Ever Faithful

Stacy was even better than her word, and ten minutes later he stowed her elegant luggage in the trunk of the car. He started the engine while Stacy bid his mother a hurried goodbye and got in. The door barely clicked shut when Paul took off in a cloud of gravel and dust, disregarding the paint job of his car.

His impatience translated into speed and he barreled recklessly down the road, slowing only momentarily for an old one-ton truck lumbering down the road, a dilapidated plywood stock box on the back. He swerved around it, fishtailed, corrected and left it behind.

“I do want to get home in one piece, Paul,” Stacy joked, glancing over her shoulder at the truck that shrank by the second.

Paul tried to stifle his impatience with his girlfriend, her job and the life-style that demanded constant work to maintain. With a self-deprecating shake of his head, he glanced at the speedometer and slowed down.

He flicked on the radio, hitting the CD player. Music instead of conversation filled the silence.

Stacy glanced at him, shrugged and pulled out her briefcase.

Paul knew he should try to be more communicative, but it would mean ignoring all that had passed between them, and he wasn’t ready to do that.

It was going to be a long drive, but hopefully a peaceful return trip.

Amy clenched the steering wheel of the truck, her heart pounding. The fancy car flashed past her out of nowhere. Though it was almost obscured by the cloud of dust, it wasn’t hard to identify the vehicle.

Paul Henderson’s. Heading back home already.

Amy didn’t understand her own disappointment. It shouldn’t matter to her that he had left four days and two weeks earlier than planned. It was typical of Paul. Even Elizabeth had wondered if he could stay away from Vancouver for three weeks.

But she certainly hadn’t expected his visit would be this protracted.

The old truck rocked as Sandover threw his weight over, trying to break free of the rope that tied his head to the front of the truck’s box. Not for the first time Amy wished they had a stock trailer to move their horses around instead of this cumbersome one-ton truck with its home-made box. Two horses fit easily in it, but the truck had no shocks, and each bump in the road knocked the horses around which, in turn, rocked the truck.

She turned her attention to the road, preferring not to think about the rope that was the only thing keeping Sandover in a box with no back.

She had enough on her mind without having to cede any head space to this wild horse. In a couple of weeks the heifers Rick bought would come, and she and Rick needed to get the loading chutes and corrals ready. Fortunately she had enough materials. All she needed now was for her shoulder to heal quickly. A quick glance at her watch showed her that she was right on schedule. She had enough time to drop Sandover off at the auction market and get to work.

Another quick glance over her shoulder proved that Sandover had finally settled down. Amy relived the moment in the Hendersons’ yard. It had scared her, and she realized she didn’t need an animal around that was just going to cause trouble. She had to be ruthless.

The trip to town went peacefully. Amy dropped him off at the auction mart, then hurried back to the truck and her job at the grocery store.

Chapter Four

Clouds drifted in overnight, and Sunday morning Paul woke to a low gray sky. A slow, steady British Columbia rain drummed against his bedroom window. He turned his head and glanced at the face of the old metal clock beside him as it ticked off the seconds with a heavy, no-nonsense sound. Six in the morning. Church didn’t start until ten o’clock.

His parents still slept, and he knew if he got up, he would wake them. Sunday was literally a day of rest for his family. He knew they wouldn’t be up for an hour and a half.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of his former bedroom. The fluorescent stars he stuck up there as a young boy still hung, forming the constellations—the Big Dipper, Orion, Cassiopeia. He remembered reading at night and shutting off the light just as his parents’ feet hit the bottom stairs. They would come to tuck him in, and the still-glowing stars would betray him. How he devoured books then. The only thing he read regularly now were stock market reports and blueprints. Hardly the stuff of relaxation.

Paul flipped restlessly onto his side, wide awake. He wasn’t used to lying in bed. In Vancouver once he woke up, he was out of bed and running.

You’re here to relax, he reminded himself. It’s Sunday, a day of rest.

He looked past the clock and noticed a book on the antique bedside table beside it. Reaching over, he turned it around to look at the cover.

A Bible. Trust his mother to lay not-so-gentle hints. Propping himself up on one elbow, he lay the book on the bed. May as well start relaxing now, he thought. Flipping it open, he glanced over words that hearkened to his youth. They were familiar and yet, after such a long absence from his life, new.

He paged through listings of commandments. Joshua’s exploits, battles of the judges of Israel, Job’s laments, all slid past his eyes. Paul turned the pages slowly, not really reading until he reached the Psalms.

“Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked…his delight is in the law of the Lord. He is like a tree planted by streams of water.” Paul laid his finger on the lines of the first Psalm and frowned lightly.

He certainly did not feel like a rooted tree, he felt more like the chaff the psalmist spoke of, blown by the wind. The past few years had been an ever-increasing whirl of business and pleasure. Speeding it up hadn’t satisfied, it only left him dizzy.

Paul closed the Bible, uncomfortable with having his shortcomings laid in front of him each time he turned around. How many years had it been since he had gone to church? He planned on going with his parents this morning. That was always the deal when he came home.

But before this? Paul frowned. He didn’t even know if there was a church close to the condo he lived in. He was sure he passed one each time he drove to work. Looking down at the Bible, he sighed. He had moved far from where he had grown up and what his parents had taught him.

And lately the emptiness of his own life showed him clearly that what he had tried to fill it with wasn’t enough. He had fought coming home for too long because he knew it would mean looking at his life-style and reexamining what he had been working for. He knew he had some big changes to make in his life, but didn’t know if he dared.

It was time to get to work and stop thinking so much.

His dad had a few chores to do before church. Paul could do them, instead of lying there going over ground that bore nothing.

And though he hadn’t been to church in a while, he found himself looking forward to the gathering, the singing and the reminder of something greater than the stock market and government regulations.

The welcome rain that began on Sunday hung in the valley for the next two days. It kept Paul indoors working through the list of repairs his mother had tacked on the fridge, as well as the jobs his father had listed in his head.

The chores weren’t onerous and gave Paul and his father a chance to catch up on each other’s lives. Hours were spent hunkered over engines, hunched over tack as they worked. Paul shared his needs with his father. Fred reminded him of God’s unconditional love that always called his children back. Paul listened, storing the information away, much like he did for any business decision. His relationship with God had been much like his awareness of gravity. It was there, no denying that, and it affected certain parts of a person’s life, but he hadn’t spent much time pondering it. Talking with his father gave him a glimpse of what was waiting for him, if he dared make a change in his life.

When the sun finally broke through the gray clouds, restlessness claimed Paul again. His dad had to run to town for parts, and Paul had no desire to park himself behind a windshield. He needed to be outside with the sun beating down on his back, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades.

Sasha, a buckskin mare, responded to his bribe of feed. He haltered her and got the tack ready. Thankfully Sasha possessed a patient nature because bridling and saddling her took longer than it should have. His hands fumbled with buckles and straps as he readjusted and tightened.

But when he dropped his hat on his head, pulling it low against the morning sun, and swung up into the saddle, a feeling of familiarity took over. He drew the worn reins through his bare hands, relishing the feel of soft, worn leather.

Sasha caught his mood and sidestepped as he drew the reins in, holding her back until he got his other foot settled firmly in the stirrup with the familiar and welcome creak of saddle leather.

The mare snorted, shook her head and Paul let her go. In minutes the trees of the yard dropped behind as he nudged her into a gentle canter across open fields that beckoned and called.

Paul held the reins loosely in his hand, catching the rhythm of the horse under him. An eagerness to take in the open spaces of the country flowed through him. He felt as if he could move, stretch out, as if the isolation gave him freedom to decide who he chose to be.

Sasha’s hooves pounded a steady beat up the gradual hills as the sum warmed Paul’s back and the soft breeze of the Cariboo cooled his face. After a few miles Paul drew Sasha up. She shook her head, the bridle jangling, and tried to take off again.

“You’re going to wear yourself out. Haven’t you got enough sense to see that?” Paul admonished, turning her in a circle as she crab-walked. She blew, shook her head and tried to go again. Paul turned her head, slowing her down. “Pace yourself, Sasha,” Paul said, repeating the words his father often spoke to him. As the horse settled down, he smiled. Looking up, it was as if some of what his parents spoke of hit a familiar place.

He too had been running, chasing.

Paul had chosen this time as a break, a time to ponder his future. He knew he needed to slow down. He knew his life wore him down. “Okay, Lord,” he said, threading the reins through one hand as he rested the other on his thigh. “What am I supposed to be doing?” He gazed around the rolling hills interspersed with ridges of pine, the hard blue sky painted with wisps of white. But no answer blazed out of the sky, no words appeared to tell him “buy” or “sell.”

He took another breath, knowing that to some degree the decision would have to be made by him alone. But for now he was going to procrastinate. For now he was going to just enjoy being home and being a son again.

“It’s been too long,” he said softly, looking around. He sighed as if he was getting rid of stuff left over from the city, dropping the burdens of his daily work. It would wait. It would all wait. When he’d planned this holiday he’d wondered if he could stay away three weeks. Now he didn’t know if three weeks home would be long enough.

He smiled, clucked to Sasha as they rode down a hill toward the road. It felt so good to be outside. God felt nearer already, out here in the open. The city was too much a testimony to man’s self-confidence and self-reliance. But the rolling hills, solid trees and sparkling creeks of his home testified eloquently to their Maker. And Paul felt ready to listen.

Sasha meandered along the road for a bit as Paul reacquainted himself with the lay of the land, once as familiar to him as the curve of his mother’s smile. They followed the road, and when it forked, Paul pulled Sasha’s head to one side, turning her to the right.