by Bea Bledsoe
In the car, Leigh jerked awake, her eyes peeling open as if a scream were trying to escape her lips.
Rain. It’s raining.
“My God.” She leaned back against the sleeping bag, her face soaked with sweat as she worked to calm her breathing. Outside, a light rain was waning as a gray early morning light began to peek through the car windows. Leigh shivered and buried herself deeper in the sleeping bag, hoping to go back to sleep, but it didn’t come.
After a few minutes, Henry stirred next to her and Leigh flipped over to steal a glance at him. He looked like a little boy when he slept: face pressed against the hard floor, breaths soft and short. Beneath his strong brows, closed eyes darted back and forth as he whimpered. Henry was dreaming too. Leigh resisted the urge to stroke the stubble that was now appearing at the edge of his jaw. That same guilt she had felt the night before reared up inside of her. How dare you desire, after all that has happened?
Leigh laid her head back and watched the rain patter on the sunroof of the car, thinking of the small burlap sack that had been half buried near Carl’s grave. She had almost fallen back asleep when she heard something that sounded like a step outside the car. Leigh turned her head, alert now, and there it was again; the crack of a branch followed by a much more terrifying sound: the soft exhale of breath. Leigh leapt up, heart pounding in her chest. Moving swiftly on her hands and knees, she inched forward to the window.
Outside there was nothing she could see, only the early morning mist bordering the trees, their trunks like shadows. Leigh stayed perfectly still for a moment, watching, but all that moved past the car was a quail, searching for its breakfast. She sat back, the headache that she had all night finally retreating as dawn threatened to break. Eventually, the rain stopped, but outside the car thunder continued to rumble in the distance. Leigh liked the sound of it, the pulse rising and fading up and down the valley…
Leigh sat up straight, her long brown braid tangling in the zipper of her hoodie. “That’s not thunder,” she whispered out loud to herself. She knew that sound. My God. Her hand shot out and slapped Henry’s shoulder.
“OW, what the hell?” He jerked straight up, still half asleep. It took him a moment to realize where he was. “God, sorry. I had the most terrible dream. I was standing on the top of that mountain over there…and there was, like, this girl, and she had on…” He stopped talking as a blush spread over his face.
Leigh was already pulling on her sneakers. “Henry, not that I don’t want to hear about your sex dream, but we need to hurry.”
Henry curled back into his sleeping bag. “But… it’s warm and dry in here. We can’t just sleep for a few more hours?”
Leigh glanced at her watch. “It’s 6:30 in the morning. We’ve slept for nine hours.”
Henry flopped his arm across his face with exasperation. “Yeah, and we could try for twelve.” Leigh pulled on her boots and reached for the nylon rope that sat at Henry’s feet in the pile of gas station goods.
“I’ll see you out there.” She said.
Henry grunted her direction, still waking up. “Don’t dig up any more bodies without me.”
Leigh opened the back hatch to the car and disappeared into the rising morning mist. The echoes of thunder continued to fill the valley as Leigh sprinted forward into the clearing. Just past a bank of pine trees, she could see the fog lifting as she vaulted up a steep grassy hill. The enormous sound filled the air as Leigh made it to the top, her hand tightening around the rope as she looked down.
“Yes.” She whispered, her heart devouring this moment of pure wonder. The valley was currently occupied by swiftly galloping horses. Wild horses - that romantic symbol of the West that had come to define Wyoming - were common in these parts, but as Leigh watched the horses gallop across the valley, she knew that these weren’t wild horses.
These were the horses of Blackriver.
She recognized them almost immediately: Noir, a black horse who had once bucked his owner into the river; Russell, a sweet chestnut owned by Carrie Greene; and D’oro, a Palamino that was sometimes was sired out in Cody. Dahlia, Florence, Jesse, Erica…. the horses were all there. She watched in awe as about twenty horses in all ran in playful circles through the valley. Leigh narrowed her eyes, watching for a familiar coloring: a dark grey coat with white splatter, a horse with a black mane and hooves. She had let out a happy shout just as Henry came up over the hill, still looking half asleep.
“Morning…whoa, are those horses?”
“Tell me how you got into Harvard again?” Deadpanned Leigh. “Yes, those are horses. See the four legs, the mane? That identifies them as class equine.”
“I might not know horses, but I definitely know an ass when I see one.” He retorted. “What I meant is are these wild horses? Mustangs?”
Leigh shook her head.
“No. These are the horses from Blackriver. Our horses. They’re returning home. To see if….” She swallowed hard. “To see if their owners have returned. I’m sure they wander within a small radius from here. It’s the home they know.”
Leigh reached over and twisted a thin sliver of skin on the top of her hand, pinching hard, hoping the pain would jolt her out of sadness. Thankfully the tears didn’t come, and instead of crying, she tightened her hand on the rope. She stepped boldly forward as Henry stared at the horses with wonder.
“Is one of those your horses? You had a horse?”
Leigh was already moving swiftly away from him now, her eyes on the grey horse near the back of the pack. “Of course!” She yelled, darting between moving bodies. “We’re in ranch country!”
The horses had not been around humans in a while; Leigh could tell by how skittish they were. She quietly nicked through her teeth.
“Leigh…” Henry’s voice was nervous as he called out to her, but he didn’t follow up once she shot him a look colder than the air outside. “Never mind. Keep doing what you are doing.” As if she needed his permission.
The herd began galloping past her, a cluster of hooves and dirt pounding towards the end of the valley. Leigh broke into a loping sprint. As she ran, the morning mist rose all around them, the sky above a dazzling watercolor of lazy pinks. Once she got about twenty feet away from the grey horse at the back, she stepped fully out into the clearing, rope held at the ready. At the sight of her, the horses spooked and began galloping away, but the one she wanted ran a bit slower, his mouth stuffed full of yellow grass. That didn’t surprise her.
The rope fell from her wrist onto her fingers. “Napoleon.” She muttered softly under her breath. She held her hand out as he danced nervously around her with loud steps. “Come here, love.” She began walking towards him. He backed up a step, his ears flattening against his head as his hooves danced on the ground. Loud snorts escaped from his black nostrils. “Whoa, boy.” As she worked her way up beside him, she began singing a low song just under her breath. A song she had learned from her father. She was almost to the horse when the headache came out of nowhere, the sensation like a nail being driven directly into the center of her forehead.
Leigh let out a gasp of pain and clutched her head with both hands as everything swirled around her: Visions crackled through her brain, the same ones as before. Saratoga mountains. Cement walls. People screaming. And then, a new one: a man running into the trees. The pain was white hot, brutal as it raced from the center of her forehead to her temples, shocking her nerves on the way. Leigh stumbled forward, struggling to breathe. The pain in her head escalated quickly, but just when it seemed unbearable, it receded as suddenly as it came. Leigh was dizzy in its wake. She struggled to come back to the present. My God, what was happening?
Leigh looked up just as Napoleon reared up in front of her, the horse spooked by her jerky movements. His huge body blocked out the morning sun, and for one panicked second, Leigh realized he was going to land right on top of her. She dove to the side, narrowly missing the full weight of his hooves. Gritting her teeth, Leigh shot to her feet in
a cloud of dust and pulled the rope up into position, her fingers feeling for the spoke as she stared at her horse. She made a tiny notch in the rope, and afterwards let it fly, muscle memory taking over as she circled the lasso over her head. A second later, her wrist flicked it forward in a perfect arc. Napoleon jumped as the lasso circled around his neck. With a cry, Leigh leaned back, snapping the rope against his hide. Napoleon jerked back, yanking Leigh forward like a rag doll, but she held on, the rope carving rivets in her hand.
“No!” She ordered, snapping her jeans with the end of the rope. Napoleon paused, his hooves hitting the ground with a dull thud. He jerked his head once more in protest before surrendering. Leigh stalked towards him. “Hi.” She said softly, and Napoleon gave a happy nicker, trotting toward her open hand. Leigh let her hands close around his velvet muzzle, letting the feeling of home wash over her. With worshipful eyes, Henry ran up beside her.
“Well, suffice it to say that I have never been more intimidated or perhaps turned on than I am right now.” He patted Napoleon’s back in an awkward way that let Leigh know that Henry had not grown up around horses. “I don’t need to catch one too, do I? I’m just going to let you know that I do not, at all, consider myself qualified to do that.”
Leigh smiled and leaned against Napoleon, relief washing over her. Napoleon was a piece of her home; she hadn’t known how badly she had needed that. He gave her a dangerous hope that maybe she would find the rest of her home – and life – after all.
“He should be enough for both of us.” She answered Henry. “He’s a strong one, always has been.” She patted his firm back. Henry squinted as the sun broke over the mountains, the ground at their feet dewy with melting frost.
“I think it’s going to be beautiful today.” He said softly, his eyes traveling up her face. Leigh looked away from him.
“I think it will be.” She replied. “Which is good.”
“Why is that?” Henry ran his hand down Napoleon’s side. The manly rower from Harvard pulled his hand away with a girlish shriek as the horse nipped at his hand. Leigh burst out laughing, the comfort of the moment a luxury she didn’t deserve.
“Because we’re going for a hike…on him. We have questions and no answers, but I think…” Her eyes raised to the hills. “I think I know where some might be.”
“Up there?” Henry stood still for a moment before nodding. “Fine, but I’m eating first. Those granola bars aren’t going to eat themselves.” He headed back to the car, mumbling to himself the entire way. Leigh pulled Napoleon’s enormous head close to her and together they watched as the horses of Blackriver disappeared into the woods, each one searching for the place it once called home.
10
A half hour later, after watching Henry wolf down three granola bars and attempt to call his roommate – though they both still had absolutely no phone service – they were ready to go. Leigh laid a flannel shirt across Napoleon’s back and, with the help of a tree stump, climbed onto his back. She gestured to Henry to climb up behind her, but he just stared nervously at the animal.
“Are you sure I can’t just run alongside? Rowers in general have great stamina.”
Leigh shook her head. “Come on up, city boy. I’ve got your seat right here.” With an uncomfortable grimace he slid up behind her, his hips snug against her own, his warm body pressed up close against her. She tried to focus on breathing, but Henry was making it difficult
“Wrap your arms around my waist…and don’t say anything cheeky.” She ordered.
“It never crossed my mind.” She smiled wryly before giving Napoleon a soft kick. He began making his way toward the hills. They rode in silence for about a half hour as Napoleon climbed. Leigh watched as the familiar splendor of Blackriver valley lay itself at their feet like a dazzling panorama. Pale grasses and sagebrush turned into jagged pines and rocky outcroppings the higher they climbed.
“Why would you ever leave this place?” Henry asked softly. Leigh straightened up and felt his body do the same as she pressed closer against him. Even now, she was hyper aware of his hands wrapped around her waist, one finger resting against the bare skin of her back underneath her sweatshirt.
She thought about his question for a second, wondering how she could make him understand.
“Imagine that you’ve read every book in the place you live. All the books in the small neighborhood library, all the books in your house and in your neighbor’s houses. Imagine having no one to play with, ever. My life was beautiful, but too small. And when you dream of leaving, somehow everyone knows it; it’s like they can smell it on you. You can’t just leave a place like Blackriver, because your prison is also your comfort zone. It’s your home. It’s a paradise and a hell, and sometimes this kind of raw beauty, “she gestured to the landscape around them - “can feel like it’s pressing on your chest. Like you’re suffocating.” She nicked at Napoleon and guided him into a thick swatch of lodgepole pines.
“And when you leave your small town…” She closed her eyes as she kept talking, leaning forward as Napoleon made his way up a steep incline. “You don’t just go. You jettison. You have to leave everyone behind you, and no matter what you do they will see it as a betrayal, because this is all they ever knew, and in leaving you have somehow reduced their own existence. If it’s not good enough for you, how can it be good enough for them?” Leigh saw her mother’s face, staring up at her from behind her Harvard acceptance letter, the pride in her eyes etched with a deep betrayal that Leigh knew she would never be able to shake. She reached down and stroked Napoleon as he made his way to the top of the hill. “And so, you find a new life. You become a new person.” And then they will be gone, like you sacrificed them for your dream. She blinked the tears back from her eyes.
“Or, in your case, several new people making a very good living off hapless frat boys like myself.” Henry was trying to lighten the mood, and she was grateful for it.
“Well, you were an easy mark.”
“Not so easy to shake now, am I?”
Leigh smiled. “No. Not so easy after all.”
“Whoa. Check out the view.” From here, they could see the patterns of the new grass against the natural foliage of the town. “Someone went to a lot of work to hide the fact that a town was once here.” Said Henry carefully, mirroring exactly what Leigh was thinking.
Leigh sat forward. “Listen.” She said, and Henry fell silent. “We’re almost there.” The roaring of water was humming through the trees, growing louder as they approached.
“Is that a waterfall?” Henry sat up, his arms tightening around her.
“It’s the mill.” Leigh jerked Napoleon’s reins, bringing him to a stop near a shady bunch of aspens. She climbed down from his side and looped his rope twice around a tree branch before reaching up to help Henry. He slid down awkwardly, stumbling once before landing on his knees with a grunt. She helped him up, and their hands held together for a few seconds longer than was necessary.
Henry watched her carefully with soft olive eyes. “And so you didn’t come home.”
Leigh threw a pack on her back. “I didn’t know if I could ever come back. Not after the way I left things. Not after I became someone else at school.”
With a surprising boldness, Henry leaned over her shoulder and gently tucked a piece of brown hair back into her braid.
“I don’t know if it’s any consolation, but you are more glorious here in your home than you ever were as Evelyn Porch.” Leigh stepped away from him, her head down, hoping to change the conversation.
“And yet, I never felt as much at home here as I did at Harvard.” She straightened her back and looked him square in the eyes, signaling that the conversation was closed. “Anyways, the mill is just up here.”
Henry followed behind her. “What exactly are we looking for?”
Leigh pushed through some overgrowth on the trail, moving a thorny bramble aside so Henry could step through. “I’m not sure, but I know this much: Someone was up
here at some point, recently. I found one of the mill sacks buried underneath Old Sway, the tree where the body was. It wasn’t buried deep, and it was pretty clean. That means whoever was there was up here too, at White Devil Mill.” She pointed beyond the waterfall.
Henry stopped walking. “I’m sorry, did you just say White Devil?” He followed Leigh upwards over a growing landfall of rocks.
She kept walking. “The Stout family ran this grist mill for three generations, but their youngest son moved to Jackson, and sold the mill when I was fifteen. Up until then, we got our corn flour from them every week. It made delicious biscuits, pancakes…well, everything really.”
Henry smiled, his hand resting on a rock. “You ate biscuits from a mill on the side of a mountain. That’s adorable.”
Leigh stepped past a collection of logs at the base of the trailhead, her tone sharp. “Delicious, yes. Adorable, not really. It was just…life.” She stepped forward into the light, the shadows of the pines left behind her. “It’s been abandoned for about three years.”
“Wow.” Henry breathed when the river came into sight.
Leigh smiled. “Exactly.”
In front of them, a river careened down the mountainside and into a bubbling river below. Leigh pointed up to where cascades of angry water roared over a tall white tree, smack in the middle of the river. At the top of the tree, branches curved into what looked like smooth white horns.
“See? There’s the white devil. White Devil Mill.”