Dark Horse (11 page)

Twenty

A burst of thunder shakes the whole house. I can’t just lie here and do nothing. I pull on my boots and hurry downstairs. The wind has kicked up, howling through the cracks of the house.

When I step outside, I’m pelted with a barrage of leaves. The temperature’s dropped, and the wind feels edged with ice. Tree branches crack and groan. Behind the screen door, Wes’s dogs bark to get out, then change their minds and quiet down again. The moon and stars have disappeared, as if they’re scared of what’s coming.

I take off jogging to the south pasture. I have to make sure my horse is all right. I’ve brought along a flashlight, and I shine the beam in front of me. The path is covered with limbs and debris. When I reach Starlight’s pasture, I wave the flashlight back and forth, but the beam’s too weak to see anything. The batteries are low.

“Starlight?” I call. I climb over the fence and turn off the flashlight, letting my eyes adjust to the tiny bit of moonlight peeking through the clouds. “Starlight?”

My horse comes trotting from the lean-to. She trots straight to me, as at home in the dark as she is in the light—one of the few benefits of blindness. She snorts and prances, excited by the chilly, electrically charged air and the scent of the storm.

“Good girl,” I tell her, scratching her high on the withers. She follows me to the lean-to. Blackfire is huddled to one side, with the two rescued horses gathered at the other end.

I feel a splat on my head, then another big drop of rain on my arm. In an instant, the sky opens fire, shooting pellets of rain. Starlight and I squeeze into the lean-to. Rain and sleet pelt the corrugated roof, crashing and banging against metal. Blackfire whinnies and paws the ground. I try to calm him, but he’s pretty much a one-woman horse. I know Dakota must be sleeping through the storm, or she’d be right here with her horse.

I put my arm around Starlight’s neck and press my cheek to hers. She’s damp, and the smell makes me think of rides we’ve had in the mist or gentle rains.

How long has it been since I’ve ridden my horse? I’ve barely seen her since the fire. “Sorry, Starlight,” I mutter. “I love you, girl.” She probably hasn’t felt my love since the fire, though. She leans into me and rubs her soft muzzle on my neck. “I love you, even though you haven’t felt it,” I tell her.

The thought rolls around in my head.
Love.
I don’t think I’ve felt God’s love since the fire. And even before that. I know enough, believe enough, to realize that God’s love for me hasn’t changed any more than mine has for Starlight. But it feels like it has.

“I need to check on Cleo,” I tell Starlight. “You take care of these guys.” I give her a final hug, then dash out of the shelter and into the torrential downpour. In seconds the icy water has soaked me through to the bones.

My boots slosh through puddles and mud as I tread across pastures and fields, heading toward the old McCray pasture and Cleo. The rain slants into my face. I have to shut my eyes partway or I can’t see. When I get close, I hear a whinny, then another. Nickers is still in the pasture with Cleo. At least they’re together.

I reach the pasture and see that the horses aren’t alone. Winnie has both of them on lead ropes. It looks like she’s trying to get them to head to the gate.

“Winnie!” I holler. Thunder booms at the same instant I shout.

Winnie looks to the sky, then keeps struggling with the horses.

I run toward her. She wheels around, startled. “What are you doing?” I scream above the wind.

“What are
you
doing?” she screams back.

Cleo gets nervous when I get too close.

“Easy, Cleo,” Winnie mutters. The horse calms and quits pulling against the rope. “I want to move both horses to the paddock, where Nickers was before. That okay with you?”

It’s a good idea. I don’t like Cleo being this far out. And Nickers is good for her. I want to keep them together. “Yeah. Good.” I swipe at the water trickling down my face.

“You take Cleopatra!” Winnie shouts.

“No way,” I answer. I know I’ll just make things worse for her. “That horse has given up on me.”

“Fine!” Winnie snaps. “So you’re giving up on her? Is that it? You’re just quitting and—”

“Hey! Who are you to tell me
I’m
giving up?” I’m yelling, and it’s not just the storm that makes the words come out hard and loud. “That’s really funny coming from you!”

“Me? I’ve been down here every day!” she fires back. “I haven’t quit on that horse!”

“Well, you’ve quit on all other horses then! You didn’t even get to vet school before you dropped out. I’d call that giving up!” The words come out with a power of their own, and I can tell they cut deep. I don’t even know why I said it. She’s not the problem.
I
am. “Winnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Take her!” she shouts, holding out Cleopatra’s lead rope to me.

Cleo paws the ground, splattering Winnie with mud.

I shake my head. “I’m making her nervous. I better not get close.”

“That’s the problem with you, Hank!” Winnie shouts. “You
need
to get close.”

I reach for Cleo, but she backs away.

You need to get close.
Winnie’s words swirl in the air with the rain and sleet and leaves. They’re dancing around me, battling to get in. I haven’t been close to anything or anyone since the fire. I’ve kept God so far away that He’s had to send the words swirling in the wind to get my attention.

I reach for Cleo again. She jerks her head away, but I take the rope. “Easy, girl.”

“Let’s get out of here!” Winnie shouts.

I nod. I want to get the horses to the paddock. I want to get out of this storm. I want to get my head straight. I want to get close. These thoughts are the nearest I’ve been to prayer in a long time.

I follow Nickers and Winnie, and Cleo follows me. Twice she tries to get ahead of me. But I circle her, and she’s fine.

The four of us slip and slide through pastures until we make it to the paddock. Winnie puts Nickers in first, and I follow with Cleo. We shut the gate, and it starts raining harder. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible. Sheets of rain slap me from all sides. I’m shivering with the cold.

But somehow it’s okay. God has broken through with words that can calm a storm.
You need to get close.

Twenty-One

Winnie Willis

Nice, Illinois

“Come inside, Winnie!” Hank shouts as he walks toward the house.

The storm rages around us, and I want to be sure Nickers is settled before I leave her. “Not yet!” I shout back, even though I’m freezing. He says something else that’s lost in the wind. But when I glance up, I realize that for the first time since I’ve come to Nice, Hank is looking me straight in the eyes.

“Go on! I’ll be right behind you!” I wave him on.

Finally he runs inside.

Cleo’s already sidled next to the shed, using the side of the building for shelter. Nickers and I huddle together in the sheets of rain. She nuzzles me, and I stroke her behind her ears.

I’m beyond cold now, beyond wet. This whole night feels like a dream. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I could almost hear Lizzy’s voice in the thunder: “
God loves you, Winnie. . . . I’ve been wondering if maybe you forgot.
”

That’s when I got out of bed and headed for Nickers’s pasture. I had to make sure she and Cleo were okay. The whole journey to the pasture before the storm broke, Lizzy’s words played in my head. I picked up speed. My feet hit the ground to the tune of those words. My heart beat to them all the way to the pasture. “
God loves you, Winnie.
”

And then Hank showed up. Hank. And his angry words crashed into Lizzy’s, somehow mixing with them and making them stronger.

“Hank was right,” I whisper into Nickers’s wet, fuzzy ear. “I did give up.”

When did it happen? When did I give up? My earliest memories are of hanging out with horses and watching my mom bandage forelegs and treat cuts. I’ve always wanted to be a vet.

So when did I give up on that dream? Was it the same time I forgot “
God loves you, Winni
e
”?

I blow gently into Nickers’s nostrils. She bobs her head. Water flies from her forelock. I blow again. And then I get her answering blow back.

“Nickers, I still want to be a vet.”

The wind howls. Thunder roars.

I gaze up through slanting rain into the sky and beyond. “God!” I shout. “I still want to be a vet!” It feels good to say it, to finally admit it, to let God in again. Rain covers me, washing away every objection—the application, the money, the lack of a scholarship. I’m not sure how any of it will work out. But
God loves me
. And that’s the answer.

I kiss Nickers good night and race into the house. I kick off my boots and socks in the porch. Dripping wet, I tiptoe upstairs to Wes’s room, where Catman is sleeping. “Catman?” I  whisper. Then “Catman!” a little louder.

The door opens, and Wes frowns at me. Rex and Lion try to get out, but Wes shuts the door except for a crack. “It’s night,” he says.

“Sorry. I have to talk to Catman.”

The door closes. I don’t know if Wes has gone back to bed or what. I’m about to knock on the door again when it opens.

Catman stands in the doorway, his hair spread out like a blond cobweb. He rubs his eyes with his fists and squints at me. “Hey, Willis.”

“Hey, Catman.”

He comes out into the hall with me, slides to the floor, and pats the floor next to him. We sit side by side, leaning against the wall, listening to rain pound the roof and branches scrape the house.

“You’re wet,” he observes.

“And cold,” I admit.

He puts his arm around my shoulders. We sit like that for several minutes, not talking. It’s one of the things I love about Catman. There’s no such thing as an awkward silence with him.

Finally my words start coming, and I let them, not taking time to put them in order, just letting them spill like rain between us. “Lizzy wrote me that God loves me and that’s the answer.”

He nods. “Heavy.”

“And she thought maybe I forgot that.”

He nods.

“And I think maybe she’s right about that.” Again, there’s a long silence. “I want to be a vet.”

“Right on!” he shouts.

I put my hand over his mouth so he won’t wake the whole house. “And I’m going to go to Ohio State because they’ve got the pre-vet classes.”

“All true,” he says, like he never doubted it.

I lean into him. He smells like soap and rain. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”

“I believed all along.”

I hug him, and he hugs me back. And it feels good and right. We just sit there in the hallway, while I tell God how thankful I am. I’m thankful for my horse, my family, my life—I’m going to be a vet!—and my Catman. I’m totally thankful.

Suddenly I remember what day it is. “Happy Thanksgiving, Catman!”

“Right on,” he agrees. And he kisses me.

Note to self: Never forget this moment.

Twenty-Two

Hank Coolidge

Nice, Illinois

I can’t sleep. I listen to the rain pounding the roof. Branches scrape the windows like they want in.

I guess I fall asleep because when I open my eyes again, it’s morning—barely. I get dressed and head outside. The scent of slow-cooked turkey fills the house.

Outside, it’s still dark. A bank of gray clouds shields the horizon. I feel like I’m being drawn outside, but the strings drawing me are pulling at me from every direction. For a minute, I don’t know which way to go—the paddock, the south pasture, the barn.

And then I know why I’ve come outside. The maple tree. Kat’s maple tree. I want to see it.

I need to see it.

I jog, then run, to the barn. I duck through the frame, wet and splattered with mud. My feet slip, and I go down. My hand slides through mud at the base of the barn. Something brushes against my fingertips, and I jerk my hand away. I get to my knees, then look where my hand was.

Buried beneath mud and ash is a bright red leaf—a maple leaf. I pull it out and see that it’s perfect, without a tear or spot, completely preserved. It survived. While flames leaped above it and everything around it turned black, this leaf held on.

Carefully I brush off the ash. “I’ll hold on too,” I whisper, fingering the veins of the leaf. “I’ll stay close, God.”

Suddenly I want more than ever to see that maple. The storm and wind have probably blown off all the leaves by now, and I’ll never see it the way Kat did. But I want to see it anyway.

I walk around the posts that form the corner of the new barn. When I make the turn, the sun peeks through the clouds, sending a ray, a spotlight that sets the maple on fire with reds, oranges, and yellows. Light shines through the branches, and a breeze makes the wet leaves wave. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And I almost missed it.

“Thank You,” I whisper.

“Far out.”

I turn toward the paddock and see Catman and Winnie, arm in arm, staring at the maple and the sunrise. They’re walking toward me, but I don’t think they’ve seen me yet.

I’m grateful that there’s someone to share this maple, this moment, with.

You’re so good to me.
The thought—the prayer—comes to me as natural and real as the sunrise.

“Far out!” I shout. It feels more like prayer than “Amen” or “Hallelujah.” So I shout it again: “Far out!”

Catman hollers back, “Right on, man!”

“Far out!” Winnie agrees.

They join me, and we stand gazing at the maple for I don’t know how long, soaking up the glory of the tree, the sunrise, and the Creator, who’s closer than all of it.

“Hey, guys!” Dakota calls. When we don’t answer, she comes over to us and stares at the maple too. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Far out.” Winnie and Catman say it at exactly the same instant.

“Almost forgot why I came out here,” Dakota says. “Hank, your mom says they called from the firehouse. The guys are on their way. She thought you might need us to help you with something before they get here.”

I grin at Dakota, then at Winnie and Catman. They look like they’re waiting for their work orders. There are a lot of things I can think of that we could do to get ready for the barn raising.

But there’s only one that sounds like the perfect way to begin Thanksgiving. “Let’s ride.”

In minutes, we’re on horseback. Catman doubles up with Winnie on Nickers. Dakota and Blackfire ride next to Starlight and me. I’ve missed my horse, missed the oneness I feel when we move together. But I know she forgives me for being away from her so long. The day is filled with forgiveness. And hope.

Cool wind whips around me. Catman clings to Winnie. Dakota leans forward and hugs Blackfire’s neck. I hug Starlight, inhaling her horsey scent. And together, we gallop toward the sunrise, with the whole world in front of us.