A Feather in the Rain

by Alex Cord

  Twenty minutes later the announcer voiced the obvious, that Jesse and his colt had won The Futurity.

  He talked about the stud colt’s lack of pedigree and his awesome ability and said he’d like to be selling tickets to Jesse’s front door to folks with mares to be bred. He believed this colt would be the start of a dynasty.

  Lamar, in the box with the Nalls and Kevin and Carley, turned to his wife and said, “Hear that? More than a million. Way more than a million.” They all laughed and made their way to the arena floor to congratulate Jesse.

  Though he felt a rush of emotion, it was a quiet thing. He had always thought that if this moment would ever occur, that he would let loose a yahoo and toss his hat in the air or some such extravagant gesture of joy. But it wasn’t that way. He felt humble and quiet and private again. He brought Holly, Abbie, and Mason into the circle while they presented him the trophy and took the photos. He spotted Lamar in the crowd and called him into the circle. Larry Littlefield, microphone in hand, was asking about the horse. Jesse drew Lamar close and introduced him as the man with the golden eye. “He found him…while he was fishing.”

  Larry said, “Fishing? You didn’t pull him out of a lake did you?” He held the microphone to Lamar.

  “No, sir. I think he came out of the sky. God made him, I stumbled on him, and Jesse showed him how to become what he is. It was a match that was meant to be.”

  Jesse felt a sudden surge of emotion and tipped his head toward the roof and silently said, I love you, Zack. I know you’re here.

  Larry moved next to Jesse and said, “Any final thoughts, Mr. Jesse?” He held the microphone out.

  “Yes, sir. I do have one request. I would like to purchase that first cow we cut and take her home and retire her at my place.”

  Larry laughed and said, “Just right…just right.”

  93

  The Bounty of Success

  He did buy the cow and take her home. Holly called her Moonie. Jesse called her Money. Orders for the video were pouring in faster than they could fill them. Everyone with a promising mare wanted to breed to The Futurity champion. Local TV and radio wanted interviews. He used them to promote their non-profit Miracles Unlimited program by taking Holly with him and having her talk about the benefits of therapeutic riding. The Lazy JB was alive with comings and goings. Abbie had to find them a secretary to help with the increasing volume of work.

  She was already in bed when he came still steaming from the shower and squirmed up against her. She’d loosened her hair and let it spread on the pillow. A time of great calm between them had arrived. Their relationship had developed in leaps from one pinnacle to another leaving valleys yet to be explored. He began to talk of his father. How important it was for him to impress ol’ Clyde. “I still don’t know if I ever did.” He chuckled at a thought.

  “What?”

  “He was a piece a work.” He shook his head. “Sometimes he could make John Wayne look like a sissy. He was gonna teach me to swim. So he threw me into a pond. I mean slung me in there. Now I never was one of those kids who took naturally to water. I didn’t much care for it. I damn near drowned while he stood there and watched…” He quit breathing. He shook his head and made the sound of air leaving his lungs.

  “What happened?”

  “I just scrambled and flailed and somehow managed to get to shore.”

  “What if you hadn’t?”

  He snorted through a grin. “You want me to tell what I really think?”

  “Yes.”

  “I believe I would’ve drowned.”

  “You think your father would’ve stood there and let you drown?”

  “I don’t believe he ever considered it as a possibility. He was just teaching his boy to swim.”

  “Can you swim?”

  “Kinda…I’m about halfway handy in the pond up at the creek. Course, I can stand in it.” He grinned in the corner of his mouth. “He was a good man, though. A real good man.”

  “Bear was a great swimmer. He still is. And my brother, wow, he could outrun anything. He won more trophies in high school. My grandmother was crazy about him.”

  Jesse could see in her eyes the voyage back as she said, “Grandmama,” she continued, “always spoke so softly. Always full of love. I miss her so much. I always wanted to be like her. It’s so hard having people get dead on you.” She laughed at herself and went silent.

  There was some need between them to catch up on each other’s lives before they met. He moved until her head was cradled in his shoulder and his hand found the splendid fullness of her breast, her nipple swelled between his fingers. He knelt above her and helped her free of the gown. He looked at her with wonder, as a child at a conjurer. “There has never been anything as beautiful as this.” He gently placed his hands on her full round belly and stroked the taut apricot skin as tenderly as fingers have the art to do. Then slowly did his hands caress and circle the warm throbbing bloom of her bosom. The moisture flowed and he felt the life within her. “Is it all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied as she offered herself. “It’s fine.”

  “I want you so much. You’re sure it’s okay?”

  “He said as long as it feels all right. And it feels just fine.” She reached out her arms.

  94

  Parturition

  The morning was damn near as dark as night. Mamacita was due to foal any time. She shifted restlessly as he undid the door to the foaling stall. He began at her head and gently ran his hands over her body. Her shape had reached an extreme of enlargement. The pelvic bones had loosened, her udder had sprung and the yellow waxy colostrum had formed on her teats, all the definitive signs of imminency. Each evening, Ricardo bathed her hindquarters with antiseptic soap, wrapped her tail and made sure the bedding was clean. Most horses deliver at night following a feral heritage. There are fewer predators on the prowl then and by hunting time, a foal can be on its feet ready to flee. Jesse told Ricardo to keep a sharp eye.

  After supper that night, he sat with Holly and watched a Batman movie. Then he tucked her into bed and told her he was going to spend the night in Zack’s loft. “I think tonight might be her time.”

  She looked up at him from under the covers and said, “I want to be there. If it’s going to happen, you call me, okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “Promise?”

  “I will.” He kissed her and left.

  Jesse laid abed, his senses as near to waking as a junkyard Rottweiler. It was two in the morning when he sensed unrest below. He was out of bed on his way to the door when Ricardo hit the steps. Jesse opened the door.

  “The mare, she’s coming pronto. Maybe there is some problem.”

  The barn was lit. The dogs had emerged. Chauncy had assumed a stoic post in the corner of the foaling stall. The mare’s hide was darkened with patches of sweat. Jesse placed the flat of his hand on her flank. She turned her head. The big chocolate eyes were rimmed at the top with white, glaring. Wetness gathered in the anxious furrows of her brow.

  “Call Holly and fix a bucket of hot water.” The words had barely left his lips when she appeared at the doorway sleepy-eyed, bundled in down. “I just told Ricardo to call you.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “She’s having a problem.” He took her pulse at the jaw and dropped to his knees to check it at her foot. “Her pulse is out of control. Call John on the cell phone and bring it to me.”

  Holly stood at the mare’s head cupping her cheek and wiping her face with a cold cloth. Jesse described the mare as very distressed, shocky, pulse speeding, eyes rolling, gums white. He listened to Dr. John tell him it sounded like she ruptured the artery that feeds the uterus and would bleed to death very quickly. The foal would suffocate. Mamacita shifted her weight, drawing her hind legs under and squatted as if to sit. It was a brief pose before she moved again, dropping her weight weakly to one hind leg and then the other in search of relief. She dropped a shoulder, tentatively, then t
ightened in spasm as her uterus contracted in a great expulsive effort. Jesse said, “She’s fixin’ to lie down.” Then he listened to the doctor and covered the mouthpiece to tell Holly, “If she wants to lie down, let her.”

  The mare lowered her shoulder to the ground and flopped on her side with a heavy groan and troubled breathing. Holly went down next to her, murmuring sounds of comfort with a hand against the horse’s cheek. Jesse said, “Okay, I got it. Get here quick as you can.” He folded the phone.

  The mare wasn’t down but seconds before she thrashed her legs and struggled in pain to regain her feet. Jesse had added a bottle of glycerin to the bucket of hot water. He put his folded arm to the shoulder in the bucket, dabbed a gob of Vaseline on his fingers and over the back of his hand and watched it disappear under the mare’s tail. At shoulder deep, the pressure threatened to paralyze his arm and render fingers useless. Sweat-beads showed on his brow and cheeks. His face twisted shut as he groped to try to discover what was wrong. The mare spasmed again. Jesse bit his lip. “It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. The head is turned completely back. I can’t feel the front legs, they must be folded underneath.” He pulled his arm out and plunged it in the bucket working circulation back to his hands. “I’m gonna try to get a hold of the nostrils, see if I can’t pull the head around.”

  He pushed in again while Holly held her head, whispering. The mare tried to contract again but her strength was gone. She sighed in resignation. Jesse found the nostrils. With his thumb and middle finger hooked, he pulled as hard as he could. His shoulder muscles bunched, his neck corded, eyes squeezed shut, he placed his left hand against her rump and pushed as he pulled with his right. His grip slipped free of the foal’s nose. The head stayed. “Shit. I can’t move it. I might be able to get a wire around the jaw and pull it around and maybe get it out. No matter what, it’s the end of the foal. This mare’s going fast. We’re gonna lose ’em both.” His eyes held a long questioning look at Holly. Then as if he found an answer, he turned and ran to the house and back in under a minute.

  Holly’s eyes were wide, staring as he stepped into the stall. How could eleven months of anticipation come to this? “There’s no other way, Holly. They’re both gonna die. I’m gonna try to save the foal.” Holly’s eyes would not leave his hand. “Why don’t you go outside. We’ve got to do this quick.” He glanced at the mare. “There’s no more time.”

  “No. I’ll stay. I want to be with her.”

  “I don’t think you should.”

  “I’m going to stay, Jesse.” She moved to the mare’s side and slowly stroked her bulging ribs. She draped her arm across the mare’s back and squeezed her eyes shut as Jesse moved to the head. Tears ran in streams down her cheeks, her chin trembled as she spoke softly to Mamacita.

  “She’s gonna drop, Holly. You’ve got to step back. Be careful she doesn’t fall on you.” Jesse placed the muzzle of the Smith and Wesson to the hollow above Mamacita’s left eye angled toward her right ear. He glanced once to see that Holly was safe and closed his finger on the trigger. The explosion echoing in the stirred-up barn, San Mamacita blew a noisy gust and collapsed into the straw. A small movement occurred in each leg at once, then she was still. The other horses pranced, snorting in their stalls. Jesse had his big pocketknife in his hand as he knelt to the swollen belly. He grabbed a handhold of skin and pushed in the serrated blade, sawing the full length of the belly exposing the warm still living viscera. Holly covered her mouth and nose and turned her head but only for a moment. Then with resolve, turned back to watch. She wiped away her tears and held her shirttail over her nose.

  The clack of iron-shod hooves drumming the walls of neighbor stalls and squeals of annoyance came to their ears. He put the knife aside and squinching up his face, dug through the hot tangle of entrails. He clutched and tugged until he freed a shining white sac, like the soft skin of a monstrous egg. He took up his blade and punctured the thick membrane, then tore the opening wide with his hands. Holly had moved to his side. A dark little head with wet pointed ears appeared. Jesse’s hand cleared away the viscous fluid from its nose and mouth. A gasping breath was heard, followed by another…and another. Jesse pulled away the sac and held the filly in his arms, covering his chest with blood. He looked up at Holly and said, “It’s a girl.”

  95

  Lost in a Thorny Wood

  Dr. John was a thoughtful, studious man, big and kind. He explained to Holly that there was nothing else that could have been done. “He did exactly what I would’ve done. He even collected the first milk. Very important. He knows how much you loved the mare and he wanted to be sure that you understood that there was no other choice. I’m sorry…” He touched the back of her fragile hand. She nodded silently, then smiled a sad smile and said, “Thank you, John.”

  They named the filly Buenacita, and took to calling her Cita. They started with a handheld nippled bottle until she became adroit and graduated to a hung bucket with a nipple at the bottom. Abbie called her Beebee for Bucket Baby. Holly fussed over her like a child with a favorite doll. But she was not the same Holly who was waiting for the birth. She grew silent and withdrawn.

  She continued her commitments to the therapeutic riding program. But underneath her practiced facade, darkness brewed. In the evenings before Jesse got home, she’d have her rocker time alone to read, relax, or meditate. But now, the pictures flowing into her mind uninvited were of death. They came in battalions without mercy, to occupy and leave no room for hope and joy. Her brother’s murder, the beloved Grandmama, Jesse’s son, her twenty-six-year-old valiant cousin, tortured, killed by cancer, Buckshot…and now the beautiful Mamacita who gave her life so the baby might live.

  All death seemed to have but one faceless presence, a gray oppressive force that sucked away her spirit, leaving her defeated, lost in a thorny wood, unable to find the open air.

  Jesse’s attempts to cheer her went for naught. A wan smile was the best his efforts would yield. Even the relentless fervor of Abbie fell before the wall of Holly’s depression. Jesse spoke to the vampire obstetrician who assured him her health was fine but to bring her in. “Will you call her, Doctor? She’s got kind of a hair trigger lately and I don’t want to set her off. She seems to be about an inch away from crying most of the time.”

  She was already in the bed, staring at the wall in the almost dark, when he came in and asked her if she’d like a massage. “No. Thank you.” He could see that her face held the tight grimace of a child preparing for tears.

  He sat on the bed and touched her arm. “What is it Holly? What can I do? Please tell me. I need you to talk to me.”

  “I don’t know. I’m sad.”

  “Why? Everything is perfect. We should be happy.”

  “The happier I am, the sadder I become. I miss my brother so much.” The chin trembled, she bit her lip. “He should be here to see this.” The tears gushed and she cried in earnest. Loud sobbing gulps. He held her in his arms and rocked her, whispering, “I know, I know…”

  He felt her stiffen in his arms as she clenched her fists and pounded the bed, an instantaneous flare of red-faced anger. “I want him back.”

  Jesse was stung with a feeling of impotence. “He’s not coming back. But I’m here. I’m here. I love you and I’m trying to fix it. All I do is try to please you and you’re making me feel like I don’t exist.” He felt badly and stupid for getting angry so he attacked her even more. It grew to a fury, until they were on their feet at opposite sides of the bed, Holly screaming at him, till she ran out of fuel and stood exhausted, tears running down her face, arms limp at her sides, a waif. He went to her, wrapped her in his arms and held her close. She whimpered, “I want my mommy,” and then laughed a weak, little laugh. He put his hands to her wet cheeks and kissed her tear-drenched lips. He said, “I want my mommy, too. I can get you yours a lot easier than you can get me mine.” They laughed.

  96

  Ruby

  Ruby, always the brightest of lights with her r
eady smile, and eagerness to please, was more than welcome at the Lazy JB.

  Cita was a red sorrel like her mother, with a narrow white strip down her face. Jesse had imprinted the foal from her first breath. People were a magnet for her. Ruby said she was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen and would not leave off wrapping her arms around the filly and petting her from head to tail.

  They had a couple of hours before a Miracles Unlimited session was to begin. Jesse had his arm around Ruby as Abbie arrived leading the huge Clydesdale, Mr. Bud, and said, “Your steed, madam.”

  Ruby bit her lip and turned her head as if to find a way out. “Jesse, are you sure I need to do this?”

  “Of course you do. He’s a baby-sitter.”

  Holly was twenty paces away leaning on the top rail of the arena, watching. She whined in mockery, “C’mon, hurry up, let’s go. Get on the horse. I wanna see you ride. You’re such a fraidy-cat, mommy.”

  Her face made an abrupt change of expression as she felt a twist in her guts. It was sudden, intense. Shocked, she gripped the rail, fearing she’d go to the ground.

  Abbie saw it on her face gone white as an aspirin. “Holly, you all right?” She called. Jesse and Ruby turned to see. Jesse came on the run and put his arm around her. “What is it?”

  “I think…it’s starting…” She squeezed it out in a clenched whisper as he took her weight in his arm. Ruby was at her other side.

  “Can you make it to the house?” Jesse asked.

  “If I can’t, you can put me in a wheelbarrow.” She started to walk, Jesse holding her on one side, Ruby on the other. She turned to her mom and, referring to Mr. Bud, said, “Looks like you lucked out…for the moment.”