Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel) (17 page)

Their house was a log cabin, with unfinished walls and the highest ceiling I’d ever seen. An enormous iron chandelier hung from the main beam. I touched the knotted wood around the fireplace and scanned pictures for Henry’s face.

“Clayton designed this house himself,” Miriam said, joining me by the fire. “When he married me, he brought me to the ranch and we lived in a little trailer for years. I would have been just fine in a small house, but he insisted on building a big one. So we filled it with kids.”

Henry came through then, putting on his coat and whistling for Butch. “We’re taking your dad down to the barn. Wanna come with or stay where it’s warm?”

“I’ll stay.” I glanced at Miriam who nodded.

“I have a lot to show her,” she said, taking my hand. “Let me get the lasagna out of the oven and then we’ll take a tour.”

Standing in the kitchen, watching Miriam move around in her space, made me homesick. She set the hot lasagna dish on the buffet and covered it, then she filled a basket with warm breadsticks and took a huge salad out of the refrigerator. Instant buffet. It was such a mom thing to do. It’s not like my mom had never done these things. She had. We’d been perfect, too.

Miriam placed serving utensils next to everything and then paused, looking everything over like she was checking them off her mental list. Then she smiled at me. “So many stories in this house, Meg. So many I could share with you.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I grew up in the same house my dad grew up in. He had a thousand stories for every room. He said that our stories just made his easier to understand.”

“I get that. Now that we have our grandson, Whit, I understand things that happened when my children were little in a different way. I’m definitely more forgiving now. And these walls are more alive.”

She laughed and pressed her palms to her face. “Oh…I was pregnant with Kate when Clayton carried me over the threshold right over there.” She turned and pointed toward the front door. “I raised all four of my babies right here on this old wood floor. Henry took his first steps right about here.” She leaned down and patted the kitchen floor.

The place she’d patted looked more worn than the rest of the floor.

“He took a couple of steps and then he started running.” She grinned.

“I bet he was fast.”

“The funniest thing is that he rode a horse before he walked,” she said. “Clayton says Henry cut his teeth on a saddle horn, which, I guess, is kind of true.”

“I’m surprised he ever learned to walk with three sisters carrying him around all the time.”

“One of these days, I’ll drag out the picture albums.” She pointed at me conspiratorially. “They pretended he was a baby doll until he went to kindergarten. Poor kid didn’t know what hit him when he had to fend for himself.”

Laughing, I touched a picture of Henry that sat on the kitchen counter. He must have been about five.

“Come on, love,” Miriam said. “I’ll show you around.”

She pointed out antiques that had been handed down from Henry’s grandparents and great-grandparents who’d settled this land and things her family had saved for her children. “I grew up in a city, too. I never thought I’d end up a rancher’s wife in Wyoming. Turns out, this is where I belong.”

“I can see that,” I said.

She stopped in one of her daughters’ rooms to smooth a bedspread where a dog had been lying. “I’m sure it’s been a big adjustment for you…moving here from Pittsburgh. But I learned that we bring ourselves to a place. We see it through the only eyes we’ve got—the ones that have seen a lot of other places, too. Chapin will be a different place to you than it is to anyone else.”

“I guess that’s true.” I crossed my arms and waited for her to finish her thought.

“Here’s what Chapin became for me—constancy. Constancy and love that just stays and stays and stays, even when it would be easier to leave.” She sat on the bed she’d just smoothed. “Does that make any sense?”

I knew what she meant. Exactly what she meant. She was knocking on my heart—but kindly, like her son. And I felt like talking, if only a little.

“It makes sense if you’ve only known change—or love that didn’t stay,” I said. “And you’re here where people stay. If they can. If there’s work. If they’re free from some other past. They stay. They figure the details out and stay.”

So quietly, almost like she held her breath, she said, “Henry told me about your mother.”

I nodded. “That’s okay. I don’t mind if you know.”

“He was worried about you and asked for my advice.”

“What did you tell him?” I tried to smile, but it died before it meant anything. “I didn’t—don’t—understand why it has to be this way for us. This…” I gestured in a vague circle. “This is how it looked for us, too.” I choked on my own words.

“I know, honey,” she said. “For a girl, watching a mother drive away is…” Her voice faded. “It’s too much, too terrible. I told Henry that, for a while, you’ll feel like there’s no solid ground. But you will learn your strength. In the meantime, your mom and dad will learn things, too.” She watched me process this. “At this house, Meg, we pray they will learn how deeply they love each other. How much they need each other. We’re praying for you, too. Henry is…he’s very dear.” She took great care to speak gently and every word hit exactly where she intended.

The effort it took not to cry made my nose stop up and I breathed slowly through my mouth. “Thank you,” I said.

“I want to show you something.” Miriam stood and took my hand, leading me down another hall and into the last room.

I
knew it was Henry’s room immediately—the little boy leftovers on the walls and shelves mixed with heavy textbooks and test prep books stacked on the desk gave it away. Miriam tilted her head like she was listening for something and then she said, “They’re still down at the barn.”

She touched his desk and smiled at a framed picture of me. Henry must have taken it secretly on the day I rode Trouble. I was looking at something over my shoulder and the sky behind me was fading with the last colors of sunset. I studied it until Miriam got my attention.

“This,” she whispered, tapping a well-worn Bible held open by a flat stone. In the margin, Henry had written,
For Meg,
next to a verse that said, “Let not your heart be troubled.”

The front door banged opened, making me jump. We both laughed and she motioned with her chin for me to follow. I touched Henry’s desk again and turned off the light. In the main room, Henry and his dad stood in their socks next to their muddy boots. My dad looked awkward as he reached down to untie his running shoes. He shrugged his shoulders at me and smiled.

At the table, Henry and his parents asked us questions about Pittsburgh and shared stories about Chapin locals. They laughed warmly and made us feel comfortable and welcome. Wyatt would’ve loved this—the easy way they shared life. Henry reached for my hand under the table and squeezed.

“After we clean up, I thought I’d take Meg for a ride,” he said. “I’ve got Ben saddled in the barn.”

“Aw, just let her ride him by herself,” Clayton said, winking at me. “She can handle him.”

Henry snorted. “Are you kidding? She could barely handle Trouble.”

I kicked his foot. “I’m right here. I handled Trouble just fine.”

“Two entirely different horses, Meg.” He reached for my empty plate and stacked it on his, carrying both to the kitchen sink, where he rinsed them.

“If you’re finished, go ahead and take her for a ride,” Miriam said. “I’ll clean up.”

Henry walked over and put his hands on his mom’s shoulders. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. It was great.”

“You’d better give Meg one of your jackets,” she said. “That little thing of hers is cute, but useless against a Wyoming night.”

Henry smiled and grabbed a thick tan jacket out of a closet, holding it open for me. Then he added work gloves and a black wool cap, which did wonders for my hair. He pointed me toward the door, stopping before he opened it to pull on his boots and coat.

***

“See this barn?” he said, gesturing at the larger of the two by the house. “I put the roof on it a few years ago. I thought it would kill me before I finished.” He showed me a large white scar on his forearm. “Metal cut me from head to toe. This one needed twenty-five stitches. The wind blew right as I was pulling a sheet up and it sliced through my arm. My mom about fainted when I walked into her clean kitchen with blood running off my arm.”

I ran my finger across the bumpy scar and shuddered.

The inside of the barn was pristine, with perfectly stacked hay in the loft making the whole place smell sweet. A tractor and farming equipment that I couldn’t name took up half the building.

“Hey, you,” Henry said, wrapping his arms around me. “You’re here.”

“Weird, huh?”

“Hush.” He leaned down to kiss me and not like he’d kissed me before. Before he seemed gentle, careful, and almost hesitant, trying to judge how I would feel about it. But this time he held me with one arm wrapped tightly around my back and his hand sliding under my hair to hold my head close.

I felt each breath that he took and being that close to him made me dizzy. I grabbed his shoulders to stop from falling, but my knees buckled and I tipped to the side. His mouth, which had just been kissing mine, turned up in a smile.

I opened my eyes to see if he was laughing at the way I kissed. I didn’t think he could actually tell I was about to fall.

He grabbed my face and looked into my eyes. “Your pupils are equal and reactive. I think you’re okay.”

“Stop it.” I swatted at his hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. I think you were holding your breath. You all right now?”

“I just got a little dizzy.” I ran my hand through my hair. I’m sure my red cheeks gave me away.

“Are you saying I make you weak in the knees?” He looked smug as he touched my bottom lip with one thumb.

“Did you
hear
me say that?”

“No, but I felt you say it,” he breathed into my ear.

“Well, you’re wrong. Try again.”

He laughed and found my lips quickly. This time I locked my knees and held on tight around his waist. I had to grab handfuls of his shirt to keep from going over.

“
Mmm
,” he sighed when he stepped back and looked at me. “How’re you feeling? Should I find a stretcher?”

I wished with all my heart that I could say something, anything, but I couldn’t talk.

“What’s wrong, Meg?” He’d stopped smiling and the look on his face made my throat tight. “Did you not want me to kiss you?”

“I did. So much. It feels…I don’t know…significant.” I rubbed my arms to stop the shivering.

He nodded. “Don’t be afraid, okay? This is significant for me, too. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Do you still want to ride Ben?”

“I’m not sure I can hold on now.”

He bit his bottom lip, considering something. “Yeah, you’re as clumsy as a newborn colt. Come on, I’ll figure it out.”

I took a slow breath and focused on how good I felt right at that moment. I wasn’t wishing time away. Things might never be normal again…but this was very, very nice, too.

Henry led Ben out of his stall and swung himself into the saddle. He patted the blanket behind the saddle and said, “Your seat.” He moved his boot and let me borrow his stirrup for a minute. Swinging my leg over was easy this time because Henry pulled me up. He reached for my arms and wrapped them tightly around his waist.

“Hold on, okay?” He clicked his tongue, and Ben walked out of the barn and into the pasture. “Ben’s careful and knows exactly what I’m asking him to do. I won’t let you fall.”

Henry’s thighs moved as he tapped his horse with his heels. Ben immediately responded by trotting. Then, Henry said roughly, “Let’s go, Ben.” He planted his heels into Ben’s sides a little harder. Ben lowered his head and flew—that’s the only way to describe it.

Henry leaned into Ben’s neck, taking me with him. We raced through the moonlight, my hair tangling behind me. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of hooves hitting the ground. The force of the wind in my face made it impossible to breathe until I dropped my head and buried my face in Henry’s jacket.

There was a boy. There was a horse. And there was speed. It was older than time, really. I hated for it to end.

After several amazing minutes, Henry tugged at the reins and leaned hard into me. I felt him using the strength in his back and shoulders to bring Ben under control. Ben reacted quickly and slowed to a trot. Henry turned him and headed back to the warmth of the barn.

He tilted his head and spoke softly over his shoulder. “Well?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” I was out of breath and a little dizzy. “That was amazing. Ben must be the fastest horse in Wyoming. That was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. Hands down.”

“There was nothing better that might have happened in a barn earlier on this very night?”

He pressed my arm tightly into his stomach.

“Of course,” I said. “
That
was the best thing I’ve ever done, hands down, without a doubt. This was not even a close second.”

“I was hoping so.” He laughed softly and twisted his gloved fingers through mine. “We’d better get back.”

When we rejoined our parents, they were still at the table, talking quietly. Clayton reached over and patted my dad on the back. Dad nodded and then rolled his shoulders, something he does when he’s stressed. He looked at me and, for a moment, his sadness rolled off him, making him nearly unrecognizable.

Miriam stared at the table, her face tense like she’d seen a ghost. I closed my eyes against the sight. It could only mean Dad had told them about Wyatt.

Henry looked away, out of respect, I think, and took the coat and gloves from me. Dad said goodbye and thanks to the Whitmires. Miriam smiled and hugged me, telling me to come back anytime. Clayton hugged me, too, and said, “I see why Henry’s fond of you.”

Henry walked us to Dad’s truck. Before I scooted in, he pressed a hand against the back of my head and said, “I’ll see you soon, Meg. Sweet dreams.”