Into the Free (20 page)

CHAPTER 29

It’s been more than three weeks since I took the job at the rodeo. We’re deep in the bitter cold of February, and Diana is hosting bridge day. The rodeo crew has gone to the coast for a competition. They’ll be back in three days, and Mr. Tucker insisted I take some time off. Told me not to take one step onto the grounds until he gets back. I think he doesn’t trust the guys he left behind. Doesn’t want me at the arena without him or Bump there to keep an eye on me. I like the way he looks after me, almost like a father. And Bump feels like the brother I never knew.

I am reading in bed, listening to Diana’s friends gossip as they sip sweet tea and pop petits fours. Mabel sneaks me samples, imitating Diana’s friends and trying to make me laugh.

I’m thinking of River and waiting for spring to bring him back to me. I’ve wrapped myself in the yellow gypsy scarf, trying to smell him. To remember his voice, his touch. I’m writing about him in my journal when Mrs. Talbot asks about
that Reynolds girl you’ve been boarding
. “You know, Diana honey. I don’t know if I’d have the nerve to handle it. What with all that history between Bill Miller and the Applewhite girl. What was her name? Marie?”

I sit up straight in bed. Mrs. Talbot’s voice carries like a freight train. Her words have the same dirty impact as a load of coal. I imagine Diana smiling, trying not to show her ignorance, and longing to know the rest of the story. I move to my door for a better view. I haven’t told anyone about Bill Miller’s visit to my bedroom that night. Haven’t mentioned a word about the ring or his engagement to my mother.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Diana says, tipping her crystal glass to her smooth pink lips. “What on earth does Bill Miller have to do with Millie?”

The house grows silent, except for the sound of Mabel’s padded feet as she scuttles into the parlor to offer refills. She tries to break the tension, but it has infested the room. “Mabel, do you know anything about Bill Miller and Millie’s mother?” Diana asks. “Marie Applewhite was her name.”

“No, ma’am,” Mabel lies. The women are huddled together in a tense pod.

“Mildred?” Diana asks the kindest of her bridge friends. Mildred looks down at the floor. She is the only one besides Mabel who is not wearing high heels. “Sophie?” Sophie turns to Mildred with a helpless grimace. “Sophie, I insist you tell me right this instant what is going on,” Diana says, her voice echoing pain down the hall to where I listen.

“Surely you knew,” bites Mrs. Talbot. “Everyone knows.”

The others give Mrs. Talbot looks of warning, and I can’t believe how many secrets people keep in this town. “Knows what?” Diana says, growing less patient by the second. Mabel skirts out of the room and whisks herself down the hall to my bedroom.

“She doesn’t know,” Sophie says. “Remember, we all agreed with old man Miller. It was best to leave it all in the past.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Diana’s voice turns sharp.

Sophie keeps talking to the others, pretending Diana isn’t in the room. “Diana didn’t live here then, remember? It was already old news by the time she moved to Millerville.” Sophie is the kind who calls our town Millerville. Too good to let a Choctaw word touch her tongue.

Mrs. Talbot turns to Diana with a slippery smile. “Well, it’s about time you know the whole story,” she says, taking her time to share every detail with a sick sense of accomplishment. “No one thought it was a good idea. But Marie was pretty enough and nice enough, so Bill just did what was expected.”

I lean out to get a better view of Diana’s face, but she’s much too sophisticated to expose her real emotions. Mabel wraps her arm around me and pulls me back into my room a bit, out of sight.

Mrs. Talbot continues. “Turned out, Marie wasn’t as innocent as everyone thought. She up and jilted Bill for that Choctaw cowboy of hers. Ran off and left Bill and everyone else in town scratching their heads.”

“Oh, she was trash,” Sophie jumps in.

My gut churns. How dare they talk about Mama like that? Mabel holds me in place.

Mildred hasn’t said a word, but Sophie continues. “Bill never really wanted to marry her, honey. He was just young. And you know Bill. He’d do anything to make his daddy happy. He’s a good man, Diana. A good man.” The others’ heads move up and down in agreement.

“Wait a minute,” Diana finally speaks. “Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that Millie’s mother was once engaged to marry my husband? Is that what you’re saying?”

Everyone looks at each other and nods with anxious resistance. Only Mrs. Talbot responds verbally, “That’s what I’m saying, Diana. Did you really not know about this?”

“How could I have known?” Diana asks. “Bill Miller never uttered a word about it. I never knew he was engaged. I’d never heard of Marie. Not until she came to the hospital. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Then she looks at Mildred. “Why didn’t
you
tell me?”

“Bill’s father thought you wouldn’t want to marry him if you knew he’d already been engaged. He insisted we let bygones be bygones,” Mildred says, apologetically. “You know what he says goes, and no one dared go against him.” Mildred gives Mrs. Talbot a stern look, and she responds with a guilty glance.

“Maybe Bill doesn’t know it’s her,” suggests Sophie. “Maybe he never put it all together. Why would he? You know that man stays buried in bank business. That’s all he knows.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Mildred agrees, adjusting her cloche hat. “There’s no way he’s made the connection. He would have talked to you about it.”

“Well,” argues Mrs. Talbot. “What are you going to do about it now? Surely you don’t plan to continue harboring this girl. I mean, it’s more than a little obscene, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Diana admits. “I just don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t tell him,” says Sophie. “Why bring up the past? It was ages ago, Diana. Everyone has forgotten it ever happened. Marie’s been a recluse for years. No one remembers her. She’s just some lowlife who irons their clothes. She lived in the quarters for goodness’ sake, and you’re so much prettier than she ever was. Smarter, too.”

I hate this woman so much at this moment I could scream. I want her to see my face and know that I hear what she is saying about Mama. But Mabel pulls me from the doorway. Holds me close.

“Diana, don’t cry,” Sophie continues. “Bill should count his blessings that he didn’t end up with that Holy Roller. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Well, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’d tell him,” Mrs. Talbot huffs. “You can’t just go on pretending there’s no story here. I mean, seriously, Diana dear, can you really look at that girl the same way ever again? I know you’re inclined to liberal thinking, but I’d kick her out so fast her rump would be burning. If I were you.”

“Then thank goodness you’re not,” Mildred answers sharply, draping a protective arm around Diana’s shoulders. “It’s the last thing I would expect you to do, Diana. This girl needs help. She used to come to my house when she was a tiny thing. Selling pecans. Can you imagine? It’s not her fault her mother was crazy. Her father, too, from what I’ve heard. She probably doesn’t know anything about Bill and her mother. It’s ancient history. I see no reason to go digging up old ghosts. Camille adores her. You do too. Let it be.”

Then Mrs. Talbot chimes in. “I’m going to say this one time, Diana. And I’m speaking honestly because I care about you. We all know you didn’t come from money.” The others gasp. Mrs. Talbot has reached far past the line of proper conversation. Diana stiffens, holds her head high. “You’re the only one of us who bothers keeping a job. You moved into town with not much more than one good suit and an extra hat. And no one has ever heard of your family. You can’t fool me.”

Diana looks away. Mrs. Talbot continues. “You’re in a real predicament here, Diana. Let’s face it. You’re only one step away from being just like Marie Reynolds. Without this Miller money, you’re nobody. You’ve got nothing. Are you willing to lose everything you’ve worked for just because you let yourself feel sorry for some dirt-poor Indian girl? She’s not worth the risk, Diana. You’ve got no choice. The girl must go.”

CHAPTER 30

Minutes become hours, hours become days, February is closing in on March, and Diana never says a word to me about Bill Miller and Mama. And, as far as I can tell, she hasn’t spoken of it to Bill Miller either. She just keeps acting as if the entire conversation with her friends never took place, as if her husband was never engaged to my mother, as if our shared histories have been rewritten.

She keeps trying to treat me with kindness, but she is not the same sweet Diana I met in the hospital. Something deep within her has shifted. The color of her eyes has darkened. Her smiles seem tighter. And each day the tension builds until she snaps at me for no real reason. Speaks to me in ways I imagine she’s never spoken. To anyone. “No, Millie. You don’t grind your nails back and forth with that file. Goats do a better job sharpening their hooves on rocks, for goodness’ sake. You’re no goat, Millie. Don’t act like one.” She jerks the fingernail file out of my hand and models the correct method. “Smooth them. Gently. In one direction.” Then she pulls my hands to hers, with force, and says, “Oh, there’s just nothing I can do with this mess. It’s hopeless. You’re hopeless.”

Now, as we sit together at the supper table, she is clearing her throat to get my attention, trying to provide a clear example of the proper way to eat soup from a spoon. I am determined not to spill, so I lean in, over my bowl. Diana scoffs. “Might as well have a dog at my table!”

Sometimes she stops me halfway across a room and signals with her hands, and her eyes, to go back and enter again. Each time, I try to mimic her graceful way of walking, but I am clumsy and awkward, and the high-heeled shoes rub blisters.

Her words chew through me. This is not the same sweet-voiced Diana who sat by my side in the hospital. Who bought me a new black dress for my parents’ funeral and gave me a box filled with hope. This Diana has been betrayed. My entrance into her life has made her look a fool.

So now I try to avoid her as much as I do Bill Miller. I spend as much time as I can at the arena, and Diana seems fine with that. I guess as long as she doesn’t have to face me. As long as she doesn’t have to be reminded of her husband’s betrayal. Of her friends’ deceit. Camille tags along pretty much anywhere I go. Despite the smocked dresses and pristine nails, she isn’t scared of anything. She’ll climb trees just as high as I climb, dig in the dirt to catch all sorts of critters, and stare the toughest cowboy right in the eye if he dares question her bravery. She has what Mama used to call
spunk
. I couldn’t have picked a better sister if I had been given all the choices in the world.

Every afternoon, after I’ve shoveled the stalls and freshened the bedding, swept the walkways and restocked the hay, groomed the geldings and refilled the water barrels, I take the horses, all of them, two at a time, into the arena. I don’t know how to saddle them, but I can attach a lead rope. I walk them in circles for a half-decent workout, always wishing I could ride them, too afraid to ask. I think I’m doing some good, until Bump hollers, “Not much point in that. Might as well leave them in the stalls.”

Camille watches from the corner where she’s grooming a mare. “She doesn’t know how to put on a saddle!” she yells across the vast arena. I blush, ashamed that she’s told Bump the truth.

Bump takes long, solid steps toward me and says, “Well, why didn’t you say so? Bring Firefly,” he says.

He walks right past me and heads toward the tack room. I follow, restraining a paint gelding and leading a freshly groomed quarter horse mare named Firefly close behind me.

“If you want to work the horses, you gotta get them to sweat. I suggest you saddle them up and take them for a quick run. Pulse them back and forth, you know. Walk, trot, canter. Walk, trot, canter. Back and forth to get their hearts pumpin’ real good. That way you can work through the line quick-like.”

Walk. Trot. Canter. I’ve read about such things, but I have no idea how to make a horse do them. My confusion is not hidden from Bump. Nor from Camille, who shouts, “Might as well be talking to a wall. She hasn’t a clue, cowboy.” Camille always speaks like an old lady, with confidence far beyond her years. And she tells it like it is, never keeping anything in. I figure that’s why we’re so close. We’re both old souls, as Mama used to say. And I like that she doesn’t keep secrets.

“Look, I got some time this evening. I figure I can help,” Bump says, draping a saddle blanket over Firefly’s back and taking care to center it for just the right fit. He heaves the heavy saddle up over the blanket and pulls the two leather straps of the girth together beneath her belly. “Don’t let her hold her breath,” he warns. “She’s good at that, this one. She’ll trick you. Let you think you got the saddle all tight and snug. And then, just when you climb your plump rump up on top, she’ll exhale, and you’ll find yourself hanging upside down. Won’t you, Firefly?” he asks, tickling her behind her ears. She lets out a big breath, proving him right and making me laugh all at the same time. I wonder if he really thinks my rump is plump. My face turns pink.

Bump adjusts the straps. “You should be able to hold two fingers under here. No more. No less.” Then he inserts a metal bit into her mouth. She tugs in protest.

“Do you have to put that thing in there?” I ask, feeling sorry for Firefly as she resists the metal.

“It ain’t all that bad. You’ll be glad you have it, once you’re up there. Believe me.”

I do believe him. He seems to know pretty much all there is to know about horses, and I want to learn all he knows.

He is different from the other rodeo guys. Unlike Jack, who moved through the world with a pistol and spurs, Bump uses whispers and soft touches when breaking a horse. He whistles, clicks, and nods. He taps the tip of his boot to the dirt or snaps his fingers. He knows the importance of building trust, developing a bond, forming a relationship.

When Bump gets everything set, he wraps the reins around the saddle horn and helps me climb into the saddle. I can’t stop smiling. I have never felt so weak and so strong at the same time. Never thought such a feeling was possible. At first, I think it is from being up on a twelve-hundred-pound animal, but when Bump adjusts my leg to position my foot in the stirrup, I can’t help but wonder if my feelings have just as much to do with the cowboy as the horse.

Bump leads us back out to the arena, me riding Firefly, feeling tall and mighty. “Close your eyes,” Bump says. “You gotta learn to balance before you do anything else.”

I close my eyes and hold on tightly to the saddle horn.

“Feel her move,” Bump says. “Don’t worry about nothin’ else. Forget where you are and where you’re going. Just think about the horse beneath you. Follow her lead.”

It’s hard, letting go of the need to control things. My instinct is to want to feel safe, to keep my feet on the ground and my eyes open for signs of danger. But I believe Bump knows what he’s doing, and I already love this horse. So I try to release my fear as Firefly bends and bows beneath me.

“Not bad,” Bump says. “Now let go. Spread out your arms.”

“Are you crazy?” I argue, opening my eyes to see the guy who wants me to ride this horse with no hands. “I just got my cast off. I’m not looking to wear another one anytime soon.”

“I’ll do it,” shouts Camille. “Let me try. I’m not scared!”

“Close your eyes,” he challenges me again, winking at Camille to stall her long enough to focus on the task at hand. “I’m serious. If you wanna learn horses, you gotta let go of the fear. Now focus.”

I let out a long sigh. I close my eyes and try my best to tune into the energy of this animal. When I finally release my fear, I feel as though I’m in that old safe place again, sitting in the bends of Sweetie’s branches, connecting to a powerful force. All-knowing. I open my eyes again and see Bump and Camille. Both are watching me, waiting with patience, not worried one bit about how much time this takes. I straighten my spine and adjust my legs until I reach that perfect balance. Then I whisper to Firefly, “Okay, girl, I trust you.” I let go of the horn, and I spread my arms.

She keeps her pace, walking softly and smoothly around the red-dirt floor, but she could take off full speed and I would close my eyes and spread my wings and fly off into the blue on this beautiful mare.

I don’t want it to end, this feeling of peace. I don’t really know what to call it. I just know it’s real. Here, in the arena, as I learn to communicate with a beast more than ten times my size. I think of Jack and his fall from the bull. But I feel no fear. With my eyes closed and my arms spread wide, I discover my heart is opening to the possibility of faith and my mind is willing to trust in something bigger than myself for the first time in my life.