Marshal's Law

MARSHAL'S LAW #3: LIFE IS SIMPLER WHEN YOU PLOW AROUND THE STUMP

“Mom,” Luke called through the door. “I’m catching a ride with Marshal.”

Surprised, Monica jerked to find the time.  They still had over an hour before church.  Where were they going?  Pulling a rust colored sweater over her head, she snagged her boots and hurried to find out.

She opened the door and nearly bumped into Ashley.

“Oh.  Hey, mom,” she said. “I’m going, too.  I’ll see you at church.”

Monica checked her watch again.  Yes, she read the time right.  “Where are you guys going?”

“Church,” Ashley answered shortly.  She kissed her mother’s cheek and turned to leave.

Monica stared after her.  For a moment, she considered demanding more information.  After all, it just didn’t fit.  They never left for church this early.  In fact, usually, the kids would be licking the syrup off their forks right about now.  She’d be hustling them away from the table, snatching their plates and fussing a bit about the time. 

But no one was late today.  The kitchen was still clean.  No one had eaten their cereal.  It didn’t even look as if they’d drunk a glass of juice. 

A door slammed, Marshal’s truck rumbled in the silence and Monica sank into a plush chair.  The house seemed to echo with emptiness. 

Where had they gone?

She would have been worried if they weren’t with Marshal, but he would never let anything happen to her kids.  Never. 

But she did feel a little hurt.  Left out.  And very, very alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Monica tarried, puttering around the house in search of aimless tasks to keep her mind off the empty house.  She still left too early.  Worse: when she got to the church, Marshal’s truck wasn’t waiting in its usual spot.  It wasn’t in the parking lot at all.

Shifting in the car’s faux leather seat, she fingered her cell phone.  She only hesitated because it was Marshal.  But, even with Marshal, something could have happened.  Her thumb stroked the keys.  That was when they pulled into the parking lot.  Loud and laughing, they tumbled out of the cab. 

It pierced her to be left outside of it.

Her eyes trailed her children into the double wide church doors.  The knock on the window next to her startled her right off the seat.  Hand over her heart, she found Marshal at the glass.  Feeling a bit like she’d been caught, she gathered her purse and bible and got out of the car.

They walked a few steps before she mustered the courage to speak. “Where’d you all go?”

“The kids were hungry.”

Monica’s eyes slid to Marshal.  Hurt and betrayal pierced her heart. “I had breakfast . . .”

Marshal shrugged.  “They wanted their Sunday pancakes.”  He watched his foot kick a stray rock.  “So did I.”  Hardly missing a beat, he added, “The crew’s headin’ to the farm after.”

Monica stopped just in front of the doors.  Her eyes felt wide. “Everyone?”

He nodded. “We got some apples to pick.”

Monica lit up, a real smile that flooded more than just her features.  It felt as if someone had just dumped sunshine into her soul.  “Really?”

The man in front of her looked for all the world as if he were trying to fight back a grin.  His mustache twitched with the effort.  “I’ll even do the cooking, seeing as how you’ve gone on strike.”