He did not dare to ride Gypsy now, not while the woman spent so much time in the stable, even slept there at night. Sometimes he would wait, hoping that Sarah would go shopping and he could be alone with Gypsy long enough to ride her. But she hardly ever seemed to go away.
One day, on his way to summer school, he saw her Ford in front of the post office. He waited until she came out. She was dressed as if she were going somewhere, and to make sure, he came up to her.
“Hello, David,” she said, seeing him. ‘Tm on my way to Burlington, to get Gypsy some things she needs. Why don’t you ever come to see us?”
“I’m going to summer school,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. But evenings are so long. Couldn’t you come riding one day?”
“Thank you,” he said quickly, his mind already on what he was going to do that day. “I will one evening.”
He Biked furiously all the way to Gypsy’s stable. He would have hours with her; he would ride her and talk to her and have his sandwich with her. And for at least one morning his life would be beautiful.
Chapter Mine
The presentiment of disaster came upon her suddenly. She had never been away from Gypsy for quite so long. Before leaving for Burlington she decided to leave Gypsy in the stable since it looked as if it might rain. She had been gone for over five hours, and stopping in Cornwall for two boxes of lettuce, she suddenly felt that something was wrong. She scanned the sky for any sign of fire. That was her first thought, that somehow the house or even the stable had caught fire, but the sky looked gray and ominous with rain clouds and no smoke was visible anywhere.
She drove fast, skidding on the turns of the dirt road. She rushed into the stable and immediately saw that her intuition was right. Gypsy was out of her stall, standing over an empty basket which had been filled with corn Sarah had got from Margaret’s garden a few days ago. The horse looked heavy, her stomach distended, her big eyes listless. Every ear of corn was gone.
“Oh, Gypsy, I didn’t lock the gate!” Sarah wailed, leading the heavy-footed horse into her stall.
She rushed to the house and called Lee Earl.
“Gypsy has gotten into some corn,” she cried out, tears streaming down her face. “She looks very sick.”
“How many ears did she eat?”
“Three dozen.”
“That’s bad. She’ll probably get colic unless you walk her. Just keep walking her. Don’t give her any water to drink, just keep walking her. If she wants to lie down, and she probably will, don’t let her! Kick her, hit her, but don’t let her lie down. Once she lies down she’s as good as dead. Horses can’t fight, or don’t want to fight, for their lives. They’ll just lie and wait for death. Don’t let her lie down. Keep walking her.”
“Will you come over? ”
“I can’t now. I must go and shoe some horses which have to be shipped to a show tomorrow. But Gypsy’ll be all right if you walk her, and I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Shouldn’t I call the vet?”
“The vet won’t walk her for you and that’s the best remedy. If she looks like she wants to lie down, put a rope around her neck and pull her up. I’ve heard of horses getting into twice that much corn and coming through.”
Sarah rushed back into the stable, praying that she would not find Gypsy already lying down. Gypsy was standing, but the look on her face told Sarah how ill she felt. Putting a halter on her, Sarah took Gypsy out and began to walk her.
“Oh, my darling,” Sarah was saying, tears running now uncontrollably from her eyes. “I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to you. Why is it that I didn’t check that gate? What made me forget? And why did you have to eat all that corn? Corn is bad for you—I knew that—but it was to be a treat, an ear at a time. No, keep your head up, and keep on walking, my love.”
The rain came slowly, the drops small and falling far apart. But the sky darkened and it started to rain in earnest. In Burlington she had looked for a rain blanket for Gypsy but couldn’t find one. She got out an old horse blanket that Father Connen had talked someone into giving him, and put it on top of Gypsy to keep her dry. She herself was soon soaked to the skin, and she shivered as she continued talking to her horse.
“We’re not young anymore, you and I. But the time hasn’t come for either one of us to die. We’ll see a winter together, we’ll keep warm together, and then, together, we’ll welcome spring. … I don’t blame you for eating that corn. I blame myself. Don’t think I’m mad at you. I could never be angry at you. I should never leave you, not even for a little while.”
Before Lee left to shoe the show horses, he told David what had happened to Gypsy. The boy waited until his father’s truck pulled out of the driveway before getting on his bicycle and starting off for the old woman’s house. The rain caught him halfway. He had wanted to admit to the woman that it had been his fault, that it was he who had left the stall gate open, but the closer he got to her house the harder it became to confess this. If he did, he would have to admit to sneaking into the stable, to riding Gypsy in secret. He would have to admit to spying on the two of them. He was ashamed now of the secretiveness of his actions and especially ashamed to confront the woman.
Huddled against the rain next to the wall of the stable, afraid to move, afraid of what he had done, hating himself for his cowardice, he heard each word the woman said to her horse. He knew he should come out, help the woman, take over walking Gypsy. Yet he could not move, and he despised himself for the strength of his fear.
The dark of night came earlier, with the sun hidden by layers of thick, black clouds. They continued walking in the enclosure of the pasture. The rain fell steadily. It was ten o’clock before Sarah gave up. She could not take another step. Her arms were so weary from holding Gypsy’s head up that they were numb with pain; her knees were buckling under her. She brought Gypsy into the stable, lit the kerosene lamp, took off the soaking-wet blanket, and rushed into the house to call the veterinarian.
David had only a few moments alone with Gypsy. He was crying as he tried to rub her dry with feed bags, not able to say anything to the horse, for in the soft light of the lamp she looked very ill, and her appearance filled him with dread.
He heard the woman’s footsteps on the gravel outside and barely had time to duck behind the rocking chair.
“He is on his way, darling,” Sarah said to Gypsy, stroking her. “The doctor will be here soon. I’ll sit right here beside you, but you, you must keep on standing. We won’t walk anymore. You need a rest too. It’s so dark and wet outside.”
She shivered, and David could see that her clothes were completely soaked. To keep from falling asleep the woman talked to her horse, and the more she talked the more ashamed David felt of listening, for it seemed to him that he was overhearing private words of love. And before the doctor arrived, David’s shame turned into a lashing self-hatred.
“Walking her,” the veterinarian said to the woman,
“saved her from colic. She’ll be all right after I give her a shot, an enema, and some medicine. You better go in and change your clothes, and if you have some whiskey in the house, take a slug. I’ll attend to everything here.”
David watched the doctor from his hiding place and did not think much of the way he worked. He knew a bad vet from a good one by the way they approached the animals more than by anything else. This one was obviously afraid. He wanted to shout to him that Gypsy was a very gentle mare, the gentlest horse in the world, but he did not. When the vet took out the large needle and syringe, David looked away. He couldn’t bear to watch as the vet gave Gypsy a shot in the neck.
When Sarah came back in dry clothes, he was finished.
“You have a well-behaved horse. Had I known that, I would have given her her shot in the hindquarters rather than in the neck.”
“Will she be allright?”
“Yes, she’ll be all right now. Call me in the morning, anyway, and tell me how she spent the night.” He reached in
to the bag and brought out a bottle. “There is enough here for five doses. I’ll give her some now, and you give her some later tonight and twice tomorrow morning, at eight and ten.”
He showed her how to force the bottle into Gypsy’s mouth behind her teeth and pour the medicine down her throat.
“Is it all right if she lies down now? ”
“Yes, she won’t get colic anymore.”
A few minutes after the veterinarian left, Lee Earl drove in. “I saw the doc on the road,” he said, looking at Gypsy and smiling at her woeful expression. “He said you’ll be all right, you greedy mare.”
“But she still looks so sick,” the woman said, grateful for his presence.
“Well, she got herself into a mess of trouble, that’s why she looks this way. But she’ll be fine. You leave her alone now and make yourself some hot coffee.”
“Will you have some?”
“Sure, but I bet you haven’t had any dinner. I brought you a ham sandwich.”
Tears came again to Sarah’s eyes, this time tears of gratitude and relief. Suddenly she was sure that her horse was going to be all right.
As soon as Sarah and Lee left the stable, David walked over to Gypsy and put his arms around her neck and stood for a long while not speaking, not crying anymore.
He did not know why, but suddenly he felt himself at peace with the world. Maybe, he thought, it was because Gypsy was going to be all right now. Maybe that’s why he felt as though everything else would be all right.
“One day,” he whispered to Gypsy, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise I will. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll make it up to you and to her.” He waited until his father’s car pulled away before getting on his bike and pedaling furiously toward home.
Sarah went to the stable to spend the night. Lee had assured her that there was nothing to be worried about anymore. Gypsy had been given only a carton of lettuce leaves, and she had barely touched them. The medicine must have tasted very bad, for she kept making faces long after swallowing it.
“Lee was telling me,” Sarah said to her horse, “about getting some horses ready for a show. I didn’t tell him, but I would so like to take you out into the world. I’d like to take you to a horse show. You are the most beautiful of all the horses who ever lived, and I’m sure the judges would know it.” She laughed. “Oh, but you must have been in many horse shows in your life! You must have won many ribbons, and maybe you were even a great champion! How I wish I knew something about your past! ”
Throughout that night Sarah would fall asleep for a few minutes and wake up and see that Gypsy was standing up and not lying down as was her custom. By the time the dawn came, Sarah noticed that Gypsy’s neck had become very stiff. She no longer moved it up and down to search for food or to either side of her. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, she thought, frightened. As she led Gypsy out of the stable, the horse swayed weakly on her legs. Outside, although her eyes looked hungrily toward the green of grass, Gypsy would not lower her head. Sarah handed her a few handfuls of grass, then left her standing in front of the house while she went to call Dr. King.
“Her neck is stiff, and so are her legs! What should I do? She looks as sick today as she did last night.”
“I gave her a shot in the neck. That’s why it’s stiff, but the stiffness will go away in a day or two,” he told her. “And she is weak on her legs because she was a pretty sick horse. Give her time to recuperate.”
“But she can’t reach the grass!” Sarah almost shouted. She was angry at the man. Why had he sent her away to change her clothes? Why had he given Gypsy a shot in the neck instead of the flank? The needle might have damaged a muscle.
“I can’t help you there,” he said. “As I said, the stiffness will go away. If you want anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
She was furious at his indifference and let the receiver bang down. She walked her horse slowly toward a hill, muttering to herself about the inefficiency of veterinarians. She made Gypsy stand on the flat area of the ground and placed her stiff neck toward the steep slope. That way Gypsy grazed for a while, moving around the hill. All through the day Sarah nursed her horse. She gave her a hot liniment bath, then massaged Gypsy’s legs gently. She held the hay and feed up for Gypsy to reach, watering her the same way. She walked her around slowly on a lead line; she brushed off the flies and stayed with her all that day long, never leaving her, not even to eat herself. Toward evening Lee came and made her rest and eat while he stayed in the stable with Gypsy, rubbing her legs and her neck.
Unable to stay away from her horse, Sarah was back within minutes.
“How is David these days? “ she asked.
“He’s got a bad cold today after being out last night in the rain. He wasn’t home when I got back, and when he did come in he was soaking wet. He told me he had played hooky from summer school. And for a while last night we talked to each other. Almost the way we used to.”
Sarah nodded absentmindedly. She could not concentrate on anything but Gypsy.
The next day Gypsy was much better, although still weak. The stiffness of her neck was not as pronounced, and toward evening she could reach the grass and hay, but did so gingerly.
“We’ll wait until spring,” Sarah told Gypsy that night. “In the spring there is a big western horse show in Burlington, and nothing on this earth is going to prevent us from going. In the spring both of us will go out and show the world that you deserve the biggest, the brightest, and most beautiful ribbon. And we’ll hang it in a frame, right over your feeder.”
Chapter Ten
She was in the stable giving Gypsy her breakfast when she heard the hoofbeats. Gypsy heard them first, for she raised her head away from the oats and her ears folded back against her neck.
“We have company,” Sarah said. “Thank goodness I’ve already brushed you and you look beautiful.”
Gypsy snorted. Sarah could see that she was nervously excited. Her oats went unfinished; the hoofbeats getting closer made her turn completely away from her feed now. She stood, her nostrils wide, her tail high, her head next to Sarah’s, looking out of the stable door toward the road.
“It’s Margaret Evans and Father Connen! And look at the beautiful horses they’re riding! ”
Gypsy scraped the floor with her hoof and shivered slightly.
“You are excited, aren’t you? Oh, Gypsy, you poor darling, you haven’t seen a fellow horse since you’ve been with me.”
“Happy birthday!” Father Connen and Margaret Evans shouted as they drew near.
She had completely forgotten about her own birthday, and was very surprised and pleased that they had remembered.
“We hired these horses so that we could take you two on a pack trip,” Margaret announced, getting off her gray and white gelding. “This was going to be a surprise for you, but judging from Gypsy’s face, the surprise is on her.”
Gypsy, her neck extended out of the stable door, did indeed look terribly surprised, and they all laughed.
“We brought lunch for three,” Father Connen said, “and this bag you see on the back of my palomino is full of hay, just in case our mounts run out of grass.”
“So get ready, you two females,” Margaret commanded.
When they set off, it was Gypsy who insisted on leading the way, her feet prancing, her head turning back to see that the two geldings were following her.
“I do believe,” Margaret said, laughing, “that this mare of yours thinks the whole world revolves around her.”
“Well, doesn’t it?” Sarah said.
Fall had come suddenly that year, turning the leaves overnight into a splendid riot of outrageous colors. They rode under the sapphire of a cloudless sky, surrounded by the loveliness of the land and the warmth of the day. They trespassed merrily over the fields that were turning golden, through forests that echoed with the crushing of twigs and dry leaves. They rode around a lake and came across six geese noisily guarding some young. The geese flutt
ered their great wings angrily, and the horses waited patiently for the birds to take to the water.
On a great open field, Father Connen suggested they play a game of hat snatching on horseback. He produced three paper hats and explained that the point of the game was to try to reach for and take off the hat from the other person’s head. The one who remained wearing his own hat and those of the other two was to be the winner.
Amidst laughter and the snorting of the pursued and pursuing horses, Father Connen won easily. But at another game, the game of tag, it was Sarah who won twice, Margaret once, and Father Connen not at all.
They ate a picnic of sandwiches that tasted better than any sandwiches they had ever had. From amidst the hay, Father Connen pulled out a bottle of French wine, and over cupcakes with candles they toasted Sarah and Gypsy. The three horses grazed peacefully, not paying any attention to the picnickers or to one another.
Sarah discovered the fun there was in riding with others. After lunch they galloped, three abreast, as though they were Indians attacking a cavalry outpost. And so the day passed in carefree play, the priest and the two women feeling as if youth itself could be recaptured.
The sun was setting in red flames jaggedly invading the deep blue of the sky when they turned back, singing at the top of their voices and purposely off key in remembrance of the church choir that no longer existed.
With the coming of fall Gypsy began to play a game of her own with her mistress. She would hide from her among the leaves that had turned the red copper of her body. It was only by the white of her face that Sarah would now spot her among the foliage.
“I could swear,” Sarah would say, “that you were in the war—not in the cavalry, mind you, but in the infantry. You were probably teaching the soldiers how to camouflage themselves. But you mustn’t frighten me so! I’ve been looking for you for an hour. I thought you’d run away. But you wouldn’t, would you? You’d never leave me any more than I would leave you.”
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