by Robyn Carr
Then there was that whole Hopi/Navajo thing; their tribal traditions and customs. Tons of it was ingrained in her as her grandfather never let it go. She never tried to deny her connection to the Native community, but she’d been trying to get some distance from all of that for a long time. She felt she could be a proud Hopi woman without being constantly steeped in all the old tribal stuff. After all she was also French, German, Polish and Irish—or so her mother had told her grandfather. She never did give Lilly’s father’s name, but she knew his heritage.
Lilly’s mother, only a teenager herself when Lilly was born, had left her to be raised by her grandparents. She ran off, no one knew where. Friends from the Hopi reservation had heard that Lilly’s mother died, but had no proof or details. But Lilly and her grandparents had never heard from her again, and neither of them had bothered trying to find any more information about her.
Her grandfather was a strong, formidable man. When her grandmother was alive, he’d treated her as if she were made of solid gold, but Grandma still let him make all the decisions. Lilly was not looking for one of those old-world tribal relationships either—one of the reasons that when she did date, which was rare, she stuck to the beige race and avoided those too-hot-to-handle Native men.
She’d been in love with a Navajo once. She had been a mere child of thirteen and he’d been eighteen. He’d pressed every button she had—he was a temptation so powerful she had defied her grandfather to be with him. But she’d gotten much more than she could handle. And when their relationship had met its tragic end, she swore she’d never be tempted by another like him. Never.
No doubt that was why the sudden appearance of Clay shook her. He was at least equal in handsomeness to that long-ago boy who had devastated her. No, not equal. Clay might have been the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Huge. Powerful. Exotic.
Lilly drove the pickup around yet another curve en route back to the feed warehouse when she came upon something that caught her attention—a black mound in the grass on the other side of a poorly maintained barbed wire fence. A horse, lying on the ground. It was not an altogether unusual sight, but Lilly slowed. As she neared, she kept sensing that something was not right about this. Then she saw the horse thrashing on the ground.
When Lilly and her grandparents had lived back on the Hopi reservation, she’d been around her neighbor’s horses a great deal, and had done a lot of riding as a young girl. But since Lilly and her grandfather had moved to California when Lilly was thirteen she’d been around feed more often than the animals that ate it. Her grandfather had bought the feed and grain business, but he didn’t keep any livestock. She rode rarely now, and only in the last couple of years, but she still remembered a lot about horses.
She pulled onto the shoulder and watched the horse. The mare jolted suddenly, rolled a bit, then stood and attempted to stretch out, curling her lip and pawing at the ground with her front hooves and kicking with her hind. Then down she went again.
Shit, Lilly thought. That horse was sick. Very sick. The only house in sight was on the wrong side of the road, but maybe someone there could direct her to the owners of this pasture, this horse. She went to the house, and an unshaven man in a T-shirt answered the door. He didn’t know the name of the horse’s owner, but he knew where it came from. He gave her directions up the road to the next turnoff and another quarter mile to an old farmhouse and barn. She went quickly, and what she found there stunned and confused her.
She called Dr. Jensen’s cell phone at once. “Nathaniel, I found a sick mare by the side of the road and the owner’s property is deserted. It looks abandoned. No one in the house, all the furniture’s gone, a couple of real skinny dogs are hanging out around the barn, the feed bin’s half-full of grain and trough’s empty. The horse is rolling, kicking, curling, sweating…”
“Where are you, Lilly?”
“Off 36 and Bell Road at a crossroad called Mercury Pass, but there’s no road sign. A neighbor directed me to this old farmhouse. The horse is rolling around just off Bell near 36.”
“I know the property,” Nathaniel said. “That’s the Jeromes’. As far as I know, they just had the one horse—a twelve-year-old black mare. But I haven’t been out there in about a year…maybe longer.”
She was, in fact, a very pretty black mare with back stockings and a diamond on her forehead. “That’s her. She’s a beauty. And she’s in a bad way.”
“I’ll be there soon as I can,” he said, clicking off.
Lilly wanted to get back to the horse, but she couldn’t resist a quick check of the barn and around the outside to be sure there weren’t any other casualties—horses, goats, cows or chickens. The small corral was neglected and full of manure, the barn was a filthy mess, manure and trash littering the place. There was no gear for the horse in the barn that she could see, no bridle, saddle or grooming gear. Behind the barn she found a chicken coop, the door left open, a few broken shells on the ground and a lot of scattered feathers. Had the chickens been left as food for the pumas, coyotes and wild dogs?
She’d seen enough. She jumped in the truck and sped back to the roadside. The horse was up again, stretching out her legs and curling her lip. She was in abdominal pain—that was clear. She kicked at her midsection a little, unsuccessfully, and then she was on the ground again, rolling around before lying listless and sweating. Lilly jumped the fence and kneeled at the horse’s head, stroking her snout and murmuring that everything would be all right, though she wasn’t the least confident about that.
It seemed an eternity before she saw a truck pulling a horse trailer come into view. When it came closer she saw that Nathaniel had brought his new assistant with him. Just as they were getting out of the truck the horse was struggling to her feet again, going through all the same motions.
“What’s going on here, Lilly?” Nathaniel asked. He braced both hands on a fence post and leaped over the barbed wire while Clay went to the back of the horse trailer and opened it up, lowering the ramp.
“She’s acting like colic, Doc. And like she’s had it awhile.”
“You find anyone around the Jeromes’?”
“No. It’s like they ran off. There was a chicken coop behind the barn, door standing open, broken eggs and a lot of feathers. You don’t suppose…?”
“That they left the horse in the pasture, the henhouse door open, the dogs to fend for themselves?” Nathaniel pulled back the horse’s lips to look at her gums. He listened to her stomach for gut sounds and felt her tight belly, an action that made her prance a little. “This sort of thing hasn’t happened in such numbers since the Depression, or so my dad tells me. With unemployment so high and money so tight, folks are faced with hard choices. Sometimes they have to decide between feeding their kids or their animals. Some abandon their property, mortgages and animals and just look for shelter.”
“They took their furniture,” she said. “The house is empty. So is the grain bin and trough. Think it’s possible they put out the last of the feed and left some water for this horse and she gorged herself?”
“Anything is possible. A few weeks ago some folks from downriver found a dead seven-year-old gelding by the road, starved. I didn’t know the horse. Someone who couldn’t afford to keep it might’ve taken it to an empty pasture and left him, hoping it would be rescued.”
“They couldn’t’ve sold him?”
“In this economy? It’s tough.”
Clay joined them, a halter and lead rope in his hand. Nate took them from him and said, “You mind fetching my bag, Clay? And please, draw up 10cc of Banamine.”
“Got it,” he said.
“What can you do, Nate?” she asked him.
“I’ll get her temperature, make sure she’s not diseased. They could’ve poisoned her to put her down before leaving her, but I’d be surprised by that. Most folks who run into situations that force them to leave their animals behind hope for the best. If we have advanced colic, I’ll give her some Banamine for the pain, r
un a stomach tube into her and administer some mineral oil, see if that moves things along. If it’s an intestinal twist and she needs surgery…well, let’s hope it’s a blockage…”
Lilly bit her lip; she understood. Nathaniel couldn’t do surgery, hospitalize the equine patient and care for her while she was at great risk of expiring. She was an orphan. No vet could afford a lot of expensive charity cases.
When Clay returned with the bag and drug, Lilly stepped back out of their way and marveled at the way they worked together. Clay wasn’t flirting now; he was focused on the horse and assisting his vet. Over the course of about thirty minutes, the animal was agitated, stretching and kicking. Clay had the halter on her and held the lead rope so he could control her movements somewhat, keeping her upright so she wouldn’t twist her intestines, but he mainly stroked her and held her as motionless as possible while Nathaniel first completed his exam and then injected her with Banamine. That seemed to almost immediately quiet the animal. But she wasn’t real crazy about the stomach tube that was run down her throat.
It was amazing the way Clay and Nathaniel worked together, as if they’d been in this situation a hundred times before. When the mare was resisting the tubing, Lilly stepped forward to help in some way, but Clay’s hand came up, palm toward her. “No, Lilly. She’s in pain and when she’s thrashing, she could kick you. Stay back, please,” he said quietly, calmly.
After the mineral oil was infused and the tubing removed, the horse moved as though she’d go down again, but Nathaniel instructed Clay to try to keep her up, walking her slowly and quietly. If she continued rolling around on the ground, she increased the chances of twisting her intestines into a knot.
“Will you take her to your stable?” Lilly asked Nate.
“Not anytime soon,” he said. “Maybe later, if the oil works on loosening up a blockage. The truth? This horse is lucky if it’s a blockage and there’s a little movement because putting her in the trailer in her condition isn’t going to be good for me or her—she’s bound to kick it into tin cans or hurt herself as she struggles to ease the pain in her belly.”
“You’ll leave her here?”
“Probably have to, Lilly. But with any luck, the treatment will work and we’ll find a relieved horse by morning. You can go, Lilly. Clay and I will take it from here.”
“But… But will you leave her alone out here?” she asked.
“We’re not going to leave her in this condition. I’ll stay until I see which way it’s going. And if it gets worse…”
She stiffened immediately. “What?” she said.
“She has no owner that we can find and she’s in pain,” Nathaniel said. “If it gets worse, I’ll put her down.”
“No—”
“She’ll get every chance and every possible treatment, Lilly,” Clay said, his low voice soft and gentle. Reassuring. “We won’t let go of a horse that has a chance.”
“You promise?” she asked.
“Promise,” he said, giving her a firm nod. “Go on home. You’ve done enough. And thank you.”
She backed away almost fearfully. “No. Thank you,” she said. “Please take care of her.”
“Of course,” Clay said. “Try not to worry.”
As Lilly backed away, she muttered, “How could someone just leave her like that? Abandon her…?” But Clay and Nathaniel didn’t hear her; they were busy working with the horse.
When Lilly delivered feed for her grandfather, who everyone called Yaz, she used one of the company trucks. Her personal vehicle was a little red Jeep, which she’d park in the rear of the store. She spent the majority of her time managing invoices, ordering supplies and cutting payroll checks. Two afternoons a week she’d take out one of Yaz’s company trucks, and one of the guys who worked for him would load up the back each time she returned empty after deliveries. She made several runs to smaller stables and horse properties. The larger orders to big ranches and farms were handled by Yaz and a couple of his employees on the flatbed truck. Yaz was sixty-nine and still strong as a bull. Some farmers and ranchers grew their own feed; some picked up their feed and saved a little money.
Lilly took the pickup keys and clipboard to Yaz’s desk at the back of the store. “Got it done, Grandpa,” she said, handing off the paperwork and keys. “Need anything more from me today?”
“Thank you, Lilly. Any problems I should know about?”
“The delivery went just fine. Dr. Jensen is taking on another horse tomorrow so I’ll increase his delivery for the next time.”
“Does he need a special run?”
“He didn’t ask for an extra delivery, just an increase. I looked in the feed room and he’s well stocked. And he has a new guy working for him.” Her grandfather didn’t even look up from the signed delivery receipts she had handed him. “Virginia went ahead and retired the second the new guy was on his way,” she said. He nodded at his paperwork. “He hired himself an assistant. Big guy. A Navajo.”
Yaz looked up then and connected eyes with his granddaughter. He smiled just slightly. “Is that a fact? Why’d he come here?”
Lilly almost blushed; she had no idea because she didn’t ask him about himself at all. He had asked her questions, general flirting and being friendly she supposed, but all she knew of him was that he was Navajo and could carry two bales at a time. “I didn’t really talk to him. Just to say hello, that’s all.”
“Is he good with horses?”
“Yes, he… Grandpa, on my way home I found a sick horse by the road. Probably colic. I called Nathaniel and he came out with Clay—that’s the new guy’s name, Clay. They came right away but what we found out, the people who owned that pasture where the mare was and the house and barn that went with it, they cleared out and left their animals to starve. Nathaniel says they’re seeing more of that sort of thing all the time because of the economy and unemployment.”
“People who were having a hard time before are having a harder time now,” Yaz said.
“He said sometimes they have to choose between feeding their children and their animals. But there are rescue groups! Why wouldn’t they call a rescue group?”
Yaz looked up at her, his dark eyes gathering a little moisture, the flesh below and at the corners crepey and wrinkled. “Even the rescue groups are stretched to the limit. Then there’s pride and shame,” he said. He leaned back in his old desk chair. “When a man is running out on his debts, he doesn’t usually say goodbye.”
“You’d think whoever did that could’ve swallowed enough pride to let someone know the animals were left behind,” she said.
“You’d think,” he agreed. “The horse going to be all right?”
She shrugged. “Nathaniel was treating her with pain medication and mineral oil when I left, even though there’s no one to pay him.”
Yaz looked down at the clipboard again, paging through her collection of deliveries. “Well, at least she got the best, and at a bargain.”
“True,” Lilly agreed softly. “You’ll want to meet the new man—he grew up around Flagstaff.”
A smile hinted at the corners of Yaz’s mouth. “It will be good to see a neighbor, even an inferior neighbor.” The Hopi and Navajo had long lived side by side, alternately getting along and squabbling. “I look forward to knowing him. See you on Sunday.” That was the day they set aside to eat together at his house. It was a traditional house—Lilly cooked. She also made sure her grandfather’s house was clean and his laundry done.
So much for her nontraditional ways….
“Sunday,” she echoed, leaving the warehouse.
Her heart was still heavy, however. It was likely Lilly had an issue with this business about the horse for more than one reason. Lilly’s mother had abandoned her when she was an infant, leaving her with her grandparents on the reservation in Arizona. Lilly’s grandma had passed when Lilly was nine and while Yaz was grief-stricken, he was not intimidated by the prospect of raising her alone, without the help of a woman. In fact, it wa
s possible he’d risen to the occasion. He seemed to relish his parenting duties. And at thirteen, the boy she’d loved had run out on her, leaving her high and dry, and with bigger problems than she knew how to deal with. Abandonment was an issue for her and she knew it.
It was that same year that Yaz brought her to California. He heard about the sale of the feed store from a friend of a friend, and for his entire life on the reservation he’d been saving and investing for just such an opportunity. That had been fourteen years ago. She hadn’t moved out of her grandfather’s house until she was twenty-five and that had been a difficult transition; he clearly wanted her to stay with him forever or at least until she was married.
While Lilly was on her way to her little rented house at the edge of Fortuna, she realized she’d have to go back to that pasture. She needed to know if the horse was there alone, if she was hurting, if she was sick, if she was… Her mind couldn’t form the word dead. She needed closure. And if Nathaniel and Clay had left her alone, Lilly would be the one to stay with her until she was either recovered or… Again, she couldn’t allow certain potential outcomes to enter her mind.
But when she did allow her mind to go that far, she knew that if the horse had to be put down, Lilly would stroke her head and send her off with loving words.
By the time she got home, fixed herself a portobello, cheese, pepper and tomato sandwich and wrapped it, a couple of hours had passed since she’d first found the horse. She grabbed a bag of soy nuts and almonds, a bottle of apple juice and one of water. Then she dug through the detached garage for an old sleeping bag that smelled vaguely of storage. If the horse didn’t have serious digestion problems, she’d have taken a few carrots and a couple of apples, but the mare would be off food for the time being.
