books on the subject. Interesting reading.”

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a line of thin green plastic tubing that ran from maple tree to maple tree.

Oh boy, he thought. She really is green. “That’s a sugaring line.”

“For maple syrup?” Her eyes widened. “That’s another business I plan to set up.”

“Good move. Seth’s the man to talk to about that.”

“There’s a solid market for maple syrup. And I’ve always wanted to make it. You know, like they show on those little syrup tins, with the men in their red-and-black checkered coats and metal buckets and all. When I was a little girl, I used to eat syrup with snow. Up in Wisconsin.”

“Can’t do that anymore. Polluted snow’s as bad as yellow
snow. And, sugaring has changed a good deal from the picture on the can.”

She flushed and turned toward the hills. “I’m sure it has. You know, speaking of all that syrup reminds me I haven’t eaten. I’m starved.”

She looked at the barn in the distance, then ran off shouting, “Race you back!”

He found himself running like a kid, soon passing her and waiting at the small pond by the barn gate. His hands were on his hips and he sported a victor’s grin. He felt ridiculous—but great. He hadn’t run like that in years, and to his surprise, he wasn’t winded.

She came jogging toward him, almost tripping with her laugher, and leaned against him while she caught her breath. Suddenly, he felt as ill at ease as a teenager, and the emotions that churned with his hormones were as unexpected now as they were back then.

She stood back and pulled a few stray hairs back into her intricate braid. “I feel like a kid,” she said, winded.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” His voice trailed away and he thought of all sorts of idiotic things to say. Picking up a stone, he cast it with force upon the water. It skipped once, twice, three times, before disappearing in the widening concentric circles. With regret, he realized this happiness was just as elusive. “We best get back to work.”

Noting the change in his mood, Nora silently matched his pace to the barn. Inside, she spotted Esther feeding Willow a bottle. Nora watched with openmouthed fascination as Willow eagerly sucked the nipple, wriggling against Esther’s chest and splattering the white gluey milk down her arms and apron. Her red hair was tucked up in a blue cap to keep it away from the sticky mess, but strands strayed down her back and across her eyes. Her cotton work shirt was frayed at the collar and
rolled at the cuffs and fat, black, end-of-summer flies buzzed all around her, oblivious to her swats.

Nora thought she never saw anyone look more beautiful. Nor had she ever been more envious of anyone than she was of Esther at that moment. She looked into her empty hands, then let them drop to her sides.

C.W. caught her movement. “Esther’s been doing this a long time, you know,” he said softly.

“All my life,” Esther added plainly.

“I’d like to learn,” Nora said.

C.W. smiled. “Of course. If you want to.”

“I dunno,” said Esther in a slow drawl, her eyes on the lamb. “Working with animals, you’ve got to love it. These animals will always be here, wanting to be fed. Cleaned up after. There’s always something with livestock…. They count on you. You can’t just pick up and go when you want to.”

Nora shifted her weight. “I’m not afraid of hard work. And I have nowhere to go.”

C.W. looked intently at her, then turned his attention to the loud, slurping noises from the lamb. “Now’s as good a time as any. Get her started, Es. I’ve got to check the water supply.”

Esther looked up, her eyes combing Nora’s hair and clothing. Nora could feel the sarcasm in Esther’s eyes as they fell on the pearls in her ears and the attention to detail in her attire. She saw herself in Esther’s eyes, and saw a city girl.

“Well, get an apron,” Esther muttered, pointing to a soiled denim one hanging on a nail.

Nora picked up the apron with two fingers and inspected it at arm’s length. A frown crossed Esther’s face and she self-consciously brushed away the hay and dirt from her own jeans.

“I don’t know why you wear those expensive sweaters down to the barn. This isn’t exactly a fashion show down here.”

Nora looked up, stung. “It’s an old sweater,” she said softly, plucking at the wool.

“I should have such an old sweater.”

Nora sighed but did not bother to reply. What more could she do? If Esther didn’t want her friendship, there was nothing she could do to force it on her. Nora donned her gloves with resignation. She slipped on the stained apron, wrinkling her nose, but not complaining. Silently, however, she vowed to sew a few new ones.

“Over here,” Esther called.

Nora trotted across the alley, chewing her lip in consternation. She sensed Esther’s tension and it was creating knots in her own neck. Be calm and friendly, she told herself. She was determined to prove to Esther she could be a world-class shepherd.

Esther drilled out instructions in rapid-fire succession while Nora struggled to comply. Her hands shook as she poured the milk replacer with painstaking care into the funnel, spilling the sticky fluid down her arm.

“No, no, not like that,” Esther muttered, grabbing the bottle and proceeding to fill it without a drop spilled.

Nora tucked her hands under her arms. So much for being world-class.

“Here,” Esther said, shoving the bottle into her hands. “Now go get a lamb.”

“How about that little one there?”

“One lamb’s the same as the other.”

Nora’s fingers tightened around the bottle. “For the good of the farm,” she repeated to herself as she marched two paces behind Esther.

Esther led her to this morning’s newest lamb. Nora cajoled him out of the pen and into her lap, then, bottle firmly in hand, she tried to insert it into the lamb’s mouth. She tried
every angle imaginable, but no matter, he resolutely clenched his jaws and refused the nipple.

“Oh, I’ll do it,” Esther said, hopping the fence and drawing the lamb onto her lap.

Nora could hear Mike’s ghost taunting her. “Look at you. You can’t have children. You’ve never nursed a child. You can’t even bottle-feed a lamb. You’re inadequate as a woman.” Her eyes stung and she turned away.

C.W. stood in the shadows of the barn’s entrance watching the interaction between the two women. His brows furrowed and he shook his head slowly when he saw Nora’s shoulders slump. Clearing his throat, he crossed the alley to her.

“Nora,” he called gently when he reached her side. She sighed heavily and raised her eyes. Pieces of hay clung to her hair and she would have looked lost were it not for the determined jut of her jaw. There, he thought, was a clue to the real Nora MacKenzie. “The lesson didn’t go well?”

Nora shook her head. “Not very.”

“Let’s give it another try. Give me your hand.”

Nora hesitated. He was smiling. She placed her small hand into his larger one. With one resolute yank, he had her on her feet again.

“Esther,” he called, “Nora wants to try again.”

“I don’t know if he’ll take it from me.” Nora balked, stepping back into him.

He nudged her forward. “Do you want to do this?”

She nodded.

“Then go get the lamb.”

She squared her shoulders and approached Esther, who relinquished the lamb with a raised chin. The lamb sensed Nora’s nervousness and squirmed while she struggled to keep him from jumping out of her arms.

“Here, give him the bottle before he leaps away,” C.W. said, handing her the milk replacer.

Her heart began pounding. She didn’t want to fail again, not in front of him or Esther, who was watching with a smug grin. I can do it, she told herself as she held the lamb’s head tightly and pried his mouth open. Once again the newborn turned up his nose.

“It’s no use,” she sighed as the lamb scrambled to his feet and bleated piteously.

“Did you try scratching his tail?” C.W. asked calmly.

Nora looked from his smile to Esther’s blank expression, then back to C.W. “Try what?”

He chuckled and bent to scratch the lamb’s rump, right above the tail. To Nora’s astonishment, the lamb began to simulate sucking.

“I don’t believe it!” she cried.

“This little guy just doesn’t know what to do.” He took Nora’s hand and placed it upon the newborn’s rump.

“Go ahead, he’ll like it. Don’t we all?”

Hesitant at first, Nora scratched gently upon the wiry hair, right above the tail. The lamb quieted. Nora scratched a little harder and the lamb began rooting for the nipple.

“You better give him his bottle before he finds something else to suck on,” C.W. said.

Nora chuckled as she hurried to grab the bottle, shooing away fat flies from the nipple. To her relief, the lamb accepted it eagerly and sucked away like a prize nurser. Nora’s elation could not be measured by the amount of milk her lamb drank.

“Thank you, C.W.,” she said in a clear voice. “I appreciate your calm manner and kindness.” She gave Esther a cold stare.

“I gotta go,” Esther snapped. She spun on her heel and marched out of the barn.

“I’ll be right back,” C.W. called over his shoulder as he paced after her. Outside the barn, he ran to catch up with Esther and grabbed her arm.

“What was all that about?”

“What was all what about?”

“I saw enough to know that you have it out for Nora and I want to know why.”

Esther wriggled out of his grasp and stood before him with her back straight and her eyes looking off at the mountains.

“She’s just having fun at our expense. It makes me mad to have to waste my time teaching her stuff she’s never going to learn. Not really.”

“That’s not true,” he replied.

“Sure it is. She’s just another rich person from New York. I know her type. Flatlanders like her pour out of the city every summer. With their fancy clothes and hotshot hairdos. Snickering when they pass us like—like we’re backward or something. Well, we have more than they’ll ever have. And—and I hate them!” She swung her head around, hiding the flash of tears.

C.W. listened and understood the root of the problem. The animosity between Vermont locals and New York flatlanders was legendary, and someone as talented and bright as Esther would be particularly sensitive. He waited to let another moment pass, then took a deep breath as he formulated his answer.

“Esther, I know what you’re talking about, but she doesn’t fit that mold. She’s not just here for a good time. I might have thought so a week ago, but since she’s been here she’s been consistent, eager to learn, and has done every job I’ve given
her without complaint. And so far they’ve all been pretty dirty. Frankly, she’s one hell of a hard worker.”