Macadoo of the Maury River

by Gigi Amateau

  Then and there, I challenged Dante for the herd. And that gave Chancey time to eat hay from the far corner. Free and unbothered, for once, he ate.

  I drew a mark on the ground and dared Dante to cross. That gave the Appy even more time. “You can keep your stories of being broken by the river,” I said to Dante. “As a yearling, I overtook my own father, a Belgian stallion descended from the Great Horse of Flanders!”

  I preened my chest and shook out my mane. I outweighed the black gelding by far and could easily have beat any horse in the pasture. Only the butterflies of our field knew for certain that I would never fight. Dante backed down.

  “Napoleon,” I called. “Bring the fly mask to me.”

  The Shetland carried Chancey’s mask between his teeth, and he dropped it at my feet. Just for good measure, I let loose a bodacious sneeze, spraying Dante with timothy and clover. And, with that, the fight was over.

  From then on, the geldings left Chancey alone. The old App made few friends — but one mare, but one gelding, and none of the other barn girls or their mothers. He made friends with Claire and Gwen and me.

  Claire, Gwen, and I all helped the old App. In the ring or the paddock or the barn, at least one of us was always there. Mrs. Maiden helped us grow closer by keeping our stalls side by side. This way, I could share my grain with Chancey whenever he needed something extra.

  What restored Chancey also restored Claire. She returned to her riding lessons and to the show ring. As Chancey adjusted to his new home and came to trust Claire, his confidence returned and so did Claire’s. But our work would soon be sorely tested.

  One night, after Chancey and Claire had returned from showing at Tamworth Springs, Gwen came out of the mares’ shelter and called me to the fence. “Macadoo, watch over your friend tonight. Claire fell today at the show when the old App ducked out of a jump. Claire’s been hurt. Her father condemned Chancey.”

  “Chancey would never hurt Claire. What happened?” I asked.

  “He couldn’t see the jump on the approach. Daisy rode home with him and says he’s in a bad way. Chancey may be colicking. Go help him.”

  A storm moved across Saddle Mountain and enveloped our field with a brutal wind and heavy rain. I knew Chancey’s place, at the cedar, and found him there, rolling in the grips of colic. He pawed at his belly and bit at the tangles clenching him inside.

  “Come on, Chancey. Get up.” I pushed him up and we paced the ridgetop. In the face of his greatest fear, I did not leave him alone, but kept him moving. “Walk on. You must walk.” I blew across his face. “What is it, friend? Why are you afraid?”

  “I am old, Macadoo. I am old and am going blind. This place is my last chance.”

  Chancey was right. He likely would not survive the auction house. Old and ill horses fare poorly at such places. Like the Thoroughbred filly, I know Chancey was worth something more. He had already won a child’s heart, and he had joined up with mine.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” And then I told him just what Gwen had told me. “We live among friends now. We are loved.”

  One afternoon, Chancey and I waited at the gate for our students to arrive, as we did every day. I heard the familiar knocking of a truck engine. Our vet, Doctor Russ, whom I had known most of my life, was making his barn call for vaccinations, like he did twice yearly. In the distance I saw him pull into the drive. Before I could tell Chancey, he told me, “Doctor Russ is here.”

  “Old App, you’d know that sound from the other side of Saddle Mountain. Yes, the vet is here. Today is needle day, again,” I rumbled.

  We two walked toward the barn; Chancey moved slowly, following my scent and the sound of my feet.

  The second I halted, Chancey asked, “Why have we stopped? Is something the matter?” He couldn’t see anything but he sensed that I saw something startling.

  “No, it’s . . . someone’s with Doctor Russ. Someone —”

  The mares whinnied as Doctor Russ and his guest passed by their field. A heap of curly red hair — someone that I remembered losing such a long time ago — caused my front legs to buckle. My knees skimmed the grass, my heart caught fire, and I whickered to an old friend, my first friend.

  “Who do you see?” Chancey wanted to know.

  “Izzy,” I told my dear Appy. “I see my boy Izzy.”

  True, he was no longer a boy. He was now a young man, and with the same curious eyes, walking toward us with a notebook in his hand. Could I have stopped myself from whinnying over and over?

  No, and I didn’t try. For a long time, I had imagined this reunion every day. My Izzy, lost like the star Mira, was back.

  With great joy, I galloped to him.

  “Macadoo! It’s me!” Izzy called me to him. He held his arms open, my halter resting on his shoulder — the one John Macadoo gave me when I was a new colt to this valley. I nickered and nuzzled him as if he were still a boy.

  “I’ve brought my new assistant with me today, Macadoo. You know this young man, I believe,” said Doctor Russ.

  “Macadoo, you’re still right here at Saddle Mountain. You waited for me, boy, all these years.”

  Izzy held my halter out to me and I lowered my head for him. We walked to the barn together, and while Doctor Russ vaccinated me for influenza and strangles, rabies and West Nile and a host of other threats, Izzy stood by me.

  “I can’t believe it’s you! My first horse, Mac. You were right, Doctor Russ. Mac seems to remember me.”

  Doctor Russ looked up from his work. “Oh, he remembers you, all right. He came cantering over as soon as he saw you. I expect he’s just as glad that you didn’t forget him.”

  “Forget Mac? Never. Mac is the one who helped Poppa and me become a family after Mom died.” Izzy scratched my poll. “Never met a better horse. Who could ever forget Mac?”

  Mrs. Maiden overheard him and came over to my stall. “You know, I was about ready to give up the barn when I bought Mac, Izzy.”

  “Really? What made you take him, then?” Izzy asked.

  She shook her head. “I guess I thought maybe if he was just the right horse, a gentle, willing, reliable school horse, then I could add more lessons, and we could have a vaulting team and expand the therapeutic program. The Maury River Stables has really grown since Mac came here. Tell Judge Isler I said thank you.”

  Izzy smiled and patted my withers. “I will, Mrs. Maiden. I was so sad when Mac left. Even now, when I look at the stars, I think of Mac. Would you ever sell him back to me?”

  Mrs. Maiden laughed. “I know it was hard on you to let him go. No. No, I could never sell this horse. He has helped so many children; you can’t imagine. Mac is every child’s favorite horse, and it seems like every student is his favorite child.”

  Outside the barn, Stu greeted Eric Sand. It was time for our lesson, and Eric needed me. I nuzzled Izzy’s neck and hoped he would come back with Doctor Russ again. I whickered to Mrs. Maiden and tugged on my lead rope toward where I could hear Stu and Eric talking.

  “He knows Eric is here. Why don’t you stay and watch Mac working, Izzy?”

  “I wish I could, but Doctor Russ and I still have three more calls to make,” he said.

  “You know, Mac will always be here when you want to visit him,” she said.

  Mrs. Maiden was right, like Izzy taught me, friendship is like Mira Stella, the star that shines even when it cannot be seen. And Mamere was right, too, when she said, “Even when you can no longer see me, I am here.”

  Good friends have come and gone from my life, and each one remains in my heart. I love Izzy, and I love them all.

  I know I am blessed to have lived with Mamere for a time. She placed a vision on my heart, not of the horse I was, but of the horse I could become. Without her vision, I would have given up.

  Could any colt have asked for a more patient friend than Job? Or one smarter than Molly? At the Virginia auction, the Thoroughbred filly reminded me how to take one step toward my purpose. And when I had given up on findin
g even one forever friendship, I met Gwen, then Chancey. I am here for them.

  I am here for Janey and John Macadoo and Poppa, too. For Doctor Russ. For my Izzy. For Eric Sand, Naomi, and Claire. And, for Isbell Maiden. For all my students.

  Some girls and boys come to ride; others just want to sit and comb the briars from my mane with their small fingers. Children tell me stories of home, stories of play and work. I know that children have problems that can more easily be solved with a friend to lighten the load. I am here for each of them.

  I have learned that with or without my dam, with or without my boy, if I can step out into a field surrounded by mountains, under the care of the same great shining star that has always nourished me, in service of a child or an equine or a kind man or woman, I will find the heart to walk on.

  My father predicted that I would never forget him, and it’s true. I will always remember. All my life I have carried his burden with me, the heaviest load of all.

  And until I take my last breath, every night under the stars I make a lasting wish on my father’s behalf: Humans and horses have done such good together — built cities, kingdoms, and nations, but our most important building is yet undone. The world needs us now more than ever to bring a gentle peace. Together, side by side, as we have for centuries. So, do not let us horses be forgotten. Any of us. We are here for you, always.

  www.candlewick.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2013 by Gigi Amateau

  Cover photograph copyright © 2013 by Matthew Kowalski

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First electronic edition 2013

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2013931459

  ISBN 978-0-7636-3766-8 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-0-7636-5661-4 (electronic)

  Candlewick Press

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