Wrapped in Rain(35)

"Well"-Mose laughed and tipped his hat back-"half of him. Other half belongs to the fellow that owns this field."

"Wonder if you two would be willing to stud him?"

Mose smiled. "I don't see why not, but"-Mose pointed to Glue-"you'd better ask him that." As it turned out, Glue didn't mind at all, and I soon discovered that the real quail-hunting enthusiasts, wanting a more authentic hunting experience, were willing to pay considerably to get it.

So Mose and I went into the stud business and put Glue to work. When I registered Glue in our names, formally renaming him `Waverly Rain,' I discovered his bloodline led to a five-time national champion show horse in four categories, including "Best All Around." So Mose and I raised the stud fee, word spread, and before too long, plantation owners from north Florida to North Carolina to Tennessee to Texas were shipping in their mares and treating Mose with respect, saying, "Yes sir, that'd be fine."

Five years later, Glue has sired eighty foals, and the schedule on the barn wall is booked as far forward as Mose cares to extend it. He got so tired of answering the phone that he bought an answering machine and began screening his calls. Prior to Glue's arrival, Mose had wondered openly about how to fill his retirement. But with stud fees at fifteen hundred a shot, split three ways-me, Mose, and the barn-Mose has had little trouble keeping active. Now, at eighty-one, Mose wakes every morning and walks down to the barn, where he puts on a pot of coffee, cooks a few biscuits, mucks the stalls, and sings to a horse named Glue.





Chapter 11


I WANTED TO SLEEP UNTIL NOON BUT WOKE WITH THE sun. A difficult habit to break. Even when tired. My staccato thoughts were evidence of that. I ran three miles, showered, climbed out of the basement, and poured myself a cup of coffee.

The barn light was on, which meant Mose was doing the same. I walked into the barn and found Mose hunched over a pitchfork and singing Johnny Appleseed's song, "Oh, the Lord's been good to me, and so I thank the Lord ..." I tried to sneak up behind him, but Mose and I have been playing that game a long time. I got within five feet and he said, "If you're going to bring in renters, the least you can do is let me know so I might clean up my sister's house and make them feel welcome."

"Hey, Mose." I patted him on the shoulder.

"And if I'd have known you were going to have a lady visitor"-he ran his fingers underneath the straps of his faded blue overalls-"I'd have dressed up today."

If the sun shined on Waverly Hall, if it was able to break through the storm clouds that had socked in years ago, it now did so through Mose. Mose nodded toward the house, and his eyes spoke the question on the top of his tongue.

"It's a long story," I said, "some I'm not even sure of myself, but it's a woman and her child. Her son."

Mose interrupted me. "Tucker, I remember little Katie. Looks like she's grown up a bit."

Mose's memory surprised me. "They're ..." I looked back toward the house. "Running from something. I found them last night in the rainstorm. Their car wasn't going anywhere and I couldn't leave them stranded. Miss Ella's was all I could think of."



"Ohhh." Mose worked the pitchfork through the hay, mucking out the manure and tossing it into the wheelbarrow. "You know as well as I do that if she were here, she'd have done the same. Except she'd be in there now fixing breakfast." I walked over to the stall where Glue was feeding and rubbed his nose. Then I climbed into the loft and threw down a bale of hay. With Glue fed and groomed, I peeked through Miss Ella's window.

"Tuck," Mose whispered, "you be careful peeking in that window. My sister's ghost is liable to lift that thing open and pull you through it."

I laughed. He was right.



At noon, Katie walked onto the back porch, wrapped in a blanket. I was in the barn, saddle-soaping Glue's saddle, stirrups, and reins, when I heard the door shut. I walked outside the barn and noticed for the first time how much she still looked like the memory in my head. Her shoulders, uncovered by the blanket, sloped gracefully, falling like the tender limbs of a weeping willow. The smell of cut grass mixed with stall muckings and dry cedar chips wafted across the back porch. The smell was strong, like Vicks VapoRub, and filled my lungs with each deep breath.

She stepped off the porch and walked toward me, wearing long, baggy jeans and a flannel shirt, neither of which fit very well. Drawing closer, she lifted the blanket and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders.

"Good morning," she half-whispered, squinting and scanning the driveway as if she were looking for something.



I pointed to the coffeepot on the corner of the bench. "I put on a fresh pot about an hour ago. It might help open those eyes." She nodded, her eyes still retreating from the sunlight, and poured a cup. She held it between both hands, blew the steam off the top, and brought it to her lips.

"Coming in last night, I didn't put two and two together and realize we were here until I figured out you were you." She sipped again, avoiding eye contact. "Everything was so ... well, it just took a few minutes for all of this to register with"-she tapped the side of her head-"the memories." I nodded and methodically rubbed the saddle. "I'm surprised you held on to this place," she said.