Into the Free (23 page)

It’s hard for me to leave the Anderson family home. After I’ve braided Kathleen’s hair and taught the kids to play a game of tag called Bats and Bears, we hug Bump’s family good-bye and make our way back to Iti Taloa with everything unloaded from the truck.

“You survived!” he says.

“Your family is incredible,” I say.

“It was all I could do to keep my brothers away from you,” he teases. “I had to threaten to take the tractor back. Told them you were mine. All mine.”

He takes my hand and I don’t know what to say. It’s sounding like he thinks more of this than I do. I remember a song Mama used to sing, something about a man coming home “one day too late.”
Hurry, River, hurry.

“I’ll drop you by Diana’s,” Bump says as we approach the downtown lights of Iti Taloa. My stomach tightens at the thought of going back to that house. But what choice do I really have?

“Why didn’t you tell me you are moving to Colorado?” I ask.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says. “I shouldn’t have told you in front of everyone like that. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” I say. “It’s great news. I’m happy for you.” I try to sound happy even though I’m not. I don’t know how I feel about his plans to move to Colorado. I just know that I like the way I feel when he’s around.

“Do you have to take Firefly?” I ask, terrified of what he might say.

“We’re still working out the details,” he says. “But don’t worry. I won’t let Mr. Tucker separate the two of you. No matter what.”

We’re home before I know it, and Bump walks me to the door. “Thank you for taking me to meet your family,” I say. “Today was probably the best day I’ve ever had.”

“That right?” he teases.

“I loved every minute of it,” I admit. “Might not ever be able to top it.”

“Well, let me try, at least,” he smiles. “Meet me back at the arena tomorrow after church. It’s still a little early in the season, but based on the way that palomino was acting this morning, I have a feeling we may just be birthin’ a foal.”

“Absolutely!” I am thrilled that I might get to witness the delivery. Bump leaves me at the door, and I spend half the night telling Mabel and Camille about the adventure, sharing every last detail, except the part about Bump calling me his, all his.

CHAPTER 34

In the morning, Mabel brings me a biscuit and a freshly pressed church dress. The two together make me homesick. I miss Sloth. And Mama.

Once at church, I do as expected. I walk slowly, sit straight, whisper, and smile. We each move to our regular pew, but we’ve arrived a little early, and Diana takes time to talk to the organist, who hasn’t started playing yet. I don’t intend to eavesdrop, but it’s not hard to overhear their conversation. “I just didn’t have the heart to leave her there,” Diana says, looking sad and sorrowful. “This girl needed me.”

“You answered God’s call,” the organist says, looking over at me as if I am some pitiful wreck of a soul.

Diana takes her seat next to Bill Miller. I tune out the preacher’s message and focus on my memories of Mama’s Bible stories, her sweet voice singing hymns from her own childhood days. I let Mama’s memory eclipse all the other voices in my head: Diana and the church ladies and the preacher. But no matter how hard I try, I have a really hard time swallowing the whole
God is love
thing.

After church, Diana dishes up a delicious lunch of chicken jambalaya, Mabel’s specialty. Once everyone’s full, I change out of my church dress and head straight for the arena.

Mr. Tucker has been accumulating pregnant mares for several months to start the new breeding program in Colorado. Most of them are finishing up their eleven months of pregnancy all about the same time. I arrive today to find several of them already restless, sweating, and urinating constantly.

“We better get busy,” Bump says. He’s already taught me how to clean the stalls and fill them with fresh wheat straw. He shows me how the mares are reaching different stages of delivery. Two are just beginning to get milk, so they probably have a few weeks left to go. A few have begun to relax the muscles of their vulva and will likely foal within the week. Three are secreting honey-like colostrum, which Bump calls “waxing.” He says they’ll drop a colt within several days.

I am particularly worried about the palomino Bump mentioned last night. She keeps kicking her own belly and biting her flanks. Bump says it’s not unusual. She’ll be birthing very soon. I stay right with her. I sure don’t want to miss a thing.

I think back to when I was a little girl, when the stray dog swallowed her pups. I am determined not to lose these babies.

Bump comes back to check on me between jobs. He carries a fresh cloth and carefully wraps the mare’s tail. “Gotta make sure it’s not too tight. Don’t wanna cut off circulation,” he says. “We need to keep everything clean. Let’s wash her down. Just a little soap and warm water.”

He brings in a bucket of fresh water and shows me how to clean the mare’s hind parts. “Rinse her clean.” I am fascinated by everything he knows. I want to learn it all.

“She’ll go through three stages,” he explains. “Been having contractions for over an hour. Here, feel.” I feel the mare’s belly tighten and tense beneath my hands. She’s agitated and I am nervous she’ll kick me, or bite. I don’t know this mare very well, and she is obviously in pain. It’s her first time to foal, so I stay near her middle. Away from her head or tail.

“The foal’s already moving down through the cervix,” Bump says from behind the horse. He’s not afraid one bit. “Getting positioned in the canal. See how you can already start to see the allantois?” I don’t know what that word means, but I come around to see where Bump is pointing. I see part of what appears to be the foal, already showing. A bulging sac pushes through and breaks into a rush of fluid. “Now comes the fun part.”

Everything starts moving quickly from that point forward. The mare goes to her knees and lies down. She rolls back and forth. I am worried she is dying. “Don’t worry,” Bump says, easing my nerves. “She’s just positioning the baby. Front feet first.” The mare stands and kicks a few times before returning to the ground, rolling some more, and standing again. She makes a few grunting noises, but remains mostly quiet. I do too.

“Look,” says Bump, calm as ever. “Just what we wanna see.”

The mare returns down to her side, and I move near Bump slowly, trying to keep the mare relaxed. The foal’s front feet are peeking through, one ahead of the other, with the hooves facing down, like he is diving into the sea. The milky sac around him reminds me of pearls, mermaids, and sea goddesses. It’s too beautiful for words.

“Just wait,” Bump says. He’s getting excited, even though he’s done this countless times before.

Before I know it, the hooves are followed by the foal’s nose and head. The mare neighs loudly a few times as she struggles to push the foal’s head all the way through.

“It’s stuck,” I say.

Bump laughs. “Just watch,” he whispers.

After quite a few more effortful pushes, the slimy neck and shoulders ease through. The mare is exhausted, and I don’t think she has the energy to push the foal all the way out. “Should we pull?” I ask.

“Keep watching,” Bump says, patient as ever to let nature work herself out. Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, I see the hindquarters slip through. I don’t know who lets out a bigger sigh of relief. The mare, or me.

“It’s a boy!” Bump announces.

“It’s amazing,” I say.

Bump smiles and we kneel in the corner, watching the mare help her foal break through the slick fetal membrane. Once he breaks free, Bump checks his breathing.

“Breath sounds good. Clear. Umbilical cord broke right where it should. See here? Where it gets smaller? If it don’t break, you gotta twist and pull hard. Don’t want the cord to bleed much. It’s healin’ up already. See?”

Then he backs away and says, “No need to go messin’ with the natural order of things. Just let them get to know each other for a while. We call it imprinting.”

We sit in the corner of the stall and watch. The beauty of the moment overtakes me. Bump reaches for my hand. I let him take it. I rest my head on his shoulder. I imagine him helping me deliver our own child someday. I am a mess of emotions. I want to trust this cowboy. But I don’t feel a surge when he touches me. No matter how kind and gentle he is, he isn’t River.

The foal, eager to explore his new world, spends the next thirty minutes or so trying to stand. As I watch him rise and fall, rise and fall, I realize what a struggle life really is. For all of us. We each dive headfirst into the crazy universe, and from the first breath forward, we’re all just trying to survive.

I weave my fingers through the hay and ask Bump, “What did you think of Jack?”

“I didn’t really know him too much. Kept to himself mostly. But he was a master with horses. Everybody knew that. And the bulls. His specialty. I hate to hear what he done to you, Millie. What he done to your mama. I don’t know what I think of him, now that I know all that. Everybody’s got his own battle to fight. Jack sure had his share. Sounds like he’d lost near about everybody that ever mattered to him. All he had left was your mama. And you. He wasn’t gonna let nobody take y’all away from him. Not drugs, either, from what I hear. So he beat her. It don’t make a lick o’ sense, I know. And I sure ain’t saying it was right. I think he was trying to make sure she didn’t leave him. Beat her up. Keep her scared. Make sure she’d always be there when he came home. In his mind, it made sense.”

“Well, no man ever better go to thinking he needs to beat me.” I say this with as much of a threat as my voice can deliver.

“Millie,” he takes my chin in his hand, makes me look him in the eye, “I promise you right here and now, I won’t never lay an angry hand to you. Not ever. And the good Lord better watch over any man who ever tries. That I know for sure.”

He pulls me against his chest and I let him hold me. The foal stands on all fours, and the mare turns to lick her baby’s nose, and the four of us, for the moment at least, are all surviving in this great big maddening world.

A week later, I wake to Diana, Bill Miller, and Camille singing “Happy Birthday” at my bedside. It’s the first day of spring.

Diana cracks open the powder-pink curtains and holds out a steaming stack of silver dollar pancakes with seventeen sparkling candles in them. I can’t help smiling as Camille yells, “Make a wish! Make a wish!”

I try to choose the perfect wish, weighing the choices before me. Bump. River. Bump. River.

“Hurry!” Camille shouts. “They’re getting cold!”

I close my eyes and wish. I wish for River to return.

Camille helps me blow out the candles and crawls into my bed to share pancakes with me, right here, together, with the sunlight streaming into our eyes. I want to close my eyes and open my arms to receive love, like Bump has taught me. But I’ve learned that people are different from horses. Firefly, I trust. Bill Miller and Diana, I do not.

“Seventeen,” Bill Miller says. “All grown up now.” The way he says this makes my blood cold, and from Diana’s tightened smile, I imagine she feels the same way.

“Never trust.”
I hear Jack’s voice loud and clear.

I dress for church, give Diana and Mabel a hug, and head off with Camille at my side. I feel years older than yesterday, even though I’m only one day past seventeen. I sense that by turning seventeen, I’ve crossed the thin line between being a child and being an adult. Most importantly, turning seventeen brings me one day closer to River. With spring upon us, he should arrive any day now.

I daydream through the sermon, waiting to be released to the arena. I still can’t believe Bump will be moving to Colorado once the foals are all born. I figure it’s meant to be. That I’ll leave with River, and Bump will go to Colorado, and all will fall into place.

Camille is devastated by Diana’s new rule forbidding her to go with me to the arena. One of many such rules since she caught us driving Jack’s truck through the square. Camille is going home with her friend Mary Emma today, and as much as I am going to miss having her tag along, I am looking forward to some quiet time with Firefly.

When I arrive, Bump meets me at the entrance. “Um, you may not want to go in there,” he says, looking down at his boots and rubbing his hands together with angst.

“Why? What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s just. You don’t want to go in there.”

He might as well have punched me in the gut. I’ve been around the barn enough to know what happens to horses who have the unfortunate fate of breaking a leg or damaging a hip or suffering from a bad case of colic. I don’t hesitate. I shove past Bump, terrified that something has happened to Firefly. I rush to the stables.

It takes my eyes a minute to adjust to the dark covered ring around the arena. I keep moving, navigating blindly through the familiar holding area, where the horses are stalled and where Firefly waits for my daily visits. Before I can see clearly, a crowd of cheers and claps and laughter erupts, and Mr. Tucker says, “Whoa, now, gal. Where you headed in such a hurry?”

“Where’s Firefly?” I yell, my eyes now seeing his large white hat and his silver mustache.

“I’m sure she’s in the stall waitin’ for you like always. Somethin’ the matter?”

“I-I thought something was wrong with Firefly,” I stammer. “Bump said—”

Bump interrupts from behind, “I said I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. We were trying to surprise you.”

Everyone laughs.

Before I know it, I am surrounded by a crowd of cowboys. Plus Mr. Tucker’s secretary, Janine, full of smiles. She points to a long white sign hung from the ceiling with pink letters that read, “Happy Birthday, Millie!” and Mr. Tucker shouts, “Surprise!”

Later, after strawberry cake and homemade ice cream, Mr. Tucker gives me a gift. My very own rodeo outfit. An emerald-green long-sleeved shirt, with white fringe and silver rhinestones. And for the first time in my life, a pair of pants! Boots, too.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him. “You’ve done so much for me. Letting me work here. Letting me ride Firefly. Now a party? This is too much, Mr. Tucker.”

“Now, now, little lady,” he says, taking a moment to light a fresh cigar. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. With Jack gone, you know, we need a new star in this production. No one better suited for the job than Jack’s own flesh and blood. Besides, I kind of like you.”

I smile and give him a big hug.

“Whoa!” Bump says. “You ain’t never gave
me
no hug!”