And Then There Was Her

by Tagan Shepard

  She looked past him to the big, soft eyes of the horse. She had a shimmering chestnut coat thick as a carpet and beautifully long, curling eyelashes. “So how long will she be out of commission?”

  “She’ll get a nice little manicure first before we replace the shoe. Won’t take long, but she’ll get the rest of the day off anyway. Too late to drag her back out to work.”

  “And you get the rest of the day off if she does, too, don’t you?”

  “You’re quick.”

  They arrived at the stable and Madison got her first up-close look at the building visible from her front porch. It was impressive, with wide barn doors hanging open on one side and beautiful dark siding wrapping around the whole structure. There was an addition sitting off to one side that did its best to match the work building’s façade but had the air of something else about it. Whatever it was, that section clearly had two floors whereas the barn was a single story with a deceptively high ceiling.

  The temperature and light in the stable dropped markedly. After her eyes adjusted, Madison could make out a row of neat stalls with curving half doors of the same dark wood of the exterior and wrought iron hinges redolent of the expert work on the winery gate. Each stall door had the Minerva Hills logo burned into it like a brand on cattle. The floors were worn hardwood, which surprised Madison in its extravagance, and the whole place smelled like clean hay and some sort of malty grain that she assumed was feed for the tenants.

  Only one stall was occupied. A petite horse with a platinum mane watched the three newcomers with a lazy, disinterested stare under drooping eyelids. Boots led his horse to the far end of the room and clipped her into a lead hanging from the ceiling. He stripped saddle and blanket from Violet. Both horses seemed docile as old cats, which set Madison at ease. She sat on an upturned crate at the end of the stalls and watched Boots collect tools.

  “Who puts the shoes back on? A blacksmith?”

  Boots tapped his own chest with a pair of pliers that would have looked at home in a torture museum. “That’s me, but it’s farrier, not blacksmith.”

  “You? Really?”

  “Why do you think they call me Boots?”

  “Because you told them to.”

  “Okay, yeah, that’s true.” He leaned against the horse and lifted her foreleg up, setting it on his thigh and clipping the edges of her hoof with the massive pliers. “But it’s also because I shoe the horses.”

  “I thought you worked with the grapes, not the horses.”

  “I do both.” He went to work on the hoof with a file, smoothing it out with the skill of an expert pedicurist. “CS brought me on as her assistant and I liked the horses, so I learned how to take care of them too. She needed the help anyway. It’s a big stable for her to manage alone.”

  “I didn’t know she took care of the horses.”

  “The grapes, the horses, the wine, and runs the business. She doesn’t sleep much.”

  The blond horse whinnied and Madison jumped, nearly falling off the crate.

  “That’s Buttercup. She’s a bit of a drama queen.”

  “Oh.” She relaxed, looking around the room, noting the exposed beams in the ceiling and the meticulous cleanliness of the whole place. She’d always thought stables would be dirty and smelly, but she’d been in messier living rooms than this place. “This is a nice barn.”

  “It’s nicer than most.” He placed the horse’s foot back down, patting her back as he went back to the table to exchange tools. “Do you like horses?”

  “I don’t know anything about them.”

  “I picked up on that.”

  “They’re beautiful and I’m sure they’re wonderful animals. They’re just…really big.”

  “Did you hear that Violet? She called you fat.”

  “Not fat! Tall.”

  He picked up her foot again and Madison was amazed to see how easy the horse was for him to handle. She seemed to trust Boots, despite the hammer in his hand and the wickedly curved nails bristling between his teeth.

  “They’re sweet when you get to know ’em, but they can be a little intimidating. A place like this must be hell for a city girl like you.”

  That was the second time she’d been called a city girl and she was starting to resent the implication. She could handle country life and was even starting to enjoy it. Still, it was hard to be angry at Boots. With his impish grin and big brother teasing, his statement felt more like an observation than a criticism.

  “I thought it would be for a while, but I love the quiet here. And the light.”

  “I don’t find it quiet exactly,” he said, banging the last nail into place. “But then you do very different work than I do.”

  “I guess so.”

  “How are the pots coming along?”

  She thought about the one this morning. The flopping mess that could have been beautiful and the cheap imitation she made after she screwed up the first one.

  “Okay.”

  “Where do you sell them? Or are they just for museums or whatever?”

  “Mostly whatever right now. I’m working on getting a solo show together, or I was before I moved. The gallery I was working with is in Denver, so I don’t know if I can make it work now that I’m here.”

  “Tough way to make a living.”

  “Tell me about it. I used to sell some of my pots in this little boutique place in Denver. Tourists mostly. The cost to ship them back from here would mean I’d lose money though.”

  “What about here?” He unhooked Violet from the wall and walked her around on the lead, his eyes on her new shoe. “There’s the shop up at the main building.”

  “I thought it just sold your wine.”

  “You really haven’t gotten out much have you? They sell all sorts of local stuff up there. Soap, jewelry, some sort of essential oil perfume. CS lets them all sell in there.”

  Madison tried not to get too excited—after all, Boots wasn’t in charge and CS didn’t seem to like her much. ”You sure there’s space? I mean, it would be nice, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Trust me, there’s plenty of space.” He led Violet to her stall, slipping her bridle off once she was secure inside. “Hell, you could probably sell them for double because they’re made here on the estate. These rich Minerva Hills devotees would eat that up.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Sure thing. You’ll sell out in no time. Wanna come up and take a look?”

  Before her nerves got the better of her, Madison agreed and they walked up together, leaving Violet and Buttercup alone in the sleepy cool of the barn. The sun hung low, Boots chattering away and Madison only half-listening.

  The sun’s departure did nothing to dispel the heat of the day, but it did cover the world in a blanket of orange light. The colors of the sunset were rich and thick, almost tangible in the vast openness. She wanted to study those colors. Memorize them in what she knew would be a vain attempt to mimic them with her glaze. Minerva Hills Sunset. She would try, next time she mixed glaze, to find the right mix of chemicals to capture this exact tone.

  Just when she turned her full attention to Boots’ conversation she was distracted again, this time by an increasing rumble. By the time they finally arrived at the entrance to the winery, it was a deafening roar.

  As the summer progressed, more people descended upon Minerva Hills. Madison saw them from the windows of her studio, but it was something else entirely to be among them. The lobby teemed with people spilling out of the tasting room and both restaurants, their conversation filling every corner of the massive lobby. Madison winced at the crowd, but Boots strolled casually through them, heading for the one place that appeared to hold little interest for the hungry, thirsty crowd. Madison followed at a trot, slipping into the shop as a trio of women, each carrying a bulging shopping bag, emerged into the crush.

  She saw that the shop wasn’t quite as small as she thought. There was wine for sale, and a lot of it, but the rest of the s
tore, hidden from view from the outside by the rack of bottles, held all manner of goods. It felt like a mix between an art museum gift shop and a farmers’ market. Along the back wall was a display of hand-blown wineglasses and necklaces that impressed Madison with their delicate craftsmanship. Soaps wrapped in brown paper on the next shelf made the whole room smell like a rose garden in the spring. Local honey, artisan chocolates and hand-dyed scarves dotted tables and display racks crammed so tightly into the limited space that the few shoppers in the room had to squeeze between them.

  Picking up a small, dark brown bottle with a hand-printed label, Madison found the perfumes Boots had mentioned. She unscrewed the top and the concentrated scent of lavender filled the room. According to the label, the oil came from the lavender growing in the Minerva Hills vineyard. Apparently it was a companion crop, grown in between the vines to help condition the soil and enhance the terroir, whatever that was. Even as Madison stood there, another shopper walked up, read the placard on the table mentioning the origin of the perfume and immediately snatched up the only other bottle. Her friend, standing just behind her, eyed the bottle Madison held with a sort of visceral longing. The moment she set the bottle back down, the other woman snatched it up and hurried to the register.

  “I told you, didn’t I?” Boots murmured into her ear. “Just mention that something’s made here in the vineyard and people will buy it. They didn’t even smell the stuff. Didn’t look at the price. They’re practically begging to buy your pottery.”

  “Oh, I see, you think I need a gimmick to sell my work?” She teased, watching the women hand over credit cards so shiny they may have been chrome plated.

  “No harm in having a gimmick. Just think how many zeroes you can slap on the end of those price tags. You might even consider throwing a little commission my way. You know, since I lugged that big oven into your house for you.”

  “It’s a kiln, and you didn’t lift a finger.”

  “I supervised. It’s a very important job.”

  “Oh yeah. Essential.”

  It was amazing how a few words with a new friend could dramatically alter Madison’s mood. Her anxiety in the lobby had disappeared, replaced by the teasing banter. Boots had all the potential to turn into a real friend for Madison, something she hadn’t expected to find after leaving Jada behind.

  “I think you may be right, though. This looks like the perfect place to start.”

  “The perfect place to start what?”

  Just like that, the confidence fled from her and she was back in the noisy, crowded place that felt like it would suffocate her.

  “Hey, CS.” Boots turned, but Madison held perfectly still, waiting for the chill of the winemaker’s presence to sweep over her. “We were just talking about Artist selling her pottery here in the shop.”

  “Cut the nicknames, Boots.”

  He chuckled, cutting it off abruptly when she glared at him. “It’s funny. See, because you told me to stop using nicknames while using my nickname.”

  She didn’t respond, and the silence made Madison turn around. She gave Boots a half-hearted smile. “It’s fine. He can call me whatever.”

  “It’s a stupid nickname. It isn’t even clever.”

  Boots crossed his arms, smiling at CS and challenging, “What would you call her?”

  “Denver,” CS responded without missing a beat.

  He opened his mouth and closed it again. “Okay. You’re right. That’s better.”

  “I know.”

  Madison caught the flash of a smile, just the barest twitch of CS’s lips, but it lit up her blue eyes and, for a heartbeat, Madison was captivated by the glow. As quickly as it appeared, the smile melted again into a frown and the glow faded from her eyes.

  “No need to rub it in.”

  “You were saying?”

  “I was saying that Denver and I were talking about selling her pottery here in the store. At this table. It would be perfect, you see, perfume from the winery and pottery from the winery all in the same place.”

  Boots was talking fast and fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, obviously nervous. He thought CS would turn them down. Why had he even suggested the scheme if he knew it wouldn’t work? Now she would have to stand here and watch CS say no. It would have been better not to ask at all.

  Madison looked up at CS and found the expected annoyance in her stern expression. Why shouldn’t she be annoyed? Madison was living rent free in her best cottage, the one meant for her old friend, and not contributing in any way to the success of her business. If their positions were reversed, Madison would resent this woman taking advantage of her. Now she asks for a favor?

  “Of course,” CS finally said.

  “What?” Madison heard her own voice as a squeak and clicked her teeth back together to hold in any more words.

  “Of course you can sell your artwork here.” She gave Madison a long, level look. “You should have asked earlier.”

  “I’m…sorry?”

  “Thanks, CS,” Boots cut in, his voice light and peppy. “This is gonna be great.”

  “Sure.”

  It was odd, but CS still watched Madison with that disapproving glare. Madison did her best to match it, to hold her chin high and look back.

  “Okay, I’m off to drive these drunks back to the gate.” He slapped Madison on the back harder than she expected, pushing her forward a step, closer to CS than she’d like. “See ya round, Denver.”

  “Don’t let anyone drive if they’re drunk, Boots,” CS said in her usual, level voice.

  He gave her a thumbs up and hurried off, disappearing through the door and leaving Madison alone with CS. Quite alone, she realized, as she looked around the store. The shoppers had all gone to catch a ride back to civilization, and the older woman behind the cash register was nowhere to be seen. Madison turned back to CS just in time to see her realize the situation as well. She looked just as uncomfortable as Madison.

  “I…um.” Madison had to stop when those blue eyes turned back to her, but then caught her breath and hurried on. “Thanks for letting me sell my work here.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  That seemed to cover all they had to say to each other. They stood there for a long time, close to one another but neither one wanting to point it out by moving. CS looked away again, searching the empty store uncomfortably. After a long moment she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

  “I have to go.”

  “Okay,” Madison replied. She certainly didn’t want to prolong the encounter, but there was an awkwardness to the abrupt announcement.

  “It’s quarterly budget time. I have…bills.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  She wrenched the door open and marched through with swift, sure movements. Madison waited before pulling the door gently closed behind her and making her way across the now much less crowded lobby to the exit.

  Chapter Twelve

  On the far side of the vineyard, sitting alone on a little hillock dotted in the center of a vast field of chardonnay vines, sat a single windswept tree. It was grizzled, with gnarled branches hanging out at odd angles. The land around it was sparse and cracked.

  Madison had noticed the tree many times. It was hard to miss any odd marker in such ordered terrain. She’d never visited the tree. It seemed so bleak. Even in the height of summer, when the vines were lush and overflowing their trellises, laden with ripening fruit, the tree looked as though it were breathing its last. Like one strong gust of wind or one hard winter would send it crashing down onto the ocean of vines surrounding its island.

  That dilapidation was what drew her there now. It seemed apt to sit here in the shadow of a dying tree and cry for all she had lost. She found a tolerably soft patch of dirt among the roots and settled herself down just as the tears completely obscured her vision. They’d been threatening for the entire walk, but she’d held them in un
til she’d arrived. Then she let the full torrent go, allowing her body to shake with grief. Robert had always said she was overly dramatic and he had been right. Robert had always known Madison better than anyone else.

  She thought saying his name, even inside her own head, would make the crying worse, but she found her sobs waning the moment she thought of him. Perhaps that wasn’t so surprising really. Robert had always made her happy. Even when they were little, he was as much her best friend as he was her big brother. Their parents often told the story of when she came home from the hospital. She had been a perfect baby while the nurses and doctors were around, but the minute they hit the parking lot she started screaming. It was a long ride and everyone was very tense when they arrived home to seven-year-old Robert. She’d opened her eyes, took one look at him and stopped crying for good. She was quiet whenever he was around, and he loved her so much that he was always around.

  The tears eventually slowed and then stopped. Eventually she was able to take a quiet, deep breath, though it made her lungs shudder in pain, like the days when she smoked endless cigarettes while she drank the night away. Her eyes cleared enough to take in her surroundings. Autumn had begun and the greens that had been so bright were darkening, deepening the vineyard’s charm with their maturity.

  The tree was in better shape than it had appeared from a distance. She traced the lines of trunk and branch with her eyes and saw that, while it was gnarled by weather and what must have been a tough life on the mountain, it had deep roots and strong branches. It was a tree that had fought for a life in barren soil, and it was stronger than it looked for the struggle. Madison rubbed the pad of her thumb over the polished-circle necklace in her hand and thought she might take a lesson from this tree. If only she could learn to live like that, to take a few knocks, she wouldn’t be crying in its shadow now.

  Dry-packed dirt crunched nearby, startling Madison. She looked around, trying to blink her eyes clear and dry.