“I’ve only ridden with my friend back in Minnesota, mostly bareback, on ponies.” Patty’s uncle and aunt had a dairy farm about one hundred miles from Minneapolis. Sheila had been invited to spend time on this farm during the summer with her friend, an only child. Patty’s cousins were all boys. The kids galloped through fields, trying to avoid prairie dog holes. A barn with horse stalls to the side had smelled of cows—an acrid combination of urine, manure, and sour milk. This farm was one of Sheila’s favorite places to visit, full of happy childhood memories.
“I’ve never ridden a horse like Sparky.”
“I can teach basics, as long as you have the balance to stay on.” Bob was being modest. She soon came to realize that he knew more about technique than many trainers, having spent endless hours coaching Polly. He went on to say, “Riding ponies bareback can be the best sort of training for riding any horse.”
Work and school kept Sheila busy, while her social life remained a total blank. Knowing that Silver Girl would miss her if she started to spend even more time away from the apartment, she decided to adopt another shelter pet as a buddy.
The first Saturday, Sheila left Scamper, a neutered orange male tabby, and Silver Girl (who had been fixed) with lots of food, water, and toys when Bob’s wife, Lucy, came to pick her up at the apartment.
Fluttery with fear and excitement, Sheila listened during the drive to the farm while Lucy talked about Polly’s illness. “She’ll be fine once the treatments are completed.”
As soon as they drove down the long, winding driveway and arrived at the red brick house, Sheila felt welcomed. They greeted Bob, who was busy in his office working on some L’Enfant Plaza plans.
“We’ll leave you to your work,” Lucy said, and led Sheila upstairs to Polly’s bedroom.
“Here’s another pillow.” She puffed one up and placed it behind Polly’s back. “I’ll leave you girls alone to talk about Sparky.” Lucy made a quick exit, quietly closing the door behind her.
Sheila had met Polly at the office and found her to be a nice enough girl. A sophomore at Sweet Briar, pretty in impeccable clothes from Michele’s, an exclusive boutique in D.C., with perfectly-cut, smooth blond hair and a trim figure that reflected her many hours in the saddle, she had always, until now, greeted Sheila with a friendly manner. This day, she wore a sullen expression on her pinched face.
“You don’t need to be here!” Polly looked like she might throw the extra pillow at Sheila. “I can keep up with my own riding.”
Sheila glanced around the room with its pink, white, and green vertically striped wallpaper. Tacked-up ribbons, most of them blue, surrounded a mirror. She touched one, rubbing its satiny smoothness.
“I’ve been winning those since I was six years old.” Polly took the extra pillow and threw it across her room.
“I don’t know what to say.” Sheila couldn’t disagree with Bob and Lucy. “Your parents and doctor think this is for the best.”
“Yeah, right. What if you’re mean to Sparky? I heard how you treated Eleanor.”
Sheila had wondered if the Newells knew of their falling out. She felt certain that Eleanor would never reveal the exact circumstances. After making the difficult decision to tell her about Nick’s behavior, and having Eleanor blow up, Sheila had concluded, Maybe good friends don’t always tell what they know, for sure if the friend is also a boss. Sometimes, people are happier in their ignorance and with their illusions. But she couldn’t take back what had been said. And it appeared that Bob and Lucy didn’t hold anything against her.
“You don’t have all the facts, Polly. I feel horrible about Eleanor. Still, I’d really like to help you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I guess not. I’ll come and report to you every time I ride Sparky. I’ll talk to him about you, and as soon as possible you’ll be riding him again.” Sheila felt like a wheedling kid begging for the special privilege to stay out late from an obstinate parent.
With begrudging acceptance from the sick girl, and more hearty welcomes from Bob and Lucy, she started lessons on Sparky, and before long could skillfully exercise him, even jump him, as long as she took it one hurdle at a time.
Her apartment began to seem less lonely. Bob and Lucy quickly became her surrogate family to visit, with sulky Polly as part of the package.
Bob even mentioned once, “We always wanted more children. Polly wanted a sister, but it didn’t happen. You’re filling that void, Sheila. And don’t worry about it. Polly will come around.” He also said on another occasion, when they were sitting out on the office patio, enjoying mid-morning donuts and coffee, “I completely understand what happened with you and Eleanor. We had wished she would leave Nick for a long time. He isn’t good for her. I’ve known Eleanor since she was a child. She’s a bright, talented person, and Nick is using her.”
“I’m glad you said this. She was a good friend, and I’ve felt badly about not seeing her … what I told her.”
“She’ll figure it out eventually. I hope there isn’t too much hurt in the process.”
Sheila was almost ready to leave for the Newells’ farm when she checked her usually-empty mailbox and found a letter with her father’s forceful scrawl. She didn’t want to open it. What could he possibly be writing about? Nothing good, I’m certain!
He had quit speaking to her when she went to Washington, D.C., with Bradley. “If you’re going to move from coast to coast, marching against our country instead of coming home to Minnesota where you belong, I can’t control what happens to you,” he’d said.
With these words, she pictured her mother nodding in agreement.
Sheila had been in charge of her own life for over four years. She’d thought, I’ll do just fine by myself.
After moving into the city, she sent her parents the new address, but no telephone number. She heard nothing back. Earlier, her April 4 birthday had come and gone with no card or letter.
Why now? It was the beginning of September 1970. Did they expect her to come back this fall? She placed the letter her father had scribbled on the kitchen counter, where it remained untouched for an hour. Shortly before Lucy arrived, Sheila took it over to her chair, part of this apartment’s furnishings—medium blue velvet with a matching ottoman, next to the one large window that overlooked a busy street scene. From eighteen floors up, the activity below usually brought on a feeling of pleasure. Today, the only thing she saw was a threatening gray sky. Silver Girl jumped onto her lap, and Scamper rubbed against her leg. Both cats expected Sheila to reach for her guitar. They waited, as if ready to meow a chorus. She turned the inexpensive grocery store white envelope over and over. She worked open its flap. Inside was a folded green steno pad sheet of paper with a crescent-shaped brown stain on it. She pressed a finger across indentations from her father’s heavy hand, letting the envelope fall to the floor as she read his words.
A few minutes later, the intercom broke through her concentration.
Stuffing the letter into the envelope, and jamming it in the back pocket of her jeans, she hurried over, pushed the button, and told Lucy she’d be right down.
CHAPTER 24
Acceptance
THE SATURDAY BEFORE CARL’S LETTER ARRIVED, BOB HAD TOLD SHEILA, “GREAT! You’re beginning to move as one!”
Sheila had quickly learned the proper aids, and Sparky, in turn, responded well. During her lessons she forgot about everything else. She might awaken in the morning, feeling down, missing Jim, with only her cats to keep her company, but on her ride out to the farm her spirits would lift. By the time she was grooming and tacking up Sparky, her mind slowed and cleared. She became completely with him and his reactions.
That Saturday Bob also said, “I want you to ride him indefinitely.” His shoulders slumped. “Polly’s treatments haven’t gone as well as we hoped.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sheila said. “I’
ll help you in any way I can.”
Ordinarily on drives to and from the farm, Lucy and Sheila talked nonstop. Lucy mostly spoke of horses, but she also spoke of the fun she’d had step singing, an old school tradition. In her mid-forties, Lucy vividly recalled her own Sweet Briar days. “With that beautiful voice, you’d have fit right into our group.”
On this Saturday after the letter came, rather than driving across the Key Bridge to Virginia, and together piping up with, “Oh—hhhh say can you see,” they traveled in silence most of the way. From her window, Sheila studied the rolling green hills and wondered if she would soon have to say good-bye to them. An image filled her mind of that dismal, poorly lit house in Minneapolis, with her mother in a tattered housecoat sitting at the kitchen table across from her father in his rumpled undershirt, both of them clutching tumblers. Her mother would be saying something like, “What are we going to do about Tommy?” Her father would be reassuring her mother, and saying, “Everything’s going to be fine. Have another glass of whisky.” This image called out to her, as if an actual voice directed what she must try to do. Can I make things better for him?
After several quiet miles, Lucy said, “I’m sorry. I’m really down today. Is something wrong with you too?”
“Just tired. I was out late last night, working on a marketing group presentation.” This wasn’t true. Sheila found everything to do with her school exhilarating. She enjoyed meeting new people—none of them real friends yet, but fun to hang out with on campus. She had nearly completed two classes toward her business degree—beginning accounting and beginning marketing—and planned to take two more classes fall quarter. At long last, I’m in school. It wasn’t studying music, but Silver Girl and Scamper appreciated these efforts in the apartment. Despite forty hours a week at work, and going to classes four nights a week, and riding Sparky on the weekends, she had never felt so energetic.
But now, here was her father’s letter. Instead of singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” when she and Lucy crossed the bridge, she kept hearing in her mind, “He Ain’t Heavy—He’s My Brother,” and questioned whether this was true.
Several minutes later, Lucy said, “Are work and school and Sparky too much for you, hon?” She ran fingers through her short, brownish-gray hair. The other hand expertly steered off the main highway onto a gravel road that led to the farm’s long tree-lined driveway.
“Not a bit. I love it all. I’m finally starting my real life.”
“Bob and I are pleased that we’ve gotten to know you. Sparky’s happy. And Polly, well … she’s gotten used to the arrangement. She’ll be able to start riding in a couple of months, I’m sure. When that happens, we’d like you to continue coming out. Plenty of horses to exercise around this place. Hey, I’m getting ahead of myself. If it does seem too much for—”
“It’s not!”
Sheila shifted in her seat and felt the letter crunch in her pants pocket.
Posting the trot on Sparky, around and around in the Newells’ hundred-foot by two hundred–foot arena, one—two, one—two, in rhythm, she asked herself, Will you go back? Will you go back?
She gave Sparky, a dark bay gelding thoroughbred, the aid for a canter, hoping to make this question disappear. When it didn’t, she made a clicking noise and he went faster. Around and around and around. Then, she positioned him for a two-foot jump. If only they could fly off to the moon. Instead, his back legs dragged over the low jump’s top. The pole didn’t fall but there was a loud clank.
“Sheila! Why so fast?”
Transitioning to a trot, she guided Sparky toward the gate where Bob stood, his kind face scrunched into concerned wrinkles.
“He needed to blow off some steam. Fresh today.” She couldn’t tell Bob the real reason she rode so hard, any more than she’d been able to tell Lucy.
“Small as you are, you really had him going. He would have refused the jump if I’d ridden him like that. You need to do more preliminary work to build up to any jump by yourself, even one like that.”
“I’m usually easier.” Sheila forced a smile.
“It’s good the way you two work together. Lucy’s convinced the doctor’s wrong when he says Polly will probably need to go to the Mayo Clinic. That means extra months away from her riding. I’m relieved you’re here to help us.”
Spending time with the Newells and Sparky made Sheila the happiest she’d been in years.
That night in a guest room wallpapered in burgundy and green plaid, she took the letter out and read the cramped handwriting again.
Sheila,
Tommy had a car accident. Unconscious for five days. Doctors don't know how bad it is. Soon he's coming back home to live with us. This'll be a long haul. I want a phone call and a move back right now—to help your mother! You're all we have.
Your father
She re-folded the letter and returned it to her pocket. A car accident. A coma. Was he drunk? Probably.
Too restless to sleep, she tiptoed down the back steps and ran out to the stable. On one wall of the office, row after row of ribbons—all colors, but mostly blue—hung. They had been won by Lucy during her own competition days, before a fall and back injury ended her riding. As Sheila strode toward Sparky’s stall, one of sixteen, she breathed in the wonderful horsey smell. It reminded her of grass and sunshine and freedom. Sparky stood, head low and eyes drooping. At her soft whistle, he looked up, his ears twitched, and he softly whinnied. She gave him a few carrot chunks, stroked the slope of his nose, gave him a kiss. “How can I leave you?”
She had been glad when Tommy moved in with the new girlfriend, hoping he’d stay away from their parents and build a life for himself. She’d spent her growing-up years protecting him, reassuring him when kids got annoyed with his wild behavior, when their father knocked him around, when their mother pushed him aside. She’d been relieved when his draft number was high and almost guaranteed he’d never be called up. Now, her little brother needed her. How can I ignore this?
She gave Sparky another kiss, her red curls blending with his coat. He didn’t mind that she made his nose wet.
Eleanor Dillingham sat in Sheila’s blue chair, stiff as a marionette, her toes tucked under the ottoman.
“I was surprised when you called,” Sheila brought two cups of tea and sat down on her shabby matching sofa, across from her former friend.
“Hope it didn’t upset you too much.”
“Well …”
“Last time we saw each other was awful.” Eleanor’s skin reddened.
“Pretty bad.”
“I need to apologize. You were exactly right. Nick and I have finally split up.”
Thank God! She’s figured out what’s best for her, Sheila thought before saying, “I’m sorry. This must be awful.”
“It is.” Eleanor gazed out the window, maybe to escape the cramped feeling of Sheila’s living room. “The house seems haunted. No one ever comes by. They were all Nick’s friends.”
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I caught him with Cheryl—in our bedroom. Can you believe that? Right at the time when I usually come home from work. You don’t suppose they planned it? An easy way to let poor old Eleanor know what’s happening. He couldn’t even talk to me. And Cheryl … what a flirty bitch!” Eleanor never spoke harshly like this. “I never considered it to be serious. Stupid, stupid me. Mother always called me ‘El-e-a-nor’ when she was frustrated about something I did or didn’t do, which was most of the time. Like if she said it slowly enough, no matter how dimwitted I could be, she’d catch my attention. I was named for my father’s mother. Maybe she didn’t like that. I know she thought my grandmother was stupid.”
“So, what happened next?” Sheila said gently.
“Cheryl’s getting a divorce too. They’ll probably be married as soon as all the papers are signed, unless he finds somebody els
e to mess around with before then.”
“Where are they?”
“Chad moved out and Nick moved in.”
Cheryl’s father had built her a house as large as Eleanor’s. Would this have happened if she was still in the apartment? Obviously, there wasn’t any lack of money, so Nick wouldn’t have to downsize his lifestyle.
“I felt so terrible … voicing my suspicions to you. I didn’t think we’d ever speak again.”
“You did me a huge favor.” Eleanor’s body looked like a crumpled rag doll.
Both cats crouched in a corner, suspiciously watching her. They weren’t used to visitors.
“I didn’t realize at the time. It’s not like others hadn’t told me. I’ll never forget a woman who barged in where we lived about the time I graduated from college. She said Nick was having an affair with her daughter. I thought she was crazy.” Eleanor’s features looked tortured. “Enough of that … would you consider moving in with me? I have so much room.” She scanned Sheila’s tiny place before focusing on Silver Girl and Scamper. “You can bring the cats.”
“I’d love to. I’ve missed you so much, El. But, something’s happened.” Sheila told her about the letter, about Tommy’s problems, and how she had decided, especially after talking to her rambling father on the telephone, that she had to go home. “My parents can’t deal with this. You know about Mom’s drinking. Well, it sounds like my father is drinking more too. I’m afraid Tommy’s going to end up exactly like them, or worse, if I don’t step in.”
“This is so unfair to you.”
Sheila started to cry, and Eleanor moved next to her on the sofa, in tears herself.
After a few minutes of hugging and weeping, Sheila said. “Look at us. What a pair of wusses.”
“Your brother could live with us.” Eleanor’s cheeks now blazed.
“You don’t know how awful that would be.” Sheila dug some crumpled tissues out of a pocket in her cardigan. “I have to go home, try to get him into counseling. Take him to some AA meetings. Maybe I’ll be able to come back.” Will I be stuck there forever?
Making It Work Page 25