A Better Idea

A/N: Annie's characters; My imagination.

This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend and fellow author latsacto.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Wednesday, June 29th, 1983

Ennis takes a walk at least once every day. At first not beyond the lane, then further and further each day. Jack didn't like it; thought he was risking a fall and further injury. But Ennis is not an indoor man, and rather than have him go stark raving mad, Jack relented, "But only" he said, "when someone is around to go with you." Most times it was Jenny. Often though, after getting Scarlet, Grey and Buck settled, with their stalls mucked out, fresh water and feed supplied, Bobby would ask Ennis if he was ready for his walk. Even though Ennis could not utter a word, Bobby treasured his time with his other dad. Not that he had risked calling him that again.

It got so that Ennis would anticipate Bobby being interested in a walk, so he would go out to the barn and wait while Bob finished up. He couldn't keep his hands off the horses for very long; soon he was helping brush one or the other of the horses. Within a few days, his stamina increased to the point that he took over all the brushing. He did this while Bob finished up the mucking and the feeding.

One-armed brushing wasn't bad; it was good exercise and it got Ennis into the place he felt most comfortable. The old familiar smells of horses, hay, dust and manure combined to link Ennis with his past while building his new habits in this new place. It was still painful for Ennis to bend over at the waist, his ribs not allowing him that freedom yet. He brought Bobby to each one of the horses and demonstrated how to check the hoof and shoe, how to feel their skin and muscles, to look in their eyes, ears, and also to smell their breath.

Ennis couldn't speak, so Bobby narrated what was being done every time and by doing so, imprinted in his own mind, what was required on a daily basis to keep up with the health and well-being of the horses under his care.

After a while, John began to notice that everyone was busy except him; he got to where he was lonely when the family left the house for chores in the morning. So he took to wandering out to the garden, checking on Claire and Jenny. He even picked off a few bugs, pinched back a few tomato suckers, and pulled a few weeds. And then as if he had nothing on his mind, but the weather, he would walk out to the barn and catch the activity going on out there. He noted with satisfaction the things Ennis was teaching Bobby. He saw how glossy and fine Buck looked, and was satisfied that he was getting ample attention. It did rankle though, to see how Buck nuzzled Ennis' neck.

John and Ennis both came to the table for meals now, no more balancing trays in bed. Ennis was still on a liquid diet, but he liked the congenial atmosphere of being at table, and he especially liked the prayers. Well, truth be told, he liked the part where they all joined together and held hands. For Ennis there was a flow of sweetness around that family table that he had never felt anywhere else.

Places at table had been settled for years, but with all the new family members, John worried that he would not be at the head of the table anymore. Probation or no, he was still the head of the family, and he didn't want to lose his accustomed place. He traditionally sat facing the door; Claire always sat to his left, closest to the kitchen, which made sense, and had just been the way it always was. Jack sat on his dad's right, across from his mama after graduating from the high chair, when he was old enough to sit on a chair by himself. So, for seventeen years, this was where they sat.

When Jack brought Ennis home, he had somehow moved to the foot of the table, sitting with his back to the door. Ennis sat to his left, across from Claire. That worked fine and they were able to reach across at prayer times. Jenny gravitated to her daddy's left hand side, and Bobby liked sitting next to Gran. This arrangement left John in his favorite place. When they had their prayer before meals, this meant that Bobby was holding JC's hand and his Gran's which he thought kind of traditional, and for that reason it was acceptable. 'Sides, he was across from Jenny and could look at her all he wanted without being obvious about it. There were no discussions about these places, they just were. And that's the way it stayed.

A week or two ago, Gran had pulled all the sheets and towels from all over the house, and wanted to get an early start on washing them, knowing it would be many hours of hanging out and drying before she could begin to put all the beds back together even with sweet Jenny's vitality and her inate helpfulness. As if he did it every day of his life, or any day for that matter, John said, "Claire, you and Jenny go ahead and git after your washing. I'll clean up this table and wash the dishes."

Every face turned toward the head of the table, every eye wide. Who was this man, and what did he just say? "WHAT?" he said, when he saw them all staring at him. "Act like I ain't never . . " he couldn't keep it up. Cracked a smile and almost sounded like he was chuckling. "Aw, you all go on about your business now." So they did. And John cleared the table, washed and dried the dishes (he didn't know Claire preferred them air dried) and cleaned everything in sight. He even swept the floor. 'Good to be busy.' he thought.

After that, John adopted the cleaning and washing up as his part of the day's work. He found he enjoyed it. Couldn't cook worth a lick, so he was grateful that there was something he could contribute that he could do well. Thinking it was a shame to waste good water, he carried a pail of dishwater out to Claire and asked her if she wanted it on her garden, "Yes, John, thank you."

From then on, he carried a full pail of dishwater to the garden following most meals. He was saving water and at the same time, building back some muscle that had atrophied while he was laid up in the hospital. He took to stopping at the edge of the garden and hefting the full pail with his right hand. He wasn't able to lift it very high, nor hold it long, but he improved every day.

Most mornings, Walter stopped by. Sitting on his new front porch, John talked about going to that Counselor that he'd had in the hospital; had liked her fine. But too far to go on any kind of regular basis, not to mention way too expensive.

Walter began to wonder if he couldn't work something out. Back down the road toward Rocky Point there's this little Community Center. Fancy word for just a small building, and a few swings and slides. Has a nice flag pole though. Anyway, what Walter had in mind was something that maybe could benefit the entire community. What if that counselor, or a different one, or even a rotation of them, could come a couple times a month, or once a week, and see folks out here, probably a lot more people than just John Twist had some issues to talk over. Anyway, now that Walter had that germ of an idea, he would get right on it when he got back to the house.

On this day, Walter was rambling on about a cook-out he was planning for the 4th of July, less than a week away on the following Monday. 'Course most folks celebrated the whole long weekend, and he and Iris were expecting to have a houseful. "Iris is doing up every bed in the house, and setting up a couple extra ones, as well" Walter claimed.

"The Cattlemen's is doing their thing too, of course, but we just have too many irons in the fire to go this weekend" he told John.

"You hear anything from Harold lately?" John asked Walter.

"Now I think about it, Iris said Margaret called; they might be back here this weekend. I hope so, almost forgot what my brother looks like. Still ugly, though, I imagine!"

"From the sound a that thunder, storm'll be on us within the hour, Johnny. I gotta git on home, Iris don't like me out drivin' when these big storms hit. She wanted me to help her move some stuff around this morning for our guests that are comin'. So, guess I'll see you at the cook-out, then"

"What?" asked John.

"Aha! Claire didn't tell you, then? They always say we don't listen, Johnny boy, so which is it? If I had to bet, I'd bet Sis told you, an' you forgot to listen. Your family is coming to our cook-out. There. You been told." Walter smiled at his old friend, clapped him on the back, and hurried to his truck anxious to get home and beat the storm.

Sure enough, it was a Frog Strangler, blowin' sideways and thunderin' to beat the band. Frequent bolts of lightning kept the sky lit up and cast a greenish glow on everything around.

Gran looked up from the embroidery piece she and Jen were working on. "I sure am glad we got all those vegetables in. They'd a been smashed to bits."

She looked admiringly at bushel baskets, cardboard boxes, even large stew pots, stacked around the kitchen counters and floor, holding tomatoes, green beans, squash, okra, cucumbers and carrots.

Earlier today, Grandpa and Jenny carried box after box of Ball wide mouth canning jars and lids from the barn into the kitchen. They washed every single one of them in hot, sudsy water and left them to air dry. Because there was no room left to put them anywhere, they packed all the jars back in their boxes and stacked them in the corner of the dining room.

While they were working together in the hot steamy kitchen, Jenny turned to Mr. Twist and asked him if he cared one way or the other, what she called him. He was so surprised by the concern in this girl's eyes, that he needed to grab a chair and sit down right quick. She got a chair too, and pulled up almost knees to knees with him, and explained her problem earnestly. "See I got a grandpa. My mama's daddy is Grandpa Beers. And I know you ain't my real grandpa, but Gran wants me to call …"

John put up a hand to stop her. Said "Oh my goodness Jenny. You don't need to explain nothing to me. Have you thought what would be best? What you'd like to call me?"

She blushed and nodded. "I been thinkin' maybe Poppa. Would you like that, or not? It's okay, I can come up . . . "

There was a soft, old handkerchief, clean, ironed and folded into John's hip pocket. He reached for it right quick, and dabbed at his eyes. Not that there was anything there, mind you. He put the hanky back in his pocket and took her hands that were on her knees, patiently waiting for an answer. "I do think you've come up with the perfect name. I will be honored to have you call me Poppa, Jenny."

Since the storm had made them all dash around madly and then start work on Rainy Day projects, they had not told anyone yet of their decision.

Gran said, "See Jenny, for your French knot, bring the thread up through the cloth where you want it to be at, hold the thread down there with your left thumb and circle the thread twice with .."

"Oh, I see how you're doing that, let me try, Gran."

John was leafing through a seed catalog and squeezing the green ball.

The wind howled and the lightning flashed. Couldn't even see out the windows it was coming down so hard.

Jack had started a list of all the things he needed to buy the next time he got over to Sundance to that Feed and Seed store. He was chewing on the end of his pencil, deep in thought.

Ennis was getting bored with his exercise routine. He decided to call Junior and see how everything was going with her; maybe see if she and Kurt could come up for the Holiday week-end. He walked over and picked up the telephone. Listened to the dial tone, and then placing his finger in the hole above the zero, he circled the dial, and waited for the Operator to come on.

"Yes, hello," he said. "I'd like to call Riverton, Wyoming. The number is .."

Jack jumped like he was shot. "WHAT THE HELL do you think you're doing?"

He grabbed the handset from Ennis' grip, and placed it back down on the old black telephone. By this time, he had everyone's attention.

Ennis stammered, "Jack, what. . "

"You tryin' to get your dumbass kilt? Jesusgawdalmighty, ENNIS!"

Ennis looked so perplexed, he was still standing by the phone, stock still.

"And get your ass away from there, please. WHY do you think they call this place LIGHTNING FLAT? Cause the lightning has knocked everythin' around here flat. And it would FRY you ASS in a split second, thinkin' you was a lightning rod, for sure." Jack was breathing like a freight train, it had scared him so bad.

"You don't have to treat me like a child Jack, you coulda just told me." Ennis was getting angry, and the red was climbing up his neck. He was goddamn sick and tired of being treated like an invalid, well, deservedly so. But he was tired of BEIN' an invalid. Frustration caused him to be resentful now.

All eyes in the room were on Ennis and Jack.

"Daddy ! What's this?" asked Bobby.

Jack's seventeen year old son was standing on the stairs holding up a hanger with two shirts on it.

TBC