Memories of a Dirt Road Town

by Stephen Bly

  Lord, I’m a good teacher, but I failed at being a wife. And I’m not having much luck at mothering a twenty-year-old. I don’t know squat about horses, except that I love the breeze in my face … OK, maybe not quite this much breeze. But I do enjoy learning to be myself and not feeling like a failure in everyone’s eyes. Especially yours. Now, I need you to lead us home safely. And let me learn all I need to learn on this day.

  As they approached some thick brush at the side of the narrow creek, the paint mare stopped and jerked her head up. Her ears pointed forward as she pawed her hooves and snorted.

  “That’s just some thunder, girl. We’ll ride south out of these clouds.”

  The mare pranced and shook her head back and forth. “What’s the matter, girl? Is there something scary up there? It’s OK, baby … I just prayed and I’m sure…”

  Develyn’s words faded when a buckskin horse broke out of the brush and galloped past them up the draw. Behind him, eight more horses broke out and galloped straight at them.

  The paint mare lunged forward, but Develyn yanked the reins hard to the right. My Maria spun in circles.

  “No, girl … No! Calm down … it’s OK … let them run.”

  My Maria stopped, then threw her head back and forth until she jerked the reins out of Develyn’s hands.

  “No you don’t!” Develyn screamed and clutched the saddle horn with both hands. “Stop it right this minute!”

  The paint mare bolted after the other horses.

  Develyn stuffed her boots into the stirrups and locked her knees against the skirts of the saddle. She leaned so far forward that the brim of her straw cowboy hat pressed against the horse’s mane.

  I’m not going to get bucked off … I’m going to ride this out … even if it kills me. That’s not quite what I meant, Lord … save me!

  My Maria caught the band of horses at the top of the draw and showed no sign of slowing down.

  Develyn tried to distinguish the thunder in the hooves from the thunder in the clouds. She leaned forward, slowly released her grip with her right hand, and retrieved the reins from near My Maria’s ears.

  If I try to turn her, she’ll stumble and go down for sure. If I yank back, she’ll buck me off under forty crashing hooves. I have to ride … I have to stay on … like running downhill, I have to stay upright until she gets tired.

  Like a school of frightened fish in a huge aquarium, the band of galloping horses swirled to the top of one ridge and then back to the bottom, a quarter of a mile east, then back to the west.

  They circled and slowed near the crest of a draw, then suddenly stopped as they neared an outcrop of granite boulders that stood out like Stonehenge against the prairie. Develyn leaned forward and patted the panting horse.

  “Good girl,” she whispered.

  At the sound of her voice the buckskin reared up on his hind legs and whinnied like a demon condemned to the abyss. He galloped south with the other panicked horses.

  Develyn yanked back on the reins. “No! Not this time, girl … no more running!”

  My Maria raised up and threw her head left and right. Develyn grabbed for the saddle but only clutched the black tail. When the horse bolted after the others, Develyn lost her grip and landed on her backside in the dirt.

  “No!” she screamed.

  When she staggered to her feet, she noticed her left boot missing.

  “Don’t you take my boot!” she shouted.

  The band of horses circled south, and she noticed a brown object fall out of the flapping stirrups.

  “Thank you!” Develyn hollered.

  She limped across the prairie toward the boot. Several drops of water sprayed her face as she staggered around trying to tug on her boot. Develyn stomped her foot down until the boot slipped on, then waved her hand at the sky.

  “Don’t you dare rain on me. Do you hear me, clouds? I’ve had enough of this. You stop it right now!”

  9

  Develyn pulled her hat down as she waded straight into the strong east wind.

  I don’t have a clue what’s the smartest thing I ever did in my life, but this ride has to be one of the dumbest.

  The band of horses crested the rise to the west, then disappeared out of sight. “All right, Devy-girl, what is the plan now?” She continued to hike to the west. “If you have a field trip, and upon arrival find the museum is unexpectedly closed, what is the alternative? There is always another option.”

  I didn’t ride way up here for the love of horses or freedom or to find myself. I tried to manipulate a scene so I could burst in on Quint unexpected.

  Why did I think that was so important?

  She tilted her head into the wind. “What would Renny Slater tell me? If you get bucked off … get back on. Of course, dimpled-grinnin’ cowboy, that only works with a horse at hand.” Her boot heels pressed into the dry red dirt as she stomped west.

  Why do I have to control every scene and every relationship? Where is my trust in you, Lord? “At least it’s not raining … yet.” She glanced up at the sky. “Thank you, clouds … I’ll make sure you have extra time at recess tomorrow.”

  Lord, I don’t know if I’ve trusted you much for everyday leading. For twenty-five years I’ve been living in a tightly controlled box. Controlled by me.

  Not since the time Dewayne and I were lost right in these same hills did I really cry out for your direction. But we made it home that day. You and Brownie led us home. Well, here I am again in the same wilderness and just as lost. And just as needy. Some things never change.

  When she got to the top of the rise, Develyn gazed down a long, sage-dotted slope that opened up on a flat prairie of brown grass. She spied a windmill water pump silhouette about a mile away. The horses circled the water trough, then began to graze.

  “OK, I’ll catch up with them at the windmill. You are in big trouble, My Maria. You are supposed to take care of me while I take care of you.”

  I’ll make it back today. Of course, that other time, I didn’t lose my horse. Brownie would never run off on me. But I was scared and soaked to the bone.

  “How do I catch a horse that doesn’t want to be caught … without a fence for a hundred miles?” She glanced to the north. “Casey Cree-Ryder,” Develyn shouted, “why aren’t you here when I need you?”

  I don’t look good wet. My mascara runs, the makeup sags, the creases around my eyes become more prominent. Develyn began to laugh. Why in the world would I care about what I look like right now? If Ms. Worrell’s perfect hair and makeup got messed up in the wilderness of Wyoming and no one saw it … would it really be messed up? Why don’t they ever discuss that in an Intro to Philosophy class?

  A quarter of a mile from the windmill, Develyn paused and spied out the grazing horses. Thunder rolled like a second-grader trying to learn the bass drum from somewhere behind her to the east.

  The buckskin stallion is watching my every move. If I march up to them he’ll break out to the open prairie and lead his harem. Is that a cabin near the well? Or just a pumphouse? … or an outhouse? Knowing where a roof is might be an advantage, if it has a roof. I don’t think it has a front door.

  She smelled sulfur in the heavy air. Develyn kept herself a hundred yards from the windmill. “If you find yourself in a lightning storm, lie flat on the ground with your head tucked into your arms. Stay away from trees and tall structures.” Like windmills. I’ve repeated that every year for the past twenty-three years. She circled to the north, and as she did the stallion pushed the others to the south, always keeping himself between Develyn and the band of mares and foals.

  Vertical lightning speared the earth to the north where the cedar trees thickened, but she heard no corresponding noise.

  Develyn shoved her hands in her back pockets. “OK, Studly … I understand why you are doing what you are doing. And I understand the others in your harem, but I don’t understand My Maria. After all we’ve been through together … for about three weeks … hmm … maybe that’s no
t all that long.”

  Develyn ventured a couple of steps toward the shack next to the windmill. She heard its continuous squeak in the strong wind. “Girl, what do you see in that big muscle-bound stallion … I mean, besides the obvious?”

  Without taking her eyes off the buckskin, she took two more steps toward the little building. He jerked his head up and snorted, but didn’t give ground.

  Oh good, at this rate I’ll be to the windmill by morning.

  Her right hand shoved against something hard in her pocket.

  My cell phone! But … is there any reception out here, and who do I call? “Hello, sheriff’s office? I’m the paranoid ditsy blonde schoolteacher from Indiana who phoned you last night … listen, I got bucked off somewhere north of Argenta and south of, eh, Tensleep … could you send someone out to help me catch my horse?”

  She crept forward. The buckskin nonchalantly grazed in the distance. Or, I could try to call Casey. She said her cell phone only worked half the time at home. I wonder why she bothers with it?

  Develyn eased out her cell phone. She stared at the power rating. One? They told me it had to read two or higher to even send a signal. So, here goes nothing. The phone rang once, then stopped. “Casey?” There was no response. “Casey, can you hear me? That’s what I figured. That’s OK. I need to do this myself. Of course, I wouldn’t mind a little advice. You see, I’m lost out in the wilderness about twenty miles north of Argenta and just got bucked off. I’m not really lost; I just don’t know where I am. Anyway, I did get bucked off and My Maria has run off with a wild stallion who has a big harem already. He won’t give her back. So, what’s your advice?”

  The phone was dead.

  “Let’s see, Trigger always came whenever Roy whistled, but I don’t know how to whistle.”

  The phone was still silent.

  “Now I wish I had let you bring those John Lyon horse training videos. Of course, I don’t have a VCR or electricity. Oh, well … don’t worry … I’ll just improvise like a rookie principal when the special assembly speaker doesn’t show up. Bye, Casey. Bring some salsa when you come down tonight; the stuff at Mrs. Tagley’s tastes like McDonald’s fry-sauce.”

  Develyn stared at the dead phone, then glanced over at My Maria and the other horses. “I believe I did that rather well, don’t you think? I didn’t sound terrified a bit, did I?”

  She took a step toward the shack. The stallion reared, then chased the others further to the south.

  Develyn shoved her hands into the tummy pocket of the hooded sweatshirt. “So that’s your limit?”

  Develyn backed up several steps. The buckskin moved forward toward the water trough. Several drops of rain pelted her face like spit wads on the last day of school. She glowered at the dark clouds. “I said … not now.”

  The rain stopped.

  She rubbed the back of her neck.

  I suppose I could call Renny … but I don’t remember his number. It was 644-mustang … or 466-mustang … or 464-mustang, but he said he was going to Sheridan after he broke the horses at Quint’s.

  I do have Quint’s number on my speed dial. But what do I tell him? Hmmm … I got lost and bucked off trying to sneak up on your ranch to surprise you?

  She folded the phone and shoved it in her back pocket.

  “Ms. Worrell, you are on your own here. This is like a test, isn’t it, Lord? Am I cut out for wilderness ranch life or not?”

  She studied the spinning windmill, the tiny one-room shack, and the grazing horses. “Studly, I presume you want to wait out the storm right here. I’ll tell you what, you let My Maria go home with me, and I’ll promise to leave you here undisturbed.”

  She took a step forward. The stallion backed up several steps and snorted.

  “OK, that doesn’t work.”

  Develyn circled west as thunder rolled behind her. The air was heavy. She noticed she was breathing hard when she reached a spot where the shack blocked her view of the buckskin stallion.

  OK … if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. Of course My Maria and a couple of others can see me. I wonder if they will squeal?

  She took one step toward the shack, paused, then another. The air felt damp on her face. She pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up around her neck like a scarf.

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when we left Argenta. But I didn’t catch Kathy, the bouncy blonde weather girl with perfect hair, on Channel 6. Perhaps because I don’t have any electricity. Do they have propane televisions?

  At thirty feet from the shack, she noticed the horses mill toward the south. Most were trying to graze the short brown grass while keeping an eye on her.

  Develyn flattened the palms of her hands together and held them to her lips. Now he’ll see me and they’ll all run off. This is about as fun as playing “Duck-Duck-Goose” for the first time with two-year-olds.

  She couldn’t see him, but she heard the snort, then a flash of lightning to the south.

  Develyn dove flat on her stomach in the dirt. Sticky reddish-yellow sticky dirt.

  Why did I do that? Wet and muddy. Ms. Worrell … you’ve come a long way since Riverbend Elementary School.

  The ground was cold, rough. Lying still, she spied the stallion.

  He sees me.

  Yet … he’s … he’s coming this way? What’s he going to do? Run over and stomp on me? This is incredible. Everything I do gets worse. I think I’ll go to sleep and wake up in a tanning booth at Shyrleen’s.

  The sky darkened. Drops of water splashed in the dirt around her face. She ground her teeth. Develyn shot a glance at the heavy, dark clouds. I am not going to say this again. This is not the time to rain.

  The stallion grazed closer to her.

  Oh, sure … pretend you don’t see me. Who are you fooling, Studly? I could jump up and start screaming. You would panic and race all the way to Idaho. I’d lose my horse, but it might be worth it to show you who’s boss. Of course, I’m the one in the dirt, so I guess I already know who’s boss.

  She watched My Maria meander behind the stallion, coming closer.

  Now you decide to come over here? When I’m down on my face. Just like a fickle daughter I know. Oh, Dee … how I wish we were close … close like … well, not me and Mother … we were never that close, or we were too close, I can never tell which … Lord, give my wayward daughter wisdom to do what is right and good wherever she is right now, whatever she is doing.

  She laughed aloud and the buckskin jumped back, then he and the others retreated behind the windmill.

  At least they didn’t run off completely. I couldn’t help it. The thought of me being lost, bucked off, lying in the dirt and mud, without a clue of how this day will end … and praying for my daughter … well, it was incongruous, to say the least. I hope she is praying for her mother right now.

  The minute she noticed the stallion had turned away, Develyn pushed herself to her hands and knees and crawled straight for the doorless entry to the tiny shack. She had just reached the opening, when thunder and lightning struck at the same moment, and the clouds opened up like a stuck zipper that had just broken free. She sprawled on the dirty wooden floor and leaned her back against the unfinished two-by-four framing on the inside of the building. The wind whistled through the cracks in the siding and the openings that at one time contained windows and a door. A breeze muted the putrid odor of the room.

  At least I’m dry … for now.

  She peered around the rancid-smelling shack and waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. The only object in the room seemed to be a heavy table with four legs made out of tree trunks. Develyn scooted to the center of the room. Outside the horses still grazed near the adjacent windmill.

  I don’t think they can see me in here. Of course that doesn’t help me catch My Maria. What is this place?

  A meat cleaver was stuck in the top of the table. A half-circle scraper and a hacksaw decorated the table.

  It’s a butcher shop. In the old days, they must hav
e had slaughter houses out where the cattle grazed. These might be antiques.

  When the lightning flashed, she spotted blood on the meat clever.

  I wonder how long this shack has been abandoned? It’s like stepping back in time.

  At the next flash of lightening, she drew her finger along the side of the blood-stained clever. She left a clean trail on the fat knife and a patch of red on her finger.

  “Oh, my … oh … no … it hasn’t even dried,” she blurted out. “It’s fresh blood.”

  Her chin began to quiver.

  There’s got to be an explanation for this. Maybe I’m closer to the headquarters than I thought, and they slaughter out here to keep the stench from the other buildings.

  But Quint Burdett would never use a pitiful building like this for a butcher shop. No one would … unless … they were hiding out.

  But no one would drive to the middle of Wyoming to slaughter cows.

  Would they? What have they been butchering?

  I believe it’s time to catch my horse and go back to the cabin. I don’t want to know about this. There are some things in life I just don’t want to know … like what happens to a drug addict hooker in a back alley in New York … or what it feels like when you get sucked out of a broken airplane window at thirty-five thousand feet … or what happened in this shack during the last twenty-four hours.

  I don’t want to know, Lord.

  She spun around and started for the door, to be greeted by two big eyes.

  One blue.

  The other brown.

  “There you are!” she murmured to the paint horse. “So, you decided to check on Mama, or did you just want to get your nose out of the rain?”

  Develyn crept closer.

  If I grab the headstall, I’ll hold on for dear life. She’ll panic and drag me back outside and try to run with the others … I’ll lose my grip and be trampled to death … it will take them months to find traces of my body. Thank goodness for DNA.

  She glanced back at the bloody meat cleaver.

  On the other hand, what are my choices?