Page 115 of We Redeemed the Rain

She finished the treats, and I swiped my crumby hand down my bare thigh.

A flash of lightning lit the entire barn and Tillie jumped back, turning a frantic circle and tossing her head.

“Hey, hey! It’s okay.”

Thunder, so loud it rattled the walls, clapped over our heads. I hadno doubt now the storm was what upset Tillie. She reared back, gave a distressed whinny, and when her feet hit the ground she turned a circle. Full speed, nearly running.

The side of her body smashed into me, throwing me against the wall. A sharp pain flew down the back of my head and neck, and I fell into the wood chips with a cry of pain.

I gripped the back of my head with shaking hands, groping for my bearings as the world spun.

The thunder was unending, a slow diminuendo. I groaned then managed to shush her. “Tillie. Tillie, it’s okay.”

She was going to hurt herself, banging against the stall walls like that. All I could think of was her precious baby. Squeezing my eyes shut, I sat up and scrambled out of her path.

I wasn’t sure why Tag’s words from so many years ago came to mind. When we were in the hayloft, I asked what made him sad. He said,“Rain. Rain makes me sad.”

I reached for my guitar and scooted into the corner, the wood chips clinging to my clothes. Settling against the wall, I swiveled Glory around to my lap and strummed a quiet chord. Then another.

Tillie shuffled a moment then stilled.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. My eyes and face throbbed with radiating pain, but it would go away soon. The most important thing right now was Tillie and her foal.

I told her about Tag, the chords a backdrop to my story. “You know, I met Tag in the hayloft right above your head. He doesn’t like rain either.”

Tillie walked about nervously.

“But he liked the music. And when he was sad, the music made him feel better.”

I ran through a few chords, warming back up.

And I softly sang for Tillie.Yellow.ThenAmerican Pie.Then played the classics that calmed the boy in the hayloft.

The storm billowed and raged. Tillie stirred a few times, but she stopped banging herself against the stall, stopped jumping, stopped stamping her feet. She turned some nervous circles, but then settled in. Like she was listening to me.

And I got lost in the songs that brought us together.

They encircled my spirit and fueled the tears on my face. Tillie relaxed. I relaxed. The pain in my head fell to a dull ache. I felt my breathing grow deeper. My fingers slipped off the strings once, then twice.

A while later, the storm faded and so did I.

A voice pulled me from the deep.

A hand, warm and firm, on my knee. “Bea?”

Tag.

All at once awareness rushed in—the shavings irritating my bare legs, the crick in my neck from sleeping against the stall, the headache radiating pain down my back.

I opened my eyes.

Tag squated next to me on the stall floor, his brows furrowed in concern.

I released a breathy, sleepy laugh and croaked, “Good morning.”

My voice was a little raspy and tired from singing—a welcome feeling I’d desperately missed.

He frowned and shook his head. “Why you smilin’ like that? You scared me, Bea.”

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