Dream Wheels (24 page)

Lionel watched him bend and roll onto his back and push himself under the truck. There was the sound of metal scratching against metal and his boots never moved at all, and eventually the old man tired of waiting for words and walked out of the shed and back to the main house. Once he’d gone Joe Willie climbed back out and up into the cab. She didn’t complain so much anymore when there was weight presented to her. He grinned at that and flexed his left hand. The bolts on the undercarriage were changed and tight now. It had taken all that time but the old girl felt solid or at least as solid as her age allowed her to be. He thumbed open the engine-repair manual and began to read, nodding and dog-earing important pages. The springs were next and then the engine, the guts of her: the growl, the moan, the promise of the road. It surprised him how much he wanted to hear that.

“In the round pen there’s nowhere for the horse to go,” Johanna explained. “You don’t have to worry about them bolting and can just concentrate on sitting. Sit the horse. Feel its motion.”

“There’s no saddle,” Aiden said flatly.

“I want you to learn to feel the horse,” Johanna said. “I want you to feel it with your legs. How a walk feels, a trot. Riding’s all about partnership, and feeling with your legs is the best way to start to form that.”

“Injun style,” Aiden said.

Johanna looked at him levelly. “You can call it that,” she said. “It’s how we rode in the purely tribal days but it’s just bareback, that’s all. It’s all about rhythm, Aiden. A horse has got it and so do we. The trick is matching them up, making them work together.”

“Can’t be all that hard, then.”

“Why don’t you hop on up and we’ll see,” Johanna said.

“No, thanks. My mom’s the one who wants this.”

“Scared?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“No.”

“Well, then?” Johanna held the reins out to him.

He looked at her, and for a moment she thought she’d pushed too hard. He looked over his shoulder at the others, who were laughing at some shared joke. When he turned to her again his jaw was set grimly.

“All right. What do I do?”

Johanna led him to the mounting block. She showed him how to stand on it and ease himself up onto the horse. She could see him gather himself, a steady pulling inward of focus. It was a look she recognized completely. When he moved it was a lithe, deliberate motion and he was on the horse smoothly, without the usual slithering about and nervous hitching and kicking of green riders.

“Good,” she said. “You did that very well. Always try to be
that smooth, that fluid when you move around a horse. No herky-jerky.”

“Got it,” he said.

“Now, I’m going to get him to move around the pen and lead him with the training lead. When he starts to walk, try to feel the rhythm. Feel it with your legs and in your seat.”

“My butt?”

“Yes. Keep your back as straight as you can and drop your heels so they’re in a straight line with your shoulders. Relax.”

Aiden settled into the position and stared straight ahead.

“Don’t squeeze the reins so hard,” Johanna said. “Let them sit in your hand. Nothing is supposed to be tight up there. You’ll feel the rhythm better if you’re loose. Just sit, relax and feel the motion. Remember, there’s nowhere for the horse to go in here and I’ve got him on the lead.”

She chucked the horse into a walk, and the others watched as Aiden worked at adjusting to the slow roll of movement.

“Good,” Johanna said. “Good. Can you feel that on the inside of your legs?”

“Yes,” Aiden said and kept his gaze centred straight ahead.

“Good. That’s a good seat you have. Good seat.”

The boy held the posture and gradually, as they circled, his shoulders dropped into their natural position. By the time they’d done a half-dozen loops around the pen he was settled.

“Stay relaxed just like that,” Johanna said. “We’re going up a notch now into a trot. It’ll feel strange but concentrate on getting the flow with your legs and butt. Try to see it in your head.”

The boy was still except for the motion of the walk and he continued to keep his eyes fixed on a point somewhere just beyond the horse’s ears. He nodded but didn’t say a word.
When she coaxed the horse into the trot there was a struggle for balance and Aiden’s seat came up and bumped the horse’s back a few times, but he reclaimed his equilibrium with the same deliberate set to his face. Within three laps he had the rhythm and his position was perfect. They continued to circle and Johanna watched him adjust, seeing the concentration in his face and the focus settle into his hips, thighs and seat. He didn’t fight the rhythm with the usual desperation of green riders and he seemed to ease himself downward into the gait as though he could intuit the movement and placement of the horse’s feet.

Without saying anything Johanna urged the horse up to a canter, and again there was a battle for balance but Aiden reclaimed it quickly. He kept his seat and everyone watched him circle the pen perfectly in time with the gait. Johanna watched his hands. He held the reins comfortably, draped along his palms, and his wrists bounced lightly against the inside top of his thighs. When she brought the horse down to the trot again and then into the walk without telling him, the boy adjusted perfectly. When he stepped off the mounting block with a pinch-lipped grin, she could see a familiar fire.

“Perfect,” she said. “You’ve never ridden before?”

“No,” he said. “You’re a good teacher.”

“Takes a good student to make a good teacher,” Johanna said. “Now, I want you to take the reins and lead him back to the stall. Walk right beside him, talk to him, thank him for the ride, stroke him and lead him right into the stall. One of the boys will show you how to brush him out and get him watered. Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” he said. “But when can I get back up there again?”

She laughed and rubbed between his shoulder blades. “Soon,” she said. “We’ll trail ride a bit before sunset. Introduce you to a saddle.”

Aiden walked off toward the barn, talking quietly to the horse, who swished his tail and perked up his ears at the talk. Johanna crossed the pen.

“Did you see that?” she asked the others.

“Kinda reminded me of someone I saw once before,” Lionel said. He chewed on a piece of straw as he watched Aiden lead the horse to the barn.

Claire struggled. It was difficult for her to get into rhythm with the horse like Aiden had. Walking was fine. She could relax and sit the tiny mare they gave her, but once the gait changed, rhythm went right out the window. She felt panic, and she concentrated more on not falling off than on riding. She made it awkwardly around a dozen or so times before Johanna got her off.

“We’ll work with the saddle,” she said. “Don’t worry. Not everyone takes to bareback right away. Most people prefer the security of a stirrup, and besides, you’ve been up already. How’d it feel for a first time?”

“Scary,” Claire said. “But I really loved it.”

“Good,” Lionel said and draped an arm around her shoulder. “This old girl will know that, and the more you ride her, get to know her, the more she’ll adjust to you.”

“Horses adjust?” Claire asked.

“Sure do,” Lionel said. “I had my old boy for fifteen years now and it’s like he knew before I did what I could handle at my age.”

“Amazing,” Claire said. “I’ve always wanted to ride. From the time I was a little girl.”

“Well, then, our mission is to get you comfortable and let you do it every day you’re here,” Birch said. “Why don’t you lead her in, give her some water and groom her. We’ll tack up and head out on the trail soon.”

Claire led the mare into the barn and into the stall beside Aiden, who was busy brushing his horse. He nodded to her, and Claire busied herself following the wrangler’s instructions and getting used to being around the horse in the stall. She loved the smell. The horse odour, dusty, oily, old, seemed to lead her nose deeper, further into the world of the stable, into the tang and sharpness of liniment, the grassy dryness of hay, the mouldy wet of straw, the flat, papery husk of rope, the warm invitation of leather, and beneath it all the sour pungency of manure and urine. It pleased her. Claire believed it was the first real smell she’d ever experienced, so full and true and alive. She brushed the mare and talked to her in low tones, praising her for the work she’d done and telling her how she was looking forward to the adventure of the saddle trip to come.

“Ankle deep in horse shit and you look like you’re loving it,” Aiden said.

Claire saw him peering through the slats in the stall. “I am,” she said. “It’s like everything I ever imagined and nothing like it at all, all at the same time.”

“Good for you.”

“And how are you doing?”

He stepped across the stall and dropped his brush onto the small shelf with the curry comb. He stopped to rub the horse along the neck and when he turned to her his eyes told her nothing.

“I’m fucking glad to be out, I know that. But it’s like I could be anywhere and feel the same. Everything just feels weird, that’s all. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere. I don’t feel
seventeen, I feel fucking eighty. Except for maybe being on that horse.”

“Thank god for horses, then.”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I can handle more of that riding.”

“I hope I do better with the saddle,” Claire said. “Maybe they can just tie my feet to the stirrups and my hands to the big knob thing.”

“The big knob thing?” He laughed. “Spoken like a true cowgirl.”

They gathered in the yard as Golec prepared to leave. To Claire he seemed like a different person out here and she wondered if the same held true for her. She hoped so. The city had the power to reduce people to a frenzied sameness, and as she had become more and more locked into her job and the concern for establishing a good, clean, predictable home for Aiden on his release, she’d felt herself slipping more and more into the main stream of city life and it bothered her. It struck her that people didn’t reach out of themselves very often. Not like here. Out here it seemed as though the country gave people an openness like the land itself, and although it was foreign to her, she craved it like an exile craves the language of her homeland. She watched the Wolfchilds express their affection and regard for Golec, and the envy she felt was accompanied by a note of regret that her life lacked the same generosity of spirit. Aiden stood beside her and watched, awkwardly moving one foot back and forth in the dirt.

“Claire,” Golec said.

“Marcel, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need. You just enjoy this, that’s all I need.”

“Well, it’s hard not to enjoy. It’s fabulous.”

“You earned it,” he said. “You worked hard. I’m proud of how you handled everything.”

“You got it started.”

“No, that’s not right. You got it started. You got out. I was only around for leverage.”

“Well, thanks for the leverage.”

“Anytime. I mean that.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him.

“Aiden,” Golec said and stepped away from Claire.

“Cop,” Aiden said.

“You did a good thing coming here.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“You gave yourself a chance for something better. And you gave your mother the same.”

“Forking shit’s a better chance?”

“In the long run.”

They stood and looked at each other a moment. Golec reached his hand out toward him and Aiden stared at it. He eased his hands out of his pockets and dropped them to his sides and tilted his head back up to look at Golec again. “Thanks for helping the moms,” he said.

Golec nodded. “Anytime,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“See you.”

“I doubt it,” Aiden said and turned away.

Golec made his way toward the car again, and the Wolfchilds followed him, leaving Claire and Aiden to stand a few yards away. They were chatting by the open driver’s door when Lionel looked up and away toward the pasture across the driveway. “I think there’s someone else wants to say goodbye,”
he said, and they all turned to watch Joe Willie stumping his way across the pasture.

“Who’s that?” Claire whispered to Aiden.

“The cripple,” he said.

Joe Willie made his way quickly across the expanse of grass and when he stepped through the gate and across the driveway there was a thin sheen of sweat on his face. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped it roughly before adjusting his hat and stepping up to Golec, who smiled to see him.

“Marce,” Joe Willie said.

“Joe Willie.”

“Bit off your beat, wouldn’t you say?” He cast a look at Aiden, and Claire could see the same sullen wariness she saw in Aiden’s face.

“Long arm of the law, you know,” Golec said.

“Yeah. Well. Wanted to see you off.”

“I appreciate that.”

The two men looked at each other, and from the distance she stood Claire could sense the weight of words on the backs of their tongues, held in place by a hard unknowing, an uncertainty borne on the back of pain, and the silence sat between them like a wiped-off space on a chalkboard, the sentences halted in their path, broken, awaiting a hand to connect them again, give them flow. “Well, you take care now,” Joe Willie said finally.

“I will. You too.”

They stood there awkwardly until Golec reached out his hand. Joe Willie took it and shook it once, firmly. Then he turned, pushed his hat lower on his head and headed back toward the pasture and the equipment shed. As he reached the gate and unlatched it Victoria called to him.

“Joe Willie. We have guests,” she said.

He stopped with his hand on the top rail of the gate and stared upward and away toward the mountains, then traced the line of them back across the long V of the valley until he turned to look back at Claire and Aiden. He thumbed his hat brim up and leaned on the gate with one forearm. The look he gave her was blank and she wondered if he even saw her. But when his eyes met Aiden’s his face became pinched and severe and she looked across at her son. He held the stare with a hard expression of his own and for a long moment the two of them held it, the air between filled with tension. Joe Willie broke it first, nodding his head slowly and tugging his hat back down.