The Long Road Home Part 9

The woman's name was Nora MacKenzie, he reminded himself. The Big Mac's better half. With a perfunctory nod, he turned, gathered his things, and walked swiftly down the mountain.

Nora watched his retreating figure with confusion. A nice man, she decided, but she sensed layers of complexity behind his eyes. Once or twice they had connected-a special glimmer in the eye, a half smile, before they caught themselves and turned away. She couldn't deny the attraction, but it was unwelcome. They were just two lonely people.

The wind gusted. Nora shivered and looked around the bench, as though Mike's ghost haunted it.

"This is crazy," she said aloud, opening her fist. She picked up the ring with two fingers and stared at it without emotion. Mike was dead. All that was left of her marriage was this band of gold. She was about to slip it automatically back onto her left hand, then thought again. Slipping it onto her right ring finger, she vowed that life went on.

9.

NORA KEPT HER VOW to let life go on. Immediately, she tucked in her shirttail, wiped her nose, and headed down the road toward the barn and the sound of bleating ewes. Her heels dug in the gravel as she marched. She caught up with C.W. at the lower bend of the road and waved to flag him down. He turned and, to her surprise, waved and walked up to meet her. C.W. covered the distance in no time, his long legs easily taking the climb, and when his towering form arrived at her side, she felt dwarfed.

"I decided there's no time like the present," she announced.

"You're the boss."

"Shall we begin lesson one?" She pointed her finger to a small road, actually more a trail, that stretched up the mountain and disappeared in the thick woods.

"Where does that lead to?"

"Seth and the boys use that trail for logging," he explained, looking up to the road. "Esther uses it for berry picking, and we all use it for sugaring. You might want to hike it, to get a feel for the place again. See? It travels far into the woods to some pretty beautiful spots. Ferns, meadowsweet, wildflowers, all kinds of birds. Maybe even a wild turkey."

He stood at the ridge of a small hill, one hand around Nora's shoulder as he guided her gaze across her acres. The gentle hills of the valley curved up to meet the foot of her mountain, cragged and mysterious, and she felt excitement at the prospect of climbing up among the maples to harvest their bounty. As she gazed across its broad vista, an ancient bond to the land rekindled.

Her gaze shifted from the mountain to the man beside her. His broad silhouette mirrored the mountain behind him. From the set of his jaw and the exhilaration in his eyes, she knew that he, too, felt the bond.

"And there," he called, pointing north, "is the lower barn where we store equipment and tractors."

In contrast to nature's archaic beauty, however, man's creations aged into dilapidation. Her smile slipped to a frown. What had she gotten herself into? How could she and Mike have let this place fall so low? The barn was as gray and stooped as an old man-and twice as old. Gaping holes exposed beaten tools, tangled rope, and rusted tractors, and the whole shebang looked ready to topple over into the lower pasture. Nora chewed her lip. If anything brought to light the precariousness of her sole livelihood, that old weathered barn did.

Seth's warning played in her mind: This wasn't any vacation.

"Come on," C.W. said, giving her shoulder a shake and leading her on down the road. "Come see the new barn."

That barn was a sight better and Nora heaved a sigh of relief. It was made of new wood, straight and strong, painted dove gray, and its wide swinging doors actually worked. From within came a din of bleats. Drawn to the sheep, she pa.s.sed an area of fifteen ewes corralled before the barn's entrance. Nora reached out to open the wire gate and felt C.W. pull her away with a sharp yank. She fumbled flat upon his chest.

"Careful! That's an electric fence. Touch it and you'll get quite a jolt," he warned.

She bounced away from his chest, as though she'd just gotten zapped.

"Listen up. Most of the pastures have electric fences now. Never a.s.sume you can go through it. Always check to make sure the juice is turned off."

Taking her elbow, he led her through to the barn. Inside, the cacophony of pregnant ewes was so loud that she followed his example and covered her ears. The trapped air was warm, moist, and heavy with the pungent odor of manure mixed with damp hay. All around her, the excitement of pending birth was tangible. Ewes cl.u.s.tered in groups, some with lambs at their side, others with swollen bellies and an air of expectancy. Unconsciously, her hand ran across her own belly, flat and taut, and she felt oddly jealous of the animals.

C.W. gave her a brief tour of the facility, set up now for the heavy lambing. While he spoke he was always busy, scooping up a birth plug, moving a trough, closing up a gate. She hawked his moves and listened attentively while he explained to her what it was he was doing and why. Her appreciation of C.W.'s knowledge grew, and more, his willingness to share it with her.

As the afternoon sun rose, the heat swelled up around them like a coc.o.o.n, trapping them in dank moisture. C.W.'s hair gathered in thick clumps along his broad forehead, which he wiped from time to time with his arm.

Once he started flipping over the large wooden grain troughs, the tempo in the barn really picked up. The full-bellied ewes b.u.t.ted each other in frenzied attempts to secure a s.p.a.ce in front of the feeders. Their bleating took on a panicked note. Between the ewes' legs, forgotten baby lambs scrambled to the safety of a far corner, getting b.u.mped and kicked along the way.

Nora watched in horror as one lamb was broadsided by a rushing ewe. It wobbled and fell to his knees. Another set of ewes trampled him as they scuttled past.

"C.W.! That baby!" Nora cried aloud. He didn't hear her and kept working while the dazed lamb lay in the muddy hay getting b.u.t.ted and trampled.

Acting on instinct, Nora climbed the rail into the corral and ran toward the lamb. Immediately, the startled ewes stampeded across the pen, bleating more wildly than ever. Nora froze amidst the mayhem, her heart pounding as hard as the ewes', coughing in the stirred-up sawdust.

"Stop running, for G.o.d's sake," C.W. shouted, his face dark. "You'll cause premature labor."

She could hardly hear him over the frightened bleating of ewes crowded now in the far corner. A few more skirted past her toward the rest of the flock, eyes bulging and ears p.r.i.c.ked. Like her own, she had no doubt. She wasn't frightened exactly, but she didn't know what to do next.

"What are you doing in there?" C.W. called as he approached. His steps were slow and deliberate, his eyes were blazing again and his nostrils flared almost as much as the ewes'. Nora silently pointed toward the lamb lying alone now in the center of the pen. It didn't even try to get up anymore but lay there, its white coat muddied and looking piteously up at them. Her heart lurched and she looked with a pleading expression at C.W.

His expression softened and he gestured for her to go ahead.

"Take it real slow."

Nora slowly paced to the lamb's side. As she approached, it looked up at her with eyes filled more with curiosity than terror. But when she bent down, it struggled to rise on feeble legs.

"Hush now, baby," she crooned as she gingerly reached out to pet its fur. To her surprise, the wool wasn't soft and downy like she had imagined Mary's little lamb to be. The matted curls were wiry, and she could feel his bones beneath.

"Poor thing," Nora murmured. "Don't you worry. We'll take good care of you."

"He's a runt," C.W. said from the fence. He scrunched his face. "Don't know if that little guy's going to make it."

Nora loved the lamb all the more and cradled him in her arms. "He's a baby," she murmured affectionately. When she lifted him, he bleated weakly, and from the corner, a ewe bleated back.

"That must be his mother," said C.W. climbing the fence. He carefully took the lamb from Nora. She was reluctant to unhand it. The lamb bleated again, and again the mother responded.

"I'd like to reunite them," he said, checking the lamb, "but she's not doing such a great job at mothering. I'll have to find out which one she is. We don't need any bad mothers for breeding stock."

Nora cringed, remembering Mike's past taunts about her.

C.W. laid the lamb on a pile of fresh hay and murmured something soothing as he checked its eyes, noted its tag number, and finally stroked the lamb's back. He was confident and efficient, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. Yet there was a gentleness to his movements and she leaned against the fence to watch in admiration.

"He'll be fine here till we get back, Mrs. MacKenzie," he said as he filed past her.

She touched his sleeve to stop him. He tilted his head and waited, curiosity etched in his long dimples like question marks. She wanted to thank him for helping the lamb, for sharing a simple kindness. But all she could muster was, "Please, call me Nora."

He hesitated. He liked her, perhaps too much. And she was MacKenzie's widow. For those reasons he preferred the distance of formality. Then he remembered her confidences in the kitchen and the way she had run to the runt's defense.

"I better get to these sheep. Nora."

Her expression lightened and she smiled as he pa.s.sed her. He almost winced as the smile hit its mark.

What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, he thought as he bent low and grabbed the wooden trough. Flipping troughs down the alley he counted, one by one, the reasons to stay clear of her wide, expressive eyes and the pain he read behind them.

The offer of food brought the ewes hustling back to the grain bins. Once again, they whined, bleated, and b.u.t.ted each other for a better place.

"Can I help?" she called.

Straightening, he pointed to his ears. Nora walked-very slowly-to the grain bin, and using primitive hand signals, asked if she should scoop grain into the troughs. He gave a grateful nod and she set to work.

The two of them worked side by side at a feverish pace spreading grain to the scrambling ewes. Her unfit muscles began to tremble, but she refused to quit. Eventually, the bleating diminished as they settled down to chow, forming two long rows of efficient eating machines.

C.W. walked over to Nora and rubbed his palms against his jeans. "Whew. Gets pretty noisy in here at feeding time."

"So I hear," she replied, wiping her brow. "My ears are still ringing."

His gaze rested a moment on her b.u.mp. "How are you feeling? Any headaches?"

Nora shook her head. "Just tender."

He raised his callused fingertips to tilt her chin a degree upward as he studied her pupils. Nora's throat constricted and her chest tightened. She jerked her head away.

"I said I'm fine, thanks."

C.W. abruptly stepped back. "Enough work for your first day. You'd better rest, or May will have my hide."

Nora chuckled softly. "Okay. Just for a second. I'm only a little tired."

She wandered to a small stool and slumped upon its wobbly seat. What a liar she was. She really was p.o.o.ped. Nora's bottom just reached the stool when Esther entered the barn with long, confident strides. Nora bolted back up as if the bench were electrified.

Grabbing a pitchfork on her way down the alley Esther called out, "Sorry I'm late, C.W." When she spied Nora, her eyes widened in surprise. They shared a look, a shorthand reminder of their earlier conversation.

"Didn't expect to see you down here," Esther said.

Nora stepped away from the stool. "Why not? This is where I work now."

Esther seemed to accept that at face value. Without another word, she threw the pitchfork into the hay. Standing on the sidelines, Nora watched the two seasoned farmers shovel impressive forkfuls of hay. She felt out of place, like a fan on the bleacher. Her gaze swept the barn, really taking in for the first time the a.s.sorted metal and wood tools, the bottles of medicine, the charts, the mysterious plastic tubes and bins. Tools of the trade. Nora didn't have the faintest idea what they were or how to use them. Esther, no doubt, could use them all.

Wiping her hands, Nora noticed that her palms were smooth and uncallused, her nails were clean and unchipped, and her jeans were old but unstained. So much to learn, she realized, and so little time. Nora grimaced under the weight of her own ignorance.

She turned to go.

"Leaving already?" Esther called out.

As though on a dance cue, Nora spun on her heel, grabbed the nearest shovel and pail, and began the dirtiest job in the barn: spotting birth plugs.

"Someone's started labor over here," she called out.

Esther stilled her fork, her face the picture of surprise. C.W. swung his head around, obviously pleased. "Great. I'll check the ewe."

"C.W.," she said when he approached near enough that she didn't have to shout. "Would you call me, sometime, to see a birth? If it isn't too much trouble, that is?"

C.W. finished his quick examination of the ewe, then paused to catch his breath and study her. Nora shuffled her feet as she waited, looked at the new scuff marks on her boots, then bobbed her head back up to meet his gaze. Well? her eyes asked across the distance.

"It's no trouble," he replied, deciding. "Nature doesn't give any warning."

"Anytime. Please."

Nodding his head, C.W. turned his back to her, grabbed his fork, and set back to throwing hay.

Nora grinned from ear to ear. As she walked down the aisle checking out the pen floors, her pail b.u.mping her shins, she felt inordinately pleased with herself. This wasn't such a bad job after all, she decided. Maybe not her favorite job, but for now, it was the only one she knew how to do.

"Tomorrow, I'll learn another," she vowed, peeking over at C.W. and Esther talking together over a pregnant ewe.

"And then another."

10.

AT PRECISELY FOUR O'CLOCK, Nora sat across the bare mahogany dining table from C.W., her ankles together, her back straight, and her hands tightly folded atop a neat pile of papers. If she was going to work successfully with Mr. Walker, he had to first understand that she was capable and up to the job. She had a college degree in business, had spent childhood summers on a dairy farm, was eager to learn, and had bound less energy. There was no reason on earth why she couldn't make a go of it here in Vermont.

No reason other than money, of course.

She looked across the table at C.W. and wondered how she was ever going to manage working with such a quixotic personality. One minute he seemed almost kind, the next he was critical-and it seemed to her that he was especially critical of her. What had she done to make him feel that way about her? If she was going to fit in here, she had to be one of the guys, like Esther.

C.W.'s long fingers began to tap impatiently upon the table. Okay, Mr. Walker, she thought, clearing her throat. I'm just as eager to end this meeting as you are.

"I intend to be frank with you, Mr. Walker," she began, hoping she sounded professional. She didn't realize that to him she sounded more like an arrogant housewife giving orders to the gardener.

He bristled and shifted in his seat.

She fiddled with the corner of a paper.

"I have a net worth statement from Mike's lawyers," she continued steadily, "but I would like to verify it with your figures. I'm not sure I trust theirs."

He found that very interesting. "I can get that for you."

"Thank you. Next, I need a budget."

"Uh-huh."

They were both on their best behavior. Nora felt relieved. So far so good. She decided to dive right in. Taking a deep breath, she reviewed her numerous lists.