“I’m here,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
I hold his warmth against me, breathe his scent, feel the warmth of the sunlight like a gentler continuation of his body, I wish I could put on his love like a garment, wear it to protect myself.
And remind myself.
The pony butts against us, wanting to be included in whatever we are doing. He lips my wrist questioningly and we both laugh in relief. It’s over, whatever it was. We’ve made it past another rapids, into quieter water. Tom rubs his face against my shoulder and hair. He straightens, sniffs once, and then smiles like the sun breaking through clouds. A wave of recognition washes over me, it’s like he’s come home after a long absence, healed after a terrible illness. “This is the one,” I want to tell them all, “this is the one I married.”
Gently, he frees himself from my embrace. He sticks his head in the door, bellows, “Teddy!” with mock severity. It takes a moment, but then comes the hesitant pattering of bare feet. Teddy comes as far as the living room, stares from Tom to me worriedly. For a moment I fear I will have to explain, and then the pony, curious, sticks his head in the door. He has his front hooves on the narrow steps and Tom has to block him to prevent him coming the rest of the way in. He doesn’t want to back down off the step, and it takes Tom pulling and me pushing before he is on level ground again. Teddy is agog with wonder. He holds back, looking up at the pony that suddenly looms for him large as any mountain.
Tom puts the string into my hand and picks Teddy up, sets his pajamaed legs and butt over the wide black-and-white back. Teddy sits very still. Only his eyes move. Then he timidly reaches down and pats the pony’s shoulder. The pony turns his head to look at his new rider. Up to now he has seemed unaware of him. Teddy squeals when the pony lips at his bare toes and pulls his feet up out of reach of the green-stained lips. The pony is surprised, but his ears remain pricked forward. He gives a lick to his own shoulder and then turns back to Tom.
“Hold on to his mane, like this,” Tom says, and puts Teddy’s small hands into the coarse hair. “Grip with your knees. You know, squeeze him with your legs. And here we go.”
And they are off, at a decorous walk. Teddy concentrates on the double handful of mane he grips, shifts slightly on the pony’s back as the stiff horsehair prickles through his thin summer pajamas. “Hang on now,” Tom warns, and increases his stride, finally drags the reluctant pony into a trot. Teddy bounces wildly, but clings gamely to the mane and tries to make his short legs wrap around the pony’s round barrel. Around the yard twice, and then “Dad! Dad!” Teddy is shouting as he starts to slide down one shoulder. I start forward, but Tom is already there, catching him and pushing him back into place.
“That’s enough for right now,” Teddy tells him, and Tom helps him down. Teddy walks all around the pony in a wide circle, then ventures back cautiously to look up at him. The pony is not so shy. He pushes his muzzle abruptly into Teddy’s chest, nearly knocking him down. When Teddy retreats, the pony steps after him, lipping at his straw-colored hair. “Hey!” Teddy squeals, and tries to retreat again, but Tom catches him by the shoulder.
“Look, son, don’t run away. He’s just trying to get to know you. You’ve got to stand still and let him sniff you and let him know who he belongs to, now. Here.” He puts the thin baling-twine lead into Teddy’s hands. Teddy presses up against Tom, but holds his ground as the pony sniffs him this time. He pets the white nose and giggles nervously when the pony blows out against his hand. Tom hooks an arm around me, pulls me up against his side. He is warm and solid. I lean my head against his shoulder. Contentment and safety wrap me. I sigh, and it is as if I had been holding my breath for days and suddenly let it out. He squeezes me again, and I look up into his eyes, and he is looking at me with love. I find myself clinging to him as he kisses the top of my head.
Someone clears her throat nearby. I startle and pull back from Tom, but it is only Steffie. “Well, well, what’s this?” she asks Teddy delightedly. Her eyes go quickly to Tom’s and congratulate him silently.
As she approaches, Teddy grips the pony’s string possessively. “It’s my pony,” he tells her proudly.
“It sure is, Cowboy. Looks like a pony that could use a bridle and bareback pad.”
“A red halter,” Teddy says decisively.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” she says. “You mind?” she asks Tom suddenly.
“Mind what?”
“If Teddy and I go buy a few things for the pony?” “Not at all.”
She comes to Tom suddenly, hugs him hard and quick, then steps back and says, fast, “You’re right. It’s going to gripe his ass, but you’re right. And I’m glad you did it.” She turns suddenly to Teddy. “Tell you what. Let’s put your pony in the chicken yard. That fence ought to hold him, and he can get a drink out of the pond, while we go get him a few things, okay?”
“Okay!” Teddy agrees happily, and they are off, Teddy leading the pony by the string while Steffie keeps a grip on his mane and walks beside him. I gaze after them, seeing what I have not before. That Steffie really does care about Teddy, enough to risk her father’s wrath by subsidizing Tom’s revolt in the only way she knows, by shopping for the pony’s clothes. I am surprised, and surprised, too, by the bond between her and Tom. I realize I have been seeing her as an extension of her mother, as a remote-controlled unit of Mother Maurie. It is the first time I have glimpsed Steffie doing something on her own. It makes her seem both younger and older. I am still staring after them when Tom takes me by the shoulders, turns me to him.
We don’t speak. He holds me for a while, and then we are walking back to the little house and into it, back to the bed, where we make love like demented teenagers, around and through our clothes, his jeans pushed down only to his knees, mine still on one leg, my bra still tangled around one shoulder. Afterward we fall asleep together for perhaps an hour, arouse, make a more leisurely kind of love, and then arise. The day passes like a dream. Tom does not go to work at all, and by some miracle his parents do not come looking for him, asking why. Instead, we go into town, have cinnamon rolls for brunch, and then wander from store to store, looking at everything, buying nothing. We run into Teddy and Steffie. They have bought a riding pad, a red bridle with silver stars on it, a brush and currycomb, a new cowboy hat for Teddy with a red bandanna and a length of red ribbon. I can see Teddy is uncertain about the red ribbon, but Steffie is talking persuasively about how the pony will love being dressed up with ribbons braided through his mane. Tom asks them if they want to go to a movie with us, but they are both anxious to get home and play dress-up with the pony. They leave, and suddenly I realize how quickly the day has flown, for we have just enough time for dinner and then we go to a movie. We pick one by the title and poster outside the movie house, for neither of us has any idea what any of them are about. Tom has been too much into his tractors, I have been too much into myself to pay attention to current movies. We get a very trivial comedy, full of lovers’ misunderstandings and impossible situations. Tom watches it and I sit beside him in the darkness, listening to him chuckle now and then, sharing his popcorn, leaning on his shoulder, having him to myself.
I sit close to him in the truck all the way home. When we pull up, there is a single low light shining from the little house, and inside we find Teddy sound asleep on the couch and a note from Steffie that they had a great time today. We go to bed quickly, and once more we make love. Tom holds me afterward, and falls asleep with his arms around me. I lie still in his circle of warmth, his arm heavy across me.
I keep closing my eyes, but they keep opening again. I want to fall asleep fully contented, warm in his embrace. But I find I cannot trust this day, this miracle. I keep going back to this morning, when I was ready to leave. I am glad I didn’t leave, glad Tom brought the pony, glad I decided to stay. But there is a spark of anger there, still. Does he think this is enough? the bitch in me asks. One day of his precious time, one day of carousels and candy apples in a summer of dust and grave
l roads? Does he think I am a small child, bribed so easily to forget how he has ignored and hurt me? I try to ignore the hateful voice. Love is patient, is kind. Love does not envy, I recite to myself. Bears with all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love or idiocy, it’s one of those two that does that. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child. So what am I now, I’m sure as hell not a man?
I can’t turn off the internal dialogue, I can’t sleep. I steel myself, admit a part of me is angry we made up, angry that I lost my chance to leave. A part of me wants to fight with Tom, to be hateful, to malignantly devour our relationship. But there is a part of me that loves his clean smell, his warm arm across me, loves possessing this desirable man for myself. I am too tired. Like Scarlett O’Hara, I think I will wait for tomorrow and another day.
THIRTEEN
* * *
The Farm
June 1976
The next morning, Tom gets up and goes to work at the dealership earlier than usual, to make up for playing hooky the day before. It doesn’t bother me. He wakes me gently before he goes, by stroking his fingers over my face, tracing the lines of my brow, my nose, my jawline. I come sleepily awake to his light caress, in time to receive a warm kiss before he leaves. “See you tonight,” he promises, and I drift back to sleep, secure, loved.
Teddy awakens me the second time. He is already dressed, his new cowboy hat on his head. The ring of milk around his mouth and the stray cornflake glued to his chin tells me he has already helped himself to breakfast. “Mom, wake up,” he tells me urgently. “We gotta take care of my horse.”
I drag myself out, get dressed while he is washing his face, make a cup of tea and wipe up most of his mess while he is brushing his teeth. I ache from too much sex. Sex hangover, I tell myself, and try to smile about it. I drink the cup of tea while he is assembling his “horse stuff.” We have to carry it all with us as we go out to the chicken yard; the pad, the bridle, a length of rope with a clip on it, the currycomb and brush, the carrot from the refrigerator. “Watch me, now,” Teddy cautions me as we approach the chicken yard. “I’ll show you how to do it.”
And to my amazement, he does. The pony comes willingly enough for the carrot, and Teddy quickly clips the rope to his halter and ties him to the fence. Yesterday’s shyness about the animal has already mutated to a casual confidence I don’t share. “You put your hand on his butt when you walk behind him, so he knows you’re there. Aunt Steffie says so,” he tells me, walking briskly past the deadly hooves. “And be careful of his ticklish spots when you brush him,” he goes on grandly, and spends a diligent five minutes brushing one side of the pony up as high as he can reach. He needs my help with the bridle, for although the pony accepts the bit casually, the buckles of the new bridle are stiff. Teddy is very fussy about the bareback pad, and no matter how I fasten it, he keeps insisting it isn’t tight enough. I am still struggling with it when Steffie appears. “Need help?” she asks, and I step back and let her. She settles Teddy onto the pony and passes him the reins. “There you go, Cowboy,” she tells him, and he proudly rides off across the chicken yard. I watch him go, trying not to show I am anxious. Although the yard is fenced, it is still nearly a full acre for Teddy and the pony to wander. I wish they were more confined.
“He’ll be okay,” Steffie says quietly. “I think it would take a stick of dynamite to get that pony up past a trot. He’s fat as a pig.”
I nod silently, watching Teddy and the pony.
“Dad say anything to you guys yet?” she asks.
I shake my head as I turn to face her.
Steffie shrugs. “He probably won’t, then. He was really burned up yesterday, but no one said a word about it to him, and he won’t talk about it. He’s like that. As long as no one says anything about the pony and as long as it’s not trouble, it’ll blow over in a few days.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing what else to say. The silence grows long. The pony reaches the fence on the other side of the chicken yard and halts. Teddy pulls on the reins and kicks its fat sides ineffectually. The pony ignores him and lowers his head to graze. But Steffie has come prepared. She whistles between her teeth and holds up a carrot. I try not to show how amazed I am. This is a Steffie I have never seen before. Despite the long golden legs, the ice-white shorts, the yellow-and-white tank top that matches the yellow-and-white sandals she is wearing, despite her perfect hair and manicured nails, her flawless makeup, her mannequin stance, she is acting like a real person. Pony begins his plodding journey back.
“You seem to know how to handle horses,” I say.
“I used to ride a lot, during high school. I was in 4-H and Future Farmers of America. I used to think I’d be a horse breeder, or a veterinarian when I grew up.”
“Oh?” This is all news to me. Steffie, with ambitions. I try not to sound too surprised. Mother Maurie has spoken of Steffie being interested in interior decorating, in modeling, in ceramics and decoupage and macrame. On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, they go together to classes in tie-dyeing and candy making. They go to bridal shows at the mall, order fifty dollars’ worth of Avon products a month, and spend endless hours studying clothing catalogs and fashion magazines. Veterinarian?
“Yeah. But it’s almost impossible to get into vet school, and Dad says there’s no money in horse breeding anymore. Not unless you go into it in a big way. I talked it over with Mom and Dad after I graduated high school. I could have gotten into a veterinary assistant program at the community college, but there’s not much future in it. Dad says all you do is clean kennels and throw away bandages.”
He would. “So,” I say lamely. “Think you’ll ever do anything with it?”
“Only if I marry a rich guy,” she says lightly.
I laugh. She doesn’t, so I change it into a cough. Teddy and the pony finally reach us. “Looking good, Cowboy,” she tells him as she gives the pony the carrot. Steffie takes hold of the cheek strap. “Want me to make him trot for you?”
“Naw.” Teddy is elaborately casual. “It’s too hot today to make him go fast.” So he isn’t quite as confident about the pony yet as he’d like to be. I am glad Steffie doesn’t insist. She merely turns the pony’s head and gives him a slap on the rump. Teddy and pony amble off on a circuit of the chicken yard.
“So, where’d you go the other day?” Steffie asks me.
“Just out shopping. You know. Movie. Dinner.”
“No. I don’t mean yesterday, I mean when Tommy couldn’t find you.”
“Oh.” I feel a sudden reluctance. “Back in the woods,” I tell her, gesturing vaguely. “Just for a walk. It was cooler back there. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“Yeah. It’s easy to get turned around back there.” She glances at the woods, a vague frown on her face. “There’s animals back there, too,” she confides to me.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise her.
“Actually, you probably shouldn’t go back there. Not alone.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her.
“Well, next time you want to go, why don’t you tell me? We can take Teddy and a picnic. I’ll show you where we used to pick huckleberries when Tommy and I were kids. It’ll be fun.”
“Yeah, okay,” I lie noncommittally. My mind is suddenly busy. How will I manage to slip off on my own again? If I ask someone to watch Teddy, they’ll want to know why. And I can’t just leave him, not like last time. Nor can I take him with me. My mind works swiftly, furiously.
“… today?”
“Huh? I’m sorry, I guess I was daydreaming.”
“I guess so! I just asked what you planned to do today?”
My mind flounders. “I don’t know. Uh, I’d better get the laundry I forgot day before yesterday.”
“Ellie finished it for you. I think she even took it over and put it away for you.”
I am left speechless again. “I’ll have to thank her,” I mutter.
“Oh,
she didn’t mind. She said it looked like you could use a hand to give the guest house a good cleaning, wax the floors and stuff. She’ll probably ask you when you want to do it in the next few days. So, what are you doing today?”
“Uh, probably housework.” Sheer dread envelops me. Spend a day with Ellie, helping her clean up my own mess. I have seen her take a toothpick and go after trapped wax buildup in the linoleum. She dusts the bottoms of the kitchen chairs, and the light bulbs in the lamps and the tops of doors. There is only one way to stave her off. “I need to catch up on all the stuff that didn’t get done yesterday. And Ellie is probably right that the place needs a good cleaning. But she shouldn’t have to bother with it. I’ll get started today.”
“Oh.” Steffie sounds almost disappointed. “You and Ellie. That’s all you guys seem to do.”
That’s about all there is to do, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. Somehow, I don’t even want to know what she has planned for the day. I am saved by Teddy and the pony.
“Well, I better rub him down now,” Teddy tells me as the pony saunters to a halt. Steffie catches him as he slides off. She looks sure and competent as she helps Teddy take the bareback pad and bridle off. I catch myself wondering who the hell she really is. From this to Mommy’s little helper at the dealership, to the long-legged beauty at the mall, to a would-be veterinarian. I think maybe I don’t know her at all. Hell, maybe she doesn’t know herself. It’s not my problem, I tell myself. “I’ll help Teddy clean up Houdini,” Steffie tells me.
“Houdini?” I ask blankly.
“That’s the pony’s name. Weird, huh?”
“Yeah. Well, I’d better get back to my housework,” and I leave them brushing and currying and discoursing learnedly about ponies.
Back at the little house, I Pledge and Windex and Fantastic my way through the rooms, determinedly eradicating every trace of our usage. The sweet elation of yesterday has evaporated, leaving me discontented and surly with myself. So what? I ask myself whenever any thought occurs. So I’m a pig, and I’ve made a sty of the cute little guest house. So what? So Tom wants to make things work? So what? It doesn’t mean he really wants to change anything, he doesn’t want to go back to Alaska, he just wants to change things enough to keep me here. Did I think I had won something yesterday? Hell, all he was doing was keeping the promise his chicken-shit dad had broken. For this I’m supposed to be meltingly grateful?
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