Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  Ezra looks around the group, pausing in his story to find rapt faces. “You see, my father had nothing to lose. He owned his land, his horses, and had no aspiration to become anything other than what he was. We had a hard life, yes, but it was on his terms. He knew that Fredrick would refuse his condition and was relieved to be done with him.”

  Ezra leans back in his seat, settling into the telling, his eyes no longer seeing us but cast back to memories of his youth. “Not two weeks later a messenger arrived with an envelope of cash and the palomino. The note inside simply said ‘Deal.’”

  “Now my pa was caught. He had set the terms, and they were accepted. He was trapped by his own pride. He had never broken his word. So, we left the land and came to Brighton Valley.”

  Elizabeth reaches out and lays a hand on Ezra’s arm. “I never knew this.”

  “Of course not, ma’am.” He smiles at her and then turns back to us. “I tell you this so you know my father. He was a good man, and now he had a debt to pay. His services were owned for a five-year contract. Payment made in full. He rode that palomino to the gates of the estate. We came in a wagon behind, pulled by our two Morgans.

  “For five years he used his magic touch, training Master Thornton’s horses, bringing out in each one the skill to win. He could take even the most stubborn, the most listless horse and turn it into a champion. And he did. Time and again. That was where I learned to race. In those paddocks and fields behind the estate. He used me as a tool, to get the horses to respond to weight, to teach me his skill, and to train the animals and his son together. In the final year of his contract, Master Thornton bid for The Beast.

  “The stallion that sired him was from an old horse family in Ireland. Hundreds of years of breeding for the race in his blood. His dam was one of the top broodmares at the time. His worth was considered amongst the highest before the bidding, but your grandfather wanted him.” Ezra nods at Elizabeth beside him. “Something about that horse got to Fredrick, and he paid an astronomical amount to be sure no one could match his bid.

  “He was delivered before dawn. We were all up, waiting for the trailer to pull in. The sound of the truck hauling him split the morning air, and then, there he was. The trailer eerily silent as if it were empty. The truck backed up to the round pen, and my father released the gate to the trailer. When he sprung out, he was like a shadow.”

  Ezra’s voice is quiet, and I have to strain to hear him.

  “Local legend says he ran for hours. And he did. Just the sound of his hoofs beating, the blackness of him streaking by. No panting, no whinnies. We hung on the fence and waited. But the Beast flew by, he strode along the ground so smoothly, so sleek it wasn’t normal. No one talked, no one hooted or hollered. We just waited.

  “Every speck of him was black. As the sun rose and hit his coat, it shimmered blue with sweat, but he didn’t slow. After an hour, Master Thornton was going to intervene. Stop the horse from hurting himself. We knew if he ran much longer, he would die. If he didn’t slow his pace, he would do damage and be worthless. But my father stopped him. ‘Let him fly,’ he said.

  “He never asked Fredrick’s advice. He never asked permission. My father just did his job and did it well. This was the first time in five years Master Thornton ever questioned him, saying, “He’ll die, man, he’s too fast, he can’t maintain that.’

  “‘Look at him,’ my father said. ‘Horses die when they are pushed, Frederick. When they are frightened enough to run too far, too fast. That horse has no fear. No one is making him run.’ He nodded then to The Beast, and we all looked. ‘He’s having fun,’ he said.

  “I was hanging there on the rail, watching that flying shadow, and I wanted to have fun with him. He passed me around the second hour, but for the thousandth time. Nothing had changed, I hadn’t moved, but on that pass The Beast noticed me. I think he knew he was showing off.” Ezra chuckled and shook his head. “But he finally took notice of his audience and saw me. And stopped. He whirled in a dance like a ballerina on his hind legs and brought his front hoofs down right at my feet. We looked at each other then, and both our worlds were never the same.”

  I had heard this part of the story. But the retelling thrilled me. I clasped Nick’s hand in mine, and no one spoke. Not a single question was asked. We all sat, bound together in the past, looking in the eyes of a black horse. For an instant, every one of us was Canton Sidell.

  “Over the next year, as my father trained Black Bród, and as Master Thornton brought in riders, they left just as quickly. For although he would dance for my father, let me ride him, sleep on him, groom him, he let no one else touch him. The three of us formed a bond, my father, The Beast, and me. When the racing circuit began, Master Thornton paid me to ride him.”

  “We set records.” Ezra looked at Tuck. “We broke records. We won races. Until we were loved. And then hated. Every penny spent on Black Bród had paid off for Fredrick, but winning and never losing comes with a different price.

  “In Kentucky, in those days, horses were everything. Racing was the lifeblood. Everyone knew everyone, and all the horses were as famous as the families. But we didn’t belong. My father and me. We never quite fit.

  “Over the next few years, my father extended his contract. So I could race The Beast for Master Thornton. Then one day, one race, not even a big one. Just a warm up to the Roses. We were flying. Not ahead of the pack yet. Black Bród and I. I remember the moment I saw Captain Prince stumble. Three lengths ahead.

  “He had been juiced, pushed too far, was at the end of his racing days, and everyone knew it. He shouldn’t have been ahead, let alone by three lengths. And when he went down, I knew the horse was dead before its legs stopped moving. When you live with them like I had, you just know these things. The rider in front of us didn’t see Captain stumble, was too late when he saw the horse fall to do anything. When he went into Captain, his horse’s rear legs kicked the rider beside him. Now there were three—in a split second, three horses, three riders, all going down. About to be four. A rare event. So rare it’s legend today.

  “They didn’t fall fast enough for us to clear it. It was as if we were moving in slow motion. I saw each domino. Hated the consequences that would come for those horses and riders but prayed they would go down. Prayed we could avoid hitting them somehow.

  “But it was too late. We would hit, and I would lose my seat. At our speed, there was no way to avoid injury for both The Beast and me. I tensed for it.”

  Ezra paused. He closed his eyes, and we all held our breath, waiting for the fall.

  “And then, we flew. Black Bród saw what I saw. He was quick, not just on the track but his mind. He was a smart horse. Smarter than most men I’ve met. He saw it and made a decision. To jump them. Those horses were standing. Hadn’t gone down yet, riders astride at sixteen hands to a horse and a few feet for a rider and you see the impossible decision The Beast made. No horse has ever cleared that height, at that distance. I gripped his mane as his feet left the earth, felt the power beneath me in that final thrust. And we flew.”

  I couldn’t breathe with the tension. Ezra stopped talking and leaned back, eyes closed. No one moved. I wondered if that was it. That was the end. I liked it like that. Young Ezra and his horse. Flying, like a child’s fairy tale.

  But the end came, and I almost wished he had stopped with him and Black Bród in the air.

  “We cleared all three horses. Every rider. Came down in the green. I heard his bones break.” Ezra is whispering, and his eyes are pained. “Heard them snap like twigs as we landed. And then I flew farther. Thrown from my saddle, rolling in the green. And heard my own bones break.

  “The Beast never cried out. He didn’t scream, but he looked for me and we lay there, broken, until my father was suddenly standing above us. He held the gun to Bród’s head and looked at me. To make sure I knew. To make sure I understood he hated it. When I nodded, he pulled the trigger and I felt that bullet tear through my soul.”

 
Chapter 24

  I feel like I’ve been wrung out. Ezra’s story of The Beast leaves me with tears streaming down my face. I had looked over at one point to see Anabel’s face was wet as well. Even Laurel is shaken from the sad tale of Black Bród.

  Elizabeth rallies us together, claiming it is time she tries a bite of food, and we wander toward the tables on the street. Tuck is speaking to Ezra on the patio, and Laurel leaves them to talk, joining Nick and I as we pick through a dessert table. I don’t feel like eating, but Nick puts a healthy slice of pie on my plate and gives me a soft smile.

  “You knew the end, didn’t you.” It’s legend, so it only makes sense he knew The Beast died.

  ‘Yes,” he says softly, “but I had never heard it told like that.”

  “I don’t think anyone has, son.” Landen reaches around Nick and grabs a slice of berry bread. “That tale has circulated through stables and bars in this area for decades. I can see why now.”

  “Well, I for one am glad that Tuck trains and doesn’t ride. Safer.” Laurel nods her head and loads her plate with pie, sticky buns, and a slice of melon.

  “Where on earth are you going to put that, child?” Olivia eyes Laurel’s plate and then her lean frame.

  “In my tummy, Mama Donovan.”

  Olivia laughs and reaches for a piece of lemon cake. “Oh, to have the metabolism of the young.”

  ‘You’re gorgeous, Mom.” Lee kisses his mother’s cheek as I slip out of line and wander to a sunny spot on someone’s lawn.

  I feel the need to be warm, to let the sun into my bones and wash out the sadness there. “I wonder if Ezra ever rode again.”

  Elizabeth lowers herself beside me, a plate of sweet honey bread in her hand. “No, dear. He didn’t. I knew he rode, even raced, but I had never heard that story. Or knew he was The Beast’s rider.”

  We nibble on our sweets in silence, and I let my eyes wander around the neighborhood, observing the tidy houses, the people still visiting, eating, kids playing in the street or munching treats.

  “Thank you, Eve,” Elizabeth speaks softly, her eyes wandering like mine, taking in the sights and sounds of the spring day. “I had forgotten what human connection was like. To laugh and be among people, not above them.”

  She shakes her head, and I catch a glimpse of shame before she turns her face from me. We watch the little blonde girl chase Princess in circles. Her young voice giggling when the puppy catches her hand, nips at her dress.

  “It’s easy to become accustomed to having my way. Expecting my way. But it is hard to be alone. You were right.” She turns her face back to me and nods toward the Donovans standing together at the table, talking and joking, Lee trying to shove cake in Anabel’s mouth.

  “These are good people. I am not better than them. Just richer.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth.” I put an arm around her. “No time like the present to welcome them in. Maybe you should have a party.”

  She is quiet a moment, and then a big smile crosses her face. “You know, darling, that is not a bad idea.”

  “Come, Eve, you must meet the masses. No point in having you at my May Day if I can’t tour you around and introduce you.” Anabel holds out a hand to me and chirps over her shoulder to Nick, “Stealing your girl, be back soon!”

  “Oh, just a second. I just saw someone I have to drag over.” I catch sight of Doctor Eston talking to Laurel near Lee’s house and trot over. “Hi! I am glad you made it.”

  “I’m off to fetch Tuck, he’ll never leave poor Ezra alone if I don’t intervene.” Laurel strides gracefully around the back of the house as I smile up at the handsome doctor.

  “Doctor Eston, can you do me a favor?” I gesture for him to follow me, and he falls in step beside me as we return to my spot on the grass.

  “Well, you look chipper, Eve. I suppose that tells me all I need to know, health wise. And most likely, yes, I may do you a favor.”

  “Wonderful! I have to go with Anabel to meet strangers and be gawked at. Can you keep Elizabeth company for a bit? I hate to leave you sitting here since I invited you,” I apologize to Elizabeth, “but I won’t be long.”

  “Maxwell! Come join me.” Elizabeth pats the grass beside her.

  “Lady Thornton. Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” Dr. Eston looks genuinely shocked to see the famous Thorn Queen sitting eating honey bread in the grass, but he quickly replaces his astonishment with pleasure and sits down beside her.

  “They don’t have any scotch here, but I could ask Lee if he has more beer. Are you thirsty?”

  “Parched,” the doctor replies, and I skip away, happily thrilled that my plan to bring Elizabeth out of her lonely castle is actually working.

  * * *

  Anabel guides me up and down the street, introducing me to friends, neighbors, and strangers. It’s not as intimidating as I had thought it would be. Everyone is polite, and a few of the older women hug me.

  “You let us know if you need anything,” they offer. I wonder if they are the ones who had baked pies and casseroles. They seem like good-hearted ladies, part of a community that at the moment is reveling in the street like we won a war.

  I hear shouting and catch a glimpse of a man with an unkempt beard stumbling along the street. He loses his balance, clearly intoxicated, and stumbles into a trash can, knocking it over, spilling its contents into the street.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Anabel spins on her heel and marches over to a heavyset woman leaning against the hood of a car. “Clarabelle, let me remind you that this is my street, my home, my barbeque. I do not recall inviting you, so I will assume you are a guest to someone. But let me be clear. If you do not control your husband and silence your wild children, I will personally escort y’all by the ear to the police station.”

  Anabel’s voice is clear and sweet, but there is an underlying steel in there that let everyone within earshot know that she would follow through with her threat.

  Clarabelle shoves the last of her hot dog into her mouth and pushes herself from the car. “We wush jusht leavin any waysh” Her words are muddled around the food in her mouth, but she turns and gets into the car.

  The car horn blares three times causing me to jump and let out a little “Eek!”

  Four boys and two girls, of varying ages, all with well-worn clothes and in desperate need of baths, came running to the car. They pile in without a word, pushing and shoving as they find their seats. I notice that not one of them straps on a seatbelt.

  Her food swallowed, Clarabelle leans her head out the window and gives Anabel a big smile.

  “Y'all have a nice day now.” Her tone clearly conveys she hopes it rains on us, maybe some brimstone or acid. Then she opens her mouth and bellows, “Richard, you get your drunk hide in this car or you’re walkin’!”

  I feel Anabel cringe beside me. “I pity those children,” she says under her breath, and I can’t help but agree.

  Clarabelle’s husband picks himself up from a stream of plastic cups and paper plates, some with food still on them. He kicks a Pepsi can as he stumbles toward the car, and it skitters across the street to land at my feet. I subconsciously step away from the can, removing myself from anything to do with this man, this scene. It crawls under my skin and sets me on edge. I’m just grateful they’re leaving. Clarabelle and Richard are a stain on this lovely day.

  The movement of me hopping up on the curb away from the can catches Richard’s eye as he nears the car full of dirty children and his abrasive wife. He veers on wobbly legs toward me, a leer on his face, his eyes homing in on mine, and I see something new there in his blurry gaze. Recognition. He knows me.

  The thought freezes my feet to the ground, and I hear a ringing begin in my ears as he reaches out, perhaps not to grab me, but to keep himself from falling. But he does grab me, and I can’t move. His body drapes over me, his face sliding toward my shoulder, but my face turns with his, our gazes locked together as if physically glued. I can’t breathe, I can’t push him away
. I can’t scream, but I want to as I sense that this man knows my name. My real name.

  “You're Arthur’s little chicken. Little chicken.” He hisses it, before he stumbles again, dragging me down with him, and the ringing grows louder until my ears feel pierced with screams.

  As black dots begin swirling, I squeeze my eyes shut, but I let them win. I don’t fight the blackness as it takes me under. Just before I hit the ground, I recognize the screams as my own.

  * * *

  When my eyes fly open, it is Ezra’s face above me. I blink and focus and reach up to touch his cheek.

  “Ezra.” My voice sounds raspy in my ears, and I attempt to clear my throat.

  “You just be still, Miss.” His face is full of concern and gentleness. Gone is the stern, distant Ezra I had come to know. “Your Nick and his brother are handling it. Doc Eston is fetching his bag. Now lie still and don’t worry.”

  I can hear voices around me and attempt to sit up. “I’m fine. Really, I am.”

  With gentle pressure Ezra presses against my shoulder, keeping me on my back in the grass. “I’m sure you are, Miss Eve, but no need to move. Just wait till Doc clears you, and I’ll take you home.”

  I relax back against the grass and look into his pale blue eyes. He’s still. Not moving, hovering above me as if to shelter me from a storm. He’s a good man. Lonely and wounded like all of us. But good.

  “I am sorry about Black Bród.”

  “Oh, now. Don’t fret about my stories. That was a long time ago.”

  “But it still hurts, doesn’t it.” I say it quietly, so just the two of us can hear. He doesn’t answer for a minute as he looks away, his eyes not seeing the commotion or the street in front of him. When they return to mine, they are clear and I see honesty there.

  “Yes, Miss. Sometimes.”

  I say nothing more but squeeze his shoulder where my hand still grasps him. He smiles a bit sadly in acknowledgment and reaches for my other hand. After a minute or two passes, I hear Doc Eston’s voice as he approaches.