Jackson Clay cocked his head and squinted down the barrel of his 12 gauge.

This was the last time that scrawny bastard would be messing with a girl of his. 

The shot echoed off the glass-smooth pond and bounced back off the woods beyond. The coyote collapsed in the alfalfa just feet from Jack’s young lady. She spooked at the sound of the shot and sprinted away toward the woods. 

Jack found her moments later, nibbling on some wild blueberries. Thank God nature somehow found a way to keep her from wandering too far. It was getting dark, and he had a birthing to watch.

“What you doing out here? I didn’t mean to scare ya. Come back inside and let’s not ruin your dinner.”

The young female goat ignored Jack and munched away at the blueberries. Soon enough, Jack’s border collie, Ranger, trotted up and gently nipped at the girl, rounding her up and hurrying her back to the barn for her nightly feed.

“Thank you kindly, Ranger.” Jack reached down and gave an ear scratch to the best border collie west of the Mississippi. He had better be. These goats and chickens were getting to be too much work for one man. If it weren’t for Ranger, there’s no telling how he’d keep them all in line. 

After feeding everyone and refilling the water troughs in the barn, Jack strolled to the far stall to check on the nanny goat’s labor. Alone in her warmed stall, the floor covered with clean straw, she paced back and forth, occasionally stopping to drink water.

Jack approached her and felt her sides. She would deliver soon, maybe within the hour. He ran to the house for supplies. Towels for the kid, a pillow, a book and shoulder-length rubber gloves for him.

He talked to her and she finally settled down and stopped her pacing. The nanny lay down in the straw and looked at him as he talked. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. I ain’t going anywhere.”

He lay back on a lump of fresh straw and cracked open his book, Once and Future King. He may as well have things to read on nights like this. He never knew how it was going to go. The book was one of his favorites and felt as familiar in his hands as his granddaddy’s shotgun. The straw smelled sweet, and through the open door he could see the sunset reflecting off the tree line and could hear the birds chirping their goodnights. The crickets were waking up. Ranger was outside the stall, settling down to bed with a sigh. It was rough being a farm dog, having the run of 200 acres of fields, woods and creeks, and bossing goats and chickens around the place. 

Life was pretty sweet right now for both Jack and old Ranger. But at this moment, he had a stirring in his belly that told him it would be nice to share all this with someone—this sunset, this springtime birth and the defeat of a pesky coyote. But he was OK. He was plenty well and good.

* * *

Maggie Jensen watched the gentle hills of eastern Iowa roll into view with a sense of comfort combined with sadness as the bus crossed the Mississippi. 

She wished she still had a smartphone to cling to. Something to focus on instead of what she was leaving behind and what she was hurtling toward. Something to fidget with. Anything to make her forget people were staring at her. But stare they did, because she was that woman. The woman with no jacket and no luggage, wearing nothing but a black and white server uniform. Anything to help her stop dwelling on that humiliating phone call that made her get on this bus. 

“Jane? Hi, it’s Maggie,” she had said, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment.

The voice on the other end was as welcoming as ever and recognized Maggie’s voice immediately. “Maggie Jean Jensen! As I live and breathe! How are things in the big city? Why haven’t you sent me a postcard? I’m still waiting for my free family membership card to all the wonderful art museums. Is that why you’re calling me, Maggie Jean? Are you finally gonna make good on that promise to a private showing of American Gothic?”

Maggie had not been able to stop the tears from falling as Jane, the only mother she’d ever known, spouted on about how exciting life must be in Chicago and how proud she was of her art historian foster daughter. 

Maggie had meant to hide the sniffle, but nothing gets by Mama Jane Blaise.

“My gosh, what is wrong, young lady?”

The whole pathetic story had tumbled out of Maggie in the next few moments. In short, things did not go as expected in Chicago. Not with her art history degree. Not with her boyfriend, Alex. Not with her miserable, drug-addicted housemates. Not with any one thing. 

Jane Blaise, or as Maggie and her foster siblings called her, “Mama Jane,” responded to the epic tale of woe with sighs and sympathetic noises of the kind that any compassionate mother would make. 

When Maggie was finished, Jane didn’t waste a single second waiting for Maggie to ask the question. She declared what would happen next.

“Get on a train, plane, bus, or get in one of those Uber things and get your little butt back home. The babies will be happy to see you again.”

“I only have enough cash to make it to Iowa City.”

“Your sister can meet you at the bus station. She will get you the rest of the way home.”

“This is too much, Mama Jane.”

“You can settle up when you get here. There’s plenty of work to be done. But just so you know, I’m headed out tonight on vacation. Greece! Gonna get myself a hot European boyfriend and come back and throw the biggest retirement party you’ve ever seen! Our farmhand Jack is there at the house. Don’t mind him. He’s taking over the day-to-day business. He’s a good man; he won’t bother you.”

Maggie was a little uncomfortable about the idea of staying at the house with a strange man after what she’d been through, and definitely more so with Mama Jane suddenly going off to Greece.

But she did not have much choice in the matter. 

So, Maggie had scrounged up enough of one night’s tip money to use an antiquated payphone at Chicago’s Union Station. The rest of her tip money was used to pay for the bus ticket to get as far away from Chicago as she could afford.

As the bus rolled into Iowa City, she recognized this place was ground zero of all her troubles. This was where she had the harebrained idea to major in art history at the University of Iowa. And this is where she’d met Alex, a sound engineer with big dreams of working in a major studio, recording and mixing all the great titans of industry. If she’d avoided only one of those decisions, she could have avoided the entire Chicago debacle.

Maybe she just wasn’t cut out for city life. Or working in a competitive field such as the art world. Or for picking a decent guy to follow like a puppy dog into the uncharted territory of being broke, robbed and ruined with no one to serve as an anchor.

The bus wheezed to a stop downtown, and she could barely bring herself to get out the door. 

But there, like an angel, was Maggie’s foster sister, Lily. Lily was not all that different from her but had experienced very different outcomes. Just 15 years ago, Lily, a foster kid herself, had walked into Mama Jane’s house as a child with only a dirty shirt on her back, and had eventually left Mama Jane’s house with advanced degrees and a job at the university.

Maggie tried to hold it together, but she fell apart as soon as Lily’s arms were around her. She was still 40 minutes away from home, but she already felt the blanket of love being tucked in around her. 

Lily squeezed Maggie tight. The two girls looked like they could be biological sisters. Maggie’s red curls matched closely with Lily’s straight red locks. They were the same height and similar shape. They had always been at an advantage in school; the red hair and pale complexions made fewer people ask questions. But there were plenty of other kids, of all shapes, sizes and skin tones. In the country, in rural eastern Iowa, it raised many eyebrows when a middle-aged woman brought five or more kids of all different lineage with her to buy groceries.

But to the friends and acquaintances of Jane Blaise in Middleburg, Iowa, the dozens of children that arrived and thrived at the Blaise place were simply “Mama Jane’s kids.” 

“So good to see you, Maggie. I missed you. Here.” She handed Maggie a folded envelope.

Maggie wiped her nose. She had her pride, but at this moment, there was no point in faking it. “Thank you, Lily. I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t be silly. In fact, if you want to stay here while Mama is on vacation, I can help you out. I have an extra room, I could help you find a job.”

“You’re sweet. I don’t want to be an imposition. I’ll just go home and be alone and figure things out. I might take you up on that offer at some point.”

“I hope you do. Meanwhile, I am taking you to dinner. No arguments.”

This was how it was with Mama Jane’s kids. No matter if any of the foster children were in her home at the same time, they were part of a vast network. Some of the kids never knew each other, but they all were forever connected to Mama, and she saw to it that they all took care of each other, no matter what.

“Some people need a little help all their lives, and that’s just the way of it. We help each other, no matter what.” That was her dictum, and they all followed it. Maggie hoped that one day she would be able to repay Lily for stepping in to get her home.

After dinner and people-watching on the pedestrian mall, Lily walked Maggie over to a nearby pre-paid phone store, with explicit instructions to stay in touch. Then they went to the nearest Hawkeye shop on the Ped Mall to pick out some Iowa gear: a black hoodie, sweatpants, shorts and a ball cap. Not because Maggie was feeling the school spirit for her alma mater, but because she was literally still in her work clothes from the night before.

Later at Lily’s apartment, she stripped off that dirty diner uniform, showered and changed into her Iowa gear. This was definitely not the look she had tried to cultivate while seeking a high-end job in the city’s art scene. But then, her leather jacket, expensive boots and designer frock (all bought on consignment, of course) were never going to be seen again.

But something about taking a shower and putting on fresh clean clothes helps a girl gain a new perspective, she thought to herself, as Lily’s Prius hummed out of the college town and into the rolling, wide-open countryside toward Middleburg. Maggie could not convince Lily to let her call an Uber. 

They got excited as they drove past all the farms they recognized, the ice cream shop on the ridge that looked down over the Mississippi River. The dollar movie theater downtown. Carrie’s Tavern, where they’d all tried and failed to get served beer as minors. Finally, they passed the Bryson Dairy, where Maggie had run and played with her childhood neighbor, Charlie Bryson, who was a nice kid, as she remembered. One of the high school kids in Middleburg who stood up for her when Chet Easley tried to spread salacious rumors about her.

They laughed and shared memories of growing up with Mama Jane. Maggie could not remember the last time she laughed. She hadn’t laughed much at all since the day she met Alex. What had happened to make her laughter go away? 

But that was all over. It was time for a fresh start. Fresh air. Sweet little animals who didn’t do drugs and steal your clothes and phones. The worst a goat could do was eat her shoes, but at least a goat was free of malice while committing the crime.

Free. She was poor as a church mouse, but free. She was going to be OK. She was going to be more than OK. She was going to be fed and refreshed and mentally well again. All was going to be well.