'Why does she keep pushing back the curtains and peeking out the window? Now what's she think I'm up to?' Sam mused as he crossed the yard without taking the time to look back to see if she actually was at the kitchen window. He did not have to see her to know Gerty was still there. It had been years since he needed to verify his suspicions. He knows her too well to believe she trusted him once out of her sight, so he wearily trudged to the barn and puled open the door without looking back.
Buck pawed at the dirty straw that lay on the floor of his stall as Sam scooped a few oats into his feedbag, "Patience old friend," Sam said. 'If the old woman knew for sure I was giving you oats every evening she'd have my hide,' he thought. Sam opened the stall, put the feedbag strap over Buck's ears and tightened it into place then went on about his business. The gentle grinding of oats could be heard as Sam swept the stall and shoveled the dirty straw into the wheelbarrow. The rhythm of the broom and shovel scraping the stall floor blended with the grinding of oats to make familiar music for Sam and Buck's evening waltz.
Sam's practiced movements made quick work of the dirty straw beside Buck. "Come on old boy move over, I'm just doing a little quick cleanup. You know I'll do a proper job tomorrow." He raised his hand and gave Buck's heavy flank an affectionate slap. Buck didn't move until Sam lowered his shoulder and gave him a more demonstrative shove. "Move over old boy." Buck responded to the sum of Sam's comparatively light weight with a small sideways step. Sam cleaned the area Buck vacated and shoved him again. They both knew the pattern of their unspoken back and forth, their well-practiced duet.
The barn was quiet when Sam returned from dumping the soiled straw on the pile out back. He threw down a little new straw that would do until tomorrow and put his tools away. When he came back to the stall to say goodbye, he leaned against Buck's shoulder and patted him on the neck. "You are an uncommon friend, old boy." Buck nodded his head in response to Sam's soothing tones. Sam removed the empty feedbag and hung it up by the large bag of oats as he left the barn to return to the house.
The screen door slammed, rebounded and settled into place behind him as he entered and locked the door. From the mudroom Sam poked his head into the kitchen and looked to see what was for dinner. When he saw Gerty at the stove with a pot on every burner he said, "Gad woman, you're gone daffy on me, have you? It's not Sunday, Lass. Why all the food?" 'Yep, she's up to something,' he thought. He could see that the corners of her apron were all wrinkled where she had been worrying them and there was some paper sticking from her apron pocket.
Gerty turned from her work and said, "Don't you be tracking in here with those filthy boots now. Every evening you're out there cleaning out Buck's stall and what all. I swear, you treat that horse better than family." Gerty turned back to the stove while Sam washed up and seated himself at the kitchen table. The recently mended leg on his chair gave slightly as he sat down.
Sam shifted his weight carefully as Gerty brought a platter of roast beef, some mashed potatoes, gravy and bowl of cooked carrots to the table. He loaded his plate while she took her time joining him.
"So my dear, why all this fanciness?" Sam asked, then thought, 'I wish she'd just get on with it.'
Gerty had never had much luck knocking him off track. She cleared her throat and attempted to speak and merely made an inarticulate squawk. Tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to run down her cheeks. Eventually she got out, "We got the new mortgage statement today."
Sam had spooned a lake into his mashed potatoes and was filling the depression with steaming hot, dark brown gravy. "It's first of the month, so why's that got you all upset? By the by, could you pass over the carrots and butter?"
