'Probably just wants to write it up in her magazine,' Diane said. Tom told her he thought that was unfair and that she should give Annie a break. Diane hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day.
They'd all driven to church in two cars and it was clear at once, to Tom at least, that something had changed between Annie and Grace. There was a stillness there. He noticed how when Annie spoke Grace now looked her in the eyes and how, after they'd parked the cars, the two of them linked arms and walked together all the way to the church.
There wasn't room for them all in one row, so Annie and Grace had sat a row in front where a shaft of sun angled down from a window, trapping slow convections of dust. Tom could see the other churchfolk looking at the newcomers, the women as much as the men. And he found his own eyes kept returning to the nape of Annie's neck when she stood to sing or tilted her head in prayer.
Back at the Double Divide later, Grace had ridden Gonzo again, only this time in the big arena with everyone watching. She walked him awhile then, when Tom told her to, took him up to a trot. She was a little tight at the start, but once she relaxed and found the feel, Tom could see how sweetly she rode. He told her a couple of things about the way she was using her leg and when it all clicked, he said to go ahead and move on up to a lope.
'A lope!'
'Why not?'
So she did and it was fine and as she opened her hips and moved with the motion he saw the grin break out on her face.
'Shouldn't she be wearing a hat?' Annie had asked him quietly. She meant one of those safety helmets people wore in England and back east and he'd said well no, not unless she was planning on falling off. He knew he should have taken it more seriously, but Annie seemed to trust him and left it at that.
Grace slowed in perfect balance and brought Gonzo to an easy stop before them and everyone clapped and cheered. The little horse looked like he'd won the Kentucky Derby. And Grace's smile was wide and clear as a morning sky.
After the vet had left, Tom showered, put on a clean shirt and set off through the rain for Hank's place. It was coming down so thick, the old Chevy's wipers all but gave in and Tom had to peer with his nose to the glass to negotiate a way through the flooded craters of the old gravel road. There were so many cars when he got there that he had to park right out on the driveway and if he hadn't worn his slicker he'd have been soaked by the time he got to the barn.
As soon as he walked in, Hank saw him and came over with a beer. Tom laughed at the T-shirt and even as he took off his slicker, realized he was already scanning the faces for Annie. The barn was large but still too small for all the folk packed into it. There was country music playing, almost drowned by the sound of talk and laughter. People were still eating. Every now and then the wind would drive a cloud of smoke from the barbecue in through the open doors. Mostly people ate standing up because the tables hauled in from outside were still wet.
While he chatted with Hank and a couple of other guys, Tom let his eyes travel the room. One of the empty stalls on the far side had been turned into a bar and he could see Frank helping out behind it. Some of the older kids, including Grace and Joe, were gathered around the sound system, going through the box of tapes and groaning at the embarrassing prospect of their parents trying to dance to the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac. Nearby Diane was telling the twins for the last time to quit throwing food or she'd take them right home. There were many faces Tom knew and many who greeted him. But there was only one he was looking for and at last he saw her.
She stood in the far corner with an empty glass in her hand, talking with Smoky who'd come up from New Mexico where he'd been working since Tom's last clinic. It was Smoky who seemed to be doing most of the talking. Every so often Annie glanced around the room and Tom wondered if she was looking for anyone in particular and if so whether it might be him. Then he told himself not to be such a damn fool and went and got himself some food.
Smoky knew who Annie was as soon as they were introduced. 'You're the one done call him when we were doing the Marin County clinic!' he said. Annie smiled.
That's right.'
'Hell, I remember him calling me when he came back from New York saying there was no way he was going to work with that horse. Now here y'all are.'
'He changed his mind.'
'Ma'am, he sure must of. Ain't never seen Tom do something he didn't want.'
Annie asked him questions about his work with Tom and what went on at the clinics and it was clear from the way he spoke that Smoky worshiped the ground Tom walked. He said there were quite a few people now doing clinics and things but not one of them was in the same league, or even close. He told her about things he'd seen Tom do, horses he'd helped that most folk would have taken out and shot.
'When he lays his hands on them you can see all the trouble just kind of fall out of them.'
Annie said he hadn't done this yet with Pilgrim and Smoky said that must be because the horse wasn't yet ready.
'It sounds like magic,' she said.
'No ma'am. It's more than magic. Magic's just tricks.'
Whatever it was, Annie had felt it. She'd felt it when she watched Tom work, when she rode with him. In truth, she felt it almost every moment she was with him.
It was this that she had contemplated yesterday morning when she woke with Grace still sleeping beside her and saw the dawn spilling in through the faded drapes that now hung unmoving. For a long time she'd lain quite still, cradled in the calm of her daughter's breathing. Once, from a distant dream, Grace murmured something that Annie labored in vain to decipher.
It was then she'd noticed, among the pile of books and magazines beside the bed, the copy of Pilgrim's Progress Liz Hammond's cousins had given her. She hadn't opened it nor had she any idea that Grace had brought it in here. Annie slipped quietly from the bed and took it to the chair by the window where there was just enough light to read.
She remembered listening wide-eyed to the story as a child, captivated on a simple literal level by the story of little Christian's heroic journey to the Celestial City. Reading it now, the allegory seemed obvious and clumsy. But there was a passage near the end that made her pause.
Now I saw in my dream that by this time the pilgrims were got over the Enchanted Ground and entering into the country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and pleasant; the way lying directly through it, they solaced themselves there for a season. Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth and heard the voice of the turtle in the land. In this country the sun shineth night and day; wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the Shadow of Death and also out of the reach of Giant Despair; neither could they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle. Here they were within sight of the City they were going to, also here met some of the inhabitants thereof. For in this land the Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon the borders of Heaven.
Annie read the passage three times and read no farther. It was this that had led her to call Diane to ask if she and Grace could come to church. However, the urge - so wildly out of character that it made even Annie laugh - had little, if anything, to do with religion. It had to do with Tom Booker.
Annie knew that somehow he had set the scene for what had happened. He had unlocked a door through which she and Grace had found each other. 'Don't let her turn you away,' he'd told her. And she hadn't. Now she simply wanted to give thanks, but in a ritualized way that wouldn't embarrass anyone. Grace had teased her when she told her, asking how many centuries it was since she'd last seen the inside of a church. But she said it with affection and was plainly happy to come along.