Running Barefoot

11. Intermezzo



December 1999

Nettie Yates brought over a plate of Christmas cookies and candies two days before Christmas. We’d gotten very little snowfall so far, but the temperatures were frigid. I welcomed Nettie into the house with a whoosh of cold air and forced the door closed behind her as I ooohed and aaahed over her offering.

“Come in to the kitchen with me, Nettie. I have something for you, too.” She followed behind me into the kitchen where I had loaves of chocolate chip zucchini bread wrapped in tinfoil and tied with cheerful red bows. I had at least twenty loaves spread across the countertop. Christmas can be especially stressful in small towns. You don’t always know where to start and stop in the exchanging of ‘neighbor’ gifts. Everyone is a neighbor, and people get easily offended. The same goes for weddings. You have to practically invite the whole town and have an open house. That way you don’t risk missing someone, starting a Hatfield and McCoy situation that could last for generations. People were generally more forgiving of me because I wasn’t an adult, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Zucchini bread? Is it my recipe?” Nettie smiled at me when I handed her a loaf.

“Yep, but I didn’t give you any credit on the Christmas cards.” I smiled back. Chocolate chip zucchini bread had become one of my favorites since I’d used it as an excuse to ply information out of Don and Nettie a few years before.

Nettie laughed good-naturedly and pulled out a chair next to the kitchen table where I had been tying the bows on the loaves of foil wrapped bread. She obviously wanted to visit a little, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to head back out into the frigid evening.

“Well, Samuel will be at the Christmas Eve Service with me and Don tomorrow,” Nettie said without preamble. “He sure did enjoy your playing when he went with us before. Remember how he embarrassed us with all that clapping?” Nettie started to giggle girlishly. “I thought we might get kicked out of the church.” Nettie’s giggle turned into a chortle as she reminisced.

My heart had stopped several seconds back, and I stood frozen to the old linoleum floor in my kitchen, hands raised to cut another long section of red ribbon. Samuel? Here?!! I must have been staring dumbly at Nettie, because her laughter stuttered and stopped as she rose to touch my cheek.

“Are you alright, Josie?” She asked, startled.

I shook myself a little, drawing myself up as I did, and smiling brightly down into Nettie’s lined and worried face.

“I was just a little surprised is all,” I said briskly, proud of myself when my voice came out sounding almost normal. “Why is he back? Is he just visiting for the holidays?” Memories of Samuel rose unbidden and an ache settled in my chest as I thought of how desperately I had missed him.

“Well,” Nettie sighed, and, satisfied that I was fine, sank back into the chair and resumed tying bows as she spoke.

“He gets leave every now and again, kind of like vacation time, you know? But he’s been so busy and all. They taught him to be a sniper, you know.” Nettie’s voice had dropped conspiratorially, like she was delivering good gossip, and her eyes grew wide at the thought of her grandson’s sniping skills. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but Don seems to think he’s had some dangerous assignments.”

I smiled at the thrill that was evident in Nettie’s face. Nettie was a sucker for Tom Clancy novels. I could only imagine what she was thinking.

“Anyway,” Nettie continued more matter-of-factly. “We’ve been begging him to come back for years, but he never seemed to want to. I think Samuel loves us, but I don’t know how many good memories he has of Levan and the months he spent here. It was a hard time for him.”

The little fissure in my heart with Samuel’s name on it cracked wide open. Nettie continued on, completely unaware of my distress.

“Anyway, he’s going to spend a couple days with us and then go on to the reservation in Arizona for a week or so. His Grandmother Yazzie is gettin’ on in years. She was in her late thirties when she had Samuel’s mother. Goodness, she has to be nearing 80 now. Samuel says she still looks after her sheep…she herds them on horseback! Lardy, I can’t even imagine it!”

“Is Samuel here now?” I turned my back and started unloading dishes from the drying rack, trying to seem nonchalant.

“Oh he’ll be rollin’ in tomorrow sometime. We’ll make sure to say hello after the church program tomorrow evening. I sure can’t wait to hear you play, honey. My word, it’s like we have our very own Liberace.”

I smiled at her comparison. I didn’t have much in common with the flamboyant Liberace, but she was sincere in her praise, and I loved her for it.

“Well, I’ll be gettin’ on home now, love. Don will be wonderin’ where I am.”

I walked her to the door, chatting merrily, smiling brightly, all the while having a mild panic attack at the thought of seeing Samuel again. I closed the door behind Nettie and slid down it until I was propped weakly against it, my legs splayed out in front of me. I was sixteen years old now. Samuel was 21. Would he be the same? Would he even talk to me? Would he laugh to himself as he remembered our friendship? Would he be embarrassed that he had been such good friends with someone so young? I suddenly wanted my mother desperately. I didn’t know how I would even be able to play at the Christmas service, knowing he was there. My stomach roiled nervously, and I pulled myself up and slid onto the piano bench, determined that I would play better than I’d ever played before.

I spent the next morning digging through my closet in steadily increasing panic. Finally, after I’d tried on everything I had in every combination, I gave in and called Aunt Louise. Louise was good with hair and make-up. After all, she made a living with her scissors, but Aunt Louise and her entire brood tended to be a little obnoxious and aggressive and way too blunt. I had shied away from asking for help with my appearance simply because I knew if I gave Aunt Louise or Tara an inch, they would take the proverbial mile. I shuddered a little as I dialed the phone, knowing Louise would be thrilled to help, but I might really regret asking. She picked up on the first ring. I could hear chaos in the background and had to raise my voice as I identified myself. I quickly gave Louise the run-down on my needs: The Christmas program was tonight and I had nothing to wear, and could she possibly help me with my hair and make-up? Squeezing my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, I asked if she might be able to come to my house instead of me going there. The thought of being on display for my cousins and Uncle Bob was more than I could bear.

“I need an excuse to leave the house,” Louise said matter-of-factly, “When do kids grow out of this Christmas Eve fever anyway? My kids are swinging from the rafters. I think I’m gonna shoot myself.” I heard her shout out a few orders to Bob, a couple ultimatums to the youngest two, and a demand for Tara to “pull everything out of our closets that might work for Josie.”

“I’ll be there at 3:30. That’ll give us plenty of time to play.” I could hear the grin in Louise’s voice, but I was too grateful to be afraid.

“I love you, Aunt Louise. What would I do without you?” I breathed thankfully.

“Oh, heck girl. You’d be in a world ‘a hurt, that’s what.” Louise cackled at her own joke. “It’s about time you started caring about how you look. How you gonna ever get someone to notice you if you wear Johnny’s hand me downs for the rest of your life? You’ve got a good little figure and a pretty face, but nobody’d know it the way you hide behind your glasses and your books. What about those contacts we got you a prescription for? You better be wearin’ ’em when I get there -”

“Thanks, Aunt Louise!” I interrupted brightly, sensing that Louise was winding up for a good nag, “I’ll see you at three!”





My dad didn’t seem to like the way I looked when Louise marched me down the narrow stairs from my little attic bedroom and announced that we were ready to go to the church. I was pretty happy with the results, however, and slid self-consciously into the kitchen behind Louise, not wanting to meet my father’s eyes.

“Ah, Louise! What’d you go and do that fer?” My dad grumbled. “She’s just a kid, and you got her lookin’ like she’s twenty-five.”

Twenty-five?!

I giggled into my hand and decided it had definitely been the right move to call my aunt. She’d brought over a V-necked black dress with long sleeves that hugged my curves and swished around my legs when I walked. It had little black buttons from chest to hip, and it fit me perfectly. I had on black hose and high-heeled black pumps. Aunt Louise had pinned my blond curls up on my head, blackened my eyelashes and lightly lined them, and stained my lips and cheekbones with a deep rosy pink. I felt very sophisticated and hoped I could pull it all off without tripping on the way up to the rostrum when it was time to play the piano. I knew for sure I would need to kick the heels off before I began to play. It would be just my luck to have my shoes get stuck on the piano pedals and ruin everything.

“She is not a child anymore, Jim!” Aunt Louise folded her arms crossly and jutted out her chin at my dad. “You can’t ignore the fact that your girl is practically grown! You better be ready to hand over some cash after Christmas is over! That girl has nothing in her closet! Nothing! I am takin’ her shopping and we are gonna throw out all those old tee shirts of Johnny’s and those old Wranglers and scruddy (Louise’s own word) gym shoes she’s been wearin’ for the last eight years since my sister died, and she’s gonna start lookin’ like the young lady she is! It ain’t right Jim!”

“I like the way Josie looks!” My dad almost whined. Any mention of my mother usually was a bad move. I started herding the two of them out the door as the bickering continued.

“That’s because the way she looks is comfortable and safe - just the way a daddy likes it. No siree, not on my watch! Not anymore!” Louise was really warming up now. “It’s high time she got a little woman’s help. I shoulda done it long ago!”

My dad climbed into the cab of the truck with a huff. I moved over next to him on the bench seat, and Louise jumped in behind me, not even breaking her stride. I looked over at my dad and mouthed a silent “sorry Dad.” He just groaned and drove us down the road to the waiting church.

My stomach knotted up as we looked for the closest place to park. The lack of snowfall made parking easier. Usually the drifts ran up and over the sidewalks and poured out into the poorly plowed roads. Tonight it was just cold and still, with plenty of room along the sides of the road for the assorted farm-trucks and family vans that usually lined the church during services.

“It’s gonna snow tonight. Mark my words,” my dad interrupted Louise, who was still chewing him up pretty good over my lack of feminine clothing. “If it does, I’m gonna be gettin’ a call to go in to the plant. It’s just Murphy’s Law. I’ll get called in and Daisy will have her foal....” Dad was worried about his horse who was due to have her baby in the next few days. His pessimism seemed to momentarily silence Aunt Louise who saw Bob and her kids pull in to the church parking lot from across the way.

“Oh, there’s my gang. Gotta go, Josie. Don’t lick your lips! You’ll ruin your lipstick! And try not to slouch. That dress bunches up in the front when you do! You don’t want to make the buttons pucker and give everyone a peek at what’s underneath!” With that she hustled off, still talking, and my dad and I sighed in tandem.

“I really don’t care much for that woman,” my dad mumbled. “She’s nothin’ like yer mother. I don’t see how they even came from the same family tree, let alone the same womb.” He sighed again and then said gruffly, rushing his words to get them out, “You look real pretty, Josie. Louise is right about one thing. Yer all grown up. One of these days your gonna move away and leave your old man. I’m not lookin’ forward to it.”

“Don’t worry Dad, I’ll always take care of you.” I grinned up at him and looped my arm through his as we walked into the church.

The pews were filling up quick and I tried not to look around for Don and Nettie. And Samuel. I wanted to see him almost as much as I didn’t want to see him. I kept my head forward as I tried to spot him peripherally. Everyone always sat in the same place. It just kind of happens. We’re creatures of habit. There were families who sat in the same pew, generation upon generation. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the people of Levan bequeathed their pews in their wills. From what I could see, the Yates’s weren’t there yet. I exhaled in relief and at the same time my heart sank in disappointment.

I kept telling myself not to look for him. I kept my eyes trained on the podium where Lawrence Mangelson was just beginning his opening narration. When it came time for me to play, I was more nervous than I’d ever been. I didn’t think my legs would hold me as I carefully walked up the trio of stairs to the piano. I slid across the smooth surface of the bench, straightened my back, and slipped my pumps off to the side. I had to look. I just couldn’t help myself. I let my eyes slide to where Don and Nettie usually sat for service. Samuel was with them, sitting to the right of Nettie, close to the end of the pew. I looked away before my eyes had time to register details. He was here.

With a deep exhale I dug into my piece, allowing my trained hands to take over. It was like watching myself from a few feet away. I didn’t make any mistakes and, as usual, before I’d gotten too far into the piece, the music reached out and pulled me in, so that by the finishing notes, the me that observed and the me that played became one again.

When the evening was over and the last choir notes sung, the congregation gathered around, commending each other on the beautiful service, talking about kids, cows, and who was doing what. I stood next to my family, waiting, with my back towards the direction Samuel had been sitting. I knew eventually Nettie would make her way to us. After ten minutes or so of making polite small talk and graciously thanking those who came up to compliment my performance, I realized, of course, that she would have no idea that I was waiting on tenterhooks for her to appear with Samuel. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember that she’d promised to say hello. Maybe they had already gone. Cursing myself for standing there like a cow waiting to be milked, I turned to see if maybe they had left the church.

It took me only a minute to spot Nettie and Don standing at the back of the chapel, chatting with Lawrence Mangelson. There was no sign of Samuel. Nettie caught my eye and waved me over to her. I moved towards her, eyes roving swiftly around the room to see if someone had cornered Samuel in conversation. Maybe he had stepped outside.

“Oh Josie! You were wonderful. I just cry every time you play.” Nettie hugged me to her soft self and patted my cheek as she drew away. “Wasn’t she wonderful, Don?”

Don added his less effusive praise as Lawrence Mangelson reiterated what Nettie had said as well. No mention of Samuel. I cleared my throat hesitantly.

“I thought I saw Samuel sitting with you. I’d like to say hello,” I blurted out and then tried to look bored in an effort to camouflage my feelings.

Nettie waved off the question. “He was here, but he slipped out right after the closing prayer. I think he’s plumb tuckered out. He drove a long way today and got in just in time to shower and come with us tonight. The beef stew and biscuits I left on the stove are probably calling to him!”

“Beef stew and biscuits?!” I thought to myself, outraged. He couldn’t even say hello? I looked down at my silky black dress and high heeled shoes and suddenly felt very foolish. I had been passed over for beef stew and biscuits.

Excusing myself with wishes for a Merry Christmas to Don, Nettie, and Lawrence Mangelson, I walked out the wooden double doors and down the steps into the silvery night. My breath made little white puffs in front of me, and I pictured them as desperate smoke signals rising into the sky. Unfortunately, the only Indian warrior who knew anything about smoke signals seemed pretty uninterested in any communication with me.





My brothers and their significant others – Jacob and Jared were married, and Johnny had a steady girl that he was getting pretty serious with – always came over for Christmas Eve dinner, and we exchanged gifts then. Christmas day had gotten pretty lackluster since we’d all grown up and toys and Santa had become a thing of the past. Dad and I would go to Aunt Louise’s for Christmas Dinner tomorrow afternoon.

After eating a half-dozen different appetizers, a huge ham, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls, we sat by the tree and opened gifts. With full bellies and a warm fire, no one seemed to be in a big hurry to be on their way, so we all hung around and talked about nothing in particular. I had yet to take off my black dress and let down my hair. In the back of my mind, I just kept thinking maybe I’d get an opportunity to let Samuel see me up close looking twenty-five, sophisticated, and beautiful. I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, my only concession to comfort was my kicked off high heels by the door. My brothers seemed confused by my appearance and started teasing me, only to have Rachel shush them up with a wink and a quick reprimand.

“Sometimes it’s so much fun getting dressed up that it’s a hard to take it off at the end of the night.” I smiled gratefully at her, and my brothers shrugged and proceeded to ignore me.

True to Dad’s prediction, fat white snowflakes began to fall as the hour grew later, and with sighs and groans, my brothers bundled up their ladies and headed out. Johnny was spending the night at Sheila’s parent’s home so that they could spend Christmas with her family the next day. Jacob and Rachel had purchased a little home in Nephi the previous year, and Jared and Tonya were in student housing at Brigham Young University in Provo. Everybody was heading north across the ridge and nobody wanted to wait around for more snow to fall.

The ‘ridge’ is a ten mile stretch of old two lane highway between Levan and Nephi. Levanites travel it countless times a week, for countless reasons - back and forth from school and work, to the Thriftway for groceries, or to the library for books to hold them over until the Bookmobile traveled through Levan again. Every sixteen-year-old in Levan drove the ridge many times before they actually turned sixteen. It was a farming community, and that was just the way of things. We drove early, and we drove everything from tractors to beat up old farm trucks. I could drive a mean stick shift when I was ten years old, and do it smoothly enough for my older brothers to keep their feet planted in the truck bed as they threw bales of hay off for the cows. The ridge was straight and narrow and very dark at night. Folks flew across it, lulled into a sense of security simply by the sheer number of times we all made the drive. It was made all the worse by the deer that would come down from the mountains, looking for grazing, and run across the road. The deer were constantly getting hit, or causing accidents as people swerved to avoid them. Of course, a good snowfall made it even more treacherous. Every year someone died on that strip of road between the two little towns.

I stood on the front porch in all my grown-up finery and waved them off. The lights were still on at the Yates place. I could see a truck out front that must belong to Samuel. What possible excuse could I come up with to stop by at eleven o’clock at night so I could see him? I stood there shivering, willing him to come out. Instead, as I watched and wished, the lights flicked out and the house was dark. Trying not to cry, I walked inside and flipped our front porch light off in dejected response.





My dad woke me up at 5:00 a.m. to tell me he’d gotten called in to work at the plant. The supervisor on duty had been in a car accident the night before and they needed someone to cover the early shift. I told him to be careful and rolled over and immediately started to go back to sleep. I heard him whisper that he’d be home in time for Christmas dinner at Louise’s, and to make sure I fed the horses when I got up.

I woke up again at eight and considered lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself all alone on Christmas morning. But the truth was, I didn’t mind having the house to myself, and I figured I’d just make myself a big plate of leftovers from last night’s feast and listen to Handel’s Messiah as loud as I could blast it. I pulled on my softest pair of blue jeans, my green and red striped Christmas socks, and a truly ugly sweater with a giant reindeer head on it that I had received last year as a white elephant gift. I’d pulled the pins out of my hair before I’d gone to bed, but I really hadn’t wanted to part with my new make-up, so I’d slept in it. I laughed at my raccoon eyes when I saw my reflection, and decided my makeover had definitely run its course. I scrubbed my face clean, brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my riotous curls, and called it good. I had just sat down with my plate of food and hit play on the new CD player I’d received the night before, ready to hear the sounds of Handel’s opening movement, when I remembered the horses.

“Ah hell!” I cursed, sounding exactly like my dad. It was hard not to grow up swearing when you lived on a farm. We never took the Lord’s name in vain or said the F-word, but pretty much damn, hell, and shit were part of the vernacular of most folks born and raised in Levan. To tell the truth, those words weren’t really considered swear words. Last week in church, Gordon Aagard was giving a sermon on trials. He referred to horse shit right in the middle of his talk, and nobody really batted an eye.

Pulling on Johnny’s old boots, I trudged out to the corral. Yazzie danced his happy dog dance around my legs as I walked. Yazzie loved to visit the horses. Dad had built a little lean-to adjacent to the corral, and Joe and Ben greeted me with nickers and bunted me with their noses as I mucked out the lean-to and refilled the feed buckets. The water in the trough was iced over and I broke it with my shovel, spooning the ice out and topping it off.

Daisy, Dad’s mare, was in the barn, separated from the other horses where it was a little warmer and drier, until she delivered her foal. I swung into the barn, eager to be done with my chores and saw that Daisy was lying down, her breathing heavy, her back slick. There was a little blood on the floor of the big stall, and I dropped the feed bucket I was carrying as I ran to her. I’d watched enough foals be born to know that Daisy was well on her way to being a new mama, and I was home alone.

“Dad said this was going to happen,” I said out loud, rubbing my hand down Daisy’s soft nose, “So now what do I do?”

I ran inside and dialed the number to the power plant. Usually there is always someone in the front office who relays messages to the guys on shift. Today was Christmas, and the staff was at the bare minimum. Nobody answered the phone. A recorded message came on with instructions to call back during regular operating hours. I growled in response and hung up the phone. I called Jacob and Rachel’s house and got Rachel’s cheerful voice on the answering machine telling me she and Jacob weren’t home and to please leave a message. They were home; they were just lying in bed enjoying their Christmas morning. I left a slightly panicked message demanding that Jacob get his butt to the farm. Johnny was at Sheila’s parent’s home, and I called their number with the same results, only this time I asked a little more nicely. Jared was too far away to do me any good. I left him alone.

I ran back out to the barn and paced nervously. I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure I knew what to look for exactly, but there were no little hooves or a head sticking out of Daisy’s nether regions. Daisy groaned and a watery gush swooshed out between her hind legs.

“Oh man! I cannot do this by myself,” I shrieked. Running out of the barn I ran as fast as my muddy boots would allow towards the Yates’s house. Don would know what to do. Out of breath and gasping, I reached the front walk and slipped and slid my way up to the front door, banging on the screen and yelling for Don. I’d been so focused on Daisy and the impending birth that I had run right by the truck that I’d seen the night before without really noticing it. I heard a door open behind me and swung around to see Samuel step out of the truck with concern playing across his handsome face. And it was a handsome face. I momentarily forgot all about poor Daisy. He wore a pair of Wrangler’s and a Carhart jacket. One foot was planted on the ground in a Justin boot and a black cowboy hat sat low on his head. The other leg was still inside the cab of his truck.

“Josie? My grandpa’s not here. He and Grandma headed over to my Aunt Tabrina’s house earlier this morning. They wanted to see the kids open their gifts. I’m heading over there now…would you like me to give him a message?” Samuel was so polite and formal that for a minute I just stared at him, wondering if I had just imagined our past friendship. He stared back at me, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for a response.

“Daisy’s having her baby. Dad got called in to work at five this morning, I can’t get a hold of any of my brothers, and I don’t know what to do.” I realized I was spilling words out every which way, and Samuel looked a little alarmed.

“Daisy?” He queried slowly.

“Our mare!” I shouted at him.

Samuel turned off the ignition, pulled his other leg out of the truck, slammed the door, and started walking down the road towards my house. I watched him blankly until I realized he was going to help me. I clumped along after him until I reached his side.

“Nice sweater.” Samuel didn’t even look at me as we walked, and my eyes flew down to my chest. Antlers and a shiny red nose poked their way out of my unbuttoned jacket. I groaned inwardly. Where was Samuel Yates last night when I was ready to be seen up close and personal? God must really have a sense of humor, I thought morosely. He’d answered my Christmas prayer – just in his own time. Ha, ha, ha, very funny. And why did I have to display my Christmas spirit this morning? Why hadn’t I thrown this stupid sweatshirt in the compost pile where it belonged? My hands flew to my hair. I could feel loose curls bouncing in sunny disarray.

“Thank you,” I replied stiffly. I might have imagined it, but I think Samuel’s lips twitched.

“Have you ever helped birth a foal?” I asked anxiously, as we rounded the house and headed back to the barn.

“Lots of lambs, only one foal,” Samuel replied shortly. “I don’t think there’s too much variation. But I guess we’ll find out. Isn’t there a vet we can call?”

“There’s a vet that covers the county, and I called his pager number, but I don’t know if he’ll get back to me and I’m not going to wait by the phone. Dad says he doesn’t know his ass from his head anyway.” Realizing that the vocabulary that I had worked so hard to build and that I so prided myself on had completely abandoned me in my flustered state, I clamped my mouth shut and swore I wouldn’t say another word until I was in better control of my tongue.

Samuel didn’t respond to my dad’s opinion of the vet, and I led the way into the barn. Daisy still laid quietly, her only movement in the rise and fall of her breathing. Quickly Samuel shucked his coat and rolled up his sleeves as far as they would go. Samuel knelt above her, stroking her head with his right hand. He sat waiting as her big body suddenly tightened up, a contraction causing her flanks to quiver with strain. As the tightening began to visibly ease, Samuel, speaking quietly and soothing her with his right hand, snaked his left hand between her rear flanks. Daisy’s legs stiffened and she tossed her head, but she didn’t fight him as he inserted his arm inside her all the way up to his shoulder. Yuck. I was so glad Samuel was with me I felt lightheaded with relief. After a few moments of concentrated groping he spoke.

“I think I can feel the head and the forelegs, so that’s good. The baby is facing the right direction. At this point, your mare will do all the work. If all is as it should be, there’s not a whole lot we can do. Let’s go inside, and I’ll wash up and you see if you can reach your Dad again. It won’t be long now.”

I hadn’t turned Handel off when I went to feed the horses. The entire production of his ‘Messiah’ had played out to an empty kitchen, and the Hallelujah chorus was reverberating joyfully throughout the house as we entered through the back door. My boots were muddy and I didn’t want to take the time away from Daisy to pull them off and back on, so walking though the house to turn the music off in the family room wasn’t going to happen; it would just have to play to the end. I ran to the phone and tried the power plant again, with no luck. I hung up with an impatient sigh.

“My dad is going to be fit to be tied when he gets home.”

“Isn’t this what you played last night?” Samuel questioned from the sink, his back to me. My mind jumped from the failed phone call back to Handel’s music pouring out of the family room.

“Oh. Uh, yes. It’s Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus. It’s pretty wonderful with a full orchestra, isn’t it?

“It was pretty wonderful last night with just the piano, too.” Samuel replied seriously, and turned his head to look at me as he dried his hands and unrolled his sleeves. Pleasure washed over me at his words, and I tried to stop myself from beaming like an idiot as we left the kitchen and headed back out to the barn.

There seemed to be no change as Samuel and I squatted down next to the laboring mare. She huffed and groaned a little with the next contraction, but didn’t seem unduly stressed. I prayed silently that Daisy would be alright and that the birth would go well.

The quiet in the barn became more drawn out as we held our vigil, and I searched my mind for something to say. Samuel certainly didn’t seem to feel the need to talk.

“Handel composed all three parts of his ‘Messiah’, including the orchestration, in a little more than three weeks. Two hundred and sixty pages of music in just 24 days. No other composer has accomplished anything like that in the history of music. He described it as an out of body experience.” I sounded like a tour guide, and my voice faded off uncertainly as Samuel failed to even lift his head. When he didn’t respond after several long seconds, I bit my tongue to keep from trying to continue to fill the embarrassing lull. When he did speak several minutes later his voice made me jump.

“Why did everyone stand last night when you started to play?”

“Did they stand?” I was dumbfounded. I really hadn’t noticed.

Samuel just raised that one eyebrow and looked at me.

I blushed and shrugged. “I really don’t know…”

“Your teacher was the first to stand – Mrs. Grimaldi, right? Everyone just kind of followed her up.”

I giggled, suddenly understanding what Sonja had done. “It’s actually tradition to stand on the Hallelujah Chorus. You see, when the King of England first attended a performance of ‘Messiah,” he was so moved when the Hallelujah Chorus played that he stood up. Apparently, when the King of England stands, everyone stands. I guess Sonja thought Levan should carry on a tradition that’s been in effect for 250 years.”

“You really didn’t notice that everyone was standing almost the entire time you played?” Samuel’s smooth baritone was slightly disbelieving.

His tone made me feel defensive, and I waved my hand as if to brush off his doubts. “You know me, Samuel – I lose myself in the music. By the time I came back to Earth, everyone had probably sat back down.”

My insistence that he ‘knew’ me rang in my ears as he turned back towards Daisy, again without comment, and stroked her long neck. He was acting like we’d never known each other at all. I thought of how often my thoughts had been filled with him over the last two plus years and felt a lump the size of Texas rise up in my throat.

I was distracted from my misery several moments later when Daisy convulsed strongly and a wet nose popped out between her hind quarters. I gasped and the little nose disappeared again as the contraction abated.

“One more and that should do it.” Samuel’s voice was calm and reassuring, but my heart was pounding as I waited for the next contraction to come. Samuel ran his hands down Daisy’s damp flanks, talking softly to her, urging her on.

“One more, girl, one more. You’re almost done,” he soothed. “Here it comes, here we go.”

Moments later, the horse shuddered and her flanks shook as a nose and two hooves came plainly into view, followed by a wet tangle of big ears and wobbly, knobby legs. Samuel helped pull the new colt free, wiping blood and slime off the little fellow with handfuls of straw. Daisy turned her head and butted her awkward offspring gently, prodding as she urged him to his feet, licking and nudging him all the while.

“Way to go, Daisy - Well done girl!” I cried, clapping softly. I realized I was on my feet and there were tears on my face. I wiped them off hastily as I knelt back down and placed a kiss between Daisy’s sweat slicked ears.

“You did it, Samuel!” I grinned at him, my unhappiness forgotten in light of the triumphant birth.

“I didn’t do anything – it was all Daisy,” he replied, but his tone was mild and I could tell he was pleased that it had gone without incident.

I was happily contemplating Christmas names for Daisy’s baby when the sound of a slamming door and boots on gravel carried back to the barn.

“I hope that’s my dad!” I cried out, rising and running for the entrance of the barn. Jacob and Dad had parked the truck around the house and were high tailing it towards the barn when I intercepted them with the happy news. My dad was beside himself with worry and rushed ahead of me in to the barn. I followed him in, sharing details of the morning’s miracle, relating Samuel’s role in the excitement as we approached him where he still perched, balanced on his haunches next to the new colt. He rose smoothly to his feet, wiping his blood stained hands on his jeans before extending a hand apologetically to my dad.

“Congratulations, sir. Sorry about the hand.”

My dad grabbed it, completely unconcerned about shaking the proffered hand. Clapping Samuel on the back, he thanked him for coming to my rescue.

They all talked for a few minutes, admiring the new colt, commenting on this and that, rubbing his floppy ears, and enjoying the Christmas surprise.

“Well Josie,” my dad turned to me suddenly. “I think you and Samuel have earned the right to name the colt. Whaddya think?”

I looked at Samuel expectantly, but he just shrugged, dipping his head in my direction as he deferred to me. “Go ahead, Josie.”

“George Frederic Handel,” I said impulsively.

Jacob and my dad groaned loudly in unison and hooted in laughing protest.

“What the hell kind of name is that, Josie?”

My brother howled.

“He’s a composer!” I cried out, embarrassed and wishing I had taken a minute to think before I blurted out the first thing that came to my head.

A smile played around Samuel’s lips as he joined in the fray. “He wrote the music that Josie played last night at the church service.”

“I just thought the colt should have a Christmas name, and Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus is synonymous with Christmas!” I defended and then cringed as Jacob and my dad burst out laughing again.

My dad wiped tears of mirth from his eyes as he tried to get control of himself.

“We’ll call him Handel,” he choked out. “It’s a very nice name, Josie.” He patted my shoulder, still chuckling. I felt like I was ten years old.

“Well, my grandparents are going to be wondering where I am.” Samuel extended his hand to my father again. “I’d better get cleaned up and be on my way.”

“Thanks again, Samuel,” my dad called after him. Samuel inclined his head politely to me and Jacob, turned, and strode out of the barn.

I followed him out, my dad and my brother completely unaware that I was leaving. Samuel had picked up his stride and was a good ways in front of me when I exited the barn. Obviously, he was done here. That was it? He was leaving without more than a nod to me? He would probably be gone the next day without giving me another thought. Suddenly, I was very angry and more than a little hurt. Impulsively, I bent down and scooped up a big handful of snow, punching it into a sloppy snowball. I launched it as hard as I could at Samuel’s retreating form.

I am not athletic in the slightest, and I can’t throw a ball to save my life, but for once my aim ran true, and the hard-packed snowball plowed right into the back of Samuel’s head.

He turned, stunned, his hand rising to his head and brushing the snow from his short black hair. I picked up another snowball and chucked it at him, too. He ducked, but I had another one ready to go right on its heels. That one struck him in the chest, snow plastering the front of his shirt where his jacket lay opened, and dripping down his neck. Samuel stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I definitely wasn’t laughing.

“Josie! What is wrong with you?” He stuttered in disbelief.

“What is wrong with me?!” I cried back. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with me, since you’re so eager to get away from me!” I shook the snow from my hands and shoved them under my armpits, trying to warm them, the cold ache in my fingers in accord with the sting of tears threatening my eyes. Samuel walked back towards me, closing the distance between us until we stood face to face.

“I thought you were my friend!” I sputtered angrily. “Last night you didn’t even come say hello – today you’ve acted like we’re almost strangers, and now you’re just walking away without so much as a “hey Josie, how are you?” It’s been two years and seven months since you left, and I’ve thought of you every day. I’ve written you dozens of letters.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “We were friends Samuel! We were good friends!”

Samuel sighed heavily and shoved his hands fiercely into his coat pockets. He cocked his head and stared at me for a moment, his expression undecipherable. After what seemed like a lifetime he spoke, and his voice was gentle.

“I’m sorry Josie. You’re right. We were friends. Good friends.” He sighed and turned away slightly, kicking at the snow at his feet. “Do you know how old I am, Josie?” He asked me, looking back at me seriously.

“You’re twenty-one,” I shot back.

“Yep, and you are?”

I waited without answering, knowing what was coming.

“You are sixteen-years-old. It’s inappropriate for me to be anywhere near you.”

I groaned loudly and threw my hands in the air. My physical and intellectual maturity, along with my sensitive nature and my love for English literature should have made me a prime candidate for romantic daydreams and girlish drama. But though I had fallen unabashedly in love with Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester and Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy, the boys I attended school with held little appeal. I felt decades older than my classmates, and I possessed a certain seriousness and reserve that must have made me seem unapproachable and snobbish -Sonja always said I had an “old soul.” I kept to myself for the most part, took care of my dad, read my books, played my piano, and spent time with the Grimaldi’s. When I was forced into the company of my classmates, I kept close to my cousin Tara, who liked me despite my peculiarities. But I’d never felt like I belonged. Hearing Samuel tell me I was way too young to be his friend just made me want to scream.

“What does my age have to do with us being friends?” I repeated aloud. “You don’t just come back after all this time and act like you never knew me. Last night… I couldn’t wait to see you, to talk to you…and you just…left! That was cruel, Samuel. You may have outgrown me, but would it have hurt you to say hello, to talk to me for a minute?”

Samuel scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration. “Last night you didn’t look sixteen,” he said tersely.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I replied, aghast.

“I was looking forward to seeing you too, Josie. But…..after seeing you play at the church, I thought it wise to stay away from you because I care way more than I should,” Samuel bit off reluctantly.

My heart stuttered in my chest, and I stared at him, uncertain how to respond. He stared back at me, hands in his pockets, feet spread wide, brow furrowed. The expression on his face was so precious and familiar that I laughed and reached up to smooth the deep groove between his scowling eyebrows. He jerked back as my hand touched his face, and his hand snaked out and wrapped around my wrist.

“I didn’t lie when I told you I would never forget you, Josie. But it can’t be like it was. I guess you’re right. I’ve outgrown our old friendship.” His mouth twisted wryly, and he dropped my wrist suddenly. “Take care of yourself, Josie. It’s been really nice seeing you.” He turned without further comment and crunched across the snow without looking back.

I watched him walk away and amazingly enough, this time it hurt even worse than when he’d left the first time. This time I had no illusions about the future. There would be no letters and no comfort in delusions. Samuel was as gone to me as my mother was. The next morning his truck was no longer parked in front of his grandparent’s home. I took his letters from my desk drawer and his picture and the necklace he’d given me from my treasure box. I put everything in an old shoebox and put it on the highest shelf in my closet. I slid it to the very back and shut the door firmly.

I pretended I had outgrown him, too. One day I would be gone. I would be a famous concert pianist. I would travel the world, and I wouldn’t think about Samuel ever again. Someday, I would be the one to leave.