Owen's Daughter (33 page)

She rapped on the Vigils’ door, then tried the knob, and it opened. “Glory?”

“In the bedroom,” she called out, and Margaret followed her voice through their home, impressed, as always, by the way it revealed the family’s inner selves—baskets, books on the shelves, pieces of pottery here and there, old furniture, and the painting of clouds done by Joe’s cousin. It looked like a trompe l’oeil window outdoors from where it sat on the mantel.

Glory was dressed in yoga pants and an Albuquerque Police Department sweatshirt several sizes too big for her. She sat in the middle of her bed, working on folding a mountain of laundry.

“That is a lot of clothing,” Margaret said.

Glory sighed. “Sometimes I feel like making a deal with Rumpelstiltskin. There’s always one load in the wash and one in the dryer,” she said, making a face. “I expect to be doing four loads a day for the next eighteen years.”

“In retrospect,” Margaret said as she sat down and began folding baby onesies, “those will seem like the good old days. Where are the kids?”

“Oh, I put them all into foster care,” Glory said. “It was either that or kill them.”

Margaret said, “I know you’re kidding. But all I can think is how Owen’s daughter would do anything if it helped to find her little one.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. I can’t joke around without putting my foot in my mouth. Aspen is at school. Joseph took Sparrow to the pediatrician for her next round of shots. I hope he remembered to ask for baby pain medication. Otherwise we’ll be up all night. Hey,” she said, “did you get a facial or something? You’re glowing, but your cheeks look abraded. Remember when my sister had that bad reaction to dermabrasion?”

Margaret could hold it in no longer. “Glory, Skye walked in on us!”

Her friend laughed. “I’m so glad you have your beau back. I’ll speak to Joe about getting a lock for the door. But, one thing?”

“What?”

“Details, girlfriend.”

Margaret laughed. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah,” Glory said. “I get to live vicariously through your romance, and I don’t have to worry about getting pregnant because I already am. What’s better than that?”

An hour later, Margaret was lying on Joseph’s side of the bed. She had fetched Glory herb tea, boiled some eggs, and put together a platter of carrot sticks and Brie wrapped in phyllo dough, warm from the oven. They looped the gooey cheese around the carrots and savored the moment. The dogs were all played out, and were snoozing on the floor next to the bed. Margaret had just finished telling Glory about Skye’s name change. “She said Sara Kay was the name of a spoiled brat. Skye, she insists, is wide open to all changes.”

“Kids and their names,” Glory said. “Juniper made such a big deal out of changing her last name to ours. We had a party. Want to know something strange?”

“What’s that?”

“Casey asked to take our name, too.”

“It isn’t really all that remarkable,” Margaret said. “Everyone who meets you wants to be a part of your family. Can I be Margaret Vigil?”

“Sure, join the party. Pretty soon the state will be filled with nothing but Vigils. Actually, we have a pretty good start on that already.”

“How’s the little Vigil who’s incubating? What did the doctor say? Are you taking a leave from work?”

Glory shrugged. “Not yet. Everything appears to be fine. My blood pressure is normal. All she said was to watch my diet, drink gallons of water, and no getting upset at anything.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

Glory said, “Yes. This time around, I’m trying to mark every moment. I started a journal. I look forward to the ultrasound. As soon as I see the heart beating, I’ll be fine. I’m a little worried about how I’ll manage two babies—Sparrow and the unnamed one—but seeing that little pulse, the heartbeat, there’s nothing like it.”

Margaret squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy for you. Where’s Casey?”

“Today she has her therapist appointment. Afterwards, she walks to Aspen’s school to pick her up. They have a snack at the café and some alone time. She should be back any minute.”

“How is she doing in therapy?”

“Joe could probably tell you more than I can. Casey smiles a lot more now. She’s still seeing Ardith Clemmons, the therapist she met in Española. Ardith gives her ‘homework’ to do. Write in a diary, help with the handicapped riding program, and learn to make a few meals. It’s all directed toward getting her to socialize beyond our family, eventually.”

“That sounds promising.”

“And difficult. We try to keep things positive around here, you know, as much as we can. It’s just . . .”

“Just what?” Margaret prodded, brushing a lock of stray silvery hair behind Glory’s ear.

Glory yawned. “Excuse me. You can see it in her face sometimes. She is reliving something horrible. I try to draw her out, but she won’t talk about it. Breaks Joe’s heart. Mine, too. I swear, Curly, that dog of hers, is psychic. She somehow knows when Casey is struggling and she goes directly to her.”

“You may have come late to the game, Glory, but you’re a first-rate mom, through and through. Now take a little nap while I put these clothes away.”

By nine-thirty the next morning, Skye was champing at the bit to do something, anything. She had already tidied up the casita and ironed her good jeans and a white shirt for the gala. It was as dressed up as she could get, because there was nothing appropriate in Mama’s closet. She’d go in to Reach for the Sky early, earn more hours off her community service. Clean up the barn. Groom the horses. Help decorate. She had to fill the hours of her day until her lessons.

She worked up a good sweat in the barn and then got ready for her first trail ride. She led four young men who were in treatment for juvenile offenses around the ring and then a quarter mile on a trail. When they first arrived, they were throwing gang signs and cursing. She thought about taking them back to Mr. Vigil. Instead, she remembered something Valerie had taught her when she was introducing new students. She handed them halters and ropes and said, “Catch a horse.”

“By ourselves?”

“That’s the idea,” Skye said. “It’s easy. You’re all strapping young men. Go find one you like and put the halter on it. Then bring them over here, so we can go over how to saddle them.”

Oh, those big bad juvenile criminals turned into little boys instantly. Valerie was right—this approach worked every time. She held back a laugh after one of them put a halter on upside down. Within ten minutes they were calling her ma’am and willing to do whatever she told them. She rode in the back of the line of horses so she could watch them. When she asked, “Who’s up for galloping?” she was met with silence. They weren’t after speed any more than she had been in her childhood days. Back then it hadn’t been about going fast. It was about the view. From atop a horse the world was different. She was in her own domain when she was on horseback—without bullies or arguments between her parents—and a slow trail ride allowed her imagination the time to transport her into another realm. Now it made her smile to see this in the boys. On the turnaround point on the trail, the boys argued over whose horse was better.

“RedBow,” said Paul, the boy closest to her.

“Little Mac,” Julio said. “He’s the nicest. Plus, he’s the color of
oro
. Gold.”

Skye smiled. Some kids saw a Palomino and that was that.

Once they were back at the barn, she showed them how to groom the animals and then allowed them to feed the horses carrots. She heard some sniffling and knew that these gang boys had discovered that unconditional love did exist in the world, and that one place to find it was in the company of the horse. The van driver arrived to take them back, and two of the toughest-looking boys cried as they said good-bye to the horses.

“Keep racking up those good behavior stars,” Skye told them, waving. “Then we can do this again.” Skye had spent the hour blissfully free of worries about Gracie, but the second the boys were packed off, she was eating her guts again. She checked her cell phone every two minutes in case the lawyer called, trying to think where else she might look. Oklahoma? How much gas would it take to get there? Could she stand taking a bus?

After they left, she asked Mr. Vigil for the fifty dollars, and when he told her the treatment center hadn’t paid yet, her heart sank along with her morale.

But soon it was almost time for her second trail ride. All Joe had told her was that the client’s name was Opal and that she would be bringing her own saddle. Skye was more worried about her bringing a checkbook.

Because the gala was to begin at five
p.m.
sharp, the stable was a hive of activity. What with trucks unloading tables and chairs, and a shrill young woman with a clipboard directing the flow of traffic, Skye was concerned the horses would be jumpy. The party planner, about Skye’s age, pointed men carrying tables in one direction, while another group with chairs went inside the barn. “No, no, no!” the woman yelled. “They go outside! The heaters, too!” The workers scurried around like confused ants, and Skye felt sorry for them.

The fact that the sky was gunmetal gray did not appear to faze that woman at all. Skye was relieved not to see her dad. The first ride had taken a ton of effort, reducing her energy level by half. She made the decision to put both a bridle and halter on Coconut, a white gelding who had chestnut ears that looked like a child’s cap. He also had the requisite chestnut shield on his chest, making him a true “medicine hat” paint horse. The history of the medicine hat horse was one of Skye’s favorites. Duncan had told her that the Plains tribes believed the horses, born so rarely, had supernatural powers. The only people allowed to ride them were tribal chiefs, medicine men, and the best warriors. But it wasn’t just the Indians. Cowboys went nuts for paint horses, and medicine hats were frequently stolen, particularly the mares. Not Coco. He was gelded, past anything but this, quiet lessons, the occasional trail ride. She fastened on his bridle and bit and rubbed the horse’s withers, checking to see if he was lame. Next time she’d have Opal do everything, but today it was better to do the bridling herself.

“Let’s go earn me some money, you monsters,” she said, walking Lightning and Coconut out of the barn. She could feel the barely controlled jitters in both animals. Even safe, bomb-proof horses liked a nice, quiet barn, dinner on time, the occasional carrot, and no surprises. Skye hoped none of them would flip out at the gala. She waited by Joe’s office. The ride was scheduled for one-thirty, and Skye expected Opal to be late, what with crosstown traffic. But there she was, right on time, getting out of a Cadillac SUV, wearing a sparkly sequin scarf and a matching pink shirt that could have been designed by the late Nudie Cohn, that outrageous Ukrainian tailor who’d made clothes for Elvis and Porter Wagoner and ZZ Top. Rhinestones on embroidered cactus. Loopy white piping on the sleeves. There was no other designer who did things that cool except for Old Gringo.

Immediately Skye felt guilty for not selling her boots and teared up.

From the waist down, Opal was all business in tan English riding breeches with suede patches inside the knees. She was carrying the most beautiful English saddle Skye had ever seen. Its curves and decoration were classic and simple, but the quality of the leather was what made it perfect. The woman looked so thin and moved so slowly that Skye doubted she’d make it another foot with that saddle, let alone survive a trail ride. She put on her best smile anyway and walked toward her.

“You must be Opal. I’m Skye, and I’ll be taking you on your trail ride today. Would you like me to saddle your horse? His name’s Coconut.”

“Oh, no. I can do it,” Opal said, shocking Skye by swinging the black saddle and sheepskin pad up on Coco as if it were nothing. She sneaked a sugar cube to him, and Skye pretended not to notice.

“I could use a little help with the girth, though,” Opal said. “Damn arthritis.”

Skye twisted the leather strap inside itself. “That’s quite a saddle,” she said as they walked their horses to the gate.

“It’s a Passier,” Opal said. “I bought it in Germany.”

“It looks really comfortable.”

“I admit, it’s awfully cushy on my old bones. Yours is a Muster Master Australian stock, isn’t it? Boy, does that bring back memories. I used to ride in Australia when I was a young lady.”

Opal really got around. She looked as if she were in her eighties, wore the awesome clothing—perhaps the real thing—had been to Germany and Australia, and now lived in Santa Fe. Skye admonished herself for judging Opal before she met her. This elderly lady was not at all what she’d expected.

Opal smiled at Skye and reached out to touch her cheek. “Honey, if you don’t mind me saying so, you have black mascara streaks running down one side of your face. Would you like a La Fresh Travel Lite? I don’t go anywhere without them.” She reached into her pants pocket and handed one over. “Now this may sound crazy to you, but Preparation H cream is great for taking down eye swelling. If I were a nosy person, I’d ask who is the rogue who caused your tears.”

Skye laughed. “Good thing you’re not nosy.”

“Just tell me, male or female?”

Skye smiled wider. “Uh-uh. Opal, if you tell me your level of riding, then we can go on our way. Sounds like you’ve had lots of experience.”