The Long Road Home (9 page)

She wasn’t headed anywhere specific; she was just getting a sense of where she was. Compared to the confined spaces of the city, everything here seemed expansive: the broad sky, the looming mountains, the vast acres. On her head Nora wore earphones and hummed along. Her pace slowed as she passed a field bordered by a rickety fence. The timber teetered and the wire sagged. Veering from her path, she ran her hand along the fence’s splintered wood and smelled autumn’s ripeness.

Nora imagined how the field must have looked generations ago when the old fence was new. It might have contained a herd of black-and-white cows that grazed on a pasture green with forage. Now the cows had long since vanished from the rocky fields and scores of thistle weed and scrubby pines reclaimed the land.

RRRRRRRRRrrrrrr.
The throaty call of a chain saw was audible over her music. Curious, Nora followed the sound, trotting around the grotto called Mike’s Bench. There, standing in the sun, jacket off, plaid flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves and knees bent in a steady stance, a man was cutting away at a damaged maple. He wore goggles and large ear protectors over wild golden hair, but there was no mistaking the powerful visage of C.W. He had already cut and stacked the limbs into neat piles of firewood, but the trunk stooped over a large gaping wound.

She recognized the tree as the one she’d hit. The maple was cracked and bent. A lump formed in her throat as she spied the golden sap oozing from the flesh-colored wood.

Nora watched with fascination as C.W. cut a deep wedge into the mangled trunk. Seeing him doing chores that she could never do made her appreciate how valuable he was as an employee. Logging was hard and dangerous work; the muscles in C.W.’s forearm were rippling as he guided the chewing metal through the wood.

The throaty roar of the chain saw was an exciting sound. To people in the mountains it was the sound of man’s control over the wilderness. The maple trunk began to weave and wobble. The acrid scent of fuel mixed with the sweet scent of freshly cut wood and rose up. A strong, heady odor that drifted her way. She felt the thrill of anticipation.

The chain saw droned again, longer, louder. Then the
noise abruptly stopped, leaving her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

C.W. stepped back, setting down the chain saw, and took a last check of the area. She knew the moment he spotted her, for he stiffened, whipped off his goggles and called, “Get out of the way!”

Instantly, she understood her danger and tore off her earphones. Now she heard the tree creak, wood against wood. Looking up, she saw she was standing directly in its line of fall. She had miscalculated the distance. The leaves rustled, the tree groaned, and Nora took three steps back, eyes on the tree. It was shaking, wailing, then it began falling.

Before she could run she felt two muscled arms grab her under her arms and yank her, dragging her feet in the rush, farther down the road. They hit the ground as the tree did—with a graceless thud. Birds cried, squirrels scrambled, and all around her dust and leaves scattered and filled the air. Coughing and rubbing her eyes, she leaned back on her elbows and felt the earth shake around her. When the dust finally settled and she peeked up, she realized it wasn’t the earth shaking, just herself and the thin branches that extended to within inches of her head.

C.W. lay half beside her, half over her, covered with broken twigs and crushed dried leaves. He swatted the debris away with harsh, angry swipes and stood, centered between her bent knees. He stared down at her with a look of controlled anger.

“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.

She coughed again. “Yes. My God.” She coughed. “I didn’t see it coming.” Her breath was coming fast and her hands were still shaking. “I could have been killed. You saved my life.”

C.W. ran his hand through his hair, then extended it to her. When she placed her small hand in it, he felt it tremble.
That was enough to shake away his anger and allow him to see how frightened she really was.

“Don’t mention it.” The lady was turning out to be a nuisance, but he kept Seth’s admonishment in mind.

“And don’t wear that damn thing out here,” he said, pointing at her earphones. “Leave it in the city. Learn to listen to the woods,” he said, placing his free hand on her elbow and helping her up. As she reeled up alongside him, he caught sight of the bruise beneath her hair.

Nora nodded, accepting his words as a given.

“Listen,” he said as she steadied herself on her feet. “What is it with you and this spot? First you run your car into that poor tree, then you stand under it as it falls. If you have a death wish, please let me know and I’ll stop interfering.”

He was smiling and she couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his words. She laughed, then laughed harder, then suddenly felt herself on the verge of tears, overwhelmed by that sudden switch in emotions that comes when one is uncertain and desperately hiding pain.

He saw the shift of emotion in her expressive eyes. He heard it in her sudden high-pitched hilarity. This was a lady in pain. He recognized pain—knew it well—and felt an immediate empathy for her.

“Come. Sit down and rest,” he said, lowering his voice and guiding her to a marble bench set into the mountain.

Nora crossed over crunching twigs, small flakes of wood and sawdust. When she reached the cool shadows of the bench, she settled herself in a prim and upright manner.

Remembering his rude comment in the kitchen, C.W. thought it was his company that made her so sour. “Perhaps you’d prefer to be alone?”

“No, please, don’t leave me. Not here.”

He raised his brows in question.

Nora scanned the marble grotto, covered now with moss and mud. Then they traveled to the surrounding slopes. Scores of maple saplings had sprouted through the rocks, and uncounted weeds and wild berry bushes bordered them. What was three years ago a hillside of fern was now little more than a wooded jungle.

“Mike built this,” she began slowly. “The house we designed together, but this bench he built himself. Wouldn’t let anyone help him.” She gave a short laugh. “I thought he’d get a hernia lifting this thing,” she added, patting the marble slab under her.

“You must miss him.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “Miss him? No. Not at all.”

C.W. didn’t know what answer he expected, but certainly not that one. It left him nonplussed, and that was unusual for him. He kicked his toe in the dirt.

“Must have been something to build that,” he said, gesturing toward the big house. “Quite a place.”

“Yes. The main beam is forty-five feet of solid redwood. Half the county came to watch it go up. Mike climbed this mountain, decided this was where he wanted his house site, and bulldozed it into reality.”

C.W. could envision Mike MacKenzie bulldozing any vision—though he had to admit the result of this one was spectacular. Yet, as he looked at the small frame of Nora sitting prim on the bench, still rubbing her ring finger, he wondered what else the Big Mac had bulldozed. Seeing her empty ring finger focused his attention.

“Oh, I found this on the road,” he said, digging into his pocket. “Could it be yours.”

He handed her the small gold ring he had found glistening in the afternoon sun atop a quartz rock.

Nora stared at the gold band lying in her open palm. Her lips worked but no words came. Was this some sign? The ring, the bench; she felt as though Mike’s ghost were hovering about her. Nora sighed heavily. Memories were not something you could just throw away. They kept turning up.

“Yes, it’s mine,” she said, closing her fingers around the ring.

He noted that she did not bother to thank him for finding it. Stepping back, he said, “If you’re all right, then I’m off to the barn. It’s feeding time and those girls complain when I’m late.”

Nora could hear the insistent bleats from the valley and smiled at the image of a long row of hungry, whining ewes.

“Oh yes, go on ahead.”

Waving his hand, he turned his back to her.

“Oh, Mr. Walker?”

He stopped midstride.

“Would you be able to meet me up at the house when you’re done? I need to get a rough grasp on the finances, and Seth says that you’re the man to talk to.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied in a long drawl. “Four o’clock.” Without another word, he pivoted to leave. “Mr. Walker?”

He stopped again, brows up. “Ma’am?”

“I’d also appreciate your teaching me as much as you can about shepherding. I know there’s a lot to learn, but…” She let her voice trail away.

He paused. “It’s really quick to pick up, if you’ve got the inclination. I’d be pleased to teach you what little I know.”

She nodded, pleased. He turned again.

“Mr. Walker?”

What now, he wondered, scowling.

“Thank you. For everything.”

She smiled, and he felt the radiance of it enter his soul. His senses tingled as he felt some kind of connection with the woman named Nora. What was that Chinese saying? Something about if you save a person’s life, you are responsible for that life forever. Their eyes met and held, and in that moment, he feared that the old proverb would prove true.

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.

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 passed 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 assume 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 clustered 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 cocoon, 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 butted each other in frenzied attempts to secure a space 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 bumped 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 butted 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 God’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 pricked. 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 passed her. He almost winced as the smile hit its mark.

What the bloody hell, 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 butted 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 bump. “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 pooped. 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 assorted 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 bumping 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.”