“Aye, a bit.”Iain frowned when I took the glass David brought, drank half of it, and let Iain have the remainder.
“Don’t give me that look,” I told him.“You had opioids four hours ago.I’m sure even the quarter cup of whiskey that’s left is not something you should have, but since you have two hours until your next pain meds, I’m prepared to risk it.Clara, would you turn the kettle on?David, you are beyond worth your weight in gold for all the help.Clara and I can handle it from here, so go home to your family.”
“Whiskey is far better for me than pain medications,” Iain groused, but the outer edges of his eyelids drooped, and his body language told me he wasn’t feeling quite so perky as he’d like everyone to believe.“I don’t need to become addicted to painkillers just because a few bones in my knee failed me.”
“And the three ribs,” I said, adjusting a couple of pillows behind him, and dragging over a kitchen chair for visitors, and a half-moon table from the hall to hold the tea that Clara was making, his phone, the TV remote, and sundry other things that I knew he’d need for the next few days he’d have to stay off his feet.“And let’s not forget that crack on your collarbone.”
“It was two ribs, not three,” Iain argued, allowing me to layer a couple of throws next to him, ready for him to use as needed.“And that doctor who looked younger than Clara said he wasn’t sure about the crack.It was barely there if it was at all.”
I ignored the dubious nature of the crack in his collarbone.“Of course, no one can forget about the—not one, but two—black eyes courtesy of the rock you smashed your face into.You’re just lucky you didn’t break your nose.Oh, Iain.”I sat down on the chair, not wanting to jiggle the daybed mattress.“I love you until the end of time, but man alive, you look like someone tied you to Damsel, hauled you through the hedge backward, then turned around and repeated that three more times.”
He started to laugh, yelped, and wrapped his arms around himself.
“Sorry.I swear I won’t be funny,” I promised, instantly feeling guilty for causing him pain.I wanted to hover around him and do something, anything, to make him feel better, but Iain, as I have had cause to note for many years, was the personification of the word stoic.He disliked hovering solicitude, so after checking that he’d be OK, I went off to deal with dinner for all the animals.
“Did you think more about whether you want to be Emily’s bridesmaid?”I asked when Clara and I hustled the chickens into their coop, and fed the goats, horses, barn cats, as well as six elderly ewes that we had convinced Iain had too much character to be anything but our pets, and which, when let out from their paddock, tended to follow Clara and me with a level of slavish devotion that led me to believe they knew how luck had favored them.“You don’t have to do it—Emily will understand if you feel like it’s not your jam.”
“Vibe, Mum.People vibe, they don’t jam.And I don’t care either way about being a bridesmaid.I suppose it would be OK.How bad is Dad hurt?”
Ah, so that’s why she was so quiet.As a rule, Clara took after her father ...except when it came to communication.She got her verbosity and empathy from me, leaving her prone to chattering nonstop.
“He will likely have to have surgery on that knee as soon as the swelling goes down,” I said slowly, our shadows long, inky blobs from the yard lights.The air was still, but cold, and as I glanced up, I couldn’t help but notice some clouds rolling in from the east.I had a feeling a storm was coming ...and not just one confined to weather.“The ribs will mend quick enough, the doctor said.So long as your father doesn’t try to do things.”
Clara, who had a wheelbarrow full of muck on her way to the compost pit, paused to give me a look.
“Yeah, he doesn’t know Iain at all.But you and I together ought to keep him from doing too much too fast.”
She made a face and trundled past the storage shed, saying as she passed, “You’ll be able to stop him.He’ll do anything to make you happy.I mean, Bathsheepa.”
I glanced back at the paddock with the sheep, now happily gathered around the hay we’d given them as part of their winter feed.Bathsheepa IV was an elderly sheep with the cutest black muzzle and only one ear, who, when she was feeling particularly joyous, was known to run full tilt into my knees.
Ever since the first little lamb I’d named Bathsheepa had died, Iain turned a blind eye to me picking one less-than-thriving lamb each season, and raising it as a pet.He didn’t outright approve, but over the years, he realized just how much it meant to me—and now Clara—and didn’t even kick up a fuss when our pet flock grew.
I returned to the house, and immediately went to the doorway of the sitting room to see if Iain had fallen asleep, as I had hoped.
His head turned as I leaned against the doorframe.“Ah, love.I’ve made a right muck of things this time.”
“No, you haven’t.”I knelt on the floor next to the daybed, holding his hand and rubbing his knuckles on my cheek.I loved Iain’s hands.They were large, but with long, sensitive fingers, like the fingers of a violinist.They were also crisscrossed with myriad scars, but they were the hands of a man who could ease a breech-birth lamb into the world with the same gentleness as when he touched me.“But this sign, I think, is one we can’t ignore.”
He closed his eyes, but I saw the flash of pain in them.“Aye.I know.But I’m not ready to leave the farm yet.David’s not up to speed, even if I was.If I kept to the lowlands ...if I hired another hand—”
“I want you to make a deal with me,” I interrupted, and, checking the time, handed him his pain medication.“You don’t lay here and worry about the future, and I’ll agree to us staying here until you’re absolutely one hundred and ten percent sure you want to leave.Deal?”
He smiled, but there were pain lines alongside his mouth, and his eyes looked a bit bleary.“I’ll take that deal.So long as I have you and the weans, I’ll be happy.”
“Mm-hmm.Take a nap, and don’t fash yerself,” I said in my best Scottish accent.
The fact that he didn’t argue told me a lot, and I set about fixing dinner with increased concern.
Iain was a very fit man, to the point where his doctor claimed he could pass for a good ten years younger, but even he couldn’t be expected to climb hills and ramble up and down sides of mountains for decades chasing sheep without it starting to take a toll on his body.
“And I like his body far too much to let it be harmed,” I muttered to myself as I flung stew into the oven to warm while I whipped up some corn bread.“Either the farm has to change or we do, and I’m sure as hell not going to break Iain’s heart by asking him to become someone else.We’re simply going to have to reevaluate the farm.The solution has to be here.”
Brave words, gentle reader.Not particularly prescient ones, but still ...brave.
