Running Barefoot (21 page)

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, 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 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 concert 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 unreadable. 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, turning away slightly, and kicked 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.

12. Interlude

August, 2000

A week before my junior year in high school, everything changed. Kasey Judd had lived in Levan all his life, just like me, his family having lived there for generations, just like mine. We’d been born a few days apart, in the same hospital, in the same year. We’d attended the same church, rode the same bus, and were in the same classes. Up until ninth grade, I was taller than him, and he wore braces and glasses. His curly hair was always unruly, his shoes always untied, and he constantly challenged me for first chair in the school band, which I found slightly annoying because I regularly trounced him. He had been a fixture on the periphery of my life, all my life - like the comfortable couch in the living room, or the patterns on the walls. Just another boy - until I fell in love with him.

Kasey’s dad was the football coach at Nephi High School, where every kid in the county, including Levan, was bussed to school. I played trumpet in the school band, so I attended my share
of football games and cheered for my share of football players. Tara had a thing for football players, but I really wasn’t interested in hearing about every single player, their stats, the position they played, the way they looked in uniform. Tara knew everything about everyone, and I mostly listened with an uninterested ear. Her ability to talk non-stop without any encouragement from me made our relationship work. I never had much to say, she couldn’t shut up, so it was a win/win all the way around. She was the only person I knew who had business cards touting her gossiping skills. The cards said “If You Want to Know How or Who, Ask Tara Ballow” (Ba LOO). I suppose her chatter filled a feminine need in me - by this time all my brothers had graduated, married, or moved out, and I lived at home with my dad. He was almost as quiet as I was, which meant girl talk, or any other kind of talk, was pretty scarce, and Tara happily filled the void.