Captured(11)

Henry finally lets me halter him, and since we’re a good half mile away from the gate, I clip the lead line hook to one side of the halter, tie the end of the rope to the opposite side, creating an impromptu set of reins. Henry is an amazing horse. Broke to ride and pull, and trained in everything from dressage to hunt to western and English, but he’s got a streak of troublemaker in him when he’s riderless. Put a rider on his back, however, and he’s all business, steady, gentle, and trustworthy. I grab onto his mane with both hands and jump as high as I can, lying on my stomach across his back until I can get my leg over him. I adjust my seat, nudge him with my heel to get him turned in the right direction. A click of my tongue, and Henry sets off in a smooth trot.

We make it to the gate leading from the north pasture to the central run between house, barn, and the paddocks. Hank and Ida are waiting. Hank opens the gate for me and closes it behind me as I walk Henry through it.

“That boy makin’ trouble for you?” Hank asks. Hank is tall and straight despite his age, his white hair still thick and his bright blue eyes clear and intelligent. His face is angular and lined like weathered leather.

I swing off and slide to the ground. “Yeah. He kicked down part of the fence and got out. I spent an hour chasing his stupid ass.”

Hank pats Henry on the neck and takes the lead from me. “You oughta behave better, you big idiot. Sometimes I hate that we share a name, the way you carry on.”

Henry the Eighth shakes his head and stomps a hoof, as if responding.

Hank just laughs and tugs the horse into a walk. “Come on, then, boy.” To me, he says, “I’ll put him up in the barn for now, till we can get the fence fixed. Think any of the others will try to get out?”

“Nah,” I say. “The rest are too lazy to bother jumping it. He didn’t knock the whole thing out, just enough that he could get over it. I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

“The hay’s gotta come in tomorrow. I’ve got my grandsons coming in for the week. One’a them’ll fix it for you.”

I want to cry, thinking about how much work I’ve got to do, but I can’t. I just nod. “Thanks, Hank.”

He waves. “Yup,” he drawls.

Ida has Tommy in her arms, and he’s squalling like crazy, wiggling and trying to get to me. “He just won’t calm down, Reagan. I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’ve fed him, I’ve changed him, I’ve played with him…I think he just wants you.”

I take my son from Ida, and he immediately quiets, lays his head on my shoulder. “Ma. Ma. Ma,” he says. “Horsey.” He points at the Henrys, off in the distance now.

I pat Tommy on his diapered bottom, swaying side to side out of habit. “Yes, baby. That’s a horsey. That’s Henry.”

I can feel Tommy going limp and heavy. It’s only eight-thirty in the evening, and he’s had a long nap, but he’s probably cried himself tired.

Smiling at Ida, I head for the house. “Thanks, Ida. I’ll take him inside. Sorry he was so much trouble.”

Ida, short and slim and seemingly too delicate for the harshness of Texas farm life, just smiles. “He’s never trouble, dear. Sometimes he just misses his mama, that’s all.”

Guilt rushes through me. “Well, I’m out there all day. He never sees me.”

Ida shakes her head and pats me on the arm. “You’re doing the best you can, honey.”

“But sometimes my best just isn’t enough.” I didn’t mean to say that, but out it comes anyway.

“Give it all you got, and give God the rest,” Ida says.

“I gave God all I had, and He took him from me.” I’m fully aware of how bitter I sound, but I can’t help it.

Ida leans in and embraces me. “I know, sweetie. I wish I had an answer for you. I really do.”

I hug her back with my free arm, and then back away. “I know. Thanks again.”

“See you tomorrow, then.” Ida heads toward the dirt driveway where Hank is waiting by their ancient red F-150.

I take Tommy inside, wipe the dried tear tracks from his cheek as I set him in his crib, adjusting the ceiling fan to stir the air. The AC is on as high as it will go, but it’s not up to the task of keeping this big old farmhouse cool. I watch him sleep for a moment, my sweet little boy, my reminder.

I hear a gentle knock on the front door, and my heart seizes. Hank and Ida have gone home, and if they were to come back, they wouldn’t knock, having lived next door their whole lives. I couldn’t think of anyone else who would knock on my door—not at this hour.

I close the door to Tommy’s room and make my way downstairs. I pause in front of the door, hand shaking, not quite able to turn the knob. Finally, I summon the courage to open it.

“Sergeant Bradford.” I step backward, opening the door all the way. “Come in.”

He’s in the dress uniform I remember Tom referring to as “blue dress D”: a short-sleeved khaki shirt, tie, and belt, blue slacks with the red stripe down the side. Bradford steps in, back stiff, eyes automatically searching the room. He removes his hat as soon as he’s inside, and suddenly seems hesitant.

“I know it’s late,” he says, his eyes sliding away from mine, “but I wanted…I had to come in person. I couldn’t just call you.”