“You answered God’s call,” the organist says, looking over at me as if I am some pitiful wreck of a soul.
Diana takes her seat next to Bill Miller. I tune out the preacher’s message and focus on my memories of Mama’s Bible stories, her sweet voice singing hymns from her own childhood days. I let Mama’s memory eclipse all the other voices in my head: Diana and the church ladies and the preacher. But no matter how hard I try, I have a really hard time swallowing the whole God is love thing.
After church, Diana dishes up a delicious lunch of chicken jambalaya, Mabel’s specialty. Once everyone’s full, I change out of my church dress and head straight for the arena.
Mr. Tucker has been accumulating pregnant mares for several months to start the new breeding program in Colorado. Most of them are finishing up their eleven months of pregnancy all about the same time. I arrive today to find several of them already restless, sweating, and urinating constantly.
“We better get busy,” Bump says. He’s already taught me how to clean the stalls and fill them with fresh wheat straw. He shows me how the mares are reaching different stages of delivery. Two are just beginning to get milk, so they probably have a few weeks left to go. A few have begun to relax the muscles of their vulva and will likely foal within the week. Three are secreting honey-like colostrum, which Bump calls “waxing.” He says they’ll drop a colt within several days.
I am particularly worried about the palomino Bump mentioned last night. She keeps kicking her own belly and biting her flanks. Bump says it’s not unusual. She’ll be birthing very soon. I stay right with her. I sure don’t want to miss a thing.
I think back to when I was a little girl, when the stray dog swallowed her pups. I am determined not to lose these babies.
Bump comes back to check on me between jobs. He carries a fresh cloth and carefully wraps the mare’s tail. “Gotta make sure it’s not too tight. Don’t wanna cut off circulation,” he says. “We need to keep everything clean. Let’s wash her down. Just a little soap and warm water.”
He brings in a bucket of fresh water and shows me how to clean the mare’s hind parts. “Rinse her clean.” I am fascinated by everything he knows. I want to learn it all.
“She’ll go through three stages,” he explains. “Been having contractions for over an hour. Here, feel.” I feel the mare’s belly tighten and tense beneath my hands. She’s agitated and I am nervous she’ll kick me, or bite. I don’t know this mare very well, and she is obviously in pain. It’s her first time to foal, so I stay near her middle. Away from her head or tail.
“The foal’s already moving down through the cervix,” Bump says from behind the horse. He’s not afraid one bit. “Getting positioned in the canal. See how you can already start to see the allantois?” I don’t know what that word means, but I come around to see where Bump is pointing. I see part of what appears to be the foal, already showing. A bulging sac pushes through and breaks into a rush of fluid. “Now comes the fun part.”
Everything starts moving quickly from that point forward. The mare goes to her knees and lies down. She rolls back and forth. I am worried she is dying. “Don’t worry,” Bump says, easing my nerves. “She’s just positioning the baby. Front feet first.” The mare stands and kicks a few times before returning to the ground, rolling some more, and standing again. She makes a few grunting noises, but remains mostly quiet. I do too.
“Look,” says Bump, calm as ever. “Just what we wanna see.”
The mare returns down to her side, and I move near Bump slowly, trying to keep the mare relaxed. The foal’s front feet are peeking through, one ahead of the other, with the hooves facing down, like he is diving into the sea. The milky sac around him reminds me of pearls, mermaids, and sea goddesses. It’s too beautiful for words.
“Just wait,” Bump says. He’s getting excited, even though he’s done this countless times before.
Before I know it, the hooves are followed by the foal’s nose and head. The mare neighs loudly a few times as she struggles to push the foal’s head all the way through.
“It’s stuck,” I say.
Bump laughs. “Just watch,” he whispers.
After quite a few more effortful pushes, the slimy neck and shoulders ease through. The mare is exhausted, and I don’t think she has the energy to push the foal all the way out. “Should we pull?” I ask.
“Keep watching,” Bump says, patient as ever to let nature work herself out. Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, I see the hindquarters slip through. I don’t know who lets out a bigger sigh of relief. The mare, or me.
“It’s a boy!” Bump announces.
“It’s amazing,” I say.
Bump smiles and we kneel in the corner, watching the mare help her foal break through the slick fetal membrane. Once he breaks free, Bump checks his breathing.
“Breath sounds good. Clear. Umbilical cord broke right where it should. See here? Where it gets smaller? If it don’t break, you gotta twist and pull hard. Don’t want the cord to bleed much. It’s healin’ up already. See?”
Then he backs away and says, “No need to go messin’ with the natural order of things. Just let them get to know each other for a while. We call it imprinting.”
We sit in the corner of the stall and watch. The beauty of the moment overtakes me. Bump reaches for my hand. I let him take it. I rest my head on his shoulder. I imagine him helping me deliver our own child someday. I am a mess of emotions. I want to trust this cowboy. But I don’t feel a surge when he touches me. No matter how kind and gentle he is, he isn’t River.
The foal, eager to explore his new world, spends the next thirty minutes or so trying to stand. As I watch him rise and fall, rise and fall, I realize what a struggle life really is. For all of us. We each dive headfirst into the crazy universe, and from the first breath forward, we’re all just trying to survive.
I weave my fingers through the hay and ask Bump, “What did you think of Jack?”
“I didn’t really know him too much. Kept to himself mostly. But he was a master with horses. Everybody knew that. And the bulls. His specialty. I hate to hear what he done to you, Millie. What he done to your mama. I don’t know what I think of him, now that I know all that. Everybody’s got his own battle to fight. Jack sure had his share. Sounds like he’d lost near about everybody that ever mattered to him. All he had left was your mama. And you. He wasn’t gonna let nobody take y’all away from him. Not drugs, either, from what I hear. So he beat her. It don’t make a lick o’ sense, I know. And I sure ain’t saying it was right. I think he was trying to make sure she didn’t leave him. Beat her up. Keep her scared. Make sure she’d always be there when he came home. In his mind, it made sense.”
“Well, no man ever better go to thinking he needs to beat me.” I say this with as much of a threat as my voice can deliver.
“Millie,” he takes my chin in his hand, makes me look him in the eye, “I promise you right here and now, I won’t never lay an angry hand to you. Not ever. And the good Lord better watch over any man who ever tries. That I know for sure.”
He pulls me against his chest and I let him hold me. The foal stands on all fours, and the mare turns to lick her baby’s nose, and the four of us, for the moment at least, are all surviving in this great big maddening world.
A week later, I wake to Diana, Bill Miller, and Camille singing “Happy Birthday” at my bedside. It’s the first day of spring.
Diana cracks open the powder-pink curtains and holds out a steaming stack of silver dollar pancakes with seventeen sparkling candles in them. I can’t help smiling as Camille yells, “Make a wish! Make a wish!”
I try to choose the perfect wish, weighing the choices before me. Bump. River. Bump. River.
“Hurry!” Camille shouts. “They’re getting cold!”
I close my eyes and wish. I wish for River to return.
Camille helps me blow out the candles and crawls into my bed to share pancakes with me, right here, together, with the
sunlight streaming into our eyes. I want to close my eyes and open my arms to receive love, like Bump has taught me. But I’ve learned that people are different from horses. Firefly, I trust. Bill Miller and Diana, I do not.
“Seventeen,” Bill Miller says. “All grown up now.” The way he says this makes my blood cold, and from Diana’s tightened smile, I imagine she feels the same way.
“Never trust.” I hear Jack’s voice loud and clear.
I dress for church, give Diana and Mabel a hug, and head off with Camille at my side. I feel years older than yesterday, even though I’m only one day past seventeen. I sense that by turning seventeen, I’ve crossed the thin line between being a child and being an adult. Most importantly, turning seventeen brings me one day closer to River. With spring upon us, he should arrive any day now.
I daydream through the sermon, waiting to be released to the arena. I still can’t believe Bump will be moving to Colorado once the foals are all born. I figure it’s meant to be. That I’ll leave with River, and Bump will go to Colorado, and all will fall into place.
Camille is devastated by Diana’s new rule forbidding her to go with me to the arena. One of many such rules since she caught us driving Jack’s truck through the square. Camille is going home with her friend Mary Emma today, and as much as I am going to miss having her tag along, I am looking forward to some quiet time with Firefly.
When I arrive, Bump meets me at the entrance. “Um, you may not want to go in there,” he says, looking down at his boots and rubbing his hands together with angst.
“Why? What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s just. You don’t want to go in there.”
He might as well have punched me in the gut. I’ve been around the barn enough to know what happens to horses who have the unfortunate fate of breaking a leg or damaging a hip or suffering from a bad case of colic. I don’t hesitate. I shove past Bump, terrified that something has happened to Firefly. I rush to the stables.
It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the dark covered ring around the arena. I keep moving, navigating blindly through the familiar holding area, where the horses are stalled and where Firefly waits for my daily visits. Before I can see clearly, a crowd of cheers and claps and laughter erupts, and Mr. Tucker says, “Whoa, now, gal. Where you headed in such a hurry?”
“Where’s Firefly?” I yell, my eyes now seeing his large white hat and his silver mustache.
“I’m sure she’s in the stall waitin’ for you like always. Somethin’ the matter?”
“I-I thought something was wrong with Firefly,” I stammer. “Bump said—”
Bump interrupts from behind, “I said I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. We were trying to surprise you.”
Everyone laughs.
Before I know it, I am surrounded by a crowd of cowboys. Plus Mr. Tucker’s secretary, Janine, full of smiles. She points to a long white sign hung from the ceiling with pink letters that read, “Happy Birthday, Millie!” and Mr. Tucker shouts, “Surprise!”
Later, after strawberry cake and homemade ice cream, Mr. Tucker gives me a gift. My very own rodeo outfit. An emerald-green long-sleeved shirt, with white fringe and silver rhinestones. And for the first time in my life, a pair of pants! Boots, too.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him. “You’ve done so much for me. Letting me work here. Letting me ride Firefly. Now a party? This is too much, Mr. Tucker.”
“Now, now, little lady,” he says, taking a moment to light a fresh cigar. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. With Jack gone, you know, we need a new star in this production. No one better suited for the job than Jack’s own flesh and blood. Besides, I kind of like you.”
I smile and give him a big hug.
“Whoa!” Bump says. “You ain’t never gave me no hug!”
“I’d rather eat dirt.” I smile. “Why do you keep him around here anyway, Mr. Tucker?”
Mr. Tucker laughs, “You didn’t know, Millie? Bump’s not only one semester away from being a bona fide vet-er-in-arian, finishing up this year of on-site training. He’s well on his way to becoming the nation’s top horse trainer. Could work anywhere he wants, no doubt. We’re awful glad he chooses to stick with us.”
“Nope,” Bump teases. “She thinks I’m just a dumb old cowpoke.”
I give him a shove, for the heck of it, and hold up my new shirt for another look.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mr. Tucker says. “Go try it on!”
I grab my box of gear and take off running for the restroom, still trying to absorb the fact that Bump has other options. That he is taking the job in Colorado. That he will soon leave. That he may be taking Firefly with him.
I take my time snapping the silver shirt tabs together. All my life, I’ve dreamed of riding horses, longed to enter Jack’s forbidden world. But now it’s happened. I’m here, an official member of the rodeo with my own tricks and my own outfit. I think of Mama, sending me to see Jack ride last spring, hoping I would discover this wasn’t my world. I wonder what she would think of me now. Seeing me choose Jack’s world. Seeing me ending up like Jack.
I flap my arms to make the silky fringe sway in the mirror. Sliding into the pants feels strange—they squeeze between my legs and tug around my waist. I take time to admire my figure in the mirror. I remember Bump’s words when he first taught me how to ride, teasing me to slide my plump rump into the saddle. I don’t want to show Bump the outfit. It will reveal much more than my school skirts do. But as I turn and stare in the mirror, I don’t care so much what other people think. The truth is, wearing pants feels good. I feel confident. Strong. Like the cowgirls in the photos: Peggy Long, Fay Kirkwood, Vaughn Kreig. As far as I can tell, those women never hesitated to put on a pair of jeans and join the men. It will be easier to ride Firefly in pants, anyway. And honestly, I kind of like the way I look in the outfit. Plump rump and all.
“Any day now!” Bump yells from outside the door.
I smile. “Go away!”
“You can’t get rid of me that easy, Millie.”
“Okay. Here I come.” I bolt from the door and run full speed for Firefly.
Firefly seems not to notice the difference, but I’m able to twist my body in ways I never dreamed, even twirling under Firefly’s thick belly as her muscular legs thrust forward in a steady lope around the arena.
“Crying shame,” Bump shouts.
“What?” I ask, bringing Firefly to a halt with the gentle wiggle of my fingers in her mane.
“All that talent, and no desire to show it off in Texas.”
Bump doesn’t understand, of course. As much as I want to compete, nothing can compare to seeing River again. He was the first person to look at me with all my scrapes and scars and make me feel loved. He promised to take me away. And I promised to go with him.
As much as I care about Bump, as much as I want to compete with Firefly, how can I deny River? How can I choose a different path? And now, with Bump leaving for Colorado, what’s the point? There isn’t much Bump could possibly say to change my mind. I am staying in Iti Taloa to wait for River. And then … well, who knows what might happen next.
“Something’s missing,” Bump’s voice interrupts my daydream. “Just not quite right.”
He is standing with his arms crossed, wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt. Only the top button is open, revealing his strong, tan neck. His oversized hat completely conceals his eyes. He seems more like a fictional character than a rodeo cowboy.
“You ready for the rest of your birthday present?” he asks.
“The rest?”
“Well. This part is from me. But you’ve got to come with me if you want it.” Bump smiles and saddles up.
Moments later, Firefly and I follow Bump on his favorite chestnut quarter horse. He leads us out of the arena, through Mr. Tucker’s pasture, and onto a wooded trail.
“This is amazing,” I say. I lean from side to side to miss low branches from tupelo gums and tulip trees. �
�I thought I’d been through every patch of woods around here, but I’ve never seen this.”
“Pretty, ain’t it? I knew you’d like it. Happy birthday, Millie.” Bump keeps things simple. We ride in silence for a few miles. The horses guide us slowly over ancient roots, weaving us around wizened trunks and along a snoozing creek dotted with cherry laurels and willow oaks. The woods sing to us. Squirrels bark their high-pitched chips. Jays squawk. Cicadas and spring peepers harmonize so loudly, I cannot possibly ignore the fact that spring has arrived. New leaves are sprouting from the limbs of pear trees and mimosas. White dogwood blooms tickle the path.
“Sure are quiet,” Bump says, jolting me back to reality.
“I was just thinking,” I say.
“Tell me something, Millie. What’s the real reason you don’t want to go with us to Texas?”
“I’ve got a promise to keep,” I explain, surprised that Bump has seen through my lie.
“What’s that?” he probes.
I debate on whether or not to tell Bump about River and the gypsies and the night I fell in love. It all sounds pretty ridiculous, I know. And somehow, it seems very far away, too. A distant dream. The truth is, I don’t know what to tell Bump. I am so confused.
One minute, I plan to wish Bump the best with his new life in the Rockies, trade the truck for Firefly, and start a life with River, as I’ve planned all year. But the next minute, Firefly neighs, and I’m not so sure it’s River I want at all. Suddenly, all I care about is wearing my new rodeo outfit in front of a crowd. I want to compete in Texas. I want to leave with Firefly and become a part of the rodeo, make my own way. With Bump.
I’m not being sensible about anything. I’ve got an option to leave Iti Taloa with the rodeo crew, and I’m hesitating. Why? I should be jumping at the opportunity. Especially with the situation at Diana’s house. I don’t know how much longer I can take all the pressure. The need to meet Diana’s expectations of being a proper lady, and the uncomfortable attempts to avoid her husband at all cost. The tension has been building since Diana’s friends told her about Bill Miller’s history with my mother, so why on earth wouldn’t I run off with the rodeo crew? It’s simple. I will tell Bump I’ve made up my mind.
Into the Free Page 21
