FLASH FORWARD
Chapter 1: THE EVOLUTION OF FOLLYFOOT FARM
1997 —Steven and Dora Ross have been married twenty-three years. Their four children—Jesse, Julia, Michael and Sarah—are grown and leading their own lives. Follyfoot Farm is about to undergo a radical makeover.
Jason Stryker's first commission as a newly chartered architect was the restructuring of a farm property in the heart of Yorkshire—not exactly what he'd envisioned upon graduation from the Manchester School of Architecture, but an intriguing challenge nonetheless... and an offer he couldn't refuse as his personal attachment to that particular property ran too deeply.
Follyfoot Farm belonged to his fiancée's parents, Steve and Dora Ross. Jason himself had been born and lived the first two years of his life at Hollin Hall, the farm's residence. There he'd shared nursery and nannies with Jesse Ross—senior by one month—until his parents, Ron and Hazel Stryker, had moved into a home of their own in town. Although no blood relationship existed between the two couples, they regarded each another as siblings and the children of both families claimed cousinship. Jason Leyland Stryker and Sarah Prudence Ross, childhood sweethearts, became engaged the week he'd obtained his degree.
The estate Dora Ross née Maddocks had inherited in 1974 from her late uncle, Colonel Geoffrey Maddocks, had continued to generate income from tenancies and lease arrangements but the enormous manor house itself had remained vacant for nearly two decades while family solicitors battled government over the crippling inheritance taxes. It was finally agreed that the house and its immediate surrounds would go to the National Trust in lieu of death duties. The remaining acreage of meadow and moorland adjoining Follyfoot Farm to the south and west would be absorbed into the farm holdings. By then the original farm had already been considerably enlarged by acquisitions over time, as they'd become available, of adjacent fields and farmlands to the north and east. Enter the son-in-law-to-be—the newly minted architect and his shiny new sheepskin.
To Jason's chagrin the first project on the agenda was not a new residence but new barns, although he shouldn't have been surprised... the business of the farm had always been and still was providing sanctuary and rehabilitation for abused, neglected, retired or otherwise unwanted horses. Although Jason's education had focused primarily on single- and multi-family dwellings and secondarily on non-agricultural commercial construction, he threw himself into the scheme with alacrity, determined to achieve the most innovative and up-to-date equine stabling complex in Yorkshire if not the entire country. To that end he enlisted as advisor his best mate Ian Doyle, who was close to obtaining his degree in veterinary science.
In early 1998 construction began on two new barns just to the west of the existing structures. The North Barn was designed with an open interior, sectioned off entirely with prefabricated modular stock pens that could be reconfigured as needed. The South Barn had twenty permanent loose boxes, ten along either side of the wide central aisle.
Both barns were uPVC weatherboarded with concrete floors, drains, fluorescent lighting, electric bug zappers, automatic insect repellent misters and water troughs, gas infrared tube heating in the winter and cross-ventilating fans for the summer. A covered riding arena connecting the two barns doubled as a loafing shed. A separate building perpendicular to the west ends of the barns housed hay, feed, tack and farm implements. Electric carts ferried hay and buckets of pre-mixed feed in small trailers to each barn via covered walkways. A garden tractor pulling a larger tilt-bed wagon carried soiled bedding away to a composting area well-removed from either barn. Outside the barns, a series of interlinked paddocks led to the pastures beyond.
The completed structures were considered the epitome of modern domestic livestock housing, attracting the attentions of agricultural, architectural and veterinary students from all corners of the United Kingdom and a number of mainland European countries. Several special interest magazines featured spreads on the barn complex. Jason soon found himself being touted as the premier designer of luxury equine facilities in the region... and commissions started flowing in.
In the meantime, Steve and Dora Ross had carried on their long-standing argument over the fate of Hollin Hall once their offspring had flown the nest—gut and remodel the venerable farmhouse or build anew elsewhere on their property. Even with several mostly cosmetic renovations since the mid-seventies, the rooms were still dark and cramped and the staircase steep, narrow and dangerous. The antiquated plumbing was a nightmare. Electrical wiring was a disaster just waiting to happen—especially in the winter with electric fires blazing away in every room and fuzes popping daily. Air conditioning was non-existent. Mold, mildew and damp were pervasive.
Although acutely aware of the farmhouse's deficiencies, Steve maintained a high-tensile bond to the first real physical home he'd ever known. He wasn't opposed to yet another restoration but actively resisted the idea of building a new house.
Dora was adamant in her desire for a nice 'retirement' home with all mod cons. She deserved one and jolly well meant to have it. Plus, she foresaw mobility issues in the future—Slugger and Dottie, the surrogate parents who lived with them, were now seventy-nine and sixty-nine respectively. While she and Steve were still in their low forties and relatively physically fit, they wouldn't always be.
For every one of her husband's objections Dora had a firm rebuttal. Moreover, this was what she wanted... and they could well afford it. She didn't need to add 'and anyway it's my money'. That bone of contention had lain between them from Day One and always would. Her inheritance, her money.
Eventually Steve had grudgingly given in. Dora summoned Jason for what was to be the first of many consultations, his mind already brimming with ideas. Within minutes, however, whatever preconceived notions the young architect might have had concerning 'Aunt' Dora's vision of a dream home were swept aside...
In 1993 Jesse Ross had gone away to university in the States, where he'd met and married Anna Yvonne Halvorson and where he now lived with his wife and two young daughters. Yvonne's great-grandfather Gustav had emigrated from Norway in 1900, taking up land in southwestern Montana. There he established a cattle ranch called Telemark after his home county and stocked it with an imported foundation herd of the same name, a hardy red-and-white dual-purpose breed. The operation prospered and in the late 1920s Gustav built a magnificent home in the expectation of fathering a large brood of children. That hadn't happened. Handed down to a succession of only children, the sprawling multi-leveled edifice was situated halfway up a mountain slope graced with clumps of blue spruce, outcroppings of granite, and a sparkling stream that tumbled down the hillside to a pristine lake. The home's expansive windows, decks and terraces commanded a 180° vista of thousands of acres of lush green bottomland.
With the birth of their first grandchild in 1996, Steve and Dora made their first-ever visit to the United States where Dora—herself no stranger to the opulent manor houses of England's landed gentry—immediately fell under the spell of Telemark Lodge. (Yvonne later joked with faked petulance that her mother-in-law was more impressed with the house than with the baby!) Seeing that Dora was so enamored, Yvonne had copies made of the lodge's miraculously preserved original sketches, renderings, elevations and floor plans. Back in Yorkshire, Dora tucked these away for future reference, along with the many photographs she'd taken. She also began keeping a notebook detailing features she wanted in her future dream home.
Presented with Dora's compilation, Jason readily identified the 'mountain vernacular' or 'lodge' style of architecture popular in the Rocky Mountain states of the American Far West. This was what she'd in mind—redesigned on a smaller scale suitable for their less imposing environs. With mounting excitement, Jason realized this could be his entrée to the heady realm of international architectural design. It was all well and good to have a solid reputation as a builder of stables and barns but his ultimate goal was to become designer of choice to the überrich and famous whose spectacularly unique mansions regularly featured in Architectural Review. He wouldn't get there churning out affordable but mundane, characterless tract housing... or barns.
As with many nascent schemes, Dora's ever-expanding list of must-haves soon exceeded her admittedly hazy conception of just how large the house would have to be. When she'd brought Jason's first draft to Steve for his perusal, he'd scorned them. "Are you daft? We'd be rattling around like dried beans in a boxcar." She would have much preferred he'd shown some interest in participating in the process... but as he chose not to and said so, that was also the last time she sought his input. Steve continued to express indifference in the matter of the new residence, routinely expressing his opinion that a makeover of Hollin Hall would surely do as well. In the end, comfort and convenience—and, to some extent, necessity—trumped sentimentality.
In late August, a drunk driver failing to yield at a stop sign plowed into Steve's vehicle at an intersection. Although his injuries were not life-threatening, Steve's right leg sustained compound fractures of the tibula and fibula and his knee shattered beyond repair, requiring placement of pins in the broken bones and total knee arthroplasty. The orthopaedic surgeon informed them that although Steve could anticipate a satisfactory recovery, the road to restored health would be an arduous one. He'd be able to ride again—eventually—but most likely would experience difficulties with that leg for the rest of his life.
The surgeon went on to explain that although post-knee replacement physical therapy normally began within days of surgery, in Steve's case it couldn't be undertaken until the fractures and soft tissue damage had healed. They were looking at weeks of immobility followed by many more weeks of therapy, either in a rehabilitation facility or at home with a private nurse and therapist. Steve was insistent about going home and Dora, though terrified at the prospect, reluctantly agreed.
The home health care specialist who met with Dora at Hollin Hall was a kindly but plain-spoken older woman who managed to assuage Dora's fears as she assessed the environmental situation, compiled a list of what would be needed and efficiently made all arrangements. A hospital bed was installed in the dining room that, along with the front entrance, was the only room with double doors permitting passage of a standard wheelchair. A second specialized chair, of the sort used by airlines and designed for narrow aisles, would be needed later for access to any other rooms—such as the bath. At her last visit, when Mrs. Phipps was satisfied that all was in readiness for Steve's discharge from hospital, she suggested that Dora obtain from her own physician a prescription for Prozac as she most assuredly would be needing it. Dora politely declined at first, but—as it turned out—Mrs. Phipps was absolutely right.
Steve was not a good patient. In fact, he was a caregiver's worst nightmare... in turn obstreperous, truculent, morose, belligerent and uncooperative. Male nurses were thin on the ground in those days and the female nurses Dora hired from a reputable agency came and went so frequently that Slugger observed they'd have to install a revolving door. By the end of the second week, everyone's nerves were frayed. Slugger and Dorothy looked on sympathetically as Dora wept into her breakfast tea. In the background Steve could be heard bellowing at the current incumbent. Dot shrugged and commented to her husband, 'If he's still making noise it just means she's not pressing down on the pillow hard enough.'
Dora had to giggle in spite of her misery and mumbled, 'If she doesn't, I will.'
Later that morning Dora answered the telephone to find her close friend Elayne, far away in America, on the other end. 'Heard y'all was goin' through a rough patch, sugarbooger. You just hang tight an' Auntie Elayne'll take care a everythin'. Help's on the way.' It didn't occur to her until after she'd rung off to question how Elayne'd come by that information.
Two days later—just as Dora, Slugger and Dottie were about to sit down to breakfast—a gunmetal gray limo with a discreet British Airways logo on the door purred to a halt in the lane outside the window and a liveried driver hopped out, rushing around to open the door for his passenger. The three piled out the kitchen door to gawk at the apparition unfolding itself from the rear seat... the biggest black man any of them had ever seen, wearing khaki cargo shorts, a gaudily decorated guayabera shirt and rope sandals. The morning sunlight glinted off his shaved head and single gold loop earring.
Apparently answering an earlier question, the big man looked around appreciatively and pronounced in a stentorian voice what sounded like 'Yaz... dis be de place awride... smell dem hosses, you!' His eye fell on the trio eyeing him warily from the stoop and he smiled from ear to ear with big Chiclet teeth, thrusting forward an immense paw in greeting. 'Allo... I be Marcus an' I'se here ta he'p!' A minute sensation of déjà vu swept over Dora as she timidly offered her hand in return. Here to help?
It transpired that Marcus Demetrius Labasilier, RN, fresh off the plane from Louisiana, was one of Elayne's myriad cousins—as of yesterday on indefinite leave of absence from his normal occupation as chief physiotherapist at the New Orleans regional veterans hospital. And not to worry, he assured Dora, he was being very generously compensated for his time by his cousin for however long it might take. All they had to do was feed and house him.
Slugger hurriedly scrambled another six eggs and browned an additional pound of bacon and half a dozen sausages while Dottie led Marcus upstairs to show him to his room. There wasn't a doorway that he didn't have to duck to get through. When the current nurse entered the kitchen to fetch Steve's breakfast tray, Dora advised her (to the beleaguered woman's evident relief) that the agency's services would not be required after today's shift. After putting away an astounding quantity of Slugger's cooking and Dottie's homemade bread, butter and jam—with effusive compliments to the chefs—Marcus asked Dora for a brief tour of the farm.
Dora warmed to the big man immediately. As they perambulated he readily answered her questions about his background and qualifications, and seemed genuinely more interested in Steve's state of mind than the nature of the injuries themselves. Rehabilitation was as just as much about mending minds as it was about helping bones and joints, muscles and tendons to regain their facility, he said. Success or failure depended on how quickly and how effectively a patient's rage at his limitations could be redirected into a determination to overcome them. He asserted that he was absolutely inured to the erratic behavior of patients frightened by pain and the prospect of possible lifelong disablement, and that he'd soon have Steve back to his old, pre-accident self.
When suppertime rolled around and the agency nurse had left, Dora took Steve's meal tray to him, introduced Marcus, then prudently withdrew so that they could get acquainted. An hour went by, then another, without the slightest evidence of strife. Other than when sleeping, this was the longest Steve'd gone without complaining since coming home. When Dora poked her head in to check on things, it was to find Marcus explaining the workings of the two-way radios he'd brought with him, so that he could be summoned at any time he was away from his patient.
From that day forward the household ran like clockwork—or as well as it ever had prior to Steve's accident. Marcus became everyone's favorite and they soon became accustomed to his soft Creole French-accented speech. Dora was able to resume normal operation of the farm, secure in the knowledge that her husband was in the gentle giant's capable hands. No one had the temerity to question Marcus' kinship to the blue-eyed, blonde-haired, porcelain-white-skinned Elayne but he volunteered with a chuckle that he was from 'de wrong side o' de bayou'. As weeks passed he became as one of the family and Steve's progress was astonishing. Even the surgeon remarked on it.
Throughout September and October the rest of the family were diligent in keeping the patient distracted when he wasn't, as he put it, being tortured by his minder. Slugger entertained him with outrageous stories from his past and challenged him to zimmer frame races when Steve graduated to one from his wheelchair. Dottie plied him with exotic low-calorie goodies made from her Weight Watchers® recipes. Bride-to-be Sarah kept her daddy apprised of wedding plans. Julia and Michael, away at university, alternated coming home every other weekend to visit. Jesse, with his hugely pregnant wife and their two-year-old daughter, flew in from the States and stayed for a month. Ron and Hazel provided an endless stream of books, magazines and films on VCR. Seeing Steve was entranced with Pallas, the Ross' first grandchild, they made sure their contributions included many children's books that he could read to her.
Jason started coming over every afternoon with the latest sketches and renderings for the new house, which—for lack of any other convenient surface—he spread on the dining room table across the room from Steve's bed. Slowly but surely, Steve was drawn into Jason and Dora's discussions until he finally acknowledged to himself the advisability of being part of the process rather than an impediment. In fact—although he'd rather eat dirt and worms than admit it—he found himself becoming rather excited about it.
Although Marcus had been regularly taking Steve out for short drives ('He need de fresh air, him') and even shorter walks up and down the lane but not the stableyard ('Dem cobbles, dey be dang'rous!'), he knew his charge was desperate to get back on a horse. The day came when Marcus requested to be supplied with two placid beasts incapable of rising above a moderate shuffle. Steve's joyous anticipation was squelched when he caught sight of the two recruits from their stable of ancients: Henry, a lethargic cob with scarred knees, and Dolly, an elderly Percheron displaced by a John Deere tractor. But he decided to make the best of it and ride they did that day, with Marcus' firm grip on Henry's leadline over Steve's objections. Steve lasted fifteen minutes before admitting he needed to get off—his titanium knee was protesting being flexed in this new and painful direction.
They rode every day after that, for longer periods, on into November. The year drew to a close, capped by Jason and Sarah's December fifteenth wedding held in the same chapel in which their parents had married in 1974. Steve was ambulatory enough by then to escort his daughter down the aisle without human or mechanical assistance. Winter'd come early that year and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground... just enough to lend magic to the occasion. Dora suffered agonies of worry in case Steve slipped along the way. However, Marcus stuck to him like a burr, assisting him in and out of the automobile and into the chapel, with Steve grumbling the while and hissing for the big man to leave off, he wasn't an invalid! Yvonne, who had just given birth to the second grandchild—another girl, sent her regrets that she was unable to attend.
The next day, Marcus announced that his work was done, he was satisfied with the results and it was time he went home to his own family. Everyone was astonished to learn, after these many months, that the inscrutable black man was not only married but claimed six grown children of his own plus eleven grandchildren who would be very happy to have their granpère home for Christmas. One last trip to the surgeon's office confirmed that Steve was fully recovered. A going away party for Marcus was organized, during which many tears were shed all around, then he was gone.