A Thousand Little Blessings (8 page)

 

Gabriel lifted his face to the rain and let the cool water wash away the dust. It had just been thunder. Plain, every day, natural thunder. Not shelling. Not German artillery trained on his platoon. Just thunder.

Thank goodness, no one had seen him dive for cover except the horses. Even they had pricked their ears and huddled in conference about his unusual behavior. When his heart had stopped pounding, he'd rolled over and gazed at the ominous clouds. A simple, spring thunderstorm. Almost every farmer and rancher in the county had probably danced for joy at the first rumble, but not him. He'd hit the ground and searched for his entrenching tool.

Now he sat in the doorway of the stable, letting the rain wash away the last scraps of fear and watching the cats run for shelter. The lead mare, Mira, shook her head and pulled at the rope that tethered her to the grooming post. Gabriel stood and ran his hand down her neck. “All right, girl. I know you're tired of waiting.” He retrieved a brush from the bucket of tools and ran it over the mare's muddy belly.

This was supposed to be Benito's job, but there would be plenty to do once the teenager arrived. No use getting worked up about a tardy stable boy. If Gabriel hadn't had the Arabians, he'd have little else to do except stew over the events of the last year. That never led to any good outcomes.

Antares lifted his muzzle above the stall door and neighed loudly.

Gabriel stopped brushing the mare and listened for what had triggered the stallion's vocalization. Over the sound of the rain hitting the stable's metal roof, he heard two voices speaking Spanish.

Etta entered the stable with Benito at her side. She lowered her umbrella and propped it against the wall. “Hello, Gabriel.”

Gabriel nodded in greeting.

“You'll have to excuse Benito for being later than he promised. His aunt made him eat dinner first.”

Benito smiled broadly. “Tía Rosa is the best cook in our family.” The boy looked down the row of stalls. “What should I do first?”

“Get their feed,” Gabriel answered. “Then you can finish the grooming.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered with a wide grin as he jogged toward the tack room.

Etta smiled at Gabriel. “I see you got caught in the rain.”

Gabriel used his sleeve to push his wet hair off his forehead. “I'll dry. Looks like the rain's letting up.”

Etta turned to look through the open doorway. “You're right.” She tucked her arms behind her and stood silently. Something was different about her tonight, as though someone had thrown a rock into her placid surface. “Well…if you don't need anything… I'll let you get back to work.”

Gabriel couldn't let her get away that quickly. “How's your father?”

Etta moved closer and gently rubbed Mira's neck. The horse nickered softly, obviously enjoying the soothing touch. “Papa was sleeping when I got home, but his new attendant reported he'd had a good day. I'm not sure what that means, but I've decided to take it as a blessing. Did you have a chance to ride today?”

Gabriel tossed the brush into the bucket. “I rode Mira over to my parents' house. I tried to talk my mom into going for a ride, but she thought I'd lost my mind.”

Etta's smile widened. “I've never seen your mother on a horse.”

“She used to ride all the time when I was a boy, but now she says she's as old as Abraham's sandals and climbing atop a horse would do her in.”

Etta laughed at the comparison. “That's old, all right. If the weather holds, maybe I can go for a ride on Sunday afternoon.”

“Where do you like to ride?”

“Along Hamilton Creek. You know the footbridge that connects your family's land to ours?”

“Sure.”

“If you go just a little farther south, there's a nice grove of cottonwoods that makes for a good resting spot.”

The same spot where he'd seen her a few nights earlier. “That sounds nice, all right. Would you mind some company?”

Etta's brows drew together. “Do you think your mother would like to ride with me?”

Surely, a young woman as pretty as Etta had her share of suitors, but her confusion seemed genuine. “I doubt it. But I wouldn't mind.”

Etta's eyes widened as his meaning sank in. “Oh.” She took two steps away from Gabriel. “That would be fine.” She picked up her umbrella. “If you're sure.”

“I'm sure. Is two o'clock all right with you?”

“Two o'clock is fine,” she said as she hurried out of the stable.

Gabriel watched her hasty exit and laughed to himself.

Etta was almost as jumpy as he, but instead of thunder, she shied away from flirtation.

 

 

 

 

4

 

On Sunday afternoon, Etta sat at her sleeping father's bedside and stitched the quilt squares together. Charlie Simpson had only been working with him for a few days, but already she could see an improvement. She smiled to herself as she threaded the needle. Charlie was the most optimistic, good-natured person she'd ever met. Even when she'd come home one evening to the sound of breaking dishes, Charlie had cheerfully swept up the pieces and assured her that no harm had been done.

“Mr. Henry's just frustrated,” he'd said with a smile and a wink. “You'd be frustrated, too, if you had to relearn how to hold a fork. But don't you worry, miss. Old Charlie's on the job.”

Etta stitched and prayed.
Thank You for sending Charlie to us, Lord. Help Papa be patient in his healing.
A spring breeze ruffled the lace curtains her mother had loved, and doves cooed softly from the oaks. Etta dropped her sewing into her lap and leaned back in her chair.

Everyone had been so kind that morning at church. So many had offered to sit with Papa or to work in her mother's garden until she was ready to take it over. The fellowship of believers was a sweet blessing.

Etta closed her eyes as one of her mother's favorite hymns floated into her memory.
The fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.

“Wha…yu…”

Etta's eyes sprang open at the sound of her father's voice. “Good afternoon, Papa. I hope you had a good nap.”

“Ahh…waaa…”

“Would you like some water?” Etta stood and offered him a glass.

Henry reached for it with his left hand and curled his fingers around it. Etta held her breath while he moved it shakily toward his mouth. Henry sipped the water, lowered the glass, and looked at Etta.

Relief flooded through her veins. “You did it, Papa! That's wonderful!” Etta used the edge of the sheet to wipe away the drops of water that dribbled down his chin.

“Hmph.”

“I don't care what you say,” Etta said as she resumed her seat. “It's progress. Remember that fable about the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race.”

Henry nudged the quilt square on Etta's lap.

“I'm halfway finished sewing the squares together. I saw Sara Benson at church this morning, and she agreed to help me finish the quilt. It will look wonderful on your bed.”

“Hor…hors…”

“The horses are doing wonderfully. Rosa's nephew, Benito, comes before and after school to clean the stalls and to feed the horses. And Gabriel Benson is still coming. I believe he rides every day.”

Her father's face remained impassive, his jaws slack, and his eyes unfocused.

“I'm going to ride this afternoon. You know how I love to take Mira out for exercise.”

“Yuu..riii…”

“Gabriel said he'd like to go with me. You don't mind, do you Papa?”

Henry shook his head slowly.

“I'll be back in time to fix you some dinner. We all know I'm not as good a cook as Momma, but Rosa left a stew in the ice box. All I have to do is reheat it.”

“B..Ban..”

Etta dropped her gaze to the fabric. She mustn't tell her father about her suspicions, but they grew deeper every time Carl sidestepped meeting with her. She'd written to an auditor in Austin who had worked for the bank on a previous occasion. As soon as she heard from him, she'd supply everything he requested and stay out of his way. The less she had to do with his examination, the better. The Board of Directors had to be certain she had no sway over the results. In a few weeks, she'd have an answer about which accounts were affected by the thief, and, if possible, a trail of clues that would lead to the embezzler. “Everything at the bank is functioning as it should, Papa.” She stitched in silence, afraid to look at her father. She hadn't lied to him, but she hadn't told him the whole truth, either.

Guide me, Lord
. She prayed as she sewed.
Show me the right path to follow.

The sound of feet hurrying up the stairs pulled Etta's attention away.

Charlie entered the room, his cap in his hand. “Afternoon, miss. Thanks for letting me go to mass with Rosa's family.”

“Of course. Papa's been resting.”

Charlie winked at Etta and smiled. “Glad to hear it. It's time for his afternoon exercises.”

Henry waved his left arm. “Noooo…don...wan…”

Charlie wasn't dissuaded by Henry's reluctance. “You keep that up, Mr. Henry, and the next thing you know, you'll be speaking in complete sentences. I've seen it happen before. Now if you'll excuse us, miss, I'm going to get your Papa out of bed and started on his strength building routine.”

Etta gathered her sewing basket and stood. “I'll check on you after I return from my ride, Papa.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Stew tonight for dinner, Mr. Simpson.”

“That suits old Charlie just fine, miss. Yes, indeed. What do you say, Mr. Henry?”

Etta scampered out of the room before she could hear her father's reply, but from his dark expression, it was clear he was not pleased about Charlie's plans.

 

****

 

Gabriel strode into the stable a few minutes after two o'clock and found Etta saddling a mare. Instead of her usual prim, pinned-up hair, today she wore a single braid down the back of her white blouse. She looked much more like the woman he'd seen on his first night home, except today she'd dressed in trousers and knee-high riding boots. There was nothing improper about her clothing, but he couldn't stop looking at what her skirts had previously disguised. He'd seen plenty of women in pants before, especially in the big cities, and he'd agreed with his buddies that most of them looked like peculiarly dressed men. But no one would mistake Etta for a man. She had gentle curves in all the right places.

“I was planning on doing that for you.”

Etta turned and smiled. “I've been saddling my own horse since I was ten years old. Back then, I had to stand on a mounting block to do it.”

Gabriel took a lead rope from the wall. “In that case, why didn't you saddle my horse, as well?”

Etta laughed at his gentle teasing. “I wasn't sure which one you wanted today. Have you chosen a favorite?”

“They're all fine animals, but the stallion could do with a good, long ride. I'll bring him in.”

Etta turned back to her task.

Gabriel walked into the pasture. Already his heart felt lighter, just at having seen her. He'd caught a glimpse of Etta at church that morning, but he'd been surrounded by members of the congregation who'd eagerly welcomed him home. He stole another glance at Etta. Best not think too much about her curves. He was having enough problems sleeping.

Gabriel reached the stallion, hooked the lead rope into his halter, and then returned to the stable to tie Antares to the hitching post.

Etta came out of the stable office with two small crockery bowls wedged in the crook of her arm. “Don't tell Papa,” she said with an impish smile as she placed the bowls on the floor.

Gabriel placed the saddle blanket on the stallion's back. “Don't tell him what?”

Etta retrieved a waxed paper package from the office. “Don't tell him I feed the cats. He says barn cats aren't pets and that if I feed them, they'll stop hunting the rodents that steal the horses' food. Besides, I'm just giving them a little leftover chicken.”

“Your secret's safe with me. Besides, I haven't seen your Papa since before I went away.”

Etta bit her bottom lip. “I'd bring you to visit, but now isn't a good time.”

“Of course not. I'll pay my respects when he's feeling better. How's he doing?”

Etta gazed out the open stable door toward the house. “I hired a former Army medic to help him. Dr. Russell said Mr. Simpson was trained as a reconstruction aide in the Army. Have you heard of that?”

“There were several medics who did that kind of work in the hospital in France. They help men with head wounds.”

“Hospital? Were you wounded?”

Gabriel shrugged one shoulder. “It wasn't much of anything. Especially when you consider what some men are going through. But that's why I got discharged early. The rest of my division will probably be home this summer.”

“Lots of mothers will be glad when that day comes.”

And others would grieve for sons who would never return.

Etta mounted her mare and rode through the open doorway.

Gabriel finished saddling Antares and led him into the afternoon sunlight.

Etta twisted in her saddle and patted the canvas saddle bags that rested behind her. “I brought some lemonade and sandwiches in case we get hungry.”

“Good thinking. My mother used to say I ate more than Sam Houston's army.” Gabriel straightened in the saddle and lifted his face to the sun as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. It seemed as though every part of nature had joined together to form the perfect spring day. He lowered his head and looked at Etta. She watched him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Take the lead, Miss Davis, and I'll follow.”