Maple Dale ~ My Forever Home (Maple Dale Series)

by MaryAnn Myers

  “What happened to him?” Shane asked.

  “Soring,” Mrs. Butchling said in disgust.

  “Come on,” Mindy said, dragging Shane by the arm.

  Matthew caught up with them. “Someone needs to come help me with Hillary. I’ve never seen her this bad before.”

  “Go with Mrs. Butchling,” Mindy told Shane and took off with Matthew. Hillary was still on the ground and sat rocking, wailing soft and low, then loud, and then soft and low.

  “Hillary! Hillary!” Mindy said. “Zip up! Come on, zip up!” She took hold of Hillary’s hands and when Hillary yanked them away, screaming in pain, she wrapped her arms around Hillary’s waist and held her tight. “Block us,” she told Matthew. “Block us! Get between us and the building!”

  Matthew got down on his knees behind them and spread his arms wide to try to shield the energy.

  “Good! It’s working! It’s working!” Mindy said. She could feel Hillary slowly stop fighting her, losing strength, losing the horse’s emotion, the horse’s agony. “It’s all right,” Mindy kept saying. “It’s all right.”

  Tears streamed down Hillary’s face as she looked up into Mindy’s eyes. “He’s in such pain. He’s in such pain.”

  Mindy held her close, rocking her back and forth, and looked up at Matthew, arms still spread wide and with tears in his eyes as well. “This is just too hard on her,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “This is just too hard on her. As long as people keep doing this to the horses….”

  Mindy nodded. “I know.” Mindy nodded again and again. “I know.”

  ~ * ~

  Shane stood next to the Tennessee Walker’s pen in disbelief. He’d heard about soring before, years ago. It’s a cruel, common practice of some Tennessee Walker trainers, where the horse’s front legs are blistered with either mustard oil, diesel fuel, or kerosene; the sick purpose is to inflict pain which forces the horse to perform an artificial gait. “This is a crime. Why is this not outlawed?”

  This poor horse’s front legs were so swollen the skin was split and oozing all over. The owner of the horse didn’t want anything to do with selling the horse outright. He thought he would get more money inside the auction ring and didn’t want any part of these three hysterical old ladies pleading for the horse’s life.

  “He’ll be fine. It’s not my fault he has no heart,” he said, nudging Mrs. Butchling out of the way. “Come up with more money, or….”

  Shane grabbed the man by the arm. He’d seen enough. He’d heard enough. “How about you and I have a little talk about this?”

  “You don’t scare me,” the man said.

  “Yeah, well you’re not scaring me a whole lot either. I’m just evening out the score here. I don’t appreciate you pushing my ‘grandmother’ around like that.”

  “I didn’t touch her. I didn’t touch any of them.”

  “That’s not what I saw. I saw you push her out of the way. She’s still holding her arm where you pushed her.”

  Mrs. Butchling was indeed in fact holding her arm. But it was out of helplessness, not pain.

  “You’d think you’d want your horse to be given a second chance.”

  “It’s not my horse. I just brought him in here to sell him.”

  “Then why not take their money and run.”

  The man hesitated.

  “Where’s your knife, Gramma?”

  Mrs. Butchling’s eyes widened. “In my pocket,” she said slowly.

  “Bring it here.”

  “That’s okay,” the man said. “Pay me the eight hundred dollars and he’s yours.”

  Shane took the knife from Mrs. Butchling and sliced back the rest of the thumbnail he’d broken grabbing hold of the man’s arm, while Karen and Veronica counted out the money and placed it in the man’s hand. Karen whipped out a piece of paper, scribbled a receipt, and had the man sign it.

  When the man raised his eyes and looked at Shane, Shane nodded ever so gentlemanly-like. “Have a nice evening,” he said, snapping the knife shut.

  Karen, Veronica, and Mrs. Butchling were standing looking in at the horse when Mindy appeared at their side. “We got him,” Veronica said. “Now if can only figure out how to get him loaded. Did you bring the Bute?” she asked Karen.

  Karen went to their truck and returned with the pain medication, hit the horse’s jugular vein first try, and they gave the horse about twenty minutes for it to settle in. “Hillary says he is very brave,” Mindy said. “She said he loves to hear how brave he is.”

  Surrounding the horse and showering him with praise and encouragement, one painful step at a time, they led him out of the sale barn chute. Veronica had backed their trailer flush with the doors. Up went one front leg, then the other, and then both hind legs. When he looked like he was going to go down, Shane said he’d ride with him. Mindy too. They braced him on both sides. Veronica closed the ramp, climbed in the cab, and truck and trailer snaked its way through the parking lot. When the horse sniffed Mindy and then nickered, somehow, someway, she knew he was going to be okay.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Leah Oliver’s fear always was that someone would harm Maple Dale or harm the horses. Even after her passing, she remained to watch over them. Maple Dale had been a place of happiness for many years now and she hadn’t had to worry. Her presence was felt only on occasion, as of late. Though she had never met her personally, Mrs. Butchling also felt a closeness to the former Headmistress of the Equestrian Center.

  Even now, far away from Maple Dale - as she watched Veronica, Karen, Mindy, and Shane guiding the Tennessee Walker down off the trailer, she felt Leah’s presence. At that precise moment, if someone asked Mindy, she’d say she felt it too. A guardian angel.

  With the Butazolodin well into his system by now and all the positive energy supporting him and surrounding him, the horse walked to the stall prepared for him like the brave horse that he prided himself in being. Fresh cool water and a full hay net awaited him. Once they had him settled in, Mindy phoned Hillary to see how she was feeling.

  “Fine. I’m good. I’m so sleepy though. How’s the horse?”

  “He’s doing good too. He’s in his stall eating hay.”

  Mistreated but not starved, the horse was able to enjoy food at will and was getting brighter-eyed with each passing minute. Shane marveled at the dedication of these three eccentric old women, how much they loved horses, how much they cared about their well-being, and the risks they were willing to take without hesitation to help them. They were a dying breed, he thought sadly, just like Sassie Susie. Then he looked at Mindy and smiled. She was gooping the horses legs with some kind of salve, talking to him, listening to him. Loving him.

  By the time Mrs. Butchling, Mindy, and Shane arrived back at the sale barn for Shane’s truck, half the cars and trucks and trailers were gone. From the sound of loud bellowing, the auctioneer had worked his way through the horses and was now soliciting bids on frightened cows. Pigs squealed off in the distance amidst the rattle and clang of a truck and trailer pulling out onto the highway.

  In the darkness, the killer guy’s truck and trailer sat on its flattened tires, looking like a deserted relic, a rusted prison cell, an asylum, a hell on wheels. Mindy shuddered and looked away.

  “You did good,” Mrs. Butchling said, wrapping her arm around her. “Now go home.”

  “Thank you for the ride,” Shane said.

  The old woman smiled. “No. Thank you.”

  When Mindy’s phone rang, she took it out of her pocket and glanced at Caller ID. “It’s Bill.” Odd his calling her this late. “Hi, Bill. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to make sure you heard about the horse thieves being caught.”

  “Seriously?” Mindy shared the news. “Where?”she asked.

  “At the Canadian border. They had fake Thoroughbred papers. The one listed the horse as thirty-seven years old. The agent was the wife of a Thoroughbred trainer. She knew better. The horses are all fine.�
��

  “Thank you for calling.”

  “Good night, pip-squeak.”

  Mindy laughed. Bill hadn’t called her that for years. As she relayed the news, a loud roar of applause and shouting sounded from the auction arena.

  “What a night,” Mindy said. “What a day.” She and Shane piled into his truck and followed Mrs. Butchling’s SUV out of the parking lot. At the barn, Shane parked next to Mindy’s Jeep and sat looking at her. She’d fallen asleep.

  He touched the side of her face gently. “We’re home, sleepy head. Time to wake up.”

  Mindy opened her eyes and yawned

  Shane smiled. “You are so pretty.”

  “Thank you,” she said, yawning again. “I don’t feel very pretty at the moment.” She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and yawned again.

  “So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  Mindy had to think. Today is Saturday. Tomorrow…. “The baby naming ceremony.”

  “For little Da?” he said.

  Mindy smiled. “Yes. One o’clock. No gifts. Just come.” She pointed to the first house on the hill. “That one right there.” They both looked in that direction together and at the same instant glanced up at the brightly shining North Star, full of promise, full of hope.

  Shane watched as she tiptoed toward the barn, stood just this side of the door, listening, and then walked to her Jeep and waved. All was well.

  “I think I love you, Mindy Morrison,” he said softly.

  Mindy turned and gazed at him, her hand pressed to her heart. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered. “Don’t be late.”

  ~ * ~

  Benjamin was a nervous wreck preparing for the Oshichiya Meimeishiki. Every time he lamented “something I know I am forgetting,” Bethann insisted, “This can be the Japanese-American version. You have leeway.”

  Barefoot and humble, he bowed to each guest when they arrived and showed them to the table. “Walk soft. Walk strong. Baby Da will absorb your energy.”

  Mindy waited outside the front door for Shane, hugged him dearly when he arrived and lingered in his arms for a moment. “Benjamin can be a little weird, but you’ll like him. He’s cool.”

  Shane appreciated the warning upon entering the house. When Benjamin bowed, hands held together, he followed Mindy’s lead and returned the greeting. Then, as had all the other guests, he and Mindy removed their shoes and socks and followed him to the table.

  The room was quiet, no one talking, no one looking all that comfortable. If it weren’t for the soft Japanese music playing, you could probably have heard a pin drop. That is until little David decided to start crying. Bethann cooed to him and gently patted his back. “There now, there now,” she said softly.

  Benjamin stood at the head of the table - head of the family - and produced a scroll handwritten in Japanese and English. “From this day forth,” he read. “Baby Benjamin David Sim shall be called Da. In honor of my father and his father and his father, it is a blending of Japanese-American tradition. Grandfather Morrison will now feed baby.”

  An assortment of bean and rice dishes had been placed from one end of the table to the other, all prepared by Benjamin. Christine placed Da into her father’s arms and handed him a silver spoon, the same spoon used in Benjamin’s naming ceremony back in Japan. “Just pretend,” she said.

  Richard smiled, positioning Da and making ready to feed him, Christine at his side.

  “With each serving of rice and beans come energy and strength,” Benjamin said. “Baby must be fed by all who are here. Counter clockwise to include past generation before us.”

  As baby Da was passed from guest to guest he was fed in theory, in spirit, and looked up at each person with wonder. Mindy smiled at how relaxed Shane was handling a baby and the tender way he adjusted Da’s bib before passing him along.

  “May we watch over Da always. May we now share feast. May we now eat. ”

  “Namaste,” Bethann said.

  “Namaste,” everyone echoed.

  Almost as soon as Benjamin said, “May we now eat,” Baby Da started wailing. Everyone laughed. “If you’ll excuse me,” Bethann said. “I’ll be right back. Please. Eat! Benjamin has been cooking all night.”

  Each bean and rice dish had been seasoned differently. Bland, for the times of boredom in life, stagnation. Spicy, for high times, haughty times. Salty, for the inevitable sadness that will come to pass in one’s life. Sweet rice pudding for all the happy and prosperous times, abundance.

  “Eat in any order,” Benjamin said. “Thus is life.” Perhaps also typical of life, once this was said, conversation started to flow, laughter and joy, tears. At this moment in time, all was right in this house of Benjamin and Bethann and Da Sim. All was good. Family, friends, generations of loved ones. Mindy squeezed Shane’s hand as the two looked at one another. The future. Their future. Da’s future. And someone to always, always watch over them.

  As a gentle cool breeze wafted through the barn not far from the house, the horses nickered in greeting and contentment. A dear friend had come to visit and though it was time to say good-bye, she would never be far away. She’d promised and she always kept her promises. Rex lowered his head to touch her, his mane and forelock wispy in the breeze, and from the tender look in her eyes, he knew. I’m home. My forever home at last. I am home.

  For information on fracking:

  http://truth-out.org/news/item/18727-native-american-tribes-seek-help-from-un-world-court

  http://www.propublica.org/article/new-study-finds-high-levels-of-arsenic-in-groundwater-near-fracking-sites

  http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=shale-gas-and-hydraulic-fracturing

  http://dangersoffracking.com/

  Horse Rescue Organizations:

  http://horseworlddata.com/rescue.html

  http://www.ohorse.com/organizations/horse-rescue/

  http://www.horse-welfare.org/

  End Horse Slaughter

  http://www.humanesociety.org/issues/horse_slaughter/

  http://www.vetsforequinewelfare.org/join.php