Long Way Home(63)

Last of all, be sure to let the people who love you help you out. Don’t be afraid to ask for or accept their help. We couldn’t have fought the war alone, Jim, and we certainly can’t recover from it alone, either.”

There were more pictures in the album, but Jimmy closed it after I read Dave’s letter as if he’d seen enough. I was glad that he’d allowed me to read as much as he had.

Joe cleared his throat. “That’s good advice, Jim. I guess I needed to hear it, too, you know?” He seemed as restless as Jimmy.

I summoned my courage to say the words that I had practiced last night. “You’ve always had a huge heart, Jimmy. You were always helping other people. I can’t even count the ways you helped me. And Buster is living proof that you won’t give up until you’ve tried everything. These letters say the same thing. You did more than carry stretchers. You carried the responsibility for your friends on your shoulders, too, and I think the weight got too heavy for you. It wore you out.”

I took a deep breath and released it before continuing. “I’m worried that you’re still carrying that load. That’s why I wrote to your friends. So you’d see that they’re okay now and you don’t have to carry their wounds and their pain anymore. You can take it off your shoulders and lay it down. And then, like your friend Dave said, you can start imagining your future.” I reopened the album to the first page. “That’s why I took these pictures of the clinic and Blue Fence Farms. That was the life you’d planned before the war. You wanted to be a veterinarian and work with your father. You can dream of that future again.”

Joe stood abruptly and glanced around. The rain had stopped, and other patients and visitors were starting to come outside. “I think I’d better take off with Tripod before somebody sees him,” he said. “It was good seeing you again, Jim. You take care now.”

I wondered if it was something I’d said that had disturbed him. I stood as well. I had promised Joe that we wouldn’t stay very long, and he obviously wanted to leave. I walked inside with Jimmy, leaving the photo album and letters with him as he waited for his parents.

The sun peeked from behind the clouds as I joined the line of cars to board the ferry. Dave Moyer’s advice about looking toward the future made me wonder about my own future. What did I want for it, besides seeing Jimmy get well? I realized that I didn’t have any dreams. I listened to Joe’s snores after we crossed the river, and it occurred to me that as far as I knew, Joe didn’t have any dreams for the future, either. Sleeping and getting drunk were his ways of escaping the past and enduring the present.

*

I was exercising the dogs in the boarding kennels on Monday when Mrs. Barnett came hurrying outside, calling to me. “Peggy, I just got a call from Paul Dixon out at Blue Fence Farms. They have an emergency with one of their horses and Gordon is already out at Halfpenny Farm with another emergency. Would you be able to go out and help until he comes?”

“Me?” I felt a surge of panic. I had accompanied Mr. Barnett on emergencies, but I’d never handled one by myself. “Are . . . are you sure?”

“Yes. Gordon says to please hurry. He’ll get there as soon as he can.”

My legs felt wobbly as I ran home to get the car I always drove, not sure I could carry the weight of this new responsibility. But the car was gone. I found Pop and Joe in the garage, working on a truck. “I need the car for an emergency, and it’s gone, Pop!”

He barely glanced up. “Donna has it. When do you need it?”

“Right now! Mr. Barnett asked me to go out to Blue Fence Farms for an emergency. I need to leave right away! When will Donna be back?” Pop shrugged and shook his head. I huffed in frustration. Mr. B. was counting on me.

Joe must have seen how desperate I was. “Hey, I can take you on my motorcycle.” He wiped his hands on the coveralls Pop had loaned him and hurried into the office to fetch his keys. I climbed onto the seat behind him, and for once I didn’t complain about how fast he drove. I needed to get there in a hurry, but at the same time, I hoped and prayed that Mr. Barnett’s truck would already be there. He’d gone ahead and bought the new one that he had hoped Jimmy would pick out with him.

The truck wasn’t there. My fear threatened to take over as a stable boy led me into the barn. Paul Dixon was waiting outside Persephone’s stall. The young mare looked nervous and weary. This was her first foal. “Mr. Barnett said he would send for you,” Paul said. “Thanks for coming.”

“I-I’m happy to help.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my overalls. “What can I do?”

“Well, Persephone is having contractions, but they aren’t producing any results. The foal must not be positioned right, but she won’t let anyone get close enough to help her. I’ve seen you work with her before. She likes you. You calmed her right down that time Mr. Barnett needed to have a look at her.”

“I-I’ll do my best.” Persephone was one of my favorite horses, and my concern for her helped overshadow my nervousness. She needed me.

The stable boy brought me soap and a bucket of water and I scrubbed my arms and hands. Then I stood where Persephone could see me and started talking to her in a soothing voice. I took my time in spite of the urgency of the situation, moving slowly until she let me get close enough to stroke her neck. I was no longer thinking about needing Mr. Barnett but about what I needed to do and about calming the horse in her fear and pain. I had seen Mr. Barnett reposition animals in the uterus before, and he’d once coached me through the process with twin lambs. He’d said I was better able to do it because my hands were smaller.