by Terri Farley
Is he refusing to let me ride because I disagreed with him over the helicopters? Darby thought so, but she couldn’t brag that she’d ridden Hoku, a barely trained mustang, at a flat-out gallop in the midst of a volcanic eruption.
Even I can’t believe that, Darby thought wryly, and I was there!
But she wanted to go. She wanted to feel like part of a wild horse herd. She wanted to make sure the wild horses weren’t mistreated. And, though it wasn’t a very mature motive, she wanted to show Mr. Klaus that while he might be a big shot at the Department of Health, he wasn’t the boss on this ranch.
“You wouldn’t leave me out, would you, Kit?” she asked, and when the foreman looked pained, she added, “It’s not like I’m going to sue the ranch.”
“Not the ranch, the federal government,” Mr. Klaus corrected her. “As government representatives, we couldn’t allow that, could we, Mike?” He turned to Mr. Nomi.
“Kit?” Darby insisted, before a startled Mr. Nomi could reply.
“That’s up to the boss,” Kit reminded her.
Mr. Klaus looked from Darby to Kit, let out a deep exhalation of annoyance, then gulped the last inch of cold coffee from his cup.
“Thanks,” he said, handing the empty mug to Kit.
He’s the ranch foreman. He’s a bronc rider. He’s the oldest son of a Native American family, not a waiter, Darby thought. She felt insulted for Kit.
“Thanks for your time. All of you,” Mr. Nomi said. He smiled politely at Cricket, Kit, and Megan, but it felt to Darby like his eyes purposely skimmed past her. He headed for the car, saying, “Talk to you soon.”
She felt self-conscious. She’d obviously made Mr. Nomi think less of her. When Mr. Klaus pulled open the car door, he glanced back at them and chuckled. “Think about using helicopters,” he said. “Most would say they’re more efficient than kids playing cowgirl.”
Chapter Seven
Kids playing cowgirl!
Resentment flashed through Darby’s entire body.
She turned to Kit and Cricket, pretty sure they’d stop being so nice now that the two men had left.
But neither of them said a word. In the quiet, she heard nearby hooves. Blue Ginger and Blue Moon thudded along with grudging patience, while Hoku’s hooves danced eagerly as she kept watch to figure out what the other horses were doing.
At least, that’s how Darby heard them. For the thousandth time, she realized she was a lot more sensitive and sensible when it came to horses. If only she were half as good with people.
Something was wrong in the slow-motion way Kit eased off his black Stetson, showing even blacker hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. He was choosing his words carefully.
“You blew it bad, keiki,” Kit said.
“I did?” Darby squeaked. That was the opposite of what she’d expected to hear.
Whose side are you on? Darby wondered, but she didn’t ask.
“I got as healthy a distrust of strangers—’ specially those workin’ for the government—as anyone, but you missed a good chance to keep quiet and let things roll out the way they were meant to.”
“But…” Darby glanced at Megan for support and saw the older girl’s discomfort.
So, Megan wasn’t on her side, either.
Darby took a deep breath. She felt a cold stab in her chest. She was relieved when Megan gestured vaguely toward Sun House and left.
Kit wasn’t going anywhere, though. He was brushing dust from his hat brim. Three knuckles showed torn skin and dried blood. He must have more to say.
“Those guys liked the look of our well. They didn’t order any extreme conservation measures, and they could’ve. They didn’t insist a vet come out and look at Blue Moon. They trusted us to take care of business.”
One thing she’d learned from Samantha Forster and Mrs. Allen in Nevada was that ranchers prided themselves on being independent and self-sufficient. Jonah and his cowboys were no different, and Mr. Nomi and Mr. Klaus knew it.
For the first time since the men had left, Kit looked up at her.
Darby nodded, but she knew she’d been right about one thing.
“What about the helicopters?” Darby folded her arms. “I’ve seen what can happen. There’s no way I could keep quiet.”
“You started out pretty good,” Kit told her. “Their idea wasn’t great, but they would’ve come around—”
“They did come around,” Cricket said quietly. “And if they hadn’t, I would have reminded them of that crash in Wyoming.” She looked aside at Kit and said, “A pilot herding wild horses failed to maintain proper altitude.”
Cricket was right. An example like that, one that showed concern for people as well as horses, would have been more persuasive.
You started out pretty good, Kit had said, but Mr. Klaus had ended their conversation by joking that she was a kid playing cowgirl.
Darby knew how she’d made her good beginning go wrong. Embarrassed—no, humiliated!—she replayed her whining about not being included.
That had zero to do with protecting Black Lava’s herd. She’d sounded like a kid, all right.
Besides, nothing would convince Kit or Jonah to let her go along on the horse drive if they had qualms about her riding ability.
And yet Darby only considered running for her bedroom, to hide, for a fraction of a second.
“What should I do?” she asked Kit.
“What I’m going to do is go take a look at that foal,” Cricket said. “We have a few sick horses at the barn. With luck, this baby’s symptoms won’t be similar.”
Role model, Darby thought again as she gazed after Cricket.
Alone with Kit now, Darby blurted, “Are you mad at me?”
It seemed like forever before Kit shook his head no. “Surprised,” he admitted. “You usually think ahead, act sensible, yeah?”
Kit grinned at his Hawaiian-sounding sentence, but his eyes turned wise.
Too wise, Darby thought, for a guy in his twenties.
“Know what my grandpa Mac used to say at times like this?”
“No,” she whispered, “but I bet I won’t like it.”
Kit matched her lopsided smile, then made his pronouncement.
“Listen, or your tongue will make you deaf.” Kit stayed quiet as the whir of bird wings passed overhead and the slosh of Navigator drinking at the tack-room trough drifted in to underline what he’d said.
Darby memorized the words.
Listen, or your tongue will make you deaf was a better saying than Shut up so you can hear what other people are saying. And she needed to learn that, because even though she’d been too shy to speak up for most of her life, Hawaii seemed to be changing her.
Or she was changing in Hawaii.
“Don’t get too down on yourself before you help me dump the water barrels.”
“Okay,” Darby agreed, “but what’s your grandfather’s name again?”
“MacArthur Ely,” Kit answered proudly. “He’s the best.”
Darby followed Kit toward the barrels, but her mind was elsewhere.
She’d been thinking about adding a chapter to her diary called “Paniolo Wisdom,” but this meant she had to change the title. She might be able to say Kit was part buckaroo and part paniolo but not his Shoshone grandfather.
But she’d have to solve that problem later. Tipping water from the barrels she and Megan had set out last night, into Hoku’s trough and the water troughs by the tack room, kept Darby focused on lifting and balancing and trying not to get too wet.
With that chore finished, Kit told Darby to lead each cremello up to the tack room to drink while he walked Cricket to her Jeep, so she could get back to work at the feed store.
Hoku objected by slamming her corral fence with jealous kicks.
Afraid the filly would splinter the wood, Darby shouted, “You know I love you best!”
Though Darby couldn’t see Jonah from where she stood, she heard him moan, “Enough!”
Darby h
ad latched the last cremello back into the round pen when Aunty Cathy pulled up and got out of the Land Rover, arms full of grocery bags and a big flat box.
“Let me help,” Darby said, jogging over as Aunty Cathy managed to slam the truck door with her hip.
“Just take the box.” Aunty Cathy blew her bangs out of her eyes, then added, “It’s for you.”
“What did your doctor say?” Darby asked as she maneuvered the box out of Aunty Cathy’s grasp.
“My concussion’s a thing of the past. I’m cleared for duty,” Aunty Cathy said.
“Oh, good—hey! This is the saddle blanket I ordered for Hoku!” Darby whooped, finally recognizing the return address on the package.
She’d used a little of her reward money from finding Stormbird, the lost cremello colt, to buy Hoku a saddle blanket she’d been admiring in a horse gear catalog.
Although Hoku wasn’t ready for a saddle yet, Darby couldn’t resist.
She stopped right in the middle of the ranch yard to open the cardboard box. As she struggled to rip loose the tape, Darby realized Cade had come to watch.
“Show us,” Aunty Cathy said and then, as Darby pulled the blanket free of its wrappings, she added, “Oh, Darby, it will look perfect on her.”
“Totally,” said Megan, who’d just jogged down the stairs to take a grocery bag from her mother.
“Yeah,” Darby said. She gave the blanket a flip, admiring it.
Bright with sun colors—from yellow-gold to flame-orange—it was worth every penny she’d spent.
When the filly gave a lonesome neigh, Aunty Cathy took pity on her and said, “I guess you should show her what she got.”
Just then, Darby realized Megan was looking past her at Cade.
Cade had drawn himself up to his full height. His arms were locked gunfighter-ready at his sides. He hadn’t come to watch her open the parcel. He waited to learn if Aunty Cathy had learned anything about his mother.
“Cade, I don’t have much news for you.” Aunty Cathy’s voice was matter-of-fact. “But Peg at the grocery store saw her yesterday, so she’s definitely—safe.”
Cade nodded.
With three pairs of eyes watching, he showed no reaction except that his fingers closed against his palms.
“Mahalo,” he managed. “Really, thanks a lot.”
“Of course.” Aunty Cathy sounded sweet and motherly and maybe that was more than he could take, because Cade turned and walked away.
“Just great,” Megan snapped, but she waited until Cade was out of earshot to say more. “All this time, he’s been imagining the worst, thinking she’s drowned or trapped or—and she hasn’t come to see if he’s okay. If I had a mother like her, I wouldn’t be searching for her. I’d hide!”
With that, Megan gave Aunty Cathy’s cheek a quick kiss. Then, she ran after Cade.
Darby’s jolt of surprise was seconded by Aunty Cathy as she said, “I wish I’d seen that coming.”
“What do you think she’ll say to him?” Darby asked.
“I don’t imagine there’s anything he wants to hear from anyone,” Aunty Cathy said. Shaking her head, Aunty Cathy gave Darby a half smile, then headed for Sun House.
Darby folded the blanket back into its box and carried it under one arm.
Chain links jingled across the grass as Francie the goat came as far as she could toward Darby. Francie’s bleat of greeting made Darby stop.
“How are you, little girl?” she asked. She kneaded the bony top of the goat’s head and looked after Megan, though she’d disappeared near the bunkhouse. “I hope Megan knows what she’s doing, don’t you?”
Francie nuzzled the front of Darby’s shirt, then tasted it.
“That’s for wearing, not eating,” she told the goat, but Francie had already reached the same conclusion.
Kimo’s dad had given Francie to Jonah as a joke. She was a fainting goat, a breed rumored to have been created by shepherds to pass out under stress. That way, if a wolf or coyote was on the prowl, the valuable sheep would flee, leaving the unconscious goat for the predators.
Darby hated that idea. Still, she teased Francie. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea. If I’d fainted at the mention of herding with helicopters, I wouldn’t have been able to run my mouth and make people think I was a child.”
Naaa, Francie bleated, but Darby didn’t try to interpret the comment. She just kissed the goat’s silky head before getting a better grip on the box, then jogged off to show Hoku her present.
Two months ago, she probably would have just whipped the blanket out of its box to display it for Hoku. Now she knew the action might scare the filly, so she knelt outside the corral, opened the box so that the blanket showed, and scooted the box under the bottom fence rail.
If Hoku wanted to investigate it, she could.
In the meantime, Darby took down the halter and tangerine-striped rope from where she’d slung them over the top fence rail. Hoku knew them and associated them with good things—like going somewhere with Darby—so Darby went into the corral and haltered her horse.
“Yep, that’s for you,” Darby said when Hoku rolled her eyes toward the box.
Darby walked over and lifted out the blanket.
No spatter of gravel or explosion of dust came from her horse’s hooves. She didn’t shy or show the whites of her eyes in fear, so Darby approached the filly with the blanket draped over her arms. She stopped a few feet away, not forcing her filly to examine the blanket, just offering the new object for inspection.
“Hoku, it’s for you,” she said.
The filly sniffed the blanket. She tasted it. She listened as Darby flapped it.
“You’re such a big girl,” she said, and then she made a quick kissing sound.
Hoku shook her head, spilling her golden mane to one side of her neck, then the other. After that, the filly looked into Darby’s eyes with pure acceptance.
“What did I do to earn that?” Darby whispered to her horse, but she knew the answer. She was kind. She cared. She paid attention.
Right now, for instance, Hoku’s ears stood straight up. About the size of Darby’s hand, with all four fingers and her thumb aligned, the sorrel’s ears were alert. Hoku gave back the attention Darby lavished on her.
“You’re not afraid of this silly blanket, are you?”
Hoku’s ears changed. They cupped to catch each word. The filly stood so still, Darby saw past the fine golden fringe edging each ear to the dark pink skin and the filigree of veins leading to Hoku’s heart.
Darby didn’t know how long they’d stood together before she realized she was humming to her horse. It took a few seconds more for the lyrics to emerge.
“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are.” Darby didn’t know all of the words, but it didn’t matter.
Darby sighed with pleasure, then she began gliding the blanket over Hoku’s back, neck, and face. The filly nipped and sniffed and nuzzled.
“So much for horse charming,” Darby told the filly. “You’re the magic maker.”
Or maybe they’d hypnotized each other, and that was why Darby decided to ride Hoku—not Navigator—on her first trip to Patrick Zink’s house when Jonah came by to tell her Patrick had called earlier, begging for company.
Chapter Eight
The Zink family owned the acreage that adjoined ‘Iolani Ranch to the south. It had once been an old sugar plantation that stretched from the grasslands into the rain forest.
The sugar mill had long ago fallen into ruin. It was overgrown with vines, though the house next door, which Darby had only glimpsed down its long driveway when they drove by, appeared modern.
The Zink property had been bordered with a barbed wire fence until Darby had become friends with Patrick Zink and let slip Jonah’s poor opinion of barbed wire. Now, expensive white wooden fencing enclosed the neighboring acreage.
Patrick Zink was in the eighth grade with her at Lehua High, but she hadn’t gotten to know him until she and h
er mom took a ride to the old sugar plantation.
Darby smiled as she remembered Patrick’s pith helmet. She hadn’t known that anyone wore those hats outside of movies, but there he’d been, in real life, exploring the ruins of the old place.
Soon Darby found out he loved books as much as she did, and he had an encyclopedic knowledge of the island’s history, especially the A-Z Sugar Plantation that had once been run by the Acosta and Zink families.
Darby had only talked with Patrick twice since the ugly accident that had peeled off the top layer of skin on his leg. During their first conversation, Patrick said the doctors had referred to that part of his injury as “degloving.” Though she didn’t consider herself squeamish, Darby thought that was an unsettlingly accurate description.
As she and Hoku neared the driveway to the Zink house, they looked both ways, then crossed the street to walk in the shade of ohia trees, which grew closer together on the Zinks’ side of the street.
Darby was enjoying the red blossoms and salty sea air, when she heard a horse nicker.
Hoku halted suddenly and sniffed, trying to locate the other horse by scent. When that didn’t work, Hoku stood soundless, listening for the other horse. When the nicker didn’t come again, Hoku snorted, asking the other horse to come out.
And she did.
A beautiful black-and-white paint stretched her nose out from behind a tree at the edge of the Zinks’ driveway. Then, she emerged completely.
Mistwalker was masked by satiny black from muzzle to eye patches. Her flat cheeks, forehead, and neck were white, but she had a long, graceful, black throat and body, and her black mane fell in tendrils.
“That’s Patrick’s horse,” she told Hoku, “but what’s she doing here?”
Just like Honi, Patrick’s paint mare was allowed to roam free, and Darby had mixed feelings about the horses’ liberty. Although this end of Moku Lio Hihiu wasn’t heavily inhabited, the streets had their share of cars.
Darby looked around for Patrick. Even with a walking cast, he probably couldn’t go too far from the house, so it was no surprise she didn’t see him, but when Darby turned her gaze back to Mistwalker, she realized the mare was acting strange.
