The Forever Man(47)

"What I said-" Her voice choked on the words.

He leaned closer. "You said you needed me. I'd already told you the same  thing earlier. Nothing you said or did should cause you shame, Johanna.  We're married, and our coming together is always right and proper. And  last night was about as right as it's ever gonna get, as far as I'm  concerned." He grinned down at her, his lazy, lopsided smile begging her  response.

"I don't know how I could … be that way with you." Her gaze anguished, she  dared another look, her eyes pleading for his understanding. "I'm still  feeling … confused, Tate. I'm still angry with you." She blurted the  words harshly.

He nodded. "I know that. It'll work out, Jo. We'll make it work."

Once more he bent, his mouth warm against hers in a brief kiss. As if he  bound a bargain between them with that gesture, his hands settled on  her shoulders and he squeezed firmly.

Johanna's head ducked, her tongue touching her upper lip in a tentative  movement, and she backed from him. "You'd better get on with the  milking. I'll send the boys out to feed the hens and gather eggs."

Tate turned to the door, fishing in his pocket for the gloves he'd left  there. "I think I'm going to put Pete up on the mare today, maybe after  dinner," he said. "That'll put a shine on his Sunday, won't it?"

Johanna looked up, her eyes alight as she imagined the boy's reaction. "He'll be tickled pink. I'll tell him."

He glanced toward the doorway and into the hall, where the stairs  climbed to the second floor. "They need to be up. Want me to call them  before I go out?"

Johanna shook her head. "Just go on now and get the milking done. We'll never get to church if we don't hurry."

He nodded and turned from her, reaching for his hat as he passed the peg by the door where it hung.





It had been a mistake to tell the boy before church, Johanna decided,  watching as Pete fidgeted throughout the sermon. Reverend Hughes's words  were passing right over his head as he swung his feet, gripping his  fingers on the edge of the pew beside her. The sermon about springtime  and renewal and all the wonder of Easter coming up in a couple of weeks  were wasted on Pete Montgomery, as far as Johanna could tell. In fact,  if she knew anything about it at all, his head was filled with visions  of a chestnut mare, himself on her back.

She placed her hand on his knee, stilling the swinging of his foot, and  he glanced up at her, blinking as if she had roused him from a  delightful daydream. Her barely noticeable nod was enough to make him  grin and duck his head.

Tate leaned close, his whisper low in her ear. "He's thinkin' about that mare."

She nodded again. "I know." She breathed the words, aware of a glance  sent their way by Marjorie Jones. With a voiceless apology, she bit her  lip and nodded at the woman, catching sight of a smile as Marjorie  turned away.

Once more Pete's leg swung, and his heel brushed against Johanna's  dress. She sighed, accepting that he was lost in his own world this  morning. Her hand moved from her lap to rest against his knee once more,  and she patted it softly, smiling when he looked up guiltily. Her  fingers squeezed gently and her mouth formed a smile. He accepted her  touch with a tolerant grin of acknowledgment, nudging her calf with the  toe of his boot.

Theodore Hughes wrapped up his message with an admonition to his  congregation to take time from their duties to pay heed to the beauty of  the earth, the advent of spring and the renewal of life. Then, bidding  them rise, he led them in a booming rendition of a hymn, the pianist  banging out the melody with more passion than skill.                       
       
           



       

No matter that the stationmaster's wife was not an accomplished player,  Johanna thought, her soul soaring with the music. The words alone, sung  from memory, her voice blending with Tate's deeper baritone, were enough  to fill her heart with the joy of the new season.

"Lord of all, to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise!"





* * *





It seemed that teaching Pete to ride required the whole family in  attendance. The dinner dishes were left to soak, Pete's face pressing  against the screen door as he urged Johanna to hurry. Timmy was at the  barn already, perched on a nail keg, watching as his father prepared the  sleek mare for riding.

Johanna's heart thumped with anticipation as she accompanied Pete across  the yard, her shawl hanging from one shoulder. She'd snatched it from  the back of her chair as she passed, tossing it in place as she stepped  from the porch. The March sunshine had remained, a harbinger of the  summer days to come, and she basked in the welcome warmth of it.

Tate led the mare from the barn, his hand grasping the bridle firmly. "Think you can get into the saddle, son?"

Pete nodded, swallowing hard, as he walked past his father.

"Should I give him a leg up?" Johanna asked, wary of the small boy struggling to reach the stirrup.

Tate shook his head, leading the mare to where a large log had been  placed. "Left foot in the stirrup, Pete." The chestnut stood quietly,  soothed by the soft sounds of her master, untroubled by the slight  weight of the child who climbed quickly into the saddle.

"Lift the reins, son." Spoken in the same soft tones, Tate's command was  simply a part of the wooing process he'd undertaken with the horse. As  he walked with her, he spoke in an undertone, constantly aware of the  child in the saddle, his attention attuned to the mood of the animal he  controlled.

Pete looked lost in the saddle, to Johanna's way of thinking. Perhaps  she would feel better when the smaller one Tate had ordered arrived. But  Pete seemed to have no qualms about the ride he'd undertaken. His legs  hung down, his toes barely touching the stirrups, and his face glowed  with an eagerness she'd seldom seen expressed by the boy. He held the  reins in his hand, unaware that he was only a figurehead, that his  father was the guiding hand in this endeavor.

"Pa, can I ride, too?" Timmy squeaked, bouncing on his toes as he watched his brother's triumph.

"In a while, Timmy," Tate promised. "I'll let you sit in front of me later on. But not by yourself yet."

"Come here, Timmy." Johanna held out her hand, and the boy ran to her. "Let me pick you up so you can see better."

Tate brought the mare in a circle, gripping the reins beneath her chin,  stepping up his pace until she broke into a slow trot. In the saddle,  Pete bounced in time to the gait, his knees gripping in vain for  purchase.

"I can't make my butt stay where it belongs, Pa!"

Tate grinned. "You'll learn to ride with it, Pete. It takes time. Don't  squeeze with your knees. Hang on this way." He paced beside the boy for a  moment, his hands pressing on Pete's lower leg, showing him what he  meant. "That's right, son. Now, just hold the reins easy, don't pull on  them."

He slowed the mare and halted before Johanna, the dark muzzle just  inches from Timmy's hand. "You can touch her, Timmy, if you want to."  Tate watched as the small boy reached a tentative hand to press against  the long face, his fingers stretching to brush against the stiff hair.  Then his hand slid, touching the velvety muzzle, and he laughed aloud.

"She's soft, like the kittens, Pa." Bending forward, he breathed deeply  of the horse's scent. "She doesn't smell like the kittens, though, does  she?"

Tate's laughter rang, and Johanna relished the sound, her arms hugging  Timmy close. Tate shook his head, still chuckling. "No, she smells like a  horse, son."

"I like her, Pa." Timmy leaned forward, his cheek brushing against the mare's jaw, as if he found bravery in Johanna's arms.

Tate reached out, taking some of the child's weight, his arm beneath  Johanna's, and his eyes swept the woman who held his son. "I like her,  too, Timmy," he said softly, his gaze tender. "But I think you're kinda  heavy for Johanna to hold for so long. You need to get down."                       
       
           



       

"All right." Sliding to the ground, Timmy maintained his hold on  Johanna's hand and backed off a step. "That horse looks bigger from down  here, Pa."

Pete's hand reached forward, and he stroked the mare's neck, his look  impatient as he glanced at his small brother. "Can we ride some more  now?"

"I need to tell you a few things first, Pete," Tate said. Releasing the  reins, he snapped a lead rope onto the bridle, then handed it to  Johanna. "Here, Jo. Hold this for me, will you? I think she's pretty  well settled down. She seems to take to kids like a champ."