Judge Stone by James Patterson - 76

STONE FAMILY FARM BULLOCK COUNTY, ALABAMA

It was dusk when I pulled into the drive. I hit the brakes when Nellie ran out of the barn, waving both arms.

Made no sense for my sister to be hanging out in the barn. She’d come to the farm that day to await the delivery of my new living quarters. And it had arrived: A single-wide mobile home with skirting and temporary stairs was already set up between the barn and the bands of yellow police tape that surrounded the burned-out shell of my ancestral home.

I’d be living in a trailer for the time being. Despite the protests I’d received from friends and family, who believed I should be bunking with them in town. Because, as I repeatedly explained to those who tried to argue with me, I had a farm to run.

A farm that was dragging me down. I had to admit it: I felt weary, burnt out by my family farm obligations. It felt like I was carrying the world on my shoulders. Can’t do that forever. How much longer could I manage the physical labor required in the daily grind of farm life? My back and my joints were bothering me already.

I rolled down the window as Nellie reached the car. She was all worked up and breathing hard.

“It’s Tornado! She’s having that foal.”

I was out of the car, fast as my battered body permitted. “Are you certain?”

She made that face—the one that warns a person not to cross her. “I saw a tiny hoof poke out of her vulva. What do you suppose that signifies?”

With that report, I took off for the barn. Inside, I saw Tornado pacing in her stall. Her coat was drenched with sweat.

Nellie came up behind me. “When I saw how she was behaving, I got things ready. Mucked the stall and sprayed it with vinegar mix. Put down fresh straw.”

I was grateful for Nellie’s help. It wasn’t my first time witnessing the foaling process, but it was Nellie’s first. I was nervous as hell.

“The hoof, when did it poke out?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes ago?”

Ten minutes was a mite too long. It worried me. “Was it a front hoof? It should be a front hoof.”

“Damn it, Mary, I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to see anything. Didn’t you tell me she had another week to go?”

I thought she did. Maybe I’d missed the signs, too caught up in the Gaines trial to pay close attention.

I pulled out my cell phone, found the vet in my contacts. It was a relief to have him pick up on the first few rings. But when he answered, I could barely hear him. I bumped up the volume.

“Troy! It’s Mary Stone. Tornado is foaling, I need you over here!”

There was background noise on the other end of the call. Laughter, loud talk, dinging sounds. I thought I heard him say: “Can’t get there!”

“What?” I was shouting into the phone, determined to make him hear my end of the conversation. “Did you say you’re unavailable? We need you, Troy. She’s having that foal right now.”

His voice was clearer.

“It’s going to be okay, Mary. The mare knows what to do.”

I looked down at Tornado. She had dropped to the floor of the stall and was lying on her side. I could see that she was straining, trying to push.

“You can assist her, Mary, if she needs it. Go to the house and scrub up your arms. Then rub some lubricant all the way up your arms. You got K-Y Jelly in the house?”

Invoking the image of the smoking remains of my family’s home made my throat tighten. I coughed to clear it. “I don’t have a house. Got water and soap out here by the barn, though.”

“No house? What do you mean?”

More dinging on his end, and the sound of a happy shriek. “Troy, are you sitting in a casino?”

“It’s our thirtieth anniversary, Mary. I took Charlene to Gulfport to celebrate.”

My luck couldn’t get much worse. The vet was down in Mississippi, way out of pocket. Probably drunk. The drinks are free in those Gulfport casinos.

Overheard a shrill voice on his end of the call. “Troy! This is the one day of the year that your wife comes first. I swear, if you don’t hang up, I’m filing for divorce.”

Despite his wife’s threats, Troy hadn’t hung up on me yet.

He said, “If the foal won’t come on its own, you can help. You said one foot is out?”

Nellie was squatting behind Tornado. She heard the vet’s question. She gave me a thumbs-up.

“One hoof,” I said.

“Reach in there and see if you can grab the other one.”

In any other circumstance, I’d have been down in the straw with Tornado, doing it all myself. But the injury from the explosion inhibited my ability to move. I’d barely managed to sit in a chair all day.

Nellie followed Troy’s instructions. “I’ve got it,” she said, her voice triumphant. She looked up at me, smiling. Then her face fell. “Oh, my God.”

I watched my mare seize with a powerful contraction. Nellie cried out, and I stuffed the phone in my pocket.

“Oh, Lord, Nellie. You gonna be okay?”

If someone’s arm was going to be broken during the delivery of the foal, it should be mine.

Nellie’s eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth open with a silent scream of agony. Then, slowly, gradually, her face cleared, eyes opened. Tornado’s contraction passed.

Nellie pulled her arm out. She wiped the bloody fluid from her skin and gingerly felt along the forearm, assessing the injury.

“Is it broken?”

“No. Gonna be sore as hell though.” She heaved a weary sigh. “Mary, I’m never doing that again.”

I couldn’t ask her to repeat it. But maybe Nellie’s assistance had done the trick.

We watched as Tornado strained with another contraction, and the foal started to appear. The hooves first, both front feet, soles down. When the nose appeared, my heart started pounding with a mix of joy and anticipation.

My mare kept on straining, moving that foal through the birth canal. Once the head and shoulders were out, Tornado stopped to rest.

We were watching, waiting for nature to do its job, bring the foal the rest of the way. Tornado was taking too much time.

“I got to make sure the airway’s not blocked,” I said.

Nellie groaned. “You want me to blow?”

“I’ll do it. Help me get down on my knees, Nellie.”

It hurt, but with my sister’s assistance, I got down on the floor of the stall. Covered one of the foal’s nostrils with my hand, placed my mouth on the other and blew.

Not a pleasant task; the foal’s head was sticky with blood. But it was effective. Once my air passed into the foal, it breathed on its own.

Just a few strong pushes after that, and the foal was born.

My chest tightened with emotion as Tornado sniffed the foal. Started to nuzzle it and lick it.

“Look at that,” Nellie said. “She knows her baby.” Nellie wrapped her sticky arm around my shoulders and hugged me.

We got on our feet and leaned on the side of the stall, watching the mare and foal form their bond.

Within a few minutes, the foal made its first attempt to stand. Unsteady and unbalanced, it started with its hind legs, and then pushed up, one front leg at a time.

“I believe that’s a boy,” Nellie said.

“Looks like it,” I agreed.

As if overwhelmed by the news, the foal fell sideways with a grunt, landing by his mother in the hay.

Within minutes, he was up on all fours again, starting to take a few steps. After a few tries, he managed to find his mother’s udder and commenced to suckle.

“Definitely part of our family,” Nellie said. “Gets right down to eating.”

We laughed. It’s funny because it’s true. I nudged Nellie.

“I was considering calling him Thunder. What do you think?”

She scoffed. “You and those weather names. Tornado, Thunder. Foghorn.”

Foghorn. It was the first time all day I’d thought about my rooster.

I was quiet for a bit, contemplating that. My close call. The dangers the trial created. The uncertainty of the outcome, for everyone touched by it.

Then Nellie spoke. “This is what I miss about the farm. Times like this. Seeing nature at work, you know what I mean?”

I did know. Watching Tornado and her colt, it felt like I’d witnessed a miracle.

So miracles did exist. That was a good thing.

We’d need one in my courtroom.