Lifting the Sky

by Mackie d'Arge

  But time was wasting. Even before I got to the pen I could hear Lucky Charm and Wonder Baby mooing, their noses already up to the gate. “It’s a good thing you’re not little bulls,” I said as I sidestepped to keep from getting stomped on. “I’ll cross my fingers that you’re still too little to brand,” I said when I closed my babies back up. But I knew I was kidding myself. They’d almost caught up with the other calves, and now I couldn’t use Wonder Baby’s broken leg as an excuse for her not to be branded. I only hoped Mr. Mac would come up and not send one of his men to brand them.

  I ran back to the kitchen and carefully rinsed out the bottles. I should wash the breakfast dishes too.

  I took a deep breath. I’d have to face it. There was no getting around it. Somehow I’d get through the branding. I’d try really hard to do a good job, even if it was just carrying a bucket.

  The cows had already been rounded up and the calves sorted when I got to the corrals by the barn. The bawling calves, and the cows left with them to help settle them down, stirred around in a holding pen that’d been set up beside the corrals. Three horses stood pawing the ground, their reins tied to a horse trailer hitched to a pickup. I didn’t see Mr. Mac’s big diesel truck.

  I climbed over the high corral fence and hopped down beside a man who was crouched over, scratching both knees. He slowly unfolded, putting one hand on a knee and the other on a hip as bit by bit he stood crookedly up. I wasn’t surprised to see spurts of light streak out from all sorts of places. I was pretty sure there was hardly a space on his battered old body that hadn’t been busted or broke.

  “Mornin’,” he said. He tipped a hat that looked as if it’d been run over by a herd of stampeding cattle. “I’m Slim John Aikens.”

  He jerked a hand missing half a thumb at a man who limped across the corral. “And that’s Jakey Jones,” he said. Jakey turned and waved at me. He was almost but not quite as crooked and sparkly as Slim John.

  “And that there”—Slim John gestured toward a younger cowboy checking out the propane burner he’d set up near the loading chute—“that there’s Dingo Malone.” Dingo smiled over at me and then stuck two branding irons on the fire. He stood back as he watched them get yellowy hot. A bucket stood next to the burner. Beside it was a long red wooden medicine box.

  “I’m Blue,” I said. “Blue Gaspard.” I stuck out my hand.

  Slim John grabbed hold of it. “Gaspard, did you say? Is that French?”

  I nodded. Everyone’s eyes swerved to my mom on her horse, watching every move as she carefully coiled her rope.

  Slim John squinted at my mom. “Jakey and me, we thought we’d be ropin’. Boss said he had a good hand up here. Girl help, he said. Didn’t know she could rope like a man.”

  “Yeah, and probably better,” I said, a little sharply.

  “Myself, I lost that ropin’ a steer.” Slim John held his hand up for me to inspect. “Thumb caught in a rope when I dallied up. Danged if it didn’t get plucked up by a magpie before it hit the ground.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. I managed a smile as Mam built a loop. She and her horse moved quietly through the calves. They sidled up to a calf. Quick as a frog snitching a fly on its tongue she tossed the loop, roped the calf’s spinning hind legs, twisted the rope around the horn of her saddle, and dragged the calf toward the fire.

  Slim John was muttering to himself. “Dang it. Gaspard,” I heard him say. “Now, where’d I hear that?”

  “Huh?” I blurted. A sudden cold feeling crept up from my boots to the back of my neck. I reached out to grab his arm. But Jakey was waving his hands at us. “Quit your gabbin’ and git over here,” he yelled, and Slim John winked at me and darted off, spritely in spite of his limps. Everyone scrambled, Slim John plunking down on the ground and grabbing the calf’s front legs while Jakey tackled the back ones. The calf bellowed and banged its head on the ground and Dingo got out his knife.

  The calf was a male. I swallowed and ran for the bucket.

  “Can you vaccinate too?” Dingo called after me. “We’re short on help.”

  “Sure thing!” I tried to make my voice sound—well, sure. I’d watched my mom doctor calves. Mostly I’d turned my head when she gave them their shots, but if I was going to be a veterinarian, I’d have to learn how to do this. Right?

  I flipped open the medicine box, grabbed a syringe, stuck the needle in the bottle of vaccine, pulled back the plunger, filled it, and dashed back to the calf. Slim John noticed the look on my face as I knelt beside him. My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it.

  “I lied,” I said under my breath.

  “Just pinch the skin up here, under the front leg,” he said out of the side of his mouth. He held tight as the calf struggled. “Go ahead,” he said. “Quick while I got a good hold.”

  I took a deep breath, jabbed, and squished the plunger. With everything else going on the calf hardly noticed. I let out my breath and gulped my thanks toward Slim John, but already Dingo was slicing into the tender underside of the calf. I reeled back, remembering I was bucket boy too. I grabbed the bucket and held it by Dingo’s hands as he squeezed the calf’s flesh. I swung the bucket and set it on the ground as Dingo pulled the 2M brand out of the fire. The calf bawled and struggled to kick as, with a twist of the iron, the red-hot brand scorched its hide. Slim John yelled, “Hang on, hang on,” while Jakey muttered, “Ol’ man, I got as good a hold on it as you do.”

  With smoke and dust everywhere I felt sure no one would notice if I held my hands over the scorched patch on the calf’s side. By the way its lights changed, I sensed it didn’t hurt quite so much. Beside me Slim John was saying, “Git on there, little critter,” and the two wrestlers let the calf go.

  Mam had already neatly roped the next calf. I knew I could get through this next one. And the next and the next and the next.

  Slim John never stopped chatting. He’d squint and tell me to pinch up that skin a bit tighter. Then, “Gaspard,” I kept hearing him mutter. “Gaspard.”

  Suddenly, just as I was about to give a shot, his watery blue eyes peered up into mine.

  “Got it!” he said. “Now I remember!”

  Inside I was like a thermometer rising and falling. Hot. Freezing cold. Hot again.

  “Pinch that skin up,” Slim John said, but my hand and my brain had stopped working.

  “Do it,” Slim John said, and I jabbed and squeezed the plunger. Reeled back and grabbed the bucket. Held my hands over the calf’s burned spot. Shook off the burning sensation. No time to talk. Just the numb feeling inside me. And the questions. What do you remember? Who? Where?

  And then suddenly Mr. Mac was there, rushing to take Slim John’s place wrestling calves. I noticed how his lights flickered rosy pink as Mam breezily roped a big calf.

  I absolutely will not snoop on their lights, I said to myself. I tucked my head down so I couldn’t see them.

  “Look’s like you’ve got a real knack givin’ shots,” Mr. Mac said. I gave him a lopsided smile.

  Lopsided. That’s how I felt. Partly tipped forward, dying to know what Slim John had to say, although deep inside I was sure I knew. Partly tipped backward, wanting—this. To be right here, right where I was, even if it was helping with branding. For nothing to change.

  The rest of the branding passed in a blur. It was almost noon when we finished.

  Slim John sank down on the back of the trailer and tugged off a boot. “Ol’ foot’s drivin’ me crazy,” he said as he tried to wiggle his toes. They lay in his sock still as a rock-hard dead fish.

  Without a concern for what he would think, I kneeled and cupped his old toes in my hands. Please may Slim John’s foot be healed ran through my head. Then, as if I had opened a door to bright sunshine and let the light flood right through me and into Slim John’s old toes, I saw the dark reddish black lights around his toes change. After a few minutes I let go of his toes and looked up at him.

  Slim John’s watery blue eyes met mine. He wiggled his
toes. “Well, I’ll be,” he said. “That was quite a foot rub you gave me. I swear these ol’ toes already feel better.” He reached down and bent his toes back and forth. “Couldn’t do that before,” he said, now peering at me as if I were some kind of really strange critter. “Thank you.”

  “Thank yourself. Slim John,” I said, “what was that you were saying about … well, about my name? Gaspard. You said you remembered. What?”

  “Oh, that. Well, I was just tryin’ to recall where I’d heard the name. Not too long ago, either. Met a man in a bar, quite a talker he was. Had a bit of an accent.”

  “Where? When?” I could barely get the words out, barely breathe.

  “Well, let’s see. The bar. Now it might’ve been in Lander or maybe it was Riverton. Could’ve been Dubois. Easy to get things a bit mixed up. Can’t say rightly, but it weren’t too long ago.”

  “And the name … did the man say his first name?”

  “Can’t rightly recall. ‘Gaspard’ just sounded familiar. Get to be my age, things sift through the ol’ brain like it’s got holes.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  My world tilted. It wasn’t much to go on, but more than I’d dared hope for—an actual, real-life sighting! Maybe … But could I depend on an old man’s memory? I walked slowly back and gathered up the used medicine bottles and all the shot stuff. One of Mam’s rules was to always tidy up neat when you’d finished a job.

  I couldn’t trust something like this to chance. Still holding a syringe, I ran back to where Slim John sat tugging his boot on. He looked up. “I really don’t need a shot,” he said. “That rub got the cricks out.”

  “No, great, listen, there’s something I’d like to ask of you.” The words tumbled out. “About that man with the same name as ours. If by chance you see that man again, maybe you could say something about us living up here?”

  Slim John looked startled by my outburst. “Why, sure …,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and ran back to finish my job. Halfway there I stopped and yelled back, “Promise?”

  Slim John tipped his hat. He pointed to his hair. “Same color,” he mouthed.

  Same color? His hair was almost pure gray! I shook my head at him. Really, he was losing it. I started to run back to question him, but already Mr. Mac was standing by the medicine box, lifting it, and carrying it to his truck.

  “Good, our shot giver!” he said when he saw me come running up with the syringe still gripped in my hand. “We’ll give those bums of yours their vaccinations, but, what with that broke leg and them being preemies, I doubt they’ll be big enough to brand. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

  I nodded dumbly and followed him to his truck. Here I’d been, daydreaming about Mr. Mac coming up to see what a good job I’d done. But now I wondered, Have I done too good a job with the calves? Please don’t change your mind when you see them!

  Stew Pot eyed the free ride. Mam had snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground when she rode off to check the calves we’d let back into the fields with their mothers. They didn’t need a dog doggin’ them, she’d said. Not after what they’d been through. So I let down the tailgate. Stew Pot jumped up but didn’t quite make it. I gave him a boost. Not long ago he’d have been able to jump up on his own.

  “You okay, Blue?” Mr. Mac asked as I climbed into the cab and leaned back and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Just … tired, I guess,” I said, my voice shaking a little. I should’ve been thrilled that I’d just gotten through a branding with flying colors. I should’ve been floating on air with the thought that my dad might be out there, somewhere, not too far away.

  What on earth was the matter with me?

  “Anything I can do?” Mr. Mac’s big calloused hand touched my knee. “Things goin’ all right?”

  I tried hard to keep them back. Why did tears seem to have minds of their own? “Don’t know why I’m carrying on so,” I muttered, brushing my cheeks with both hands. “I’ve never been so happy. Never in my whole life. Everything’s perfect.”

  “Sometimes we cry when we’re mixed up about things. I’m like that whenever I come out here. It’s my favorite place in the world, and yet…” Mr. Mac’s words drifted off. “Happy-sad, I guess that’s how I feel,” he said.

  “Yeah. That’s it exactly,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I wished I could tell him what was the matter, but I couldn’t understand it myself. And I wished I could ask him about what’d happened with Rose, but I knew from experience that asking questions about stuff like love got you totally nowhere.

  We bumped up the road to the house and sat while the dust rose around us and then settled back down. I don’t have any idea how long we sat there, both of us lost in our thoughts. In the meadows, the mother cows mooed comforting sounds to their calves. The horses nickered. Crows cawed. The wind and creek mixed up their sounds. Everything was perfect.

  “I’m okay now,” I said at the same exact time as Mr. Mac asked, “You okay?” He grinned. “Well, let’s get those calves of yours checked out, shall we?” He lifted the medicine box from the back of the truck and helped Stew Pot out while I unlatched the gate to the pen.

  “Lucky Charm! Wonder Baby!” I called, but they’d already scurried over to slather me with slobbery kisses.

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen such grand calves,” Mr. Mac said as he set the box down. He scratched his chin. “Now, which one had the broken leg?” He felt both calves’ front legs. “That’s strange. I honestly can’t tell which calf it was.” He felt all four front legs again. “I give up. Which calf was it?” he asked.

  I pointed.

  He carefully felt Wonder Baby’s leg again. “Not a bump anywhere. Miss Blue, that’s amazing….” He smiled down at me.

  Me, I was beaming so brightly that for a moment I could see my own lights flash against the dark shadows in the back of the pen. I saw my lights come back closer to my body as he put his fists on his hips and studied the calves.

  Was he thinking they were big enough to be branded?

  “What if…” He paused and put a hand on my shoulder. “What if we just gave them their shots and an ear tag?” He opened the box and pulled out two small purple tags. “We could print their names on the tags, along with the 2M.” He handed me a black marking pen and the tags.

  I beamed up at him. Lucky Charm, I wrote on one tag. Wonder Baby, I squeezed onto the other. On the other side I put the 2M. Then I reached for a red marking pen and around each brand I drew a red heart.

  “Earrings,” I said.

  “Won’t that be pretty?” Mr. Mac’s eyes twinkled. “Okay, watch how I do this. See these veins in her ear?” He rubbed Lucky Charm’s ear with a finger. “You don’t want to hit one of those, so the key’s in positioning it right.”

  I listened and watched. He gave the calves their shots and I paid close attention. I can honestly say that in one day I learned I could do stuff I never, ever believed I’d be able to do. If I hadn’t been so muddled by what Slim John had told me I’d have been puffing my chest out with pride.

  “Won’t be long before they’ll be wantin’ to go play with their friends,” Mr. Mac said as he packed the box back into his truck. “I’ve been worried about you not having friends close by. You can get pretty lonesome living out here. And your mom. She should have more of a life than just working from morning till night. I can tell she’s been awful busy.”

  Down below, in the meadows, we could see my mom on her horse as she rode through the cattle, checking to be sure the calves were okay and that they were all mothered up.

  “Yeah, she does keep busy,” I said. “She’s okay, though. She likes being her own boss. And I do have a friend. Sometimes I meet him up there.” I pointed to the hill.

  “Oh, you must mean Shawn Lightfoot. I think he’s the only other kid livin’ out this far. He’s a good kid. Quiet, serious, slips about in the hills like he’s on some kind of mission. His family, some of ’em are consid
ered to be healers. One of his grandmas was pretty well known. I always figured that one day Shawn would follow along in her footsteps.”

  “Yeah,” I said. To myself I said, If only he doesn’t get too discouraged….

  “Of course, he could follow after one of his aunts, who’s a tribal attorney, or an uncle who’s a doctor, or—”

  I cut him short. “Rose? Was she a…?” I bit my tongue. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “No, that’s okay,” he said. “So Shawn must’ve told you something about what happened. But no, Rose…” Mr. Mac cleared his throat. “She was the artist of the family. A grand one too, least I thought she was. Evidently others thought so too.”

  “I can tell from the house, the way it’s painted. The kitchen, the bedrooms…”

  “Well, she didn’t quite get it finished. Or we didn’t … But you probably noticed the walls. They’re pretty blank, except for that mural she’d started. When she left, she took all her paintings. They covered the walls. She did leave one painting behind. I have it at the ranch. It’s hard for me to look at.”

  I swallowed. “All my dad left behind was his guitar.”

  Mr. Mac reached over and laid his hand on my shoulder. “Your mom never said anything, so I’ve never asked. But I kind of figured…”

  I felt myself melting, as if his hand was a sponge sucking up sadness and hurts. We stood there watching my mom, not talking, listening to the sounds of crows and cows and the creek.

  “Well, enough of this. Let’s go eat,” Mr. Mac finally said in a really soft voice.

  “I can’t,” I said without thinking. “I mean, I’ve got something I’ve got to do.”

  Suddenly all I wanted was to be by myself. There was no way I could face Slim John’s questioning glances, or just sit there and eat without smothering him with questions. And Mam would be close by.

  No. Better to leave things as they were. I’d have to trust that Slim John would keep his mouth shut about what he’d told me.

  Mr. Mac climbed into his truck. “Don’t know how we’d get along up here without your mom,” he said. As the motor revved up he tipped his hat and winked. “And without you, Miss Blue.”