23
THE SILVER BUCKLE
Let me walk in beauty, and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
— Chief Yellow Lark, Lakota Sioux, 1887
On the drive home Bird had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Pete to notice a thing, but as soon as they arrived back at Saddle Creek Farm, she felt an overwhelming need to see Sunny.
She climbed the fence and walked through the field.
Sunny? Can we talk? I feel miserable.
What took you so long?
What do you mean?
Frank was here a while ago. He left you something.
Bird stopped walking, suddenly suspicious. What?
Don’t be so grumpy. Do you want it or not?
I’ll know when I see what it is.
Well, I can’t use it. It might be nothing.
Where is it?
Sunny looked across the field to a birdhouse that was perched on a fence post. Purple martins had long deserted it, but nobody had bothered to take it down. In there.
Bird didn’t move.
Don’t be so stubborn! Go look!
Bird walked over to the birdhouse and peered in. At first she could see nothing but old straw and dried bird droppings. Then she saw a piece of white paper. A note.
She reached inside and pulled it out. It was wrapped around something heavy. She opened it up, and gasped.
It was a beautifully engraved silver bucking horse, the size of her hand. A belt buckle. She looked more closely. On the bottom, it read, “Champion of the Calgary Stampede.”
Bird sank to her knees. She furiously wiped at her tears, wishing away all her complicated emotions. The paper floated to the ground.
She grabbed it and bunched it up. She wasn’t ready to read her father’s note.
Sundancer ambled up and stood over her.
Aren’t you curious?
Bird reluctantly uncrumpled it. She read aloud, “To my only child, Alberta, with all the love that a single heart can hold.”
Bird began to cry.
Why had she been so cruel to him when she found out he was her father? Why had she transmitted such harsh words in the parking lot of the hospital? He was her father. Her only father. She would probably never see him again, and her last words had been hurtful.
Then she heard his voice. It was far away, and totally unexpected.
Alberta. Bird.
Fred? I’m sorry for the things I said. I really didn’t mean them!
I know. You were hurt. I hurt you. I’m sorry.
Will I see you again?
I’ll come and go. I cannot promise more than that.
Do you understand why I asked if you were my father that day?
Do you understand why I didn’t answer?
No, I don’t.
Why does it matter what label I have, Alberta?
It does. I’m trying to understand things about myself and my family.
Some things must simply be accepted.
Can you stay, now that we know each other, and be my father?
I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. My job takes me into dangerous places. When I’m called I must go. That’s what I do and who I am.
Is it me? Am I not the daughter you wanted?
No! You’re everything I could want and ten times more. It’s me, Bird. My past would put you in harm’s way. I cannot be what I am not.
I don’t ask you to!
Please understand. I cannot be the father you want. I cannot become what a father means to you. I will not say that I will, to make you happy, then break your heart when I fail to live up to your expectations. But I can make two promises: I will always know if you are well and fine. And I will always love you more than I love myself.
But I don’t ask any of that! I just need to know you. I need my father!
I’m sorry.
I’ve wondered about you my whole life.
Alberta, I admire and respect you. Never forget that. I look forward to watching how you live your life.
Will you come again?
I hope so.
Will I know when you’re around?
Sometimes.
I guess that’s it, then.
It’s better this way. Please understand it is for your own good. I must wander in this world, not because I want to, but because I don’t know any other way.
I do! I can help you!
No. You can’t. I have to make my own journey. Like you must make yours.
But I have so much to learn from you! How can you go so easily?
My life has been anything but easy. There are reasons why I am what I am. I won’t trouble you with them.
Then why did you come into my life?
Because it was time. I thought you were old enough to handle it.
I’ll try. I’ll try to handle it. I hope I’m strong enough.
I know you are. I’m very proud of you. I’ll always be proud of you.
Your voice is fading. Fred? Dad? Are you still there?
I have to go. Remember to feed the Good Wolf.
I will, Dad! Goodbye!
He was gone. Bird felt completely empty. Hollowed out. Her throat ached and great sobs wracked her body. She felt more alone than she’d felt in her entire life.
A soft breath tickled the nape of her neck, and the familiar aroma of grassy breath reached her nostrils. Bird looked up. Sundancer stood over her protectively, his neck arched lovingly to her.
Then she felt coarse fur brush her arm. Cody stood on guard beside her, ready to attack any creature that might take advantage of her vulnerability.
My animals. My friends.
Bird girl. Despair not.
Oh, Cody. Fred is gone. I may never see him again.
At least you met him. That is good.
But it hurts! I didn’t miss him before I met him!
Would you rather not have known this man who is your father?
Bird thought hard about Cody’s question.
Sundancer nickered. I met my father once. Dancer. A mighty horse. I’m glad I did. I’m proud to be his son.
Cody touched Bird’s nose with his own. The Indian is good also, Bird, like Dancer. He knows the Language of the Animals. You got that gift from him. Ask no more. Take the good and leave the rest.
Bird considered again her friends’ wisdom. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.
Her throat stopped aching so badly, and her breathing became more even. Would she rather not have met Fred? No. She was glad she had. She would have his beautiful smile and his gentle, wise ways entrenched in her memory. She had been enriched by knowing him, even for such a short time. As Fred had asked her, why did it matter what label he had? And he was right — her expectations for a father might be more than he could fulfill.
Bird sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her arm. Thank you, Cody. Thank you, Sunny. I’ll try to take the good and leave the rest.
That is good. Otherwise you get hurt by life, and become bitter.
Bird sat in the field surrounded by daisies, long grass, and clover. Cody settled in beside her, and Sunny grazed nearby. They enjoyed the quiet together.
A breeze rustled the leaves of the poplars along the fenceline. A raven began to caw.
Another raven joined the first, and within a few seconds, there was an entire chorus.
Bird sensed that something had happened.
Cody lifted his head. He sat up. First he hummed quietly, and then he pointed his nose to the skies and began to howl. The howl was respectful and sincere.
Sundancer blew through his nostrils and drooped his ears. He lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Bird bowed her head. It was Pete. She knew from how her animals were behaving. A tear fell to her cheek. His spirit had passed out of this world and was going somewhere else.
He’s gone, Alberta.
Fred?
At birth, we come from the east on the wings of the eagle. At death, we depart
to the west on the back of the bison. Pete Pierson has gone to the west.
Is he okay?
His spirit is pure. He is at peace.
Thank you for telling me.
Be well.
Once more, the voice of the man she now knew as her father was silent. She trusted she’d hear it again. She just didn’t know under what circumstances, or when.
EPILOGUE
THE FIRE IN THE FLINT
From nowhere we came; into nowhere we go.
What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.
It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime.
It is the little shadow that runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.
— Chief Crowfoot, Siksika Blackfoot, 1830–1890
At ten o’clock the following Tuesday morning, bells rang loudly from the little white church on Mississauga Road. It was a clear summer day, and rays of sunlight shone through the multicoloured stained glass windows of the Belfountain Church. The historic wooden building was filled to capacity. Chairs had been brought up from the basement and crammed into every nook and cranny.
In the front pew, Laura Pierson sat very still. Her face was serene. Instead of wearing the traditional black garb of a widow, she’d chosen to dress in white — her wedding dress — from head to toe. She’d worn it for Pete, she’d explained. Bird thought she looked like an angel.
Pete and Laura’s three sons and their families had arrived at the hospital just in time to say their goodbyes, and were now staying with their mother for a week. They’d gone together that morning to the crematorium. Bird imagined that their presence had been very comforting to Laura. Now they sat with her, all holding hands, as the minister intoned sympathetic and lengthy passages from the Bible.
Bird knew she should listen more carefully, but when Pete was alive he’d always avoided church. He said that his back grew sore sitting for so long on the wooden benches. Bird smiled a little at the memory. Somehow, sitting on wooden benches at horse shows, hockey games, horse races, and picnics was another matter.
For the obituary in the newspaper, Laura had chosen a passage from Shakespeare. Bird thought that it was totally fitting:
“The fire in the flint
Shows not ’til it be struck,”
It was from Timon of Athens, Act I, scene i. Pete loved Shakespeare. He and Laura had enjoyed their yearly trips to Stratford to see the plays. Of all the countless lines in Shakespeare’s sonnets and plays, Bird thought this one gave the greatest glimpse into Pete Pierson’s soul. He had been such a measured and thoughtful man, but, like the matchbox in the quote, a person would’ve been warned to be careful if you struck his flint. Bird herself had witnessed Pete’s fire on rare occasions, always when an injustice had been done.
Bird and her family had gotten to the church early enough to get the row behind the Pierson family. Hannah and Paul sat holding hands. Julia and Bird sat next to them, and Eva and Stuart tucked in to complete the row. On the other side of Hannah, Cliff wiped away a tear, his head bowed. Pete and Cliff had talked about horses and traded horse racing tips for years.
Three rows back on the other side, Abby Malone sat with her parents, Liam and Fiona. Abby had loved Pete, too. He had seen her through some very troubled times, and had helped her train Moonlight Sonata to win the Caledon Steeplechase the last year it was run. Her sad face mirrored Bird’s own.
Hilary James — Mousie — and her husband, Sandy Casey, sat with their parents near the back. Mousie’s grandmother, Joy Featherstone, and her husband, Robert Wick, were right beside them. Together they operated the Stonewick Playhouse. The James family had long been friends with the Piersons, and Pete had been a great supporter of Mousie’s career. People in the area still asked for her autograph, years after she’d been the star of the show ring on her stallion, Dancer, Sunny’s sire.
In the days since Pete’s death, Bird had again asked Eva to tell her about Fred Sweetree. Finally, Eva had been honest about her feelings. She’d been dealing with her own pain of rejection, and believed she was protecting Bird. After she thought that Fred had died in the plane crash, she saw no point in discussing him. It had been her opinion that the less Bird knew about him, the less hurt she’d be. Bird wished they’d been able to discuss him years before. It would have been much easier to deal with then. But it was a start.
Eva had also opened up about her grandfather, who was still in custody awaiting trial. Bird knew how Hannah felt about her father, but Eva had never spoken about him. Kenneth had been as destructive to his younger daughter as he was to his older one, doling out his affection in small amounts only when it suited him. He had treated both girls as objects, not people, and each still grappled with the impact he’d had on their lives.
What power parents have over their children’s lives! Bird thought with vehemence. For the duration of their lives! Why did kids allow it? Why couldn’t people just get past all the negativity and toss it out when they grew up? Bird would have to think about it. She didn’t want to carry around any bad stuff from her mother or her father. She would try to take the good and leave the rest, as Cody had advised.
Maybe Fred was right to stay out of her life — at least if he didn’t think he could be a good father. Maybe he would do less damage that way. Certainly a lot less damage than Kenneth Bradley.
Why did she expect more from Fred than he could give? She looked around the church, half expecting to see him, but he wasn’t there.
Kimberly and her mother, Lavinia, rushed into the church late, but there were no more chairs. Lavinia was so strident that a man got up and gave her his. Kimberly was very embarrassed, but Bird winked at her. Bird chuckled quietly. Lavinia would never change.
As Bird scanned the crowd, Mack Jones and his wife smiled at her from the row just behind. Seeing Mack reminded Bird of all the intrigue that had happened in their little community in the last while. Pete Pierson had played a big part in righting all the wrongs.
How could Dexter, or anyone, have done those things to innocent animals, Bird wondered? Air embolisms, broken legs, induced colic, the unspecific accidents Frank had mentioned — all for money. She hoped that when Dexter got out of jail, he’d never again be allowed to have anything to do with horses. Ed Cage would get what he deserved as well. He’d said that he’d done what Dexter had asked because Dexter was his boss and he couldn’t refuse, but Bird knew better. People can refuse to do things. Ed should have quit his job rather than injure animals. And the way he’d used Wanda was totally wrong. The whole thing made Bird feel queasy.
Tanbark and his mother, Alison Wedger, had driven up from Toronto for Pete’s funeral. Pete had helped Tanbark when he was living wild in the woods below the Escarpment. They sat halfway back, beside some neighbours. Tan and Alison were coming to Saddle Creek Farm for dinner later, with Laura and her family.
Sally Johns and her father, Harold, were at the funeral, too, sitting together quietly. Bird hoped that the whole incident with Tall Sox would soon be history, and that Sally’s problem with lying would cause no more trouble for Hannah.
Then she smiled softly. A letter from Alec had arrived that morning. She didn’t need to look at it. Bird remembered each word, but particularly loved: I think of you when I hear a bird sing. I think of you when the sun sets. I think of you when it rains. I can’t get you out of my mind. All my love, Alec.
Bird was startled out of her reverie by a great wail from outside the church. The minister stopped speaking. Everybody froze. The wail sounded again.
It was Cody. Bird was sure of it.
She got up as quietly as she could and crept quickly down the aisle along the wall. When she got near the door, she ran outside into the blinding sunshine.
Cody was sitting in full sight on the lush green lawn, bathed in light. His head was thrown back and his nose pointed straight to the heavens. He howled and wailed and howled again.
He was giving a proper send-off to the man he’d a
lways called the Good Man.
Under the oak tree beside the road, a chestnut horse stood proudly at the fence. Bird gasped as she recognized Dancer, the majestic superstar. He was older now, and not as fit as in his prime, but there was no mistaking his elegance and his huge presence. Dancer pawed the ground. We come to honour this man who understood the vast connections between humans, animals, and the earth. The great old horse bowed deeply.
Moonlight Sonata — dark and silky, and beautifully proportioned — stood with Dancer, head down. She had borne two of Dancer’s babies, both excellent horses in their own right.
Bird’s gaze went to the tall gelding who cheekily stared back at her. Sundancer, the son of Dancer, and her best friend.
How did you get here? Bird asked Sunny.
Fences are meant to be jumped. You think we’d miss this funeral?
Then Sunny bowed too, his nose touching the ground.
Cody humbly crept to his side and sat.
Bird, alongside the animals, dropped her head to her chin and grieved for Pete Pierson. Finally, out here in the open air, she could feel the sacredness of Pete’s life and the solemnity of his death. He would not be coming back. Finally, with her animals, she felt the reality of it. In the church, surrounded by walls and people, she had not. Her tears began to flow.
She would miss him. A lot.
She remembered his words to her at the Caledon Derby just days before: “Damn the torpedoes, and seize the day.” Then, when she and Sunny had won, “Savour the moment.”
Bird vowed to try.
She thought about how much her father had admired Pete. He must be here, somewhere, on this day of Pete’s funeral. Bird reached her hand deep into the pocket of her yellow cotton summer dress and pulled out the silver buckle he had given her. She held it up. She turned in a complete circle, to be sure that Fred could see it if he was close enough. I’ll keep this with me. Forever.
Nothing.
Bird slowly dropped her hand, the silver buckle clutched so tightly that her entire arm began to shake. Pete was gone, and so was her father.
She wasn’t alone, though. She had her animals and her family and friends. And she had been given tremendous gifts. The wisdom and the confidence that both Pete and Fred had passed on to her were more valuable than she could fully understand.
Dark Days at Saddle Creek Page 24
