Here and Again Read online

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need to detach the trees to clear the river.” He gazed at her with an isn’t-that-obvious look.

  “River needs to be clear,” Samuel said from behind.

  “I want that tree left whole,” she said, pointing to Jesse’s ash.

  “I don’t think that’s possible. The top branches are tangled in the pine,” the ranger said.

  “As whole as possible. C-can you, like, swing it around so it lays flush to the river’s edge that way?” She pointed up the river to the left.

  “I can, but if the water rises with the spring flow, it might be picked up anyway.”

  Ginger bit her lip. Her throat tightened as tears threatened. How to tell this man who stood with a perplexed look on his face what the tree meant? How to explain without going into anything too deeply? This was something she didn’t want to share with anyone. It was hers alone to bear.

  “Sometimes it is best to open a wound to help it heal,” Samuel said.

  Ginger gazed over her shoulder.

  He stood with his hands behind his back, looking into her gently. “But you know that, being, as you are, a nurse.”

  She nodded and, turning back to the ranger, said, “Losing it in a wash is a risk, I know. But I need to keep it. It belonged to my husband. He’s, um—” She peered up to the crackling branches above her head. A tear rolled down her cheek as she returned her eyes to those of the ranger. “He died in Iraq and that tree was his favorite place. He taught his kids to swim here. I just need . . . to keep it if I can.” The last words she didn’t say but shrugged as she mouthed them.

  As Ginger gazed from one man to the next, they all nodded and, without another word, the two men who had been attaching the chain began to detach it.

  “If we move the winch over there,” the man on the pine said, pointing to his right, “we can pull it around and lay it behind that boulder there. I think it can reach.”

  “We’ll make it work,” the ranger said. “Sorry for your loss.”

  Ginger shrugged again and smiled a little as she took a deep breath. “I’ll make some coffee for you guys. It’s cold out here,” she said and, turning around, gazed into Samuel’s soft brown eyes. As if she had taken his hand, he turned and together they walked back toward the house.

  “That was hard,” she whispered to him.

  “It’s private,” he replied.

  Ginger looked over to him and he to her.

  “Never heard a tear shed that wasn’t personal,” she offered.

  “Never shed one myself that wasn’t personal,” he added.

  A great gust roared through the bridge. Like a flood of water, the wind rushed at them. Ginger put her head down, pulling Jesse’s coat tighter around her body, and as she looked at Samuel she found that he, too, slumped forward as if in effort against it.

  “Can you feel the wind?” she called.

  He grinned and stood up straight, his hair and clothing perfectly still, as if it were a heavy summer’s day with hardly a breeze to mention. He said, “I was commiserating.”

  They laughed together as the trees shook and moaned behind them, seeming both angry and sad at being left alone with five strangers in their midst.

  Squinting in the small, flying debris, Ginger approached the bridge, saying, “Need to fix that streambed. Look at those ruts. What a mess.”

  “Let the water heal it,” Samuel replied as they entered the covered bridge.

  “There is no water,” she said.

  They were quiet as they cleared the bridge and walked past the orchard. Apple and pear trees rustled and danced, their limbs whispering that the little white buds were ready to bloom.

  “Why is there a bridge if there is no water?” Samuel asked.

  Startled, Ginger turned her head and found his look of puzzlement laughable. He had pondered the bridge over a dried-up stream in the quiet between them. “So people will drive down Highway 81 and see a historical marker indicating that it is out here and they’ll get off and drive five miles of back roads to see it.”

  His face reflected his mind; it mulled over this information as they passed the walnut tree. “Why?”

  “So there will be something to talk about down here where nothing happens.” She burst out laughing again, remembering Jesse and once having this exact conversation with him.

  Samuel let out a chuckle and shook his head, just as she had done all those years ago. She was now Jesse, living with that bridge, watching the cars come down the lane, one after another after another. They’d stop, look, look harder, sure there was something to see, shrug at the fact that there was a whole lot of nothing, take a picture maybe, turn around, and go back to the highway. There was no purpose to any of it, no purpose at all. And that was funny.

  “Ginger?”

  She nearly jumped backward, surprised to see Ed’s wife, Lorena, standing in front of her.

  “Uh, hi,” she said awkwardly, gazing back to Samuel. He had stopped and stood a polite distance off to the right.

  Lorena smiled, following Ginger’s gaze. “What was so funny?”

  “Oh, I was just remembering a conversation from long ago. Some wind we’re having.” She changed the subject.

  “Not a thing can rest in it,” Lorena replied. “Ed is nearly finished with Henry’s Child.”

  “Excellent.” Ginger’s smile widened. “Can I see?”

  “Of course. We brought dinner also.”

  “Ah, you didn’t need to.”

  “I know, but we did. That way we can stay.” Lorena let out a small laugh.

  “You’d be invited anyway.”

  “I know,” she said, entwining her elbow with Ginger’s.

  There was a loud pop and then a hesitant cough of an engine. The tractor sputtered and spat as Ginger entered the barn. Henry’s Child seemed none too thrilled at being awakened from its long sleep, but Ed Rogers had nudged it fully to life and it chugged along in idle, the exhaust filling the barn with smoke.

  “These things are sensitive,” he said to Bea, who stood next to Penny’s empty stall, her face impassive. She didn’t nod, didn’t smile. Nothing moved on her but her eyes, which flicked between Henry’s Child and the man bent over its engine. Finally, they turned at last in her mother’s direction. A crease deepened in her stony brow.

  “Mama?” Bea walked over, full of purpose. Henry’s Child warmed to the idea of moving as Bea’s gaze fell between Lorena and her mother. She was looking at Samuel.

  “Yes, Bea?”

  “I’m thinking about something. Something’s happening.”

  That was what Jack Wolfe had told Jacob Esch. She could have said something, could have prompted her daughter with a question. But in this quiet moment, filled only with the sound of Henry’s Child stretching to move at last, it was as if she was in a breath between notes again. She waited. Ed Rogers cut the engine off and Ginger hung in the silence of that space like valley air between two mountains, waiting to be moved by wind.

  “Mr. Rogers gave us Penny and Christian.”

  Ginger said nothing.

  “He really loves Henry’s Child like Grandpa Henry loved it.”

  “I don’t exactly love it,” Ed Rogers corrected.

  “So Mr. Rogers has Christian and Penny’s bridles and yokes and such.”

  Ginger said not—a—thing.

  “I’m thinking . . . Henry and Oliver and I . . . Well, Henry’s Child is mine. That’s kinda how it’s been and—and I’m thinking we give it to Mr. Rogers because he will care for it like Grandpa did. And he can give us Penny and Christian’s stuff and we farm like—like the help that’s come used to do. Back then.”

  Bea motioned her head toward Samuel.

  “W
hat help?” Lorena asked, confusion furrowing deeply between her eyes.

  A huge gust blew through the yard, shook the walnut tree, and bound into the barn, sending the exhaust from Henry’s Child scattering like unwanted rain clouds in a bright blue sky.

  “Farm with horses,” Ginger repeated her daughter’s idea.

  “Um, you can’t do that, Ginger,” Lorena said.

  “I agree,” Mr. Rogers said. “There’s a lot to learn in farming and that just adds to the complication.”

  Ginger turned around, looked at Samuel, and then gazed past him toward the covered bridge.

  “There’s no purpose to that bridge . . .” She breathed. “Except to bring people down here.”

  “Where they find nothing happening,” Samuel said, chuckling.

  Ginger spun on her heel and looked intently at her daughter. “Little Bea. That there is your daddy’s tractor.”

  “I know,” Bea said, her eyes moistening as she straightened her shoulders.

  “I can’t ask you to give it up.”

  “I know,” she said, her face twitching in hidden hurt. The little girl swallowed.

  Birds chirped as they flew by. The wind blew through the barn, rustling and whistling as it did so. No one moved. No one spoke. Finally, Bea turned with square shoulders, raising her chin bravely to look upon Mr. Rogers.

  “We need Penny and Christian’s stuff, please. I’ll trade you Henry’s Child for it.”

  “I think your daddy would rather you keep this,” the man answered.

  “I think this is exactly what my daddy would want if he was here. We really need this stuff, Mr. Rogers.”

  Ginger gazed at the man, who met her with steady eyes. His look appeared as if he was going to question this decision of Bea’s, but Ginger shook her head at him. He breathed in, picked up a white rag, leaned back against Henry’s Child, and began wiping his oily black hands.

  “Well, this tractor is worth quite a pretty penny, Bea,” Mr. Rogers said. “I’m not sure that the horses’ yokes and such are of equal value. What else you think you’ll need?”

  Bea looked over at her mother, who shrugged. She knew nothing of farming.

  “Tell him you need plows, tillers, harrows, rollers, planters, mowers, and rakes,” Samuel said.

  Ginger smiled.

  So did Bea. “I need plows, tillers, harrows, rollers, planters, mowers, and rakes,” she said.

  Mr. Rogers stopped cleaning his hands and stared at the little girl.

  “You have those, Mr. Rogers?” Bea asked.

  Samuel snickered.

  “Maybe a tedder, too?” Mr. Rogers asked with eyebrows raised.

  “I do not know what that is,” Samuel said.

  “Um, sure,” Bea replied.

  Samuel laughed. Bea looked over at him, grinning. Ginger watched Ed follow the little girl’s gaze. He saw nothing and shook his head.

  “Not a thing,” Ginger whispered.

  “All right, Miss Bea,” he said, standing up. “I’ll estimate the cost of this tractor and bring the requested equipment plus anything else I think you’ll need. Does that work?”

  “I think that’ll do,” Bea said, offering her hand to Mr. Rogers.

  “To self-sufficiency,” he said, smiling for the first time as he took her palm in his.

  Bea’s eyes opened in surprise at the friendliness of it. She smiled back as he shook her hand. “What’s self-sufficiency?” she asked.

  “Farming to live,” he replied.

  Bea nodded, letting go of his hand. She wiped her palms on her pants, staring long at Henry’s Child. Her eyes moistened again as she turned to her mother but, without looking up at Ginger, Bea squared her shoulders again, breathed in deeply, and left the barn slowly. They all watched her go, and when she reached the walnut tree she broke into a run, racing for the sunroom door. It banged closed behind her.

  “That’s a courageous little girl you’ve got there,” Mr. Rogers said.

  “Amen,” replied Samuel.

  Chapter 16

  The Good, the Bad, and the Goat

  It was Monday when Ginger opened her eyes. Her alarm had not gone off at eleven thirty p.m., as she had the day to herself and she had slept deeply the entire night. It was the first true rest she had had in a long while and she rolled over to see exactly what time it was.

  The clock read five thirty a.m. and the smell of coffee wandered into her room to confirm that it was time to ready the kids for school. With a lightness she hadn’t felt for nearly two years, Ginger lifted herself from the bed. She looked out of her window and there, staring at the ruts in the streambed, was Samuel. As soon as she saw him, he raised his eyes to the window. He waved. Ginger smiled and waved back.

  Beau’s tags jingled as she grabbed her bathrobe.

  “Morning, Beau. You don’t have to get up unless you want to.”

  The dog thought about it a minute and fell back onto his side, letting out a great rush of air—a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, I thought as much.”

  She left her room and walked to Bea’s. Opening the door quietly, she looked in. There she found Henry and Oliver sleeping on the floor in a bivouac they had made of their blankets. Bea was snoring with a little whistle from the bed. It was time to wake up—time to go to school. But she had no desire to wake them. In fact, she wanted to stay right there and watch them until their eyes opened of their own accord.

  As she watched, she felt Samuel climb the stairs.

  “Good morning,” she whispered to him.

  “Time to get the children up,” he said. “Time to milk the cow and feed the chickens and collect the eggs and ready the horses for the day.”

  She turned her head and found him leaning next to her on the door’s post, gazing into Bea’s room. “There is no cow and the horses have nothing to do just yet.”

  “There are still things that need to be made ready. Work starts at sunrise.”

  “It’s a school day.”

  “School is at home,” he said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Ginger thought for a moment. Why not? “I think I have to sign up for that. I don’t know.”

  “Well, maybe you will work on that today and we will all stay home for once and make a life here.”

  “I guess I can call them out sick, but just for today.”

  “Just for a day? That makes no sense to me whatsoever. A farm is not just for a day and school is at home. Where else would it be?”

  “Nowadays school is at a schoolhouse. But if you insist, you can wake them up and get them ready for work that needs to be done, though I have no idea what that would be because we’ve got nothing to farm yet. And just to let you in on the ways of this family, you will find Oliver whining when he opens his eyes. It’s best to tell him you can’t hear him when he whines. That way, you will not cause the rest of us to have to listen to him get his way when he whines at you.”

  Samuel leaned forward and stared into her eyes. She saw the shadow of his brown irises and shivered a little, but refused to look away.

  “There was no whining in my family,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Good luck with that.” She bit her lip, holding back a laugh as she headed to the stairs. Little did he know Oliver.

  “Virginia Moon?”

  She turned on the first stair and gazed back at him.

  “What are the children’s names, please?”

  She curled her lip in confusion and said, “You don’t remember?”

  “We’ve not been introduced. Their full names, please.”

  “Ah. Yes. Well, they are named after writers. So they are Henry Adams Martin, Beatrix Potter Martin, and Oliver Wendell Holmes Martin.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, rea
lly. Thank you.”

  He made a little bow then and they looked at each other, the small smile on her face matching the one on his.

  Ginger returned her attention to the stairs she was descending and heard Samuel above announcing, “Time to get up! There is work to do! Up!”

  “Morning.” It was Henry’s voice first.

  “Get your brother up, Henry Adams Martin.”

  “Coward,” Ginger breathed.

  “We have got work, Beatrix Potter Martin. Time for breakfast.”

  “It’s Monday,” she heard Bea say. “We have to go to school.”

  “Today home is school. Oliver Wendell Holmes Martin!”

  She stepped down into the family room just in time to catch the beginning of Oliver’s morning whine. Beau came racing down the stairs.

  “Smart dog,” Ginger said with a yawn. “Morning, Osbee.”

  “Samuel get the kids up?” the old woman asked.

  Ginger’s jaw shut so fast, she couldn’t get her tongue out of the way. “Ahh!” Her hand reached for her mouth as if to stop what had already occurred.

  “Coffee?”

  “You thee him?”

  “Yes, I see him. I met him yesterday.”

  Ginger moved her jaw up and down as if practicing how to do so without biting her tongue. Osbee held out a steaming cup.

  “Are—aren’t you thocked?”

  “Shocked? Yesterday, yes. I had to leave the barn. Thought I was like to faint. Henry was standing there smiling like anything as I grabbed a broom. I had no idea who the stranger was but Oliver stood next to him like he’d known him forever. They just kept saying he was, well, you know. Then Samuel disappeared. Then he came back through Christian’s stall. Henry and Oliver had to steady me and at that moment Bea brought in the Rogerses. They took me out, saying we were gonna ride the horses. Had to sit down a long while with Samuel next to me, I’ll tell you. Watched the boys go round and round for hours.”

  “Where is breakfast?” Samuel asked, entering the kitchen.

  “Cereal’s on the table,” Osbee replied, pointing.

  Samuel stepped to the open box of Cheerios and pursed his lips.