Changes of Heart (26 page)

“I suspect that this isn’t a standard basketball,” he announced.

Maggie watched Ian’s first attempt wobble through the
air. It sagged and twisted like a ruptured tire and missed both the basket and the pole by a yard.

He lost his wife—and I’m sure that he had with her what I had with Richie. But he went on with life, was open to it, and didn’t allow his faith to be shaken. He’s a strong man underneath his jokes and his teasing—a man who would cherish a wife, treasure her, share everything with her
...

Danny stepped up to the foul line. Julie Downs, vice president of the Coldwater chapter of the National Barrel Racing Association and a reporter for the local newspaper, carried the ball to him. She was running the booth and obviously enjoying herself. Julie was very pretty—blond and blue-eyed and as lithe as a Kentucky yearling, with a sense of humor and a positive approach that made her one of the most popular club members.

Julie has her eye on Danny
. Then she wondered why the idea irritated her.
Jealousy? No. But still
...

Maggie watched as Julie leaned to Danny and whispered something in his ear. When she handed the bladder to him she took a moment to adjust his hands on it and then stepped back.

Maggie’s eyes caught Sarah’s for a speck of time—just enough for a message to be passed between them.
Sarah picked up on it too. Julie Downs is more interested in Danny than she is in her booth
.

Danny’s first toss was, if anything, clumsier and less accurate than Ian’s.

He’s blushing because he blew that throw so badly. It’s really important to him to win a scruffy little teddy bear for me. And
that time when he held me and we kissed and I felt so safe, so protected from everything
...

Twenty minutes and twelve dollars and fifty cents later, Tessa had wandered off to join a bunch of friends who were throwing darts at balloons to win a gigantic stuffed Garfield, and Maggie and Sarah were discussing the weather.

Ian stepped to the line and held the ball, a significant part of it hanging on either side of his hands, not unlike a clutched water balloon. He turned his back on Julie and the goal and stared at Sarah and Maggie until they stopped talking.

“Ladies,” he said solemnly, “I’m out of quarters.” He sighed dramatically before going on. “Dr. Pulver has beaten me not with his basketball skills but with his bank account!”

The affair wound down not all at once but as couples and families said their good-byes and drifted toward the door. Youngsters and toddlers were sound asleep and carried by their mothers or fathers, and older children walked in the short steps of the overfed, more than a few pasty faced and clutching their stomachs.

With the majority of the revelers gone, the hall took on the look of a vast cavern, in which sounds echoed hollowly and the streamers and decorations seemed to have lost their excitement and joy and become used and forlorn.

Danny, Ian, Sarah, Tessa, Maggie, and a group of others lingered in the hall, stuffing trash cans and sweeping the floors. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie caught Tessa
leaning close to Ian and whispering in his ear. The minister nodded, smiled at the girl, and said something Maggie couldn’t hear. A moment later, Ian stood next to her.

“Walk you to your truck, Maggie? I... I need to talk with you for a second.”

The fun and the laughter of the evening drained away for Maggie. She felt like a captive with nowhere to run. “Ian,” she began.

“It’ll only take a minute. Please. I know it’s late and you’re tired, but this is important. I’ll get our coats. OK?”

Maggie nodded, not quite trusting her voice. Danny, she noticed, was looking at some sort of a book Julie was holding. Julie had apparently found some coffee somewhere; each of them held a cup as they talked.

There were perhaps eight or ten trucks and cars still in the Grange Hall parking area. They walked toward Maggie’s truck at the periphery of the lot, their boots crunching the now-frozen mud.

“I’ve been spending a whole lot of time at your place lately, Maggie. I guess you know that.”

The words sounded rehearsed and practiced to Maggie, and she didn’t doubt that they were.
How can I hurt this sweet, gentle man? And what if I say yes? Would that really be a bad thing? Could I be happy with Ian
?

“... don’t want things for the sake of things. I have my work and my duties here in Coldwater, and... well... I’ve become so interested in horses. And Dancer. You know how I feel about him.”

They stopped at the driver’s door of Maggie’s truck, and
she turned to face Ian. Even in the cloud-filtered light, he looked like a nervous schoolboy. “The thing is,” he said, “I’ve thought about this and I’ve prayed about it, and in my heart I know and believe it’s a good thing.” He swallowed hard. “So, I’ll just ask you.” He took her hand and held it, and Maggie felt the dampness of his palm.

“So, I’ll just ask you,” he repeated. He swallowed again. “Will you sell Dancer to me?”

“What?” The word came out as a startled gasp more than a question.

Ian stood perplexed, mouth slightly open, gawking at Maggie as the laughter rolled—poured—from her.

“Ian... Ian... you’re wonderful!” she choked as she clutched the startled minister in a hug.

“I have the money, and I’d board him at your place and pay you to help me with his training.”

Maggie eased away from Ian and leaned against her truck. “I’m sorry, Ian. I just... I... thought that you...”

“I what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Just a silly thought is all.”

Ian cleared his throat. “About Dancer...?” he asked. “We’ll work something out, Ian. I promise we will. I know how you feel about him.”

“Wonderful!” Ian exclaimed. “That’s really great! Hey, let’s get a coffee or a Coke or something, OK? I’m too wound up to go home just yet.”

“There’s nothing open in town, Ian. It’s after 11:00.”

Ian sighed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It was a good night, wasn’t it? I had a good time at the festival, man
aged to grind you into selling Dancer to me—or making some kind of arrangement, anyway—and met some people I hadn’t yet met.”

“You didn’t win a teddy bear for me, though,” Maggie teased.

“Alas.”

Maggie got into her truck, closed the door, lowered the window, and turned her ignition key. “Night, Ian. We’ll talk about Dancer real soon.”

“Great. Good night—drive carefully.” He began to turn away and then turned back. “Hey, who was that lady—Julie? At the basketball game? Seemed to know Danny? I introduced myself to her but never got a chance to talk—seems like her booth was the most popular one of the night.”

“Julie Downs. She’s a reporter for the
News-Express
.” Her next word came unbidden. “Why?”

“No reason,” Ian said. “Seems nice is all.” He smiled. “Night, Maggie.”

She watched Ian as he walked to his car, and then she engaged her clutch and rolled out of the parking lot. “No reason,” she said aloud mockingly and squealed her tires as she swung onto the road. “No reason,” she repeated in the same mocking, little-girl tone. Then, in a moment, she laughed.

He’s a minister! He’s supposed to know the people of Coldwater, and particularly those who come to his church
. The image of Julie Downs, blond hair swirling, blue eyes sparkling, rolled through Maggie’s mind.

She didn’t laugh again during her trip home.

Sarah Morrison blew across the top of her coffee cup, dissipating the steam, and then took a sip. “Mmmm. That’s good coffee, Maggie. But let me get this straight. That was the night of the Spring Festival, correct? Almost five months ago?”

“Right. I drove on home and went up to my room. I was tired and confused, but I still had the feeling that had come to me in my truck. I was distraught—at least a bit—but there was a difference. I wasn’t scared any longer, Sarah. That’s the thing: the fear had dropped away. I picked up my Bible that night and I read it for maybe a half hour. I hadn’t done that for a long time. It felt good.”

“Good in what sense? I’m not sure I understand. Was there some sort of revelation?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. I suppose this sounds silly, but the image and sensation that immediately comes to mind is this. When I was in the third grade, there were a couple of girls who picked on me all the time. I’m not even sure why they did, but they did. One rainy day those girls and a couple of
boys were giving me a tough time after school, calling me names and splashing puddles at me and nonsense like that. I lived about a half mile from the school and walked both ways. I was soaked from the splashing and the rain, and the wind was cold, and I was completely miserable, feeling totally alone and unloved—and then I got home. I opened the door. My mom had been baking, and I smelled peanut butter cookies and felt the warmth of our house. My mom came from the kitchen and hugged me even though I was dripping wet. She got me out of my wet things and into fresh clothes, and we had cookies and milk together. I’ve never forgotten how good that time was. And that’s what I felt like when I turned out my reading lamp that night of the Spring Festival.”

A shriek from outside broke into the conversation in Maggie’s kitchen. Sarah rushed to the window. After a moment she said, “Come look at this.”

Maggie joined her friend at the window and watched as Danny focused the hose he’d been washing Dakota with on Tessa as she ran around the paddock, trying to avoid the ice-cold stream of water.

“I’m certain Tessa did nothing to prod Danny into spraying her,” Maggie said.

“Absolutely,” Sarah agreed. “The girl is without fault in all things.”

As they returned to the table, Tessa shrieked again. Maggie topped off their coffee cups before she sat down.

“We—all of us—noticed the change in you,” Sarah said. “But in a sense, it was subtle too. You were different. Lighter,
I guess, more open. Less trapped inside yourself. It was good to see.”

They sat in the late August sun cascading through the window, quietly, companionably, enjoying each other’s company. Hoofbeats sounded from outside, and Maggie went again to the window. Tessa and Danny were mounted, headed up a grade in the pasture outside the training paddock, both as comfortable in the saddle as working cowhands. Their horses were in a gallop, reaching out with their front hooves and dragging ground beneath them, tails streaming like banners. Dancer ran the fence line of his own pasture and pushed hard to maintain the couple of strides he was ahead of the other two horses.

“They look like a postcard from a dude ranch, don’t they?” Sarah said as she walked over to join Maggie. When Danny and Tessa topped the rise and rode out of sight and Dancer had gone back to grazing, Sarah faced her friend.

“You’ve done wonderful things in the past few months. You’ve made a perfect decision and you’ve... I don’t know... come back to planet Earth, I guess.”

Maggie looked down and stared into her coffee cup. “He’s happy for you, Maggie,” Sarah said quietly. “He told me that he is, and I believe him.”

Maggie nodded and then raised her head to meet her friend’s eyes. “I hope so,” she said.

Sarah smiled and went on. “I don’t know if you realize it, but Tessa has learned so much from you. She’s learned about love and pain and life choices and recovery from loss.
She loves you to pieces and respects you more than I can begin to tell you.”

Maggie blushed, and both women laughed. “How could I not love that girl like I do, Sarah? God doesn’t make many like her. She’s a gift and a blessing.”

Sarah smiled. “I talked to her again about a prosthesis. I told you how she said she’d rather have her stump than some phony plastic thing everyone would gawk at. Well, I’ve been bringing catalogs home from the hospital. Some—many—of the devices aren’t half bad, you know. The articulated ones look almost natural, and all kinds of progress has been made in prosthetic science—really amazing stuff.” She sighed, but the smile remained on her face. “It’s up to Tessa, of course. Anyway, she said she was going to talk with you about it, and I wanted you to be prepared.” She laughed. “That’s not precisely what she said—she said she’d ask you if you thought she’d look good with a silver hook, like the pirate in Peter Pan.”