“All I did was call 911,” she said.
She never did take credit. Never could recognize her own strength. I wished I could tell her that. “I’m proud of you, honey.”
Her smile flickered. “Thanks, Mom.”
I watched her climb the steps to the kitchen door and let herself inside before I turned back to the barn, grateful for the goats. Animals were easy to understand. Daughters were harder.
It was good to have Beth and Amy temporarily under my roof again, to consult with Meg about the business side of the farm, to see Jo writing her stories and raising her family in the place where she’d sworn never to return. My girls had choices I had never had. I was glad of that.
But I wondered what would happen to the farm when I was gone. There was only me to keep it going now.
The half-moon caught in the tips of the pines. Tree frogs tuned up for their summer chorus. A dog barked somewhere far away. Maybe I should get a guard dog. Or a donkey. I’d heard donkeys offered more protection against predators than llamas and they didn’t bark all night like dogs. But for now, I locked the herd in the barn at night—not because of crime, but because of coyotes.
I undid the latch and walked through the darkened office toward the pens. A few goats poked their heads over the rails as I walked the work aisle. I petted, patted, praised. Paused to give an extra cuddle to Sage, whose first-time mom had rejected her.
The latch clicked, sharp against the quiet of the barn.
“Dan?”
A silhouette filled the office doorway, lanky and elegant. Not Dan.
“It’s me.” Ash stepped into the barn, the light revealing the angles of his lean, clean-shaven face.
I caught my breath. In the play of light and shadow he looked twenty years old. “You’re up late.”
He smiled faintly. “I could say the same about you.”
I set Sage back in the pen, watching her snuggle with the other babies. “A farmer’s day is never done.”
“You were out all evening. Everything all right?”
I glanced at him in surprise. Ash had never been particularly attuned to the rhythms and routines of the farm. Or my comings and goings. “No, I had to go to the hospital. James Laurence had a stroke this afternoon. Beth was with him.”
He drew a sharp breath. Composed himself. “How is he?”
He sounded very pastoral. “Too early to say. Beth called 911 right away, thank goodness.”
“How’s Mouse doing?”
I raised my eyebrows. Ash would die for our daughters, but he had generally been more concerned with their grades or the state of their souls than their feelings. “She’s upset, of course. James has been like a grandfather to her.” In the absence of any other male role models. “I’m worried about her,” I confessed.
Ash nodded. “The shock.”
“Not just the shock.” Something was wrong with our little girl. But she wouldn’t talk to me, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“You should have called me,” Ash said.
“I didn’t think of it.”
“I suppose I deserve that,” he said quietly.
I felt a flash of shame. “I’m sorry. I know you and James are friends.”
“I meant, I could have helped. Do you need anything?”
“It’s a little late for that.” Hours too late. Years too late.
Ash regarded me gravely. “Paul says when we bear one another’s burdens, we truly fulfill the law of Christ.”
