The Last Honest Woman (19 page)

Abby was walking downstairs, delighted with herself, when the front door burst open. "Wipe your feet," she said automatically, then laughed and hurried down the rest of the stairs to hug her two dripping children.

"It's raining," Chris informed her.

"Really?"

"My papers got wet." Ben took off his soaking hat and let it fall on the floor.

"They wouldn't if you used your book bag."

"They're for girls." He picked up his hat because his mother was looking at it, then handed her a wet, wrinkled paper.

"An
A "
Abby put a hand to her heart as if the shock were too much for her. "Why, Benjamin, someone put your name on their paper."

He chuckled, a bit embarrassed. "No, they didn't. It's mine."

"This spelling test—unit 31—with none, absolutely none, marked wrong, belongs to Benjamin Francis Rockwell?
My
Benjamin Francis Rockwell?"

He wrinkled his nose as he always did when reminded of his middle name. "Yeah."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "You know what this means?" she asked solemnly.

"What?"

"Hot chocolate all around."

A grin split his face. "Can I have marshmallows?"

"Absolutely."

"Hot chocolate?" Dylan asked as he came down the steps.

Abby hooked an arm around Ben's shoulder. "We're celebrating the one hundred percent, graded, unit 31. Twenty death-defying words spelled correctly." She held up the paper where the little gold star glittered damply.

"Pretty impressive." Dylan scrubbed a hand over Chris's head, then held it out to Ben. "Congratulations."

"It's no big deal," he murmured, but looked secretly pleased with the handshake. "Can I have three marshmallows?"

"The boy knows how to take advantage of a situation," Abby stated. "Let's go. Hang up your coats," she said automatically when they stepped into the kitchen.

For the next twenty minutes, the air was filled with stories of the adventures young boys go through in a day. Then bloated with chocolate, Ben and Chris tugged on their boots and coats and went out to tend the stock.

"I bet I haven't had any of this for twenty years," Dylan mused as he studied his empty cup.

"Bring back memories?"

"My mother used to make it." When Abby leaned on the counter opposite him and smiled, he found himself continuing. "She's a great cook. I still think she bakes the best custard pies in New Jersey."

"Do you get to see them often? Your parents?"

"Couple of times a year." He shrugged, feeling the familiar tug of guilt and resignation. "There never seems to be enough time."

"I know." Abby glanced over her shoulder at the window. There would come a time when her boys would go, when she'd have to let them go. That was the price of being a parent. "I don't see mine very often, either. They're never in one place long enough."

"Still playing the clubs?"

"They'll always be playing the clubs." Affection came into her voice, deep and natural. "Put two people into a room and they're ready to entertain. It's in the blood, if you believe my father's theory. He's desperately proud of Chantel and Maddy for carrying on the tradition in grand style. He stays annoyed with Trace because he didn't."

"What does your brother do?"

"Travels." She moved her shoulders. "None of us really have any idea just what it is that Trace does." She took another cookie off the plate and offered Dylan one. "Pop claims Trace doesn't know, either."

"What about you? Any problems because you don't sing for your supper?"

"Oh, no." She grinned. "I gave them Ben and Chris—better than a command performance. Your parents must be proud of you."

"My father would have preferred it if I'd stayed on the farm and milked cows." He drew out a cigarette. "But my mother tells me he's read every word I've written."

"Isn't if funny how—"

"Mom!" Chris came barreling through the door, dripping wet and tracking mud. Abby caught him halfway into the room, checking for injuries.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Eve. She's sick. She's lying down and all sweaty."

Abby already had her coat off the hook. Not bothering to change into her boots, she dashed out the door in her sneakers. When she got to the barn, Ben was sitting next to the mare, struggling not to cry as he stroked her.

"Is she going to die?"

Abby crouched beside him and put a hand on the mound of the mare's stomach. "No, no, of course not." She circled her arm around Ben and squeezed hard. "She's just going to have a baby. Remember, we talked about it."

"She looks awful sick."

"When babies come, it hurts some. But she's going to be fine." With her heart in her throat, Abby prayed she wasn't making promises she couldn't keep. "She's having contractions," she murmured, soothing the mare. "Her body's helping the baby come out."

All Ben could see was the mare's shudders. Sweat rolled, dampening her coat and overwhelming the scent of fresh hay. "Why does it have to hurt?"

"Because life hurts a little, Ben. But it's worth it." One of the barn cats mewed in sympathy as Eve moaned. "Now, Ben, I want you to go in and call the vet. Tell him who you are first, okay?"

He sniffed. " 'Kay."

"Then tell him that Eve's in labor."

"In labor?"

"Having a baby's work," she told him, and kissed his cheek. "Go ahead. Then come back. This is something you'll want to see."

He dashed off, recovered enough to be pleased with the responsibility. As the mare suffered her pangs, Abby shifted Eve's head onto her lap.

"Anything we can do?"

She looked up to see Dylan standing at the entrance to the stall, Chris's hand firmly caught in his. Her son was wide-eyed and fascinated. She smiled.

"I've helped the vet with deliveries before, and I found that you end up doing little more than cheering her on. Eve has the starring role here." Eve moaned with the next contraction, and Abby leaned over and crooned to her. "Oh, I know it hurts, baby." The mare's sweat transferred to her own skin. Abby wished she could take some of the pain as easily.

Chris swallowed with a little click. He'd never seen anything like it. One of the cats had had kittens once, he remembered. But he'd come out to the barn to find them snuggled, clean and naked, against their mother. "Did it hurt when I was born?"

"You were a slowpoke." The mare's eyes half shut, and she breathed heavily. With her hand on Eve's stomach, Abby felt the power of the contraction. "For a while I thought you'd decided not to come out after all. The doctor had music on. They were playing 'Let It Be' when you were born."

"Would Eve like the music?"

"I bet she would."

Anxious to help, Chris dashed over and turned on the radio. A familiar ballad filled the air.

"The vet said he'd come as soon as he could but not to worry 'cause Eve's real strong." Ben dashed back in and took his place beside his brother.

"Of course she is.''

But as the minutes dragged on and the contractions built, Abby worried. She knew she could handle a simple foaling, with or without the vet. When a woman lived on her own, raised children on her own, she had no choice but to develop self-confidence. But if there were complications… She shook her head and cleared her mind. Whatever happened, she was going to give Eve the best she could. The horse meant more, much more, than a means to an end to her. Eve was flesh and blood, something she'd cared for day after day for over a year. When pain went through the mate, it rippled through her. Then Dylan crouched beside her.

"She's doing fine," he assured her. "Look, I never delivered any horses, but I helped with my share of cows."

She leaned her head on his shoulder briefly in a gesture that caught Ben's attention. "Thanks."

But when it began, Abby rushed to help the foal into the world before Dylan could. Her own sweat mixed with the mare's, and her voice was raised in encouragement. The blood that came with new life streaked her hands. The hope that came with new life shone in her eyes. She looked, Dylan realized as he watched her, magnificent. He glanced at the boys and saw them watching the foal's birth with their mouths hanging open.

"Incredible, isn't it?"

Ben looked at him and made a face. "It's pretty gross." Then he saw spindly legs emerge, a small head and a compact body. "It's a horse. It's a real horse." Both he and Chris scrambled for a closer look.

"But he's big." Intrigued, Chris measured the foal. "How'd he fit in there?"

"She," Abby corrected, weeping shamelessly. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"She's kind of sloppy," Ben commented. Then Eve immediately went about her business and cleaned up her baby.

"Good job." Dylan stroked a hand down Abby's hair, then kissed her. "Real good job."

Chris reached out a tentative hand to touch the foal. "Can we play with her?"

"Not yet… but you can touch. Isn't she soft?"

Then Chris jerked back as the foal shook and shivered and tried out her legs for the first time. "She stood up!" Amazed, he stared at his mother. "She stood right up. Cathy Jackson's little sister didn't stand up for months and months." It pleased him enormously to find his horse superior. "What can we name her?"

"We can't name her, love. If Mr. Jorgensen's going to buy her, then he'll want to name her."

"We can't keep her?"

"Chris…" She looked at him and at Ben. "You know we can't. We talked about this."

"You didn't sell Ben and me."

"Horses grow up faster," Dylan put in. "One day you'll have a house of your own. The foal's going to be ready for her own place in a few months."

"We can visit her." Ben set his chin and waited for someone to shoot him down.

"I'm sure we can." Abby smiled at him. Her baby was so grown-up already. "Mr. Jorgensen's a very nice man."

"Can we watch when Gladys has her baby?" Ben reached out for the first time to touch the foal's ears.

"If you're not in school." She heard the sound of an engine and looked down at her hands. For the first time, she noticed they were streaked with blood. "That must be the vet. I'd better wash."

The excitement didn't die down until long after bedtime. Because she understood, Abby let her boys go out and say good-night to the foal after they should both have been in bed themselves. Tired, but pleasantly so, she settled down in front of the living room fire.

"Quite a day," Dylan murmured as he sat beside her.

"And then some. I'm so glad the boys were there. It's something they'll never forget. It's something I'll never forget." She felt a stirring inside her, one she hadn't experienced for a long, long time. She knew what it was like to have Me grow inside her, what it was like to bring it into a not-so-perfect world. Would she ever carry another child? She sighed, reminding herself she had two beautiful healthy sons.

"Tired?"

"A little."

"Your mind's wandering."

She curled her legs under her and watched the flames dance. "I think you see too much in there too easily."

"Funny, I would have said I haven't seen nearly enough."

She blocked off wishes and longings and faced reality. "Tomorrow you're going to have more questions, and you're going to expect me to answer them."

"That's what I'm here for, Abby." But he wasn't sure that was the complete truth, not now.

"I know." She accepted it as truth. She had to. "I've made myself a few promises, Dylan. I'm going to try to keep them."

He touched her hair, wishing there were other ways to get what he needed to get from her. "There aren't any questions right now."

She closed her eyes a moment. Maybe there was a little room for longings after all. "For tonight, just for tonight, I'd like to pretend there isn't any book, that there aren't any questions."

He knew he could have pressed. He understood that at that moment she was open enough to tell him everything. If be pushed the right buttons, the answers would simply pour out. He had an obligation to do it. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and watched the fire with her.

"We had a big stone fireplace at home. My mother used to say you could roast an ox in it."

She relaxed against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Were you happy?"

"Yeah. I never much cared for milking cows before the sun came up, but I was happy. We had a creek and a big oak tree. I'd sit under it, listen to the water and read books. I could go anywhere."

She smiled, picturing him as a child. "And you decided to be a writer."

"I decided to single-handedly spread the truth. I guess that's why reporting came first. I went into that with the First Amendment playing in my head." He laughed at himself, something he didn't yet realized he'd learned from her. "I found out you've got to crawl through a lot of dirt to make it work."

"The truth." She closed her eyes and wished the word didn't have such a sharp edge. "It's very important to you."

"Without it the rest is just dressing, just excuses."

She'd made plenty of those, Abby thought. "Why biographies, then?"

"Because it's fascinating to explore one person's life, one person at a time, and find out how many other lives were affected, what marks were left, what mistakes were made."

"Sometimes mistakes are private."

"That's why I've never done a bio that wasn't authorized."

"And if one day someone wrote yours?"

He seemed to find that amusing. She heard his chuckle as his cheek brushed over her hair. He couldn't know how deadly serious she was. "Maybe I'd do it myself—warts and all."

"Have you ever done anything you were really ashamed of?"

He didn't have to think for long. A man didn't live beyond thirty without shame. "I've had my share of wrong turns."

"And you'd write about them, no matter what anyone thought of you after it was done?"

"You can't bargain with the truth, Abby." He remembered what she had told him about Chris's conception and continued, "Sometimes, when it's important enough, you can pretend you didn't hear it."

She watched the fire and thought about that. She thought about it a long time.