Dreams of a Dancing Horse (2 page)

 

3

Work Horse

This morning when Rollo comes to harness me to the plow, I make an extra effort to get a thorough look at him. I admit that I had stopped paying much attention to my drivers since most humans look remarkably alike.

But this fellow is an exception. He is round, with greasy hair that looks a great deal like his straw hat. Half-closed, beady snake eyes sink into his pudgy face. The snake appearance is further carried out by his boots, which appear to have come from the skins of a family of rattlesnakes.

It hardly seems possible that this fellow is part of the same species as Lena, much less part of the same family.

“Get a move on, you lazy lug!” Round Rollo shouts. “Hey! Hold still, you ugly nag!” he whines in his next breath.

Talk about mixed messages.

He struggles with my harness, pulling some straps too tight and leaving others to flop.

Once we're out in the field, things go from bad to worse. It's impossible to know which way he intends to plow. He pays no attention to the dry field. Instead, he spends his time leaning on the plow while he reads comic books, pausing to take generous swigs from his thermos. The idea that he can read may be the most puzzling development of the entire morning.

The day wears on, and the sun beats down harder and hotter. I'm so thirsty that I imagine waves of pond water spotting the field. I head for them, but they disappear. Rollo stands on the back of the plow, so I have to pull him as well as the farm implement.

Just when I think I cannot go another step without a drink, I hear the sweet voice of Lena. Fearing it too may be a mirage, a product of my imagination, I turn to face the sound.

“Hey!” Rollo shouts, glancing up from his comic book. “Turn back around, you mule-head! Whaddya think you're doing?”

It
is
Lena. She hikes up her apron and rag of a skirt, then waves at me. She's carrying something in her other hand, but I can't tell what it is.

I whinny at her and ignore Rollo tugging at the reins and shouting at me.

“Rollo Quagmire, you stop right where you are!” Lena hollers.

Rollo mutters something, but he does stop. “Go back to your barn chores!” Rollo shouts.

“It's hot as blue blazes out here!” she yells.

“Tell me about it,” Rollo mutters. He takes another long drink from his thermos.

Lena doesn't slow down until she's inches from her cousin's face. “Did you even bother to take Fred in to get a drink of water?”

“Why should I?” he whines. “It already takes too long to plow this field.”

“That's because you're slow as molasses at Christmas.” Lena plunks down the bucket she's carrying. It's filled with clear, cool water. She jerks the harness reins out of Rollo's chubby hands so my head can reach the bucket.

I drink and drink. Never has water tasted this fine.

“Poor ol' Fred. You'd like to drink the well dry, wouldn't you?” Lena strokes my neck until the bucket is empty.

I lift my head and nudge her a warm thank-you.

“Aw, isn't that sweet?” Rollo says, in a tone that leaves no doubt that he does not think it sweet at all.

“I have to go back now,” Lena says, ignoring her cousin. “But I'll be keeping my eye on you.” She glares at Rollo. “Don't you worry none about that.”

Lena keeps her promise to look out for me. Every day in the field, she brings me water. Still, the days are tough, turning over the red Oklahoma soil and enduring the tug and pull of Rollo's reins. Often, the only thing that keeps me going is the sound of my mother's song in my head and in my heart.

Nights, however, are a piece of heaven on earth. Long after the sun goes down, I wait until I hear the gentle tiptoe of Lena's ballet dance steps entering the barn. How I love watching her twirl and bend, flutter and flow!

One night when she doesn't appear on schedule, I am so disappointed that I have to call on my mother's song. Alone in my tiny stall, I imagine music playing, the song in my heart reaching to my hooves.

Before I realize what's happening, my ears twitch and my tail starts swishing in time to the music. I close my eyes and sway. I prance in place and pivot, pawing the air as if conducting the orchestra in my head.

“Why, Fred, you're dancing!” Lena is standing on the bottom rung of my stall gate and smiling in at me. “If that's not the cat's meow! Don't you dare stop on my account.” She claps her hands. “Please, Fred? I could almost hear the music when you were dancing.”

I toss my head and shuffle my hooves a bit. But I'm too embarrassed to do more. She's so graceful when she dances.

“More! Encore!” Lena cheers. She hops into my stall and twirls on her toes. “C'mon, Fred. Let's shake a leg!”

I give in when she whistles a tune that makes me want to twist and turn like she does. I show her a few of my own dance moves, rearing and pivoting, twirling like Lena, if not quite so graceful as she.

After a while we stop dancing, both of us laughing too hard to keep going.

Lena looks both ways, then pulls something out of her pocket. It's a big, shiny red apple. “Here you go, Fred. I brought you something.”

I chomp half of the apple in one bite. Juice drips down the corners of my mouth. It's the sweetest, most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

Before Lena goes back to the house, she whispers in my ear, “Fred, I have an idea. And a plan. And a surprise for you. Tomorrow when I come out to the field, you just go along with whatever I do, hear? When I give you the sign”—she waves one hand toward the ground—“I want you to sit down right smack-dab in the field. No matter what Rollo yells at you, you just sit there. Okay?”

I nod, wondering what she could possibly be planning.

She kisses my forehead and says, “Now, you get yourself some shut-eye tonight. And tomorrow, I reckon you're in for the surprise of your life!”

 

4

The Big Plan

It's the morning after Lena's promise of a surprise. Rollo is even worse than ever behind the plow. He is hopeless as a driver.

Up and down the furrows I plow, even when Rollo forgets to drop in the seeds for planting.

To amuse myself, I think of my mother's song and sing the melody in my head:

Dance, dance, dance, Federico!

Dance, dance, dance to your own special song.

Sway and spin. Let the music in.

And the world will dance along.

Dream your dreams, Federico!

Dream your dreams, and of course,

Soon you'll shine like the stars above—

Federico the Dancing Horse!

When I reach the end of the row, I turn and face the field. One look, and I let out a horse laugh. The furrow is as jagged as a farmer's saw. I must have been swaying to and fro to the tune in my head. It's a good thing Round Rollo had his head buried in his comic book. I wouldn't mind being around when Rollo's father demands an explanation, though.

About midday, Lena comes running out to the field with a bucket of water. Lena is a true friend. She never forgets about me and always seems to know when I need that drink. It's as if we can read each other's minds.

I nicker a greeting to my friend and stop plowing when she sets the bucket in front of me.

“Hey!” Rollo yells. “What do you think you're—? Oh. It's you again,” he says to Lena. “You slow me down.”

“Yeah?” Lena says, winking at me. “What's the rush?”

“Huh?” Rollo says.

“Ah, I know,” Lena says. “You're in an all-fired hurry so's you can get to the drugstore. I heard about that big shipment of comic books they just got in.”

“The what?” Rollo asks, sounding alarmed.

“I hear tell,” Lena continues, “that it's the finest box of comics ever shipped this far west. I reckon they'll sell out fast.”

“No fair!” Rollo whines.

“Yeah. And here you are with pretty near the whole entire field left. Shame,” Lena says.

She turns toward the house. “Well, I'm fixin' to go back and rest a spell since I got all
my
work done. I reckon you'd best be getting back to yours. If you rush, you could finish by sunset. Oh, that's right. The drugstore closes before sunset, doesn't it? Well, I'll be seeing you, Cousin.”

Turning her back on her cousin, Lena acts like she's leaving. And that's when she waves her hand down, giving me the signal to sit.

I have no idea of Lena's intentions or why she desires me to sit down at this point. But I trust my friend. So I sit.

“Say what? Get up, you nag!” Rollo sounds angrier than I've ever heard him. “I mean it! It's your fault this is taking so long. Now get up!”

Lena turns back to us. “What's the problem, Cousin Rollo?” she asks.

“Are you blind? This nag is the problem!”

“I see what you're saying, all righty. Too bad you're the only one can finish a field like this here one,” Lena says. “What with all those comic books sitting up at the drugstore and all.”

I sit tight.

“That's it!” Rollo throws down the reins. “
You
do it! I'm going after those comics.”

“Me?” Lena says, as if the thought never occurred to her.

“Yeah, you!” Rollo shouts. “You got nothing better to do anyhow.”

Rollo storms off on foot, no doubt headed for the drugstore, where I imagine he will be quite disappointed in the selection of comic books.

I wait until he's out of range before giving in to the giant horse laugh I've been keeping inside.

Lena laughs too. “That cousin of mine is dumb as a box of rocks, Fred.” She pulls an apple from her pocket and holds it out for me.

I stand up before taking the juicy red fruit from her hand.

Lena moves behind the plow. “Okay, Fred. Let's do it!”

Plowing with Lena driving is a breeze. She never rams into the back of my fetlocks. She never jerks the reins. And I know exactly what she wants me to do. I'm allowed to go my own pace, which turns out to be a good deal faster than Rollo's speed.

Straightaway, Lena begins to hum. I pick up my hooves to the beat of her music. The songs are lovely, classical. Often I crane my neck around to see her doing pirouettes, or taking tiny, graceful steps on the tips of her toes, or kicking higher than her head. Her arms move like a flowing stream. Her fingers are as fine as eyelashes. Lena's movements look like her music sounds.

I dance too, though I do try to keep the rows straight. Lena tells me I'm stronger than new rope, which I take to be a compliment.

As the afternoon wears on, I gain more energy, instead of losing it.

Lena talks about herself and where she came from. “My ma was a prima ballerina. She danced at the Royal Academy and all over the world. When she got married, people thought she'd stop dancing. But my pa helped her career. She became even more famous.

“I never knew either of them. Pa was killed in a farm accident two months before I was born. My mama died bringing me into the world.

“Uncle Herbert didn't bother coming to the funeral, although he made it to the reading of the will, all right. He left me in an orphanage until I was six years old. I guess he didn't think I'd be much help with the chores until then. I've been here ever since. I suppose I'll be here until the day I die.”

I want so much to be able to talk to her, to tell her she must not end her days at Quagmire Farms. She will be a prima ballerina like her mother. She is still Crystalina the Ballerina.

Lena grows quiet for a while, undoubtedly lost in her thoughts. Finally, she rallies. “Enough of that! Only happy thoughts now, Fred,” she says. She returns to humming and whistling.

The sun is meeting the horizon when we finish the last row of the field.

“Okay, Fred! We did it!” Lena shouts. “Are you ready for the surprise?”

I nod my head.

“Then it's time to spiffy up. We're going to a hoedown!”