Autumn's Awakening

Autumn opened the screen door, calling, “Come to the clinic when you can, Trina.” The boy ran down the sidewalk, and Autumn’s long-legged stride kept up with him.

A girl, younger than the boy, sat in the back of a pickup holding a bleating goat in her arms.

Autumn took the struggling goat from the girl, who jumped out of the truck and ran beside Autumn. The boy sprinted ahead to open the door, and Autumn carried the animal inside the clinic. The goat’s left foreleg dangled helplessly.

“What happened?” Autumn asked.

“A mean ole’ dog jumped on her,” the little girl said, her lips quivering.

“Don’t worry,” Autumn said. “Flossie will be as good as new in a few weeks.”

Trina, with Dolly tagging at her heels, came into the surgery and prepared to tranquilize the goat. The three children crowded close to the operating table.

“Hey! We can’t have this,” Trina said. “Dolly, you go back in the house.”

A hefty woman, who’d been driving the pickup, came into the waiting room. Without saying a word, she gestured to her children and they scuttled out of the surgery. With another quick look at the goat, Dolly ran out too, and Trina closed the door.

While Autumn scrubbed her hands and arms, Trina put a mask over Flossie’s nose and slowly sedated her until she was as limp as a rag. Autumn carried her to the X-ray room to determine the extent of the break. Fortunately, the bone hadn’t punctured the skin, so Autumn straightened the leg and encased it in a Thomas splint. The goat was still sedated when she called the family in. The little girl patted the goat’s head.

“Flossie, you’ll be all right,” she crooned.

The woman followed her children and held out her hand to Autumn. “I’m Sandy Simpson, and my kids are Tony and Debbie. Welcome to Greensboro.”

“Tony, you look familiar,” Autumn said.

“I work for Mr. Holland. I saw you at his farm last night.”

“Oh, yes. I didn’t get a good look at you in the darkness.” She turned back to Sandy. “Thanks for the welcome, but actually, I’m a native of this area. I’m Autumn Weaver. This is my associate, Trina Jackson.”

“Weaver, as in Weavers of Indian Creek Farm?” Sandy asked, amazement mirrored on her round face.

“Yes, but I’ve been gone for several years,” Autumn said evenly. No doubt she’d be answering that question often in the next two months.

“Stop by our farm for a visit when you’re out that way,” Sandy said. “We live a few miles north of Woodbeck Farm. We run a few cattle, but our major interest is horses. We have three Thoroughbreds now, but we don’t intend to buy any more until we see how we make out with them.”

Sandy wrote a check for their services.

“In case there might be complications,” Autumn explained, “I’d like to see Flossie again tomorrow morning. The splint will need to stay on a few weeks, but check a couple of times each day above the splint for swelling or dampness. Also, feel the foot to make sure it’s warm, which is an indication of normal circulation.”

“Can Flossie walk now?” the boy questioned.

“Sure,” Trina said.

Still a bit woozy, Flossie staggered when Autumn set her on the floor, but she wobbled out of the building to the delight of her happy family.

A bemused expression on her face, Autumn said, “That’s the reason I wanted to become a vet. I like to bring happiness to people, especially children.”

“But we can’t heal all their pets, and that’s going to hurt,” Trina replied.

Leaving Trina to handle the office work, Autumn made calls to two dairy farms where some cows were in the early stages of grass tetany, but the cases weren’t as severe as Nathan’s cow had been. By late afternoon, as she turned into the driveway of Woodbeck Farm, every nerve in her body was twanging at the thought of seeing Nathan again.

Nathan’s home, a pre-Civil War structure named Woodbeck after the Holland family’s ancestral home in England, had been completely renovated during the lifetime of his grandfather. The brick walls had been painted white and modern accommodations added several years ago. At one time, it had rivaled the Weaver farmhouse for beauty, a fact that Clara refused to acknowledge. Since Matt Holland had been a bachelor, he hadn’t kept the house nor grounds in tiptop shape, but the two-story building with huge chimneys at each end and a comfortable front veranda the width of the house was still an architectural masterpiece.

Matt had spared no expense on his red wooden barns and utility buildings, and Nathan had followed his example. Autumn’s heart swelled when she saw the newly painted buildings and the herd of Angus cattle grazing in a nearby pasture. It seemed like a miracle that Nathan’s youthful dreams had been fulfilled.

Tony Simpson sauntered off the back porch.

“Mr. Holland’s gone,” he said. “He said to tell you the cow’s still in the stall. You can check her and leave your bill with me. He’ll mail you a check.”

Autumn felt as if she’d been drenched in a bucket of ice water. Was Nathan avoiding her? she wondered. A red pickup was parked in front of the house so he must be working on the farm. She scanned the fields around the house, but she didn’t see him.

Since their chance meeting last night had been amicable, she’d hoped they could become friends and maybe move from friendship to a more intimate relationship. She didn’t ask the boy where Nathan had gone. The events of the past few years had been humbling, but she still had a touch of the Weaver pride.

“How’s Flossie doing?” she asked to break the silence.

“Okay,” Tony said. “We’ve got her in a pen so she won’t move around too much and hurt herself.”

The cow’s condition was vastly improved, but Autumn gave her another injection of magnesium oxide and handed the bottle to Tony.

“Tell Mr. Holland to give her the rest of this bottle in daily injections. He can turn her out to pasture in a week. The weather forecast is for dry, hot weather over the next few days, so that should eliminate conditions that cause grass tetany. Mr. Holland can telephone if he needs any more help.”

On her way back to Greensboro, Autumn drove by Indian Creek Farm. Fences that had once been snow-white were now a dingy gray. A dozen Belgian mares grazed in a pasture near the road. When Autumn slowed the truck, they lifted their heads, but she couldn’t tell if Noel was among them. The house was partially hidden by the maple trees that were noticeably larger than they had been the last time she’d seen them. Autumn paused at the driveway, wanting desperately to go home, but after several minutes, she continued toward Greensboro.

Not knowing what time Autumn would come to Woodbeck Farm, Nathan had left in early morning to work on the far side of Indian Creek. The ground was too wet for cultivating, so he spent the day repairing fence, a job he detested and normally put off as long as he could. Today, he looked forward to the tedious work as an excuse to be away from the farm buildings when Autumn came.

Nathan had learned to live without Autumn, and he didn’t want her to disrupt his life again. He’d been convinced she would never return to Greensboro, or he wouldn’t have settled here. He could have sold Woodbeck Farm and bought a comparable farm in another location where the memory of Autumn wouldn’t eat at him like a canker. After he took possession of his uncle’s farm, he could never pass Indian Creek Farm without remembering Autumn. On those days, he had often wished he could see her again, believing that the person she’d become after eight years wouldn’t appeal to him at all. Now, he groaned at the thought. In spite of the sadness that marked her expression, the bewitching, impulsive teenager who’d captured his heart had turned into a stunning, enigmatic beauty. To his dismay, he’d learned he was still susceptible to her allure.

To avoid recalling the things he admired about Autumn, he deliberately thought of the things he resented about her. She’d caused him to lose his job at Indian Creek Farm and his good standing in the community, for the neighbors had jumped to the wrong conclusions about why Landon Weaver had fired him. Now it annoyed him even more to realize that the resentment he’d harbored for years disappeared when he had looked up and saw her kneeling beside him in the muddy pasture field. He had to avoid her. He wouldn’t trust Autumn with his heart again.

Chapter Five

“I‘m taking Dolly to Sunday school tomorrow morning,” Trina said on Saturday evening as they lingered at the supper table, sipping iced tea. “Want to come with us?”

“No, thanks,” Autumn said, “someone has to be on call, and I shouldn’t take my beeper to church.”

“Miss Olive goes to eight o’clock service at her church,” Trina continued, “and she says she’ll be home in time to answer the phone. If an emergency comes up, she can reach us by telephone at the church.”

“What church? Where are you going?”

“Community Chapel. It’s a new congregation on the east side of town. Sandy Simpson told me about it and invited us to attend. She said it’s mostly younger couples who’ve moved into the region without any family ties here. I think you should go.”

Autumn took her iced tea and sauntered out on the back porch and sat in a rocking chair. Trina followed and leaned against the porch railing.

“What’s bothering you, Autumn? You were animated and happy when we first got here. What’s wrong?”

“The same old thing that’s plagued me since you’ve known me. I wonder sometimes how you ever became my friend. You’re an upbeat person, always with an optimistic outlook on life. We’ve been here four days, and my parents haven’t made any overtures. And I’ve hoped that Nathan would telephone or stop by. He could have come in to pay his bill, but instead we got a check in the mail today for that vet call.”

“The Bible has a lot to say about forgiveness. Sometimes it’s the person who’s been wronged that has to make the first move.”