by Laura Crum
Mid-afternoon was easing into the mellow, golden light of late afternoon. Some pale pink sweet peas that twined along the vegetable garden fence shone incandescently in a long fall of sunlight. Without thinking, I stood up and walked out the door. Onto the porch, where pots of purple pansies waited, and on down the steps and into the garden. I needed to think.
To think, and to be replenished by the plants and animals, by Nature, vivid and lively all around me. By the robin splashing in the birdbath and the rabbit nibbling rosebushes at the side of the path. By nasturtiums in a fountain of mandarin orange and cranesbill geraniums in mounding pillows of magenta purple. I paused to sniff one perfect blossom of the single rose called Summer Wine; the flower glowed an intense coral-pink with wine red stamens at the heart; it smelled otherworldly, of a pure and delicious sweetness.
Blue had put Roey in the dog pen; he must have taken Freckles with him. I let my little red dog out and watched her run through the long grass, ears back, mouth open in a happy grin.
Walking down to the barn, I greeted each of the horses in turn, rubbing necks, straightening forelocks, checking to see that water troughs were clean and full. I spent a little extra time with Mr. Twister, admiring his shadowed silver and charcoal hair coat, stroking his shoulder, making sure that he looked reasonably comfortable.
And then I sat down on a hay bale and stared straight ahead of me. The big eucalyptus tree on the ridge raised its shaggy branches high in the spring sunshine. Oaks in the foreground dappled the grass with flickering shadows. Black Jiji Cat slid out from behind the barn and lay down on the loose chaff next to me-more or less on the spot where Dominic had fallen.
Time passed. The horses strolled about their corrals, relaxed and content, the spring breeze playing with their manes and tails. Slanted shafts of sunlight angled into the barn as the sun dipped towards the western ridge. I could smell the faint, heady sweetness of blooming ceanothus in the air. I sat and I stared and I thought. Some time later, I knew what to do.
Evening was drawing in as I fed each of the horses a flake of hay. I fed the cats and the chickens; I shut Roey back in her pen and fed her, too. Leaving Blue a quick note: "Went up to Summit Road to find Barbara King's sister, Paula," I climbed into my pickup and headed out.
I went the long way, took my time. So many thoughts were rambling around inside my head; I was having a hard time keeping track of them. But the one that kept arising most persistently was a simple question. Was Barbara dead or alive? Somehow I felt that once I knew the answer, things would fall into place.
The sun sank slowly over the Monterey Bay; I could see a sunset in my rearview mirror as I drove up Eureka Canyon Road. Banners of apricot drifted out across the sky. I reached a wide spot in the road and pulled over.
Hills and ridges spread out below me, rumpled as a tossed velvet skirt. Silhouetted pines and redwoods darkened from misty blue to ash as orange-red streaks intensified across the sky. A thin band glowed peacock green on the horizon; the distant bay was a cold, remote gray-blue.
Rolling down the window of my truck, I breathed in the aromatic redwood/sagebrush scent, herbal and clean. The hills before me, I realized, were part of Lorene Roberts Park. What was the story? I'd heard it somewhere: the park had once belonged to the Roberts family-a vast tract of land, it was far too steep and wooded to be called a ranch. It had been logged several times, until Lorene had inherited it and donated the land to the state. From this vista, the hills looked endlessly wild, untouched by man, an ideal place to get lost.
The thought brought Barbara back to the front of my mind. Was her body out there, lying in some ravine? I started the truck and drove on.
On towards the ridgeline and Summit Road. Eureka Canyon Road was getting narrower and rougher by the minute. I hadn't been this way in several years, and it looked as though there had been a few landslides since then. At times I was reduced to a one-lane dirt track skirting some outsize pile of loose rubble.
Dusk was turning to dark; the prospect of being stuck out here was not inviting. Houses were few and far between, and I began to wish I had taken the more conventional route.
Too late to turn back now. By my reckoning, I ought to strike Summit Road pretty damn soon.
The truck jolted me up and down; oak trees leaned at crazy angles over what remained of the road. I began to long for a vestige of human civilization, even another pair of headlights in the gloom.
No such appeared. As far as I could tell, I was driving through the wilderness, all alone. A person really could get lost out here, I reflected.
Miles and miles of empty mountainous forest rolled away around me; not a sign of a human dwelling visible for as far as I could see. I rounded another hairpin turn with some caution, and sighed in relief as my headlights showed me the narrow paved strip of Summit Road. Thank God.
I turned left, towards houses and people, and reminded myself of the reason for my trip. I was here to find Barbara, if I could. And I had a plan.
I drove, eventually passing the occasional light of a solitary house. Not too far now. In another five miles, more or less, I turned in to a narrow driveway and piloted the truck up to a quiet barn. I'd arrived.
TWENTY-TWO
I got out of my pickup and peered around. The house was dark, but there were lights on at the barn. Hopefully, I walked in that direction.
Stepping through the open doorway, I paced down a long row of stalls, automatically peering at the horses inside. Here a sorrel with a flaxen mane and tail, next a buckskin, next a bay. Everybody's head was down, munching on hay. I could hear the familiar rustle and chomp of horses eating, could smell the sweetness of alfalfa hay and pine shavings mingling with the rich, warm scent of the horses themselves.
Slowly I coasted to a standstill, almost forgetting my purpose. There was nothing like a barn for feeling peaceful, I reflected. Barns were every bit as harmonious as gardens.
Lost in my thoughts, I stared blankly at the horse in front of me without really seeing him. It took a moment, but recognition finally dawned. I knew this horse.
A black-and-white paint gelding, he had a distinctive off-center blaze. For a long second I stared; the horse continued to eat, undisturbed by my presence. I was sure. This was Barbara's horse.
Glancing wildly up and down the barn aisle, I looked for some sign of a human presence, uncertain now whether I hoped or feared to be greeted. What could it possibly mean that Barbara's horse was in this barn?
My mind roved frantically through the possibilities; none of them were good. Turning, I headed back down the barn aisle at a good brisk clip. I wanted out of here. I would think about what this meant when I was safely back home.
I'd gone maybe a dozen steps when the lights went out. A tiny, whispered click, and sudden darkness. I froze, every sense on the alert.
As my eyes adjusted, I was aware of a grayish square of light somewhere ahead of me-the doorway. All else was black. Was this an accident? Had someone turned off the barn lights, not knowing I was there? Or? I didn't like to consider the other options.
The most natural thing would have been to call out, "Hello," but somehow I didn't want to do that. I stayed frozen in place, making no sound, breathing as quietly as I could, and waited for some clue as to what was happening.
Even as I hesitated, I took inventory. I had nothing useful. No gun, no cell phone, no flashlight. No matches, even. I had nothing that even remotely resembled a weapon, unless you could count a pocketknife.
The cell phone, and a flashlight, were out in my truck, which suddenly seemed as if it were light-years away. I waited.
I could hear the steady munching of the horses, the rustle of hay and shavings underfoot. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. That was it. I held my breath.
Slowly the blackness grew less absolute as my eyes adjusted themselves. The stalls, I realized, had doors to the outside, and the top halves of these doors were open. Some gentle silver-white moonlight filtered in.
Turning
my head, I stared into the stall next to me. There was the dark shape of the horse, head down, eating. Behind him was a square of night sky. The way out, if I could get there.
I took a step towards the stall, then stopped to listen. Nothing. Another step. Nothing. Then another and another. I put my hand on the stall door latch and started to slide the bolt back.
Even as the metal bolt rasped against the latch, I heard the click. Heard it and saw it at once, as a piercing flood of brilliant light blinded me. Blinking, I brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the flashlight beam and heard the voice.
"Don't move."
The tone was harsh, but I recognized the human being behind it.
"Oh," I said. "How are you, Sandy?"
TWENTY-THREE
“What the hell are you doing sneaking around my barn? I thought you were a burglar." Sandy McQuire sounded righteously pissed off.
For a moment that seemed to take hours, my brain stumbled, searching for a possible answer to this question. It had seemed plausible enough at the time to drive up here and ask Sandy if she knew where Barbara's sister lived. Not now. Right now, the last thing in the world I wanted to mention was Barbara King's name.
Sandy would not, I realized a split second later, know that I'd seen and recognized Barbara's horse. I just needed to come up with a reasonable excuse for being here.
"I'm sorry, Sandy" was what came out of my mouth. "I was in the area and wondered how that bay horse was doing. The one with the intermittent colics. I thought I'd check on him. I didn't see any lights on in the house, so I was looking for you out at the barn." The last part of this was true, anyway.
Sandy was still regarding me with a suspicious eye.
I tried a friendly smile. "So, how is the horse doing?"
"Leo? You're looking at him."
I blinked and focused my gaze on the animal in the stall in front of me. Dark bay, unremarkable, head down eating, like the rest of them.
"Is that him?" I asked.
"That's him," Sandy said. Her tone was not cordial.
"He looks like he's doing well. Any more colicky spells?" I knew I was driveling on; I guessed that Sandy wasn't buying the ostensible reason for my presence. But she stood between me and that open doorway at the end of the barn aisle-the doorway that led to my truck and freedom. Somehow I needed to allay her suspicions.
"He's been all right." Sandy was curt. Then, "Why don't you have a look at him?"
"All right." Opening the stall door, I stepped inside. Leo looked up from his hay, assessed me briefly, and went back to eating. I saw a halter hanging on a hook near his water bucket and stepped towards it.
Crash! I spun to see the stall door slammed shut; I could hear the bolts shooting home in the latches. Even as I took this in, a corresponding crash on the other side of the stall caused both Leo and me to jump. Someone had shut the top half of the Dutch door that opened to the outside. The click of the closing latch was plainly audible.
I was, I realized, trapped in this stall with Leo. A second later, the faint light leaking under the door disappeared; I could hear Sandy walking away.
Black, black dark. No light of any sort. I raised my hand to touch my face-couldn't see my fingers even when I could feel them.
My God. My heart thumped crazily inside my chest; my mind spun. Sandy had locked me in this stall. Not just Sandy-two people, one at each door. Barbara's horse was in Sandy's barn. This did not add up to a good outcome. What in the hell could I do?
Even as my mind dithered, I assessed the possibilities. I couldn't see at all. The stall wasn't big, maybe twelve feet by twelve feet. Leo was in it; I could hear him munching next to me, apparently not bothered by my incarceration in his home. What had Sandy said, that Leo was "gentle as a pup"?
What else was in the stall? A five-gallon plastic water bucket and a halter on a peg. In the corner closest to me.
I took a deep breath, tried to quiet my racing heart. Unless I missed my guess, I needed to consider some evasive action. Sandy was not going to leave me locked in her box stall indefinitely. And I had an idea what the alternative might be.
Darkness was absolute, omnipresent, palpable. It was more than the absence of light; it felt like a viscous, inky substance, a weight bearing down. Fanciful as it seemed, blackness was oppressively frightening.
I blinked my eyes. Nothing changed. Only blackness.
I touched my nose again and felt a rush of pure terror as I realized I couldn't see my own fingers, though they were maybe an inch from my eyes. It was almost as if I'd disappeared.
Calm down. Calm down. It's just dark. I tried to soothe myself by focusing on the sound of Leo's rhythmic chomp, chomp, chomp. And in that instant, I knew what to do.
Without hesitation I inched my way forward, feeling with my hands until I touched the stall wall. Guiding myself by touch only, I worked my way along the wall until I came to the corner. Sure enough, there was the halter on its peg. My feet found the round solidness of the plastic bucket full of water.
Slowly, gently, I tipped the bucket over, guiding it so that the water ran away from me. I took the halter and leadrope down from the peg.
With halter in one hand and bucket in the other, I inched my way across the stall towards the munching Leo. This was the difficult part. I prayed that Leo was, in truth, as gentle as a pup.
Reaching out with the hand that held the halter, I felt for the horse, knowing he was nearby, not knowing exactly which part of his anatomy I might touch. After a minute, I found the smooth, sleek warmth of his hair coat.
I stroked him awhile, decided that what I was feeling was his rib cage. Working my way in what I hoped was the right direction, I came to the rough, stringy texture of his mane. Good.
I was on Leo's left side, in the appropriate position. All I had to do was put his halter on by feel.
Easier said than done. I felt down Leo's neck, and pushed on him gently to raise his head from his meal. The head came up; I could tell by the position of his neck and the cessation of chomping sounds. Leo snorted softly.
Reaching out, I felt around in the blackness, trying to pull what I thought was the noseband of the halter over the horse's nose. Leo helped me. Like many gentle, cooperative horses will do, he stuck his face in the halter. "How the hell did you see that?" I whispered as I fumbled around his ears to buckle the halter strap.
Horses have much better night vision than humans-I knew this-but I couldn't imagine that any creature would see anything in this impenetrable gloom.
No time for that. Leo was caught. I felt with my foot and hand until I located his flake of hay, then half dragged, half shoved it until it was in the corner of the stall. Then I turned the bucket upside down and placed it next to the wall, in what I thought was the right position.
Holding Leo's leadrope in one hand, I felt for his body with the other. Guiding him with the halter and my hand against his rib cage, I positioned him until his head was in the comer with his hay and his body was lined up along the stall wall.
Carefully I squeezed under his neck and crept along the wall until I felt the bucket with my foot. Leo dropped his head and went back to eating hay, seeming quite content to stand there.
Using his body to steady myself, I climbed up on the bucket. Then I crouched down, my back against the stall wall, my nose pressed to Leo's rib cage, the leadrope in my left hand. Not exactly the most comfortable position, but one that I could maintain for a little while if I tried.
With any luck at all, I wouldn't have to wait too long. Surely, I thought, the move to dispose of me would come sooner, rather than later. Much safer, especially if I'd told anyone where I was going.
Which I hadn't, like an idiot. I'd told Blue that I'd gone to find Barbara's sister, Paula; I hadn't mentioned that I'd planned to ask Sandy McQuire where Paula lived. I took another deep breath and concentrated on holding my position. Prayed that Leo would hold still. Prayed fervently that I was right-that a person looking in this stall wouldn't see m
e, that my body was hidden behind Leo's barrel, my feet up on the bucket, my head down below his withers. At first glance, anyway, the stall would appear empty except for the horse.
A moment-that was all I was going to get, if I was lucky. A moment and an open door. I prayed.
My back ached, my legs ached. I tried to relax my muscles, relax my body. I asked that the moment of truth come quickly, before I stiffened too much. I thanked God that Leo seemed quite willing to stand quietly, parallel to the stall wall, eating his hay.
And then I heard it. The softest of noises, but unmistakable to one who was listening for just that sound. Footfalls in the barn aisle. Someone was coming.
The footsteps came to a halt outside my stall, just as I had known they would. I took another breath and asked for the strength to do what I needed to do.
I heard a click, a very gentle, singular click. The sound of the bolt, one bolt, being drawn back. At a guess, the top half of the Dutch door.
The lights stayed off; the blackness remained impenetrable. But I knew that someone was peering into the stall over the bottom half of the door. I waited.
The moment, when it came, was too fast for thought. I heard the click as the flashlight beam blazed in, heard another click that I knew in my gut was a single-action pistol being cocked. I gathered myself.
For a second the flashlight roamed the stall; I heard the muttered "What the hell?" Not the voice I'd expected. My God. Once again my mind reeled in shock, trying to process the new information.
Then there was the sound of another bolt sliding back. My eyes, adjusting rapidly, saw the figure step into the stall. The door was open.
Light swept around the walls-only a moment remained before I was inevitably discovered.
In that moment, I leaped onto Leo's back from the bucket, pulling myself up with the hand that was twined in his mane. Even as the figure whirled with a startled shout, I kicked Leo forward, guiding him with the leadrope. Right at the human being in the middle of the stall.
