Chapter 1: Ayasha
This was one of the very first stories I ever wrote and it’s near and dear to my heart. It’s not perfect and I’m revising a lot of it as I post it to share with others, but it has a special place in my heart. It’s the first in a series and each of these men are now a part of my imaginary family. I hope you can enjoy it!
Rescue Team Nine is a military unit that is completely fictional. As far as I know, no such unit exists that consists of all branches of the military. Although the feelings and emotions expressed are real from my own experiences of having a father that served and being married to the military for several years, the rest is from my own imagination. This team has been playing around in my head for several years and have become family in their own right. It’s a series that’s been with me for a long time and I’m excited about sharing each of their stories.
Copyright © Sabrina D. Guthrie, 2024
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission of the author.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, to real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
Ayasha
Some secrets can change your life.
“You would think the Queen of England was coming for a visit,” Ethan whispers in my ear.
Rolling my eyes, I watch Ola flutter around the breakfast table, arranging flowers in the intricately woven baskets she’s spent the better half of the last month creating. Ola is short for Olathe, meaning beautiful. It’s a name I’ve called my grandmother for as long as I can remember. It fits the strong Native American woman who raised me. With the chance at life I’ve been given, her heart of gold and quiet determination inspire me. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t adore her, including myself. Everyone admires Ola’s courage in taking on the responsibilities of the ranch. I never had the chance to get to know my mother or my grandfather. Ola and the inhabitants of the ranch are the only family I know.
I still remember the afternoon Ada Mae recounted my grandparents’ love story while hanging clothes on the line out back one afternoon. I quietly sat in Gilligan’s lap while shelling peas, or at least attempting to. My five-year-old hands struggled with the task, but Gilligan never complained. Ada Mae and Gilligan were the first to receive aid from Wayward Ranch. Their one and only son got mixed up with drugs and wiped out everything the couple had worked hard for their entire lives. Left with nowhere to go, they found their way to our doorstep looking for work. Due to their age, Ola was the only one willing to give them a chance. She once told me that the only aspect that should be judged in a person is their heart. She was right. The couple became a fixture in my life, without which I’d be lost. They are a part of my ever-growing family, and Ada Mae knows how to tell a great story. Although she wasn’t around when my grandparents met, she was excellent at piecing the story together through several in our small community. Not that it was hard to do. It’s a community built on the gospel and lots of front-porch gossip. I sat there with purple fingers and listened as she recounted how my grandfather had gone to the nearby reservation to procure a new horse for the ranch. It was said that he’d laid eyes on Ola only once and immediately became captivated by her. Their love was legendary in our small, southern town where prejudice runs high. Both families frowned upon the match, but my grandfather was stubborn and persuaded a reluctant Ola to date him anyway. They kept their relationship private, often sneaking off at night to a secret location they’d discovered while riding around the Henderson Ranch. It didn’t take long for the couple to fall madly in love, and on one of their nightly excursions, they decided to elope. After days of preparation, they’d stolen away one afternoon and were wed by a minister in their favorite spot ... a spot I now claim as my own. Both families were angry, and many years went by without anyone speaking. Ola reconciled with her parents before their deaths. However, my grandfather never reconciled with his brother, whose ranch borders his. The land from the Henderson Ranch was split into two portions. A line was drawn. The feud grew.
Under the loving care of both my grandparents, our ranch grew and prospered. Despite the differences in culture and the family’s contention, Ola was known for her kindness. Folks were drawn to our ranch. It soon became successful as a working ranch and a safe haven for those lucky enough to find their way to the Henderson’s door. Ada Mae smiled when she recalled times with Ola and her grandfather together. He was good-natured and humorous, while she was warm-hearted and quiet. My five-year-old self yearned to meet the man that everyone spoke so highly of, but a heart attack took him away before I had the chance. The story that still circulates today recounts the strength of my grandparent’s love. A love so strong that Ola’s screams could be heard before grandfather was found in the fields he’d loved riding in. Even in death, their connection was strong. I believe that. I still find Ola staring off into the distant fields some days or walking toward the family plot on the hill. She speaks to him there and shares her days with him even now. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a love like that.
My mother, Rose, was born a year after my grandparent’s wedding. They named her after the flowers Ola favored. She was sixteen when her grandfather passed away, leaving Ola to raise a stubborn teen on her own while running the ranch. People still found their way to Ola’s doorstep, and our ranch earned its name Wayward Ranch from all the “misfits” the town declared she took in. Over the years, our ranch maintained a significant portion of its income as a working ranch while the other portion was turned into a non-profit organization. It’s a halfway house for families of those in need and a summer camp/school for disabled children. Ola went to school and earned her PhD in Special Education. I believe her daughter, the ranch, and its residents saved her from dying of a broken heart.
“The centerpieces are perfect, Ola. I seriously doubt a crew of military men will take that much notice.”
“Your father will, my dear. I want everything to be just right.”
I chop harder at the vegetables in front of me. Taking my frustrations out on the carrots and potatoes, it’s evident they’re losing the battle by the way they’re turning into mush. A hand covers the top of mine. Looking up, I meet Ethan’s eyes. Sighing, I relinquish the knife and grab for the kitchen towel draped over my shoulder.
“What father, Ola? Aside from pictures, I have never met the man. I may share his last name, but he is not my father.”
Ola’s hands go still. Moving a chair from underneath the table, she gestures to the seat next to the one she now occupies.
“Come. Sit with me.”
I know that gesture well; the voice is as recognizable as an old shoe. These tabletop conversations have been a custom throughout the years. Carefully draping the towel on the drying rack, I walk over to the table and sit. Ola has to know it’s hard for me to let go of the anger I’ve been holding on to for so many years. After missing twenty-one years of my life, my father is popping in like this is an everyday occurrence. He has to know he’ll get the cold shoulder from me.
“Ola, this is a conversation I refuse to let you win.”
Crinkles appear along her weathered face, evidence of the smile she’s fighting. I watch as she twists her apron around in her hands. It’s a nervous habit she’s developed when discussing topics she wants to avoid. This only serves to make me suspicious. Ola only gets nervous when there’s something she doesn’t want to tell me, and there have been several instances like this one in my life.
“I get the feeling you aren’t telling me something.”
“You are like your father in more ways than you will ever understand.”
I shake my head. I’m nothing like my father. Breathing slowly, I work hard to control my anger.
“I would never leave the ones I love.”
Ola lets go of her apron and grabs my hands in hers. She raises one hand to lift my chin, allowing our gazes to meet.
“Your mother understood your dad’s desire to save the world from the beginning. He loved being a rescue swimmer and his military career.”
“That’s no excuse.”
My gaze travels to the big bay window on the left side of the table. I notice some of the ranch hands unloading a truck full of feed. Ola has a heart of gold. She’s well-loved, and it seems impossible for her to feel hatred toward anyone. Her name fits. She’s beautiful from the inside out.
“How can anything, no matter how important a person’s career, overshadow your wife and child?”
She sighs. “Your dad always intended to return, but she would never answer his letters.”
Letters? I turn back from the scene outside. There’s a deep sadness in Ola’s eyes I don’t understand.
“She was my daughter, little one, and I know she loved him very much, so she asked him to leave.”
My mom asked him to leave. I look to Ethan for answers, but he is as confused as I am. He places a hand on my shoulder, and I take refuge in it.
“Leave?” I manage to whisper the question despite the sudden tremor in my voice. I already hate that tremor. Weakness is something I wouldn’t say I like to show. Not anymore. I’ve faced too much of that, but I’m starting to get a bad feeling in my gut.
She nods before reaching into her apron pocket and retrieving an envelope with Jonathan’s name written on the outside. I recognize my mother’s handwriting immediately. The envelope looks similar to the ones I’ve received on my birthdays.
“Your mother loved you and her Jonathan just as fiercely. She knew he was a free spirit. He loved her and adored her, and he was devastated when she asked him to go. She never gave him a reason; she just asked him to leave. Then she cried for days. She knew she could never travel with him, but she felt his restlessness growing daily. He tried to fit in on the ranch, but his heart belonged to the water, Ayasha, and your mother knew that. She didn’t want him to see her as frail or weak. It’s not how she wanted him to remember her.”
I did know. My heart aches for the mother I never had. Cancer does that. It comes in uninvited like a tornado and rips everything away. Ethan squeezes my shoulder. I reach up to squeeze back. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother, and he was one of the first children taken in by Wayward Ranch. My mind is trying to catch up to what my grandmother is telling me. That means he didn’t know my mother was sick. It also means . . .
“He doesn’t know, does he?”
As she pushes the envelope toward me, a sigh escapes her lips. It’s unopened, a testament to a letter never sent.
“No, he doesn’t know your mother’s gone.”
Silence fills the room. Ola looks around anxiously, her hands once again twisting around her apron. I suddenly feel sick. It takes all the strength I have to keep the nausea at bay. I suspect the following words that fall from my grandmother’s lips, but the blow to the gut is still raw.
“He also doesn’t know he has a daughter.”
