The Land

by Mildred D. Taylor

  “Well, why don’t you help him out then?” said Christian, and he and his brother Percy picked me up and tossed me on behind Robert. One of them threw up the reins, then slapped the Appaloosa on the rump, and Robert and I went flying across the meadow. The Waverlys laughed.

  I managed to grab the reins, but seeing I was behind Robert, I couldn’t gain control of the Appaloosa. The horse was frightened, and I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. Robert was yelling at the top of his lungs, while all the time I was trying to rein in the horse. From far across the meadow I could hear the Waverlys yelling at us, but whatever concern they had was coming too late. The Appaloosa bucked and hurled us both off, and we hit the ground hard.

  “Y’all all right?” asked the Waverlys as they ran up. I could tell their concern was genuine. Their voices and their manner had changed. They helped Robert up, but I figured I didn’t need their help and pulled away when they offered it.

  “Y’all hurt?” asked Percy once we were standing. “Didn’t mean you any harm, just funning.”

  “Some funning,” I said, brushing myself off, but Robert seemed too dazed to speak. He just stood there, his right arm holding his left. “Is it broken?” I said.

  Robert just looked at me and didn’t answer.

  “Look,” said Christian, “don’t mention this to our daddies. We didn’t mean for this to happen. Didn’t figure you’d get hurt. Like we said, we were joshing, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, we’re sure sorry,” said Jack in sudden repentance as he glanced nervously back at the road, as if expecting my daddy and his at any moment. “It wasn’t right of us to put y’all on that Appaloosa.”

  Robert suddenly found his tongue. “Paul here, he could ride that Appaloosa, he had a fair chance.”

  The Waverlys laughed. “Yeah, sure he can,” mocked Christian. “Listen, nobody can ride that Appaloosa.”

  “Paul can,” said Robert with assurance.

  I cut Robert a sideways glance as the Waverlys again laughed.

  Robert didn’t laugh; neither did I, though I wondered where Robert was going with this kind of talk.

  “Wanna bet?” challenged my brother. “Paul, he ride the Appaloosa around this meadow without getting thrown, then he’s ours.”

  “You’re crazy!” declared Percy.

  “Paul gets thrown,” Robert went on, “then you keep the Appaloosa and we don’t tell our daddy or yours about what just happened. You don’t let Paul ride, then I’ll have to tell them everything . . . and about what happened to my arm.”

  The Waverlys stopped their laughing.

  “Got to make up your minds,” said Robert, still holding his wounded arm with his good one. “They’ll be back pretty soon, I expect.”

  The Waverlys looked at one another and decided. “All right,” said Christian. “It’s a bet.”

  It was then I pulled Robert aside. “You crazy?” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “What makes you think I can ride that horse?”

  “’Cause you can ride anything,” Robert returned.

  “I never been on a Appaloosa.”

  “Yes you have,” said Robert. “Just now.”

  I frowned apprehensively. “Don’t know wild horses.”

  “Paul . . . you can ride anything.” His confidence in me was unwavering.

  “Easy for you to say,” I retorted angrily. “And you could’ve asked me first!”

  “’Ey! This boy going to ride, he better go on and do it,” called Percy. “Our daddies’ll be back any minute now.”

  I looked again at Robert, then headed slowly toward the Appaloosa. I began talking softly to calm him, and when I reached him, I dug into my pocket and pulled out an apple wedge I had brought along for the horse I had ridden to the Waverly farm. The Appaloosa took it. I gave him a second piece and he let me pat his forehead. All the while, I was talking to him, telling him I would like to ride him and that nobody was going to slap him this time. I took the reins, then took the time to walk the Appaloosa around the meadow, talking softly to him and giving him apple wedges. Finally, when I knew there wasn’t much time left, I slowly mounted. The Appaloosa didn’t rear. I leaned low to his neck and laid my head against him. I stayed that way for a minute or two, then straightened. I kept on talking and pushed my knees gently inward, and the Appaloosa started across the meadow. Clearly, the horse had been ridden before, but not by the Waverlys. They were too clumsy to ride him.

  Again I leaned forward along the Appaloosa’s neck. “All right, let’s really show them,” I said, feeling akin to him now. Then I straightened, dug in my knees, and we raced across the meadow. I had no fear of the Appaloosa throwing me this time. I was as one with him. The Appaloosa ran wild and free, enjoying the run, and allowed me the pleasure of enjoying it with him. I was still on the Appaloosa when I saw my daddy coming on Ghost Wind. It was clear the course was finished, for Mr. Waverly was mounted beside him, and George and Hammond were walking their horses behind. I slowed the Appaloosa and went to meet them.

  “Don’t tell me you can ride that devil!” exclaimed Mr. Waverly as I jumped down.

  “Paul can ride just about any horse alive,” said Robert proudly, and looked pointedly at the Waverly boys. I noticed the arm he had been holding was now hanging normally at his side.

  Christian Waverly reddened, then said to his daddy, “Fact is, we made Robert here a wager, seeing it’s our horse and all. Said . . . said, um, if that boy there could ride him, the Appaloosa was his.”

  “Well, seems like to me he rode him all right,” said Mr. Waverly, who then turned to my daddy. “Looks like your son Robert’s got himself a horse. What about you?”

  “I think it’s time we talked terms,” said my daddy, patting Ghost Wind’s neck. “He’s a fine horse. As for the Appaloosa, we can talk about that too.”

  “Good,” said Mr. Waverly before turning to his sons. “Christian, you boys wipe down that stallion and give him some water. Don’t want these folks thinking we don’t tend to our horses.” Then he and my daddy dismounted and went to the house to haggle price. George and Hammond dismounted too, and took a closer look at the Appaloosa, then pulled Robert and me over toward the barn while the Waverlys took care of the stallion. “Now, just how did you two manage to get those Waverly boys to wager their horse?” asked Hammond.

  Robert and I looked at each other and laughed. Then we told them what the Waverlys had done. George laughed too. “So it backfired on them, huh? Quick thinking, Robert.”

  “Well, it was Paul who done it, got us that horse!” Robert exclaimed. “Besides, it serves them right for putting us on that Appaloosa in the first place.” He rubbed his arm. “My arm got hurt.”

  “Is it really hurt?” I asked.

  “Just sprained, I think.”

  It was then Christian Waverly came over to us and he said, “That white nigger of y’alls got y’all a hell of a horse.”

  George turned quickly. “You talking about Paul?”

  “Sure. Who else?”

  In one liquid movement George slammed Christian hard against the barn wall, then thrust up his arm and locked it under Christian’s jaw. “You talk about Paul,” George said, his voice calm, “you best remember one thing: You’re talking about us.”

  The other Waverlys stood startled and silent, watching from a distance. Robert and I stood silent too, not knowing what George might do. Hammond, as always, took charge. “That’s enough, George. Let him go.”

  George glanced over his shoulder at Hammond, then turned back to Christian and smiled before loosening his hold and backing away. Hammond then stepped up to Christian and said quite crisply, “You have to understand something, Christian. Paul’s our blood, and we make no bones about it. You have something to say to that?”

  Christian Waverly glanced at George and shook his head. “All right,” said Hammond pleasantly, then turned to Robert and me. “Paul, you and Robert take care of that Appaloosa now and let’s see about getting him home.”

  L
ate that afternoon we left the Waverly farm, and we took both the Appaloosa and Ghost Wind with us. My daddy rode the stallion, and Robert and I, with the Appaloosa between us, took turns holding his reins. We rode that way all the way back to my daddy’s house.

  After we were home, my daddy summoned Mitchell’s daddy to the stables. Now, Willie Thomas was mighty good with horses, and my daddy entrusted the most prized of his horses to his care. Willie Thomas knew their ailments and how to fix most of them. He saw to their feeding, their hooving, all their care, but he didn’t train or ride them. My daddy did that himself. By the time Willie Thomas arrived along with Mitchell, only I was with my daddy. Hammond and George were getting ready to go courting, and Robert had gone off to nurse his sore arm. “So, this here’s Ghost Wind!” Willie Thomas exclaimed when he saw the stallion. “He ride good’s he look, Mister Edward?”

  “He’s a fine riding horse, all right,” said my daddy, “but he needs training. I figure he gets that training, he could be the best around.”

  “Yes, suh,” said Willie Thomas, stroking the stallion’s forehead. “He sure got a good look to him, I know that!”

  “Now, Willie,” said my daddy, “I expect you to take mighty good care of this horse. I’m depending on Ghost Wind to win me more than a few races by the coming year, and I want him in the best condition possible. I’ll do the training myself, and I don’t want anybody sitting him besides myself and Paul here. Paul’s got a definite hand with horses, and I figure him to ride for me someday with his light weight.”

  This was the first time I’d heard this. I was actually going to ride Ghost Wind! I couldn’t help but grin, and I glanced over at Mitchell in my pride. But Mitchell cut me a sour look, then looked back at the stallion.

  Willie Thomas nodded. “Don’t ya worry none, Mister Edward. I take good care of this horse for ya.”

  “I know you will,” said my daddy.

  Beginning the next day, I worked with my daddy in training Ghost Wind. Sometimes George and Hammond helped with the training, but once they went away to school, it was just my daddy and me, and I learned a lot from him. At first my daddy did not let me sit Ghost Wind, because he didn’t think I could handle him yet. But finally one day he did let me mount and take the reins, and I discovered riding on Ghost Wind was what I figured floating on a cloud must be like. After that my daddy let me ride him a bit each day, and riding that stallion was what I looked forward to every dawn when I opened my eyes.

  Then there came the time when my daddy let me take Ghost Wind out alone. He was going into town, and he didn’t want the stallion’s training interrupted. He wanted me to put the stallion through his paces, both in the morning and the afternoon, but not to race him. I felt proud that my daddy trusted me to take charge of the stallion on my own, and I did exactly as my daddy said. In the morning I led Ghost Wind to the meadow, mounted him, and let him walk for some time around the meadow before I allowed him to break into a trot, then finally into a gallop. In the late afternoon I did the same, but all the time I was on the stallion, I was aware that Mitchell was watching me. He had appeared on the edge of the woods and had just stood there watching Ghost Wind and me as we went round and round the meadow. Finally, on one of our turns past him, he said: “S’pose you thinkin’ you a real somebody ’cause you can ride that stallion.”

  I looked down at Mitchell and stopped, knowing that despite our understanding, he was itching for a fight with me. Now, I don’t know what possessed me in that moment to say the next thing I did. Maybe I was feeling guilty that because I was my daddy’s son, I could ride Ghost Wind. Maybe it was that, but it wasn’t out of fear I said what I said. I no longer was afraid of Mitchell. “You want to ride him?” I asked.

  Mitchell took a step backward. It was obvious he hadn’t expected me to say that. “You know I can’t ride him,” he said. “Your white daddy’d kill me.”

  “You want to ride him?” I asked again.

  Mitchell looked at the stallion, then at me. “So, what if I do?”

  “You figure you can ride Ghost Wind, then get on. Just bring him back to the stable when you’re finished so I can rub him down.” I dismounted, leaving the stallion with Mitchell, and headed toward the barn. Now, I truly expected that Mitchell would come after me with Ghost Wind. After all, despite my invitation, I knew Mitchell couldn’t ride Ghost Wind. As far as I knew, Mitchell had never ridden more than a mule and had no idea how to ride a thoroughbred tornado like Ghost Wind. But instead of Mitchell following me, the next thing I knew, I heard a triumphant cry, turned, and saw Mitchell atop the stallion dashing across the meadow. For a moment all I could do was stand and stare. But then, as the stallion bucked, left the meadow, and headed for the woods, I suddenly found my legs and my voice, and I began running and screaming after Mitchell and the stallion. “Pull back the reins!” I hollered as I ran. “Mitchell, the reins! Pull back hard!”

  As fast as my legs would take me, I crossed the meadow, but there was no catching them. Ghost Wind and Mitchell were gone, hidden by the deep green of the forest. I chased them along a forest trail, then heard the cracking of branches, and a high shrieking curse, along with a loud snort, and my heart pumped faster. When I finally reached the two of them, I found Mitchell on his rear end, his hands against his head, and the stallion limping several feet away. My first thoughts were for the stallion; I wasn’t thinking about Mitchell. It was good to see him on his backside for a change.

  “Whoa there, Wind,” I said softly as I tried to get near the stallion. “It’s me, boy. It’s Paul.” I extended my hand slowly. “Let me take a look at you now. It’s all right. It’s all right.” The stallion pulled back at first. I kept talking, and he finally allowed me to touch him. He whinnied just a bit, and I patted him gingerly, trying to make him know me; then, when he was still, I took a closer look at his leg. There was a bad tear along his right foreleg, and there were scratches from the branches that had ripped along his sleek white coat. The scratches I knew would heal, but I wasn’t sure about the leg. The way Ghost Wind had pulled back, I feared a ligament might be torn or even his leg fractured.

  “He all right?” asked Mitchell, on his feet now.

  Without looking at him, I shook my head. “Don’t know. We got to get him back to the barn.”

  “Your daddy’s gonna kill me,” he said solemnly, yet with no fear in his voice, just a voice of matter of fact. “Course now, my daddy get t’ me first, he’ll do it. Don’t blame him this time if he do, though, ’cause he’s gonna lose his job sure once your daddy see that horse.”

  I just looked at Mitchell and took the reins. “Come on. Let’s get him back.”

  Mitchell nodded and, for the first time, followed my lead.

  Willie Thomas was waiting for us when we got back to the barn. “Ah, Lord, what done happened?” he asked, rushing over to the limping stallion. Willie stooped and examined the stallion’s foreleg, then straightened and glared accusingly at Mitchell. “Boy, you got somethin’ t’ do wit’ this?”

  Mitchell looked at him sulkily. “You’d think I did even if I ain’t.”

  “You tell me, boy! You been on this stallion?”

  “And so what if I was?”

  Willie Thomas hauled off and slapped Mitchell across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t ya get smart wit’ me!” Mitchell turned his head at the impact, but he didn’t fall back. It was as if he had already braced himself for the attack. “You done had somethin’ t’ do wit’ this here stallion bein’ cut up, I knows it!” Willie raved on. “You had somethin’ t’ do wit’ it, I gets the blame, and I lose my good job! Tell me what ya done!”

  Mitchell stared coldly at his daddy. He said nothing. I stared at them both, fearful of what was to come. Next thing, Willie Thomas pulled a whip from the barn wall. It was then that my daddy came riding up on one of his mares. He took one look at Willie Thomas holding the whip, another at Mitchell and me, then his eyes settled on Ghost Wind. He dismounted and walked over to the stal
lion. Unlike Willie, he didn’t inspect the stallion’s leg. He just glanced at it, then turned to face the three of us. “So, what’s happened to my horse?”

  None of us spoke right up. I knew that was because we all had the same fear. My daddy’s voice was soft, but we knew his mind. That was his prized horse standing there bleeding, and we knew he wasn’t about to take that lightly.

  “I asked a question,” said my daddy, and his voice was still low. “I expect an answer.” He looked straight at Mitchell’s daddy. “Willie?”

  Willie Thomas eyed his son, then cleared his throat. “W-well, now, Mister Edward,” he began, not looking at my daddy but at Ghost Wind instead, “th-these here two boys jus’ done brought this here stallion from them woods yonder, and they done brung him back all torn up like this. Seem like t’ me Mitchell, he done rode this horse knowin’ he ain’t s’pose t’, and I done told him that time and time again—”

  My daddy cut him off. “How bad is he hurt?”

  Willie Thomas now looked at my daddy. “Muscle all torn up on this leg here,” he said, moving toward the stallion’s right foreleg. “Don’t know if it’ll heal or not. Now, I can tend t’ it, but I can’t go lyin’ and sayin’ it’ll heal like it’s s’pose t’.”

  “What else?” demanded my daddy, glancing at the scratches.

  Willie Thomas followed his look. “Well, them there, they’ll heal all right. It’s jus’ that leg I ain’t so sure of.” He turned to my daddy. “It’s my boy Mitchell done this, Mister Edward, and I know there ain’t no way t’ make it up t’ ya if this here horse don’t heal right, but I jus’ ’bout t’ put a strap t’ Mitchell my own self ’bout what he done. I’m gonna put a strap t’ him right now, matter of fact!” With that said, he positioned his whip and turned toward Mitchell.

  “But it wasn’t Mitchell!” I blurted out, stopping him and surprising myself. After all Mitchell had put me through, I shouldn’t have cared if he got whipped or not. “Wasn’t Mitchell rode that horse! It was me!”