Wish me luck, she said to Harrison.
Hal pushed her through the door to the living room and a cheer went up from inside.
Jesus, Harrison said to himself, and went upstairs to use the john.
By the time Harrison joined his wife downstairs she was on her second glass of Hal’s lemon, nutmeg and honey-palm hot toddy, stuck by the sofa with cousin Dave. Harrison smiled and looked around for a drink of his own.
Anyone seen Kevin? Hal said, over the noise.
Yonder, Tom, another of Hal’s employees, said from the window. Saw him go into the barn not ten minutes ago.
There was a cry; a rough and throaty noise from outside. The men looked at each other and the women looked at the men and the men turned to Hal, who put down his drink and moved quickly from the room. They followed him outside. The air was cold and the sod was hard and frosted. Kevin came out of the barn and yelled something to them. Harrison couldn’t make it out. They picked up their pace. Kevin had blood on his shirt. He came over to them.
What happened? Hal said. Are you all right?
One of the foals is dead, he said. Looks like a coyote done it; don’t know how the sumbitch got in though.
Shit, Hal said. Shit. Those fuckers.
This happened before, Hal? one of the other men said.
Never, Kevin said. Not in the barn. Maybe a coupla times, out in the pasture, sure; but sheep, sometimes cattle. Never a foal. Never a foal.
Okay, Hal said. Let’s attend to her. We can work out what to do later. Fellas?
The men walked to the barn. Harrison hesitated at the door.
Jim? Hal said. You okay?
Harrison nodded. It started to snow. He waited outside while the men took care of it.
Inside this trim, modest suburban home is Annie Glenn, wife of astronaut John Glenn, sharing the anxiety and pride of the entire world at this tense moment but in a way that only she can understand.
Grace snorted a worn indignation from the sofa.
One thing has prepared Annie Glenn for this test of her own courage and will sustain her and that one thing is her faith …
Nancy Bloom stood on the Glenn front lawn in Arlington. She held the microphone close to her glossy lips. In the background, the living room curtains were closed. Around her, a steel city had been erected, founded by television people.
Jesus, Harrison said, sitting next to his wife. Why are they reporting from the Glenns’ front yard?
… faith in the ability of her husband, her faith in the efficiency and dedication of the thousands of engineers and other personnel who provide his guidance system and her faith in Almighty God.
Light the candle already, Harrison said. I bet that slimy Texan sonofabitch is sitting round the corner in a limo waiting to shake her hand in front of those news crews.
CBS turned to Cronkite in the studio. Harrison stood and switched to NBC.
We should have popcorn, he said.
It was late February. Thousands of people crowded the Cape, waiting to see the first American orbit the Earth. Shepard might have been first up, but there was something about orbiting the Earth that reached deep inside people; people who were afraid. Everybody stared at the Atlas rocket as it sat, quivering, on the pad. Then came a terrific rumble and the Atlas left the pad and Glenn left the Earth. Harrison drank his beer and thought, Glenn’s got his hatch and Glenn’s got his window. Hell, some people were even calling him the pilot. Well, good for him. That was the way it should be. The Seven still weren’t doing much actual flying, but at least they had a decent view now.
Grace got up and left the room. Harrison pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. He stuck one in his mouth and lit it and waved the match until it went out.
Who knows what’s out there, Herb, Al Mann, one of the reporters, said. This is just the beginning.
Harrison sat forward and sucked hard on his cigarette.
John Glenn is about to enter the heavens, Herb said. Since mankind first walked upon the Earth and gazed up at the night sky, he has wondered.
The rocket rolled. Harrison stared at the screen.
Ahead lies the great tapestry of Creation, Herb said.
The face of God, Harrison thought. He blew smoke at the floor.
Glenn slid into low orbit. The g-forces fell away. Glenn floated.
Oh! That view is tremendous.
Harrison stepped outside. He pulled on the end of his beer. Above him, the sky went on forever. Somewhere up there, Glenn soared.
Harrison dropped the cigarette onto the porch and went back inside and shut the door.
I’m just thankful I live in the same world as John Glenn, a voice said from the television. On the sofa, Harrison reached for another cigarette. The voice continued, In him we have a fearless protector. Harrison stopped. He looked up. He stared at the reporter.