Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago

by Stephen A. Bly

  “I hope so, Devy-girl, because she can’t turn around, that’s for sure.”

  “What are we going to do?” Develyn hollered back up the cliff.

  “We?” Casey yelled. “I think I’ll just go back to the truck. This is too scary to watch.”

  “Casey!”

  “OK … OK … I’ll follow until we find a place big enough to turn around.”

  My Maria’s horseshoe slipped on the granite rock.

  “Oh, no!” Develyn cried out.

  The horse regained her footing.

  “Hang on, Dev, you’re doin’ fine,” Casey called out from somewhere behind.

  “Fine? Any moment now I expect to plunge to my death. This is a lot steeper than I thought. What am I doing here? I’m just an Indiana schoolteacher.”

  “A crazy schoolteacher.”

  “Crazy, but not brave like a bronze bombshell I know.”

  “Devy, this bronze bombshell is scared to death. I don’t mind going to heaven, but being mangled on the rocks while the buzzards pluck out my eyeballs is not my idea of dying with dignity.”

  “This is not funny!” Develyn hollered. “What are we going to do?”

  “Hang on and pray that Uncle Henry knows what he’s doing.”

  “Casey, don’t let the buzzards pick at my bones.”

  “Look at him go. Uncle Henry seems to know every place to put his foot. All we have to do is have the horses step where he’s stepping.”

  “Look at him? I’m not going to open my eyes.” With reins laced around her fingers, Develyn clutched the cold, leather-covered saddle horn with both hands. She slid forward in the saddle until her thighs pinched tight against the fork of the saddle. Her wet jeans rubbed her raw. She tried to lean back on the cantle and keep the toes of her tennies jammed into the stirrups.

  Lord, I don’t know how to have an adventure. I spend my entire life doing the safe thing. Then I lose all sense of reason and do something like this. Why can’t I just have little … mostly sane … adventures? Why did I have to jump head over heels …

  Develyn flipped open one eye and spied Uncle Henry’s rump a few feet in front of her.

  Bad choice of words, Lord. Maybe Mother is right. Maybe I don’t have a lick of sense … whatever that means. There has to be something between a safe life and a terrifying one.

  I’m not sure if I’m talking about my life or my relationship with men.

  “Are you doing OK, Devy-girl?” Casey called out.

  My Maria slipped. Develyn gasped. Then the paint horse regained her footing. “I’m just … talking to the Lord …”

  “Yeah, I’m praying too. I haven’t prayed this much since riding in a yellow cab in New York.”

  “You’ve been to New York?”

  “I go there every year for the opera season.”

  “What?”

  “Sure, last year it was Candide, Orlando, and The Pearlfishers. This year it will be Carmen and Madame Butterfly. But my favorite is Puccini’s The Girl of the Golden West.”

  “You don’t really go to New York for the opera, do you?”

  “No, but it took your mind off dying for a minute, didn’t it? I went to a horse show once in Madison Square Garden. How many times have you been to the Garden?”

  Develyn blinked open an eye, gasped, then slammed it shut. “I really … don’t … think … this … is … a … good … time … to … talk.”

  “Yes, it is. Close your eyes and hold on to the saddle horn. My Maria will make it down on her own, or she won’t. But either way she has no intention of listening to you. So let’s talk about cities. Do you like Chicago?”

  “I like the north side and the lake front … but I’ve gone to Chicago all my life. There and Indy.”

  “How about L.A.? Ever been there?”

  “No, have you?”

  “Nah, but I’ve been to Dallas and Houston. I like Dallas best.”

  “I like Houston. Have you ever been to Miami?”

  “No, but I’ve been to Orlando.”

  “I don’t like Miami too much, but I like the Keys.”

  “I’d like to go to Seattle some time.”

  Develyn felt more relaxed even as My Maria stumbled step by step. “So would I. Ever since I saw …”

  “Sleepless in Seattle?”

  “Yes. I love that movie.”

  “The kid is annoying, but I love the movie anyway,” Casey said.

  “I like the scene …”

  “Where Meg Ryan …”

  “Is standing in the …”

  “Roadway …”

  “Staring at Tom Hanks …”

  “And the traffic is whizzing …”

  “By, and their …”

  “Eyes meet and then …”

  “She takes off …”

  “But they know.”

  “Yeah,” Develyn sighed. “They know …”

  “Look at …”

  “At the hearts on the Empire State Building?”

  “No!” Casey shouted. “Open your eyes, Dev!”

  “Oh … no!” Develyn hollered. “Uncle Henry … wait.”

  Loose gravel littered the last half of the descent. Uncle Henry tucked his rear legs under him as he began to slide.

  “Can he do that?” Develyn said. “Can we do that?”

  “I hope so, because we can’t go back up unless Uncle Henry leads the way.”

  My Maria stopped. Dev’s feet, still in the stirrups, were shoved up by the horse’s neck. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Spur her forward.”

  “I’m not putting my feet to her flanks. I’d tumble over her head.”

  “Then slap her backside.”

  “And turn loose of the horn?”

  “You can’t stay there. Uncle Henry slid on down the hill.”

  “Hill? This is like jumping out of a fifty-story building.”

  “More like a hundred-story building, but who’s counting? Give me a second, and I’ll ride down and slap My Maria.”

  “No!” Develyn hollered. “I’ll do it. If I’m going to die, it will be my own responsibility. I don’t want you to live with that guilt.”

  “Guilt? I’ll be just as dead, sweetie.”

  Develyn laid back until the Cheyenne roll of the cantle mashed into her lower back. She stared straight up at the clouds that now blocked the Wyoming sky. “Now would be a very good time for the Lord’s return.”

  “Are you going to wait for him?”

  “No. But I don’t want to rush things anyway.”

  “Did you ever go to Disney World?” Casey asked.

  “I went to Six Flags, instead.”

  “Did you ever sit at the top of one of those rides, and just before it drops off into certain death, you said ‘what am I doing here?’ and yet you did it, and you lived through it all and everything?”

  “No.”

  “You never went on a scary amusement park ride?”

  “Never. What’s your point?” Develyn said.

  “Forget it. Kick her neck with the heels of your shoes and shout ‘giddyup.’ I’ll see you at the bottom.”

  “Are we goin’ to die, Casey?”

  “Nope. Look at Uncle Henry. If you had been riding him, you’d almost be there by now.”

  Develyn reached up and tugged her hat down in the front, then grabbed the saddle horn again. “Bye, Casey …”

  “Bye, Devy!”

  “Giddyup!” Develyn slammed the heels of her tennis shoes into the paint horse’s neck.

  My Maria lurched forward as wind and dirt blasted her face. Develyn fought to stay in the saddle. The paint horse slid, then tried to stand, then stumbled, then slid some more. Develyn thought she might be screaming something, but she couldn’t hear anything. A roar like an imploded building crashing to the ground. The dust was so thick
she could not see My Maria’s head, so Develyn clamped her eyes and mouth shut.

  When she could hold her breath no longer, My Maria stopped. Develyn slid forward, her belt buckle caught on the saddle horn. The paint horse snorted and staggered forward.

  “Devy!”

  “Casey? Where are you?”

  “Do you see any angels?”

  “No.”

  “Do you see any of those other guys?”

  “No.”

  “Then I think we’re alive. We’re on level ground, at least level rock. Climb down and lead My Maria straight ahead.”

  Develyn tugged the horse only a few feet as the dust started to drift to the east, and she spotted a dirt-covered Casey Cree-Ryder. Popcorn now looked like a solid brown horse. Only Casey’s tongue and eyeballs looked clean.

  “We did it, girl!”

  “Yes!” Develyn yelled. “We lived through it!”

  “Look up there.”

  “Oh, my word,” Develyn gasped. “What … what happened to the old roadway?”

  “It sloughed off. We rode an avalanche down the mountain.”

  “How did we do that?”

  “You mean you don’t do that back in Crawfordsville?”

  “I don’t even ride the whip at the Montgomery County Fair, let alone an avalanche. The old roadway is gone.”

  “Only halfway down.”

  “How will we get out of here?”

  “Oh, now you ask that?”

  Develyn searched the narrow valley. “Maybe we could slap Uncle Henry in the rear and tell him to go home.”

  “We told him to go home, and this is where we ended up.”

  “Am I as dirty as you?” Develyn asked.

  “You look very good all brown. It beats that pathetic white skin of yours.”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  “We’re going to call on the LaSages, remember?”

  “Like this?”

  Casey smeared her cheeks. “We’ll ask to use the ladies’ room to freshen up a tad.”

  Develyn pointed across the canyon floor. “Uncle Henry’s over by those green trees. Shall we ride?”

  “My Maria and Popcorn need a break … let’s walk … or stagger. There must be a spring that feeds those trees. Maybe we can wash off there.”

  “Let’s go look at the mansion before it gets dark.”

  “Sure, and what do we do after dark?”

  “I’ve got no idea.”

  “Dev, are you sure this beats going to Powell with Quint Burdett?”

  “I don’t know how I will clean up, where I will spend the night, or how I will get out of here. I don’t know when I’ll get my next meal or whom I will talk to next on the cell phone. There are a million things I am not sure of, but there is one thing I do know. I’d rather be right here, bruised and filthy, than flying off to Powell tonight.” She pulled off her cowboy hat and felt a handful of dirt tumble down the back of her shirt. “However, I do hope the LaSages don’t mind if company drops in.”

  It seems strange that the LaSages would invite us for tea, then aren’t here when we arrive.” Casey peered though the yellow chez curtains that stretched inside the tall windows of the mansion.

  Develyn strolled down the veranda. “You don’t suppose we have the wrong day?”

  “Shoot, Devy-girl, I think we have the wrong century.” Casey smeared the dirt on the window with the hem of her T-shirt. “Hey, this is the living room.”

  Develyn held her hat in her hand. “It was probably called the ‘great room’ back then. Wouldn’t it be fun to look at the whole house?”

  Casey smashed her round nose against the window. “I don’t think there’s any furniture.”

  “Not after one hundred years.” The wooden porch squeaked under Develyn’s tennis shoes. “I’m going to try the back door. There has to be another way in.”

  “It has a big staircase. I can see that. This house is so totally out of place. How in the world did they get all the materials back here in 1890?”

  “I suppose if you have enough money, you can do anything.”

  Casey glanced back out into the canyon. “But why here?”

  Develyn licked bitter yellow dust off her narrow lips. “If they needed to hide out from anyone, this would be the place.”

  When Casey glanced up she had dirt on the end of her nose. “You make it sound like international intrigue.”

  “That beats a story about successful sheep ranching. As long as we’re pretending, we might as well have some adventure.”

  Casey leaned against the window again. “Did you ever live in a house with a wide, curving stairway?”

  “I’ve lived in a two-story house, but the stairway was rather boring.”

  “I lived in a barn loft for two years, but I had to climb down a ladder or rope,” Casey murmured.

  Develyn strolled the veranda to the north and left Casey at the window. Casey is so matter-of-fact. Living in a barn loft and climbing down a rope? She makes it sound so routine and ordinary.

  Finding a clean spot on her T-shirt, Dev rubbed the window.

  This must have been the kitchen. It’s twice the size of mine in Indiana. It looks a lot like Quint and Lindsay’s. But there is nothing in it except that island and a cookstove … at least I think that’s a cookstove. Empty kitchens look bigger.

  She hiked around to the west side of the house. Fifty feet behind the house, wild rose bushes sprawled and clung to the side of the canyon.

  They must have jammed the house against the cliff to break the wind. Or to keep anyone from sneaking up on them. It’s strange to see rose bushes out here. But they cover up the canyon wall … the rock is broken and jagged, but it all looks smooth covered with roses.

  I’m sure this whole canyon is beautiful in the spring when the creek runs full and the meadow is green. I wonder how far it was to the neighbors? And who does a French countess visit with, anyway? I wonder if she was ever lonely and cried herself to sleep at night? I’ve spent way too many nights crying myself to sleep.

  The wide back door had eight panels, all with cracked and peeling white paint.

  Lord, I haven’t cried myself to sleep since I came to Wyoming. I like that. Not that my problems have disappeared. I still feel guilty about Spencer’s death. I’m still worried about my Delaney. I still don’t know if I will spend the rest of my life alone. But I don’t lie awake at night staring at the dark ceiling. I hope the countess enjoyed Wyoming as much as I do.

  Develyn studied the weeds in the backyard.

  I wonder if she had a manicured garden? That looks like an archway in the roses. An archway to what? Maybe it’s just a façade to convince her she had a bigger yard. Did she stroll out here in the summertime and pretend she was in Paris? OK, maybe not Paris … but it must have reminded her of something. You can’t just move to a foreign land without shaping some of it like home. But if she had been in Mexico … and Martinique … I wonder where her home was?

  The veranda stretched to the back door, then the house jutted out. The round glass door handle felt cold. It was so slick Dev couldn’t tell if she turned it, or if her hand slid over it.

  Without any sound, the door jerked open.

  A gauze-draped woman glared at her.

  Every hair on Develyn’s body stood straight up. She fought to breathe. “Oh, my word! Oh, Lord Jesus …” she cried.

  “If you’re applying for the maid position, come back when you are properly attired,” the woman growled, with a raspy voice, then slammed the door.

  Develyn hugged herself hard to try to keep from shaking all over. Her teeth chattered. She felt tears flood down her dusty face.

  I don’t want to be here, Lord …

  The door flung open again.

  A brown face and familiar long black braid greeted her. “Whoa, for a second there, I fooled you, didn’t I
?”

  “Casey! You scared the life out of me!”

  Cree-Ryder glanced down at Develyn’s jeans. “Are you sure that’s all I scared out of you? These curtains make a good shawl, don’t you think?”

  “This is not funny, Casey.”

  “Now, Ms. Worrell, stop being such a schoolteacher. You’ve been saying that I’m not adventuresome, that you wanted to do something exciting, right?”

  “I didn’t want to be that excited.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in and look around.”

  Develyn stepped into a small room with empty floor-toceiling shelves. “How did you get in?”

  “I used my best attribute.”

  “Which is?”

  Casey wiggled. “I threw my hips against the front door and it popped open. Sometimes it’s good to be built like a quarter horse. Not often, but sometimes. It’s a dusty mess in here.”

  “I am sure under this blonde hair coloring, my hair is now— thanks to you—totally gray.”

  “I don’t want your life to be so boring.”

  “Boring? I was only teasing, and you know it.” Develyn tried to hold back, but couldn’t keep from laughing. “I haven’t had a boring minute since I met you.”

  Casey grinned. “You braggin’ or complainin’, Devy-girl? Look at this? What do you think this is?” She pointed to a large deep shelf with ropes hanging alongside it.

  “It’s a dumbwaiter. You pull those ropes and the shelf goes up like a little elevator to the upper floors.”

  “No foolin’? You mean, like breakfast in bed and all?”

  Develyn wiped thick dust from the dumbwaiter and studied her finger. “I suppose so.”

  “Hey, that’s cool.”

  Following Casey, Develyn strolled through the kitchen with a twelve-foot ceiling. The great room was bare, but it was lined with rich dark paneling and a gigantic rock fireplace. “Oh, my, this must have been quite a room in its day.”

  With daylight dying outside, each room turned musty, dark, and empty.

  Casey headed for the wide mahogany staircase. “Wow, this is the kind of stairway Miss Scarlet would descend. I wonder how Countess LaSage felt as she scurried down this sucker.”