Changes of Heart (10 page)

Maggie scrambled upward, dislodging stones and small rocks as her boots fought the magnetism of gravity. She lunged ahead, fell facedown, her palms and knees grinding against the unforgiving surface. That didn’t matter—the
pain, the chest full of dirt and grit she’d inhaled when she went down—all that counted now was beating the hill, because, at the same time, she was beating the turn her life had taken, the heaviness that had become a part of her, the desolation she experienced daily.

Maggie stumbled over the top and bent forward at the waist, her pulse thudding in her ears, her breath wheezing in her throat as she gasped for air.

There was a flat rock the size of a sofa just over the crest, and even through the shimmer of tears from her sand-abraded eyes, Maggie could see heat radiating from its surface. Next to it, in the selfish bit of shadow the huge rock yielded, was a much smaller flat stone. She collapsed onto it, the jolt of the impact traveling from her seat up her spine like an electrical shock. She let her head fall between her splayed knees and sucked air with all the strength she had left.

After a full five minutes, when she’d blinked and rubbed the grit from her eyes and was breathing freely, Maggie leaned back against the larger rock and pulled a sleeve across her forehead. The knee of her right jean leg was ripped, and the edges of the fabric were wet with blood. Her left palm was bleeding from small cuts, and her shoulders were setting up—stiffening—but not really aching yet.

Dumb. What did that silly explosion prove? Still, a smile crossed her face.
At least I did it, though—it’s something I didn’t fail at because it was too difficult. That counts for something
.

A pair of jets scribed arcs to the east, the planes themselves silver specks, their contrails exact, pristine white lines
behind them against the unfathomable blue of the Montana sky. Fighter training, her mind told her from the position of the aircraft; one was slightly ahead, with the other to the instructor’s right and slightly behind. The lead plane cut away from the follower and began a horizontal climb. The shriek of the engine at full power now reached Maggie but was softened by the distance so that the sound was more like a gush of escaping air than the roar she knew it actually was.

The student plane followed its instructor in the climb. Then, so rapidly that Maggie couldn’t see the change in direction, ascent to descent, the fighters blasted back toward the earth. A dull rumble, like thunder from the next county, reached Maggie as the jets breached the sound barrier.

The jets pulled up from their dives again in perfect position with one another and scrambled back in the direction from which they’d come. The sky was marked like the blackboard of an artistic young child, the snowy lines still unchanged, sharp, creating patterns that grabbed and held the eye.

The thought struck Maggie that she’d heard the aircraft from the base daily since Rich died but that this was the first time she’d allowed herself to watch them, to think about them, to let her mind and her eyes follow their paths.

That’s something. That’s something good
. She said a brief prayer for the pilots of the two fighters she could no longer see or hear, and hefted herself to her feet. She wavered dizzily for a moment; her right knee was throbbing now, her body aching. She wiped the blood from her left palm on her jeans and inspected the cuts. They were minor—little more than light abrasions seeping a bit of blood. She shook
her head to clear it, not wanting to leave this place, at least not quite yet. Maybe it was the utter solitude or the strange kinship she felt with the settlers who’d lost their child, or perhaps it was the tomblike silence, but this inhospitable and infertile piece of land was where she needed to be, and that was enough reason.

Maggie limped toward the battered soddy, favoring her right leg. What had once been a home was now an overgrown hovel dug into the side of a hill. There was little to see. Supporting timbers had collapsed inside the cavelike excavation, and the interior was thick with scrub growth that had taken root in the dirt floor. She took a shuffling step forward, heard the blood-chilling rasp of a rattlesnake’s warning from inside, and scurried backward, the pain of her knee momentarily forgotten. The shade given over the smaller rock where she’d been sitting had grown a bit as the sun moved through the sky, and she returned to her seat and leaned back, closing her eyes.

Ellie’s words about Danny Pulver returned to her mind, and with them her own questions about the man.

What do I know about Dr. Daniel Pulver? He’s a great vet and I’m in love with his dog. He’s from Maine and studied at Cornell Veterinary School. He admitted that Cornell was very difficult and that he had to sweat and grind for the good—although not stellar—grades he got. He’s never been married and doesn’t seem to be close to the family he left in Maine
.

Maggie stretched her right leg out in front of her. There didn’t seem to be fresh blood at the tear in her jeans, but the entire limb was throbbing.

Danny was quiet—but he was funny too—at least at times, and with people with whom he felt comfortable. A loner? Maybe. But he’d dated a few locals over the past couple of years. Julie Downs, the reporter at the
News-Express
, had gone to a movie with him a year or so ago, and then, a couple weeks later, to dinner. After that, Julie said he didn’t call, and it was clear she wished he had.

A slight breeze moved over the plateau where Maggie sat, and the touch of it against the sweat on her face was delightfully cool.

Could he be in love with me, just as Ellie believes? Is it possible he had those feelings even before Richie died
? Maggie shook her head.
He’s a Christian. He wouldn’t allow himself into a state of covetousness. His faith is too strong
. But suppose he’d gone to Ellie for counseling, and she’d inadvertently—because of her Alzheimer’s—shared with Maggie what Danny had told her?

Maggie sighed and stood, using her hands against the big rock to help herself up. Too many questions and not enough answers. She started toward the edge of the rise, realizing that the seat of her jeans was going to take a beating on the way down to her truck, because her right leg was stiff and her knee screamed at her when she put weight on the right side of her body.

Danny’s SUV was gone when Maggie parked near her barn, and both Turnip and Dakota were in the small fenced paddock, cropping grass, their coats shining from recent
grooming. Maggie limped to the house. A note tacked to the door, written on one of Danny’s prescription blanks, fluttered at her. She took it down and read it.

Maggie sighed and went into her house. There were four or five cans of Diet Pepsi and an almost full carton of grapefruit juice in the refrigerator, but Maggie’s hand went directly to her big, two-quart Brita pitcher. The water was arctic—so cold that it made her teeth hurt—and she drank thirstily, directly from the spout of the pitcher. The quick chill that embraced her was as delicious as the pure water. As she leaned forward to replace the pitcher in the refrigerator she smelled her body and cringed. She reeked of sweat, dirt, and blood. She hobbled out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom.

The shower was heavenly, even the stinging part when Maggie let the pressure of the water cleanse the cut on her knee. She reveled in the thick lather of her shampoo and the crisp fragrance of her bath soap as she scrubbed her body. Finally, when the water from the showerhead began to run cooler, coming close to emptying the hot water tank, she shut off the faucets and stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom. She opened the window to clear the air,
toweled off, and treated and bandaged her cut, drawing a breath when she dabbed a generous dollop of salve on the wound.

She left the bathroom and went to sit on the couch. The message Dan Pulver had left on her door was on the coffee table in front of her, where she’d tossed it earlier.
Not today, Danny. All I want to do is sit here and relax
.

Maggie closed her eyes for a moment, and the image of the veterinarian appeared in her mind. She heard Danny’s voice as he murmured during the exam, soothing the animal, letting him know that everything was OK. Dusty, Maggie recalled, had stood by nervously, shifting her front hooves as she watched this human touch her son. Her liquid eyes flicked to Maggie for assurance but stayed only for the briefest part of a second before returning to the vet and Dancer. Another thought chased the picture from Maggie’s mind.

Maybe Ellie is right. It’s possible that even before Richie died, Danny had feelings for me. Maybe I knew it on some level all along. The way I’d catch him looking at me and how abruptly—almost guiltily—he’d look away. But
...

The crunch of tires on the driveway and the sound of an engine brought Maggie to her feet. She walked to the kitchen and peeked through the window, smiling with relief that the vehicle was the Ford truck of Sarah Morrison’s groundskeeper, not Danny’s GMC. Tessa stepped out, and the truck backed around and rumbled back down the drive, the shovels and tools in its bed clanging against one another. The girl started toward the house, and Maggie opened the door before Tessa reached it.

It was always good to see Tessa. The horse-crazy young girl carried with her a spirit of enthusiasm and plain old happiness and joy that spread to anyone around her.

“Hey, Tessa,” Maggie said. “You back to pester poor ol’ Turnip again today?”

The girl’s smile could have turned a rabid wolverine into a purring kitten. She took a large and shiny apple from the pocket of her jacket. “This is for Turnip,” she admitted, “but I really came to talk with you for a minute. Ralph was going to pick up some parts for the mower, so I snagged a ride with him. Are you busy?”

“Busy goofing off is all. Come on in. Want a Pepsi or some coffee?”

“I’d love some coffee, but I’ve already had my cup for the day. My mom’s afraid the caffeine will turn me into a speed freak. A Pepsi’d be great.”

Tessa sat at the kitchen table as Maggie fetched a pair of diet Pepsis from the refrigerator.

“You’re limping,” Tessa said. “Are you OK?”

“I stumbled and scraped a knee is all. No biggie.” She set the can of soda in front of the girl. “So, what’s up?”

Tessa broke eye contact with her friend, suddenly acting as if her soda can required intense inspection. “Well... the thing is, Danny seemed to be upset earlier. He saw you start to turn in the driveway, with your signal on and everything, and he said you saw his truck and drove away.” She paused for a moment, still studying her Pepsi container. Her cheeks reddened. “I know I have a major crush on him, but that’s
not the problem. I’m only a kid, and he’s an adult. But what he feels for you isn’t a crush.”

Maggie waited a moment. “Maybe so, honey,” she said softly.

“Danny would just die if he knew I was talking to you like this,” Tessa said. “And I don’t even know for sure why I’m here, except that both of you are important to me, and I wasn’t sure if you realized how he feels.”

The kitchen fell silent, and a raucous gathering of crows in a far pasture seemed inordinately loud.

“I’m not unaware of what you’ve said,” Maggie said. “But, honey, Richie hasn’t been dead a year yet. I don’t know what Danny expects...”

“I know you loved your husband a lot, Maggie,” Tessa said. She was making eye contact again, and her pain and concern was as apparent as the quiet beauty of her face.

“
Loved
is the wrong word, Tessa,” Maggie said, reaching across the table and taking the girl’s hand in her own. “It’s
love
—present tense—and I don’t think that will ever change. Dan Pulver is a wonderful guy, and if things were different... but they’re not.”

They heard a vehicle in the driveway and then a quick tap on its horn. Tessa stood, and Maggie stood with her. “I guess the shop had Ralph’s stuff ready for him,” Tessa said. “I didn’t think he’d be back so quickly. I wanted to explain all this better.”

“Thanks for coming to me. We’ll talk again, OK? Give Turnip his apple and go on home.”

Tessa reached out to Maggie and hugged her tightly.
Words at this point weren’t necessary between them. Tessa released Maggie and turned away. At the door she halted and turned back. “He’s a cool guy,” she said.

Maggie nodded. “I know that.”

She watched from the kitchen as Tessa waved to Ralph, said something to him, ran into the barn, and emerged a few moments later. When the truck was gone Maggie went back to her place on the couch in the living room.

A cool guy. As if all that’s necessary to fix the hole in my heart is a cool guy. Things are so easy for kids—everything is good or bad, and love conquers all, and everyone ends up with the right person, and no one ever dies testing jet planes
.

She closed her eyes and put her head back. The night—Christmas Eve—that Dancer was born drifted into her mind. She remembered the bitter cold of the night, and the panic in Dusty’s eyes, and Danny cradling the foal in his arms as if it were a human infant, and Rich’s joy at the birth.