Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

  Monica leans over to whisper, “It doesn’t look easy. Are horses always this hard to control?”

  “No. I wonder if she’s drunk.”

  “Does that make the ride dangerous?” she looks alarmed.

  “Well, all we’re doing is walking. It seems alright.”

  Until we get part way up the sloping hill. It’s not that steep, but the horse is having a hard time pulling the carriage. I wonder if she should have begun at a trot to get a rolling start. We’re creeping closer to the right side—the side with a shallow canyon filled with oaks. I’m tempted to get out and walk to lighten the load by 135 pounds. The horse is taking step after ponderous step, and the carriage is pulling against her shoulders each time.

  “Should I get out to make it easier?” I shout to the front.

  “No, you’re alright. I’ll make her go faster.” She slaps the reins on the horse’s back like they do in movies. The mare presses forward.

  We finally make it to the top and sigh in relief.

  “Let’s get you to the church on time,” the nut sings.

  There’s the pond ahead of us. Grand oaks are shading the guests in their white chairs as they turn to applaud our arrival.

  The driver thinks it’s time to show off. “Giddy up, horse!” She gets up from her seat and jerks the reins, smacking the mare on her back time and again. The horse seems to understand the need for speed, and suddenly she’s racing with the wind in her mane.

  “What are you doing?” I shout, safely seated, as the carriage bounces over a few ruts.

  “Don’t want to be late, do you?”

  “Brides are supposed to be late,” I shout back. “Slow down.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. This is my game,” she smacks the horse a couple more times.

  We’re racing toward the crowd. They’re standing now and are moving around like they’ve noticed something is wrong.

  We’re headed straight for the pond. The driver is pushing the horse at a gallop. It slows and hesitates at the water’s edge, then veers sharply to the right. That move kept the entire carriage from going in, but the left wheel is churning up sprays of water.

  “Jump out when you get a chance!” I shout to Monica.

  The hill is unbalancing my side of the carriage, and we’re almost tipping over. I’m trying to weight my side to keep it upright.

  Monica takes that opportunity to stand and jump into the water. It’s on her side, and looks like an easy escape from this madness.

  She lands far enough away not to get run over. The horse turns and we’re out of the pond and racing back the way we came. I can’t jump out, it’s too late. And now the horse is running on her own—the driver has no control. She’s pulling frantically on the reins.

  “Whoa, whoa, stupid horse,” she shrieks.

  The mare is running full speed toward home… which is down the hill with that canyon. It’s a little canyon, unless you’re galloping out of control, then it’s grand.

  I’ll help stop the horse. The carriage is pretty light and is fish-tailing like an unbalanced trailer. I crawl to the top seat and push at the driver to let me take over.

  That is a mistake.

  “What the hell are you doing? I’m driving. Get back there!” She shoves me back, nearly knocking me off the carriage as it goes airborne over a rut.

  I’m clawing to find something solid to save myself from falling under the spinning wheels. I grab hold of the seatback and pull myself from disaster.

  “Steer the horse to the right, away from the hill!” I shout.

  “I don’t need your advice,” she screeches.

  We’re going too fast for me to jump out. The horse will probably fall going downhill. She’ll break a leg, and it isn’t her fault the stupid woman is drunk.

  What can I use to get her off the seat? I’m holding on with a death-grip. There are seat cushions, flowers, and… I look down. Maybe I can use my purse strap to pull her down.

  I grip it at both ends and then stand up to her level. I momentarily let go of the seat and flip it over her head, letting it settle around her neck. I lean back with all my weight and pull her backward off her perch. She almost tumbles onto me, but I’m gripping the metal seat. She just landed upside down on the floor.

  I wiggle my way up there, staying as low as possible so I don’t bounce out. I crouch down in the driver’s foot-rest area. Fortunately, the reins are long enough that they didn’t fall out and drag under the galloping hooves.

  I lean back and pull, and try to say ‘whoa’ without sounding stressed. The mare is running scared, she isn’t slowing at all. There’s the turn ahead for the downgrade. She’s cutting the corner… and we’re about to run over a PVC fertilization tank. Oh shit! It’ll flip the carriage.

  Wham, we hit it. The irrigation line jarred the crap out of us, but we’re still upright! Water is spraying everywhere; it’s catching on the breeze and hitting me. Ugh, it smells like fish.

  The mare is smarter than she looks. She is slowing for the corner, and the down-grade. She’s breaking into a trot, and I keep pulling the reins. “It’s ok, slow down. Whoa, good girl.” She slows more and starts walking.

  “Aghhhhhh,” comes a wail from behind me. The woman leaps on my back. The horse bolts in fear down the canyon, with the carriage behind her. I’m trying to stay on board, but… The driver just punched me in the head.

  My vision goes blurry, my ears are ringing, and I can feel myself wobbling and unable to stay upright.

  The carriage smashes into a tree, and I feel myself flying.

  * * *

  I’m lying on my back. I hear voices. I haven’t opened my eyes. Will I open them to the white light of heaven—or maybe it’s the overhead light in an operating room?

  I take a tentative breath and slowly crack them open to focus on an oak tree with green moss hanging down. Huh, that’s a nice sight. The voices are coming closer.

  “Jess, are you alright?” A worried man’s voice.

  I’m lying in the grass—my head hurts. I feel foggy. I don’t feel much of anything else.

  I open my eyes again, and see faces clustered around, peering down. I’m still under the mossy oak. That’s nice, but the sun is in my eyes.

  “Are you alright?” It’s Charlie—he sounds concerned.

  How nice to see my veterinarian. It’s so much nicer than a doctor with a surgical mask. See, it goes to show, horse people trust their vets. Oh, I’m drifting away again.

  “Jess, Jess, can you hear me?” Another voice pulls me back.

  I barely crack my eyes open to see a handsome face. He looks familiar.

  “We called the ambulance. Can you move?” he asks.

  “Don’t have her move… she may be paralyzed,” someone harshly whispers.

  “Don’t move. But can you move?” The handsome man asks again.

  What nice brown eyes. I feel myself coming back. My head feels like a sledge hammer hit it. My brain hurts.

  “She’s in pain, see how she’s squinting…”

  Yeah, my head hurts like hell. That bitch punched me.

  Oh yes, that’s right. Then the wagon ran into the tree. I remember it. I guess my head is alright. How about the rest of me? I kind of hurt. My leg hurts. Not a lot, just some. I’m analyzing my body parts to make sure they’re working.

  “Can you hear me?” Charlie and the handsome man are in view.

  I don’t feel like answering. My eyes close.

  “No, don’t let her close her eyes. She may have brain damage,” a woman’s panicked voice.

  I struggle to answer, just to put them at ease. But I keep them closed. “I hear you,” I whisper.

  “Thank God,” several voices echo.

  3

  Regrouping

  I take a deep breath, groan and move my shoulders. That gets their attention.

  “She can move, look.” More whispers.

  I wonder if my legs are paralyzed. I’d better muster up the energy to find out.
It will put everyone at ease. I feel my foot. Yeah, I feel both of them. Can I wiggle it—yes, I can.

  “Oh, she moved her foot!” “But her eyes are closed. Can she talk?” “Yes, she did a few minutes ago.” “I hear the ambulance coming.” “They’ll know what to do.” “Don’t you think we should straighten her dress?” “No, we’ve seen underwear before. We don’t want to hurt her.”

  Oh great, my pale thigh fat is showing. I’d better fix my dress.

  I keep my eyes closed, but my hand seems to move of its own accord to the fabric twisted around my waist. I can’t get it loose.

  “Jess, don’t worry about your dress. Keep still.” That’s Charlie’s voice.

  I feel the weight of fabric settling over my legs. I squint against the sun and there’s that handsome man, now—without a shirt. He certainly is toned, and has smooth, naturally tanned skin. But, as I focus, I see his arms are tattooed.

  “Why did you ruin your gorgeous body with tattoos?” I mutter.

  “I think she’s back.”

  “Each one has a story,” he says—with Freddie’s voice.

  “Freddie?” My eyes focus on his face. He looks different. Again.

  He smiles at me. Yes, that’s him. He changed again. He looks almost middle class. Well, he did before removing his dress shirt. Now he looks like a rogue, and I’m not sure what that means. But he looks great. Kind of intriguing, but not dangerous. What a flat stomach. And shoulders!

  I’m staring. But that’s okay. Everyone is thrilled I’m alive. I can blame it on my head trauma. But really, I’m reassessing this man—since I’m here, under the oaks, and have nothing else to do. And he’s in my direct line of sight.

  He just smiled at me. It’s been three weeks since I’ve seen him. His hair has grown. He’s no longer bald. He looks like a marine. Look how his pants are belted against his toned belly. Hmm, I like men in uniform.

  I mean, I like handsome men in uniform. He isn’t in uniform. Wait, I don’t even know if he’s a crook. He was hanging around with the Aquamarine bakery criminals. But he did warn us about the police raid, and he didn’t warn his criminal friends. There’s more to him than he’s letting on.

  He’s looking at me, and I’m looking at him.

  “Where is Heather? He leans down and quietly asks.

  “I haven’t seen her for weeks.”

  “I tracked her car. She’s here somewhere. Who was driving the carriage?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see the woman’s face, come to think of it.”

  “She’s around here. I’ll go find her,” he reaches out and softly touches my cheek, then sprints down the canyon.

  “Your eyes seem fine,” Charlie muses.

  “I’m coming around.”

  “You should keep still and wait for the ambulance.”

  “You’re probably right.” But I have no intention of staying flat on my back.

  I roll to my side, and get my elbow under me, then prop myself up. I see Freddie jump over a log. Wow, he was hiding that body under his shirt. Damn.

  “If you insist on getting up, I’ll help you,” Charlie says again.

  “OK.”

  Between the two of us, I get to my feet, and lean against his strong form. He’s used to dealing with 1500-pound horses, so I’m not a problem.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Not great. The right side of my head hurts where she punched me.” Ouch, it hurts when I press on it.

  I hear the ambulance shut down their siren. I guess they’re coming to look me over.

  “Did you call the police too?”

  “Yeah, everyone’s coming.”

  “I wonder if it was Heather. If Freddie finds her, I’ll be able to identify her by her back. Plus she’ll be dirty after the carriage wreck. Oh… I’m afraid to ask, but how is the horse?”

  “She’s fine. She’s grazing at the bottom of the hill.” He points to the white mare with her harness trailing on the ground. “The carriage smashed into the tree, but she’s fine.”

  “I remember trying to stop her,” my eyes slowly take in the smashed carriage. Oh dear. But the mare is safe, that’s what matters.

  The ambulance motors along the farm road and parks at the top of the hill. My little crowd helps me walk to them. I’m feeling slightly better. Moving is bringing me back to the land of the living.

  “Whew, you stink like a fishery!” The young EMT quickly steps back.

  “What?” I stop and notice the stench. “Is that me?”

  Charlie and the others make affirmative noises. I can’t believe it, and he let me lean against him. The poor man! Why do I smell like rotten fish? Or maybe just regular fish, but lots of it.

  A vineyard worker steps up and points to the tank we ran over. “We use a fish emulsion fertilizer. There was some left when it sprayed out.”

  Yuck. “I’m sorry!” I guess someone’s insurance will be paying for the damage.

  Two men in blue jump-suits guide me to the open back doors of their ambulance.

  “Sit down. Can you tell me where you hurt?” he asks in a well-used tone.

  I get my blood pressure taken. The other asks my name, the date and time, and if I know where I am. This one looks at my pupils. I have to track his finger in front of my face from one side to the other. The note taker writes the results on his clipboard.

  The therapeutic one reaches for a bottle of saline and begins to dab at my scraped arms and legs. My gaze follows the saline. Now I see why my legs hurt. I have twigs sticking in me. Ouch. I’m feeling faint as my multiple injuries compound.

  “Well, what do you think?” I hate the way they are mute while checking me over. Feedback, please!

  “We suggest you see your physician. Your pupils are equal and reactive, but you blacked out for a few seconds. You could have a mild concussion. You may want to get a CT scan,” he replies with the usual advice.

  “My head hurts from her fist. But I feel alright other than that. I can’t miss the wedding—so I’ll worry about it later.”

  One of the EMT’s hands me a clean gurney sheet. “It isn’t glamorous, but you’re welcome to wear this if you don’t want to smell like a fisherman.”

  Huh, another white sheet. This will be my third sheet, or is it the forth?

  Thanks, I’ll see if I can make it look elegant.”

  They pack up their bags, slam the back doors of the ambulance—just like they do on TV, and motor away.

  A single police car passes them on the dirt road and pulls to a stop in front of our little group.

  My thoughts drift off in a scrambled pattern. I blink a few times and wait to return to reality.

  I wonder if Freddie has found Heather, or whoever he tracked driving her car. If I weren’t so weak, I’d go help him look. But I’m not a good fist fighter, plus she’s had a hell of a head start. Realistically, I’m only now getting my balance. Or am I?

  Monica just arrived. She’s soaking wet, her hair has algae in it, and her make up is running. Her pretty sandals are muddy from the walk from the pond.

  Charlie doesn’t seem fazed. “How’s my beautiful mermaid?” he croons as he dashes over.

  That’s the sweetest thing he could say to the poor girl in her ruined dress.

  “This will be a wedding to remember, that’s for sure,” Monica replies with a grimace. She’s making the best of it.

  We’re all clustered around her. It’s hard to tell her she looks fabulous, but she does look unique.

  “Do you want to speak with the officer now?” Someone asks, and stands aside for the deputy.

  It’s Ken.

  “Hi, I’m glad you’re working today.” It’s nice to see him while I try to return to normal.

  “I received a call about a stolen horse and carriage. What happened?” He looks from me, looking dirty and covered with leaves, to Monica who is soaked and muddy.

  Ten people start answering at once. He’s looking from one to the other. He settles on me and holds up his
hands for quiet.

  “The carriage driver kidnapped us, then crashed the carriage and ran down the gully. That was probably 20 minutes ago?” I look around for confirmation on the time. “Someone is searching for her, but hasn’t returned. Can you help?” I’m still foggy, but willing to search. But maybe not. I’m not sure how far I can get with this pounding head. My energy is starting to fade.

  “Give me a description, I’ll start the search.” He requests another unit and an air unit.

  Everyone who can describe her, does so. He broadcasts it. “You said someone is looking for the suspect?”

  “Yeah. One of the wedding guests. He’s shirtless.” I point to the last place he was seen. “He took off in that direction. Other than the gully, there’s a winery at the top of the hill.”

  And I still have his physique burned into my consciousness. He was here, again. He seems to be around to help—a lot.

  “I’ll go take a look. Will you direct the other deputies to the winery?”

  “Sure.”

  He jogs to his car, then drives slowly past us. He steps on the gas—stirring up the dust enroute to the rustic wood building.

  “How about we get back to our plans?” Charlie looks at everyone to see if we’re in agreement.

  “Yes, let the wedding continue!”

  As our group moves forward, with Monica and Charlie in the lead, I see her tug him to a stop. She turns around with her arm out for me to join them. She’s soaked, so am I, plus I smell like fish. Yes, it will be a wedding to remember.

  Three other sheriff’s units pull up. One of our group waves them on and points to the winery on the hill. They’ve been in radio contact with Ken, so they know the general location.

  I’ll let them do their thing. I’m not in any condition to play cop. Plus, this is Monica’s day, and I need to do my part for my friend.

  We top the rise and head down to the pond to friends and family. There will be a lot of the questions, but I’m focusing on trudging along, placing one foot in front of the other. I won’t create a scene by collapsing.

  Monica squeezes me a little tighter. It’s nice to have her holding me up. In fact, I think she’s doing a lot of it.