Simple Gifts (30 page)

“Yeah, had a little tangle with a tornado.”

Pete stepped to the bed, and the two men engaged in conversation. Docs. They were seldom at a loss for words.

The room took on a carnival-like atmosphere; conversations flowed on every side of the bed. I stepped back to catch my breath, suddenly so full of love I was about to burst. I'd made mistake after mistake, but God was still on his throne, still in the blessing business.

My dad's words, shouted on that Sunday so very long ago, penetrated my mind, and I heard Herman's joyful cry above all others in the crowded hospital room.

Good news! Good news, Marly! Jesus loves you!

Seventeen

A
nd so, it is with great pride, that I dedicate the Herman Moss Animal Sanctuary to the town of Parnass Springs, Missouri. Because my father, Herman Moss, loved animals, all animals, this shelter is a no-kill, nonprofit sanctuary dedicated to helping any needy animal, regardless of species or breed.”

A year had passed since that stormy night; one unbelievable but exhilarating year. I grinned as applause filled the common area. A blue May sky formed a canopy over the enthusiastic crowd.

With one snip, the scarlet ribbon fell away, and the gleaming rebuilt glass and polished-wood structure officially reopened. When clapping died away, I nodded to Petey and Emma.

“Now Me-maw?”

“Now.”

My precious little rug rats skipped to the canvas-covered statues, and when I gave the signal, they pulled on one set of ropes and canvas fell away to reveal a bronze Butchie.

Giving a second nod, the children raced from canvas to canvas, jerking coverings away. Nine Butchies in all, each one an original. Herman's Butchies hadn't been cut from the same mold, and most called them mutts, but he loved each one. The compromise had thrilled the town. Applause swelled.

Stepping down from the podium, I went straight into Vic's arms and we embraced.

“Nice job, Mrs. Brewster.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brewster. I'm envious that I didn't think of the idea first.”

Everywhere one looked, they were reminded of Butchie and how each dog had enhanced a simple but smarter-in-ways-that-count life. I was grateful that for every time I'd failed my dad, a Butchie had been there to soften the rejection. But most of all, I was thankful for the one man whose elemental goodness and innocence had changed my life.

“Mom! What a great idea! Dogs!” Sara approached and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“Not just dogs—Butchies.” I grinned. We hugged, our eyes on Petey and Emma playing on the statues, romping, laughing with other children. What a glorious day. What a glorious life!

“Mom, you're serious about staying here, aren't you?”

My alarm bell went off. The past year had been a taste of heaven, starting with Vic and our wedding nine months ago. Sara had been accepting of my “newfound love,” even when I'd told her that love had been around a lot longer than she had. Even the fact that we had decided to live in Aunt Beth's house while Vic had it remodeled hadn't upset her. The old home was lovely beyond words, with a new sunroom, three-car garage, and the interior restored to the day Beth first purchased it. Vic's former cottage in back of Joe's house had been replaced. Parnass Springs had rebuilt, and all that remained of the storm were memories shared at the local café over mugs of strong black coffee.

Ingrid approached, walking right sprightly for a woman her age. The Parishes trailed her. The three had formed a tenuous friendship over the past year; Ingrid even visited Wood-lands on occasion. Lexy was overjoyed with her new friend. I visited my mother fairly often, never revealing to her who I was. Lexy loved me, the way she would love a friend who faithfully came to visit. She knew me only as Marly. As far as I could tell, she never remembered having a baby and, with the exception of the ring and a tattered crayon picture of a clown with Herman's name scrawled across the bottom, I could find no evidence that she remembered my father. When asked who drew the picture, she'd only smile and say, “my best friend.”

My thoughts returned to Sara's question. “Yes, honey, I know you're disappointed I'm selling the Glen Ellyn house, but baby, I'll fly home every three weeks and stay a week.” My groom suggested the compromise, and like anything Vic Brewster said, I thought the plan was brilliant. After all, he
was
brilliant, and the good Lord knew money wasn't a problem.

“That's not good enough, mom.” My daughter's tone took on an edge that I knew meant trouble. “Petey, Emma, and baby Ellie are growing up without you, and I don't like it.”

“I don't like it either.” Separation from them was the one fly in the ointment, as Ingrid liked to remind me. Now that we were a family—a real family—Sara, Pete, and the children were the only missing pieces.

My daughter flashed a grin. “Well, who knows? One of these days, Pete may decide to move his practice.” Her eyes skimmed the area. “And Parnass might need a new doctor. Someday.”

For a split second I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. My eyes flew to Vic, who was now deep in conversation with Pete. The two men had taken to one another like sidewalk chewing gum to shoe soles. Vic had baby Ellie in his arms, like any doting grandfather. I giggled. Vic a grandpa. The handsome, virile man I'd married was
anything
but grandfatherly.

I swung back. “What?”

“Mom. Did you hear a word I said?”

“I think you said…no. I must have heard incorrectly.”

“I said Parnass isn't
so
wretched. Golly, who knows? Maybe Pete and I and the kids will move here someday so we can be closer to you.” When I just gawked at her, she silently mouthed. “Parnass Springs. Build a home here. In Parnass? Someday. Maybe.”

“Here—
this
Parnass—the jumping off place of the earth?”

“Yeah…maybe. No promises, Mom, but—”

Who squealed? Me! I lunged for her, catching her close. “If you're teasing me, young lady, I'll ground you for months.”

“Ha! I'd like to see ya try it.” Her cheeky grin was as cheerful and unexpected as her bombshell.

Vic and Pete sauntered over, Pete grinning like a shelter cat. “What are you two giggling about?”

I clamped my lips shut. “Pete…I…” Emotion overcame me and I stepped into my son-in-law's waiting arms and bawled. Someday, God willing, Sara and Pete and my grandchildren would be with me.
This is too much, God. You're too good!

Ingrid and the Parishes stopped, and I blurted out Sara's thoughts.

Ingrid beamed. “My goodness, we'd be family, a real family.” Her eyes misted over. “Shame Beth couldn't be here to see this.”

A cell phone tinkled. Seven of us fumbled in pockets and purses, but Ingrid calmly reached and unhooked a snap on a belt clip and pushed the talk button. “Ingrid Moss speaking.”

I gaped at her, then at Vic. Ingrid with a cell phone? What was the world coming to?

My aunt's features turned brittle. “I thought we'd settled this.”

Someone said something on the other line.

“Fine.”

Someone said something else.

“Fine.”

Someone must have clipped a threat.

“Have at it.”

Someone hung up.

Ingrid calmly replaced her phone on the belt clip. When all eyes were on her, she shrugged. “The hussy won't give up.”

“Prue?”

I thought the matter over Eugene's foot had been settled a year ago; I'd even mailed a round-trip ticket to Maui two months ago. What happened? “She
still
wants Eugene's foot?”

“No, she wants to be buried on the other side of Eugene. It's
my
lot. Bought and paid for with my money. Now
she
wants to be buried there.” My aunt threw back her head and guffawed. Immediately sobering, she said, “When pigs fly.”

That's when I mentally threw up my hands.
All
life's problems couldn't be neatly wrapped in a tidy bundle.

“Pops! Hey Pops!” Petey bounded for Vic, Emma close on his heels. Vic passed Ellie to me and then scooped the two imps into his arms, nuzzling their necks.

Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply of clean air and friendly fragrances. A person couldn't pick a better place to live than Parnass Springs. Just ask me.

I'm an expert on happy endings.

Read a sample chapter from
Lori Copeland's
Now and Always

V
ery few things distracted Katie Addison when she was on a mission, but the sight of three dead horses strewn across the winding road stopped her in her tracks. Her jeep skidded and veered to the right before stopping. Motorists set out flares. The highway patrol began the process of diverting traffic around the gruesome sight.

Putting a tissue over her nose, Katie exited the jeep. Thick smoke covered the area from the fire burning on the ridge below Devils Tower. Wildfire had broken out in the thirteen-hundred-acre park, and crews had been battling it all day. A suffocating haze blanketed the landscape.

Confusion reigned as Katie threaded her way through curious onlookers and fellow travelers who'd stopped to help. Her eyes focused on the black skid marks, and it didn't take a sleuth to see that the overturned truck and stock trailer had veered to the center and jackknifed, blocking most of the road.

Blowout? Deer blocking the road?

The long, white trailer lay on its side in the ditch. The sides were enclosed, and the top was lined with openings for ventilation. The terrified screams of trapped horses, kicking and lunging, trying to break free, sent a shudder up her spine. She'd lived on a ranch all her life, and while she wasn't a vet, she knew almost as much as anybody about animals. She took care of her own—three dogs, three cats, a goat, and an aging Appaloosa. She'd sewn up more than one wire cut by lantern light.

Katie approached Sheriff Ben O'Keefe, who was trying to redirect traffic. “Is the driver hurt?”

“Don't know. An ambulance is on the way.”

Katie strained to see what was going on through the chaos. Men worked to open the truck's passenger side door while others were trying to break into the mangled trailer. Katie observed the work and then impulsively raced to help, her former mission forgotten.

Working her way around the overturned trailer, Katie tried to peer through the narrow slits in the side wall. It was nearly impossible to count the heaving flesh trapped inside, but she estimated three, maybe four horses down, kicking and struggling to get out. Men worked feverishly to reach the injured animals, but the enclosed trailer defeated their efforts. The back door hung by one hinge, but the divider separating the back compartment from the front was jammed, making it almost impossible to reach the injured. Apparently the dead animals had been thrown out when the trailer jackknifed. Some had been hit by cars, judging from the damaged autos scattered along the roadside. A portly man collapsed against the overturned trailer, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his forehead. The cloud of smoke cast a stifling blanket, hampering rescue efforts.

Katie eased into the back of the overturned carrier, working her way cautiously to the crumpled and jammed divider. Her stomach seized at the sight of tangled limbs and the sound of the injured horses' screams. There had to be a way to free them before they sustained more injury. A bay kicked frantically, lunging against the divider. Blood spurted from a nasty shoulder gash.

“There, boy, take it easy,” Katie crooned, trying to calm the horse.

A shout and the wail of a siren heralded the arrival of emergency vehicles. Katie focused on the arrival of an ambulance, two firetrucks, and a couple of police cars, sirens blaring. Paramedics hit the ground before their vehicle fully stopped, racing to the truck cab. Firemen approached the overturned trailer, openly assessing the bedlam. Katie wanted to scream at them to move faster, but she knew they needed to determine what would be best for the horses' sake. Someone brought a Sawzall. Was it strong enough to slice through the metal trailer? Rescue workers were already using the Jaws of Life to cut through the truck cab and reach the driver pinned inside.

The screech of metal cutting metal sent the horses into a panic. Firemen sliced through twisted metal. Whining saws died away, and Katie eased to maneuver into line to help remove the animals. But a burly captain stepped in front of her.

“Sorry. You need to step back out of the way.”

“I can help. I've doctored animals all my life.”

“You could get hurt in there. If you want to help, you'll stand back and let us work.”

A tall, rawboned woman with short salt-and-pepper hair ran toward them. “I'm a vet.” She was allowed to pass to the scene of action.

A couple of men cautiously approached the trailer. Katie held her breath as they tried to untangle the downed animals. Finally they led the bay out at the end of a rope. One by one, the horses were removed. Frightened, shying at every noise, the trembling animals were led to safety. Two were limping and all were bleeding from numerous wounds. A stock trailer rattled up, restoring alarm. The men leading the horses spoke calmly, guiding them gently forward. One horse couldn't get up. “Broken legs and internal injuries,” someone in the crowd murmured. The vet administered an injection. After a short time the thrashing body went limp, and the horrible sound of an animal in agony was stilled. The carcass was dragged out and loaded on a flatbed trailer.

The woman vet glanced at Katie, her color drained. “Those horses look like someone took a baseball bat to them. It's a shame to allow this to happen in a civilized nation. Someone ought to do something about this disgrace.” A fireman called her, and she moved away to join him.

What disgrace? Accidents happen.

A news reporter held a microphone to the fire chief's mouth, and Katie shamelessly eavesdropped. “How many horses were saved?”

“Four. At first we thought we only had four in the trailer, but when we got inside, one was down and buried under the weight of the others. Eight horses in all were involved.”

“Are the remaining ones going to be all right?”

“Can't say.” The chief lifted his hat for ventilation. “You'll need to talk to the vet—looked to me like most of them were hurt pretty badly. They got tossed around when the trailer overturned.”

Attendants strapped the truck driver to a body board and loaded him into the ambulance. A stench of oil and spilled gas, of blood and sweat and death, hung over the scene of the accident like a thundercloud mingling with the sharp, stinging scent of smoke.

Devils Tower loomed in the distance. The national monument formation jutted out of the smoky Black Hills landscape, looking almost surreal with the smoke billowing around its base and the flickering flames skirting the ridge. Katie knew several northern plains tribes called it Bears Lodge and considered it a sacred worship site, but it was probably best known for the role it played in the late seventies movie
Close Encounters
. Today the tower, the smoke, and the tragic wreck sent a shiver of apprehension rippling through Katie. She breathed a quick prayer.

Father, be with the driver and with these helpless animals. You can work miracles, and it looks like the victims could sure use one
.

“The driver will be lucky to get out of this alive.”

Katie turned to find Warren Tate beside her. Warren owned the ranch two miles to the south. Except for the seven years he'd recently spent on Wall Street, he'd been a fixture in these parts. Katie and Warren had gone to school together, and known each other most of their lives. Warren had returned from New York a few weeks earlier, but this was the first time Katie had bumped into him. She smiled. “I'd heard you were back. Welcome home!”

The former classmate removed his hat. “Katie.” His eyes skimmed her. “You're looking good.”

“Thank you. So are you.” The latter was an understatement. He looked terrific! Gone was the gangly, acne-prone teenager. In his place stood a self-possessed, darn good-looking man. Rumor had it he'd graduated college summa cum laude. Shortly afterwards, he left the state to make his fortune in New York on the stock exchange.

Warren's gaze focused on the frantic scene. Katie eased closer. “It's so tragic. Does anyone know how it happened?”

He inclined his head toward the distorted wreckage. “The driver hasn't regained consciousness.”

Katie's eyes scanned the highway where the rest of the carcasses were being loaded on the flatbed trailer. “It's a miracle anything survived.”

Warren lifted his Stetson and ran a hand through thick black hair. Katie had to admit that the years had worked to his advantage. He'd bloomed. His odd-colored eyes, a dark green hue, had been a distraction during his youth, but now they enhanced his features. In high school he'd been the bookish sort, not particularly handsome and certainly not part of the in crowd. He hadn't been a partyer. She'd liked that about him, but others called him a geek. Well, world, Warren Tate was anything but a geek now. He was a couple of inches taller than her own six feet, which made it nice to stand beside him. It hadn't been easy in high school when she had towered above him and most boys her age. Her gaze shifted to his ring finger. Empty…

Maybe Warren was like Katie, content to wait until Mrs. Right came along, though rumor also had it he'd been involved in a pretty nasty breakup prior to leaving the Big Apple.

Katie didn't have time to brood about her own lack of social life, much less Warren Tate's. Taking care of Grandpops until he died took time, then establishing the shelter…She glanced at her watch. “Oh, granny's skirts! I was due at the airport fifteen minutes ago!”

Warren turned to look at her. “New guest?”

Katie nodded. Everyone around knew that she took in battered women, but the town kept the information to themselves. Little Bush was a close-knit community, loyal to a fault, and the Addisons had been part of the community as far back as anyone remembered. It wasn't a large community, though it had grown since Katie graduated from high school. A couple of factories had moved in, and a few hometown boys made good, investing time and money into the community. Quite a few mom-and-pop businesses had sprung up, and the chamber of commerce boasted a healthy number of members. The town still had most of the original buildings, reminders that Little Bush was an old town with roots going back a long way. But there was still a hint of wildness, a feel of the frontier that outsiders sometimes found intimidating. If they wanted something more, Sundance and Gillette were a short drive away, and Cody, if you really wanted an outing.

Katie's Grandpops, old man Addison as the locals called him, was a crusty Little Bush councilman before he died six years ago. Paul and Willa Addison, Katie's maternal grandparents, had raised Katie from an infant when their daughter had been shot and killed by her jealous husband.

Because of the abuse in her background, if mistreated women needed protection, Katie gave it, and Little Bush enforced it. Katie had been young, but she still remembered her mother's dying screams. They had been seared into her memory, and she vowed she would protect helpless women—with her own life if necessary—when she grew up.

Katie's thoughts returned to Warren. “What happens to the surviving animals?” She stepped back, allowing an emergency worker to pass.

He shook his head. “Overheard someone speculate they were on their way to the slaughterhouse.”

Katie's jaw dropped. Slaughterhouse! She knew these things happened, but…slaughterhouse?

“Why?”

“Why? Greed, of course.”

Katie had heard that animal byproducts was a huge business, but to see evidence of the cruelty turned her stomach. Sure, she was accused of taking in every stray that wandered her way, and if her house and yard were any indication of her being a pushover, she couldn't argue with the accusation. But horses, innocent animals, on their way to becoming glue or paste, or whatever they did with them, appalled her.

“How can they do that? The survivors. Where will they go? Who is going to take care of them till they heal?”

Warren shrugged. “If the rumors are true, they'll continue to their destination. If not, then I really don't know. Maybe they'll go to the humane society. I can't really say.”

“I want them.”

Warren glanced over. “You want them?”

“Yes. I want them if all that awaits them is the slaughter-house. Who do I talk to?”

He shook his head, a grin shadowing the corners of his mouth. His clean-shaven features hadn't changed much over the years; his youthful complexion had cleared, but faded acne scars still shadowed his cheeks. Wall Street's pressure had done a job on him, folks said. Made him cynical. Sick of life. He pretty much stayed to himself, only going into town for groceries and supplies every couple of weeks.

He shifted. “I see the years haven't changed you.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you're still a bleeding-heart trying to take care of the whole world.”

Katie shrugged. “And that's a bad thing?” That was most people's problem; because they couldn't take care of everything, they quit trying to take care of the things they could. Katie believed one person's efforts, regardless of how puny, made a difference, and she tried to live her life accordingly.