“Is she a wedding present or something?”
“Well, okay, she’s not technically mine. I just say she is because I love her.”
“The white on her forehead reminds me of the moon.”
“Me too!” We’re speaking quietly, and Jessie seems to relax. Her head lowers, and she takes a bite of hay.
“Well,” Amy pushes back. “If I’m the only one doing any lifting, I’d better get started.”
“I can do the bridles!” I call after her, still watching Jessie. I’m itching to pet her nose the way Stuart let me. She seems so content and happy.
Lifting the latch on the door, I open it slowly and wait a second to gauge her response. She blows air loudly through her nose, but she doesn’t seem disturbed by my presence.
“Remember me, pretty girl?” I say softly. “I’m the crazy lady who named you.”
She continues munching whatever’s in her box, and I think about what Stuart said, Don’t be afraid. Be the boss.
Adopting a confident posture, I go to where she’s standing. I confess, I’m a little squirmy inside. I don’t want to frighten her, and I especially don’t want Stuart getting angry with me for setting her back.
I make the clucking sound with my mouth, and she lifts her head. I want her to come to me like she does Stuart. I want her to put her nose on my chest and let me scrub her neck and hug her.
“That’s a sweet girl,” I say gently moving closer.
She isn’t afraid. She doesn’t lay her ears back or toss her head. She’s not blowing air through her nose, and her hooves are firmly planted on the ground. My insides are buzzing with excitement. It’s working!
“You’re so smart!” I say softly, reaching out for her nose. “I love you, you know that? You’re my little horse.”
In the background, I notice Amy speaking from the stall beside us. “I’ve always loved Freckles. She’s like this mystical grey ghost-horse.”
Thoughts flicker across my mind, Amy is in Freckles’s stall. Freckles spooks easily. It’s only a passing thing because I’m touching Jessie’s black velvet nose now. Her big brown eyes are looking at me with interest and not fear. Joy floods my chest, and I want to hug her. But in that moment, it all comes crashing down.
“OH GOD! NO!!!” Amy’s scream breaks the magic. “RON!!! A SNAKE!”
Jessie’s eyes go wide with terror, and her head jerks back as she lets out a shrill whinny. Her little feet begin dancing fast, and all at once, I realize how small the stall we’re in is. I reach out to grab the wall, but it’s too late. Her front hooves leave the ground, and she starts to kick.
“Oh!” I gasp as pain explodes through my shoulder. Her small hoof strikes my upper arm with the force of an axe. I’m sure it’s broken. “Oh, god!” I cry, shaking and turning my back to her.
Amy screams again, and Jessie’s eyes roll so far I can see the whites around the black. A shrill whinny, and she kicks at me again. Another blast of pain shoots through my hip.
“No no no!” I say over and over. “Stop screaming!”
I think I’m saying these words, but I’m reaching for the door with my injured arm. The little horse jumps forward at me and then rises on her back legs. I can’t get the door open. I can’t lift my injured arm.
“Oh, god.” Hot tears spill down my cheeks as I drop to the floor, trying to cover my head and my stomach at the same time. A blow as hard as a bat hits me in the side. “Oof!” I gasp as I fall onto my injured hip.
“Ow!” I cry out in intense pain. I’m against the wall and another blow like a sledgehammer hits me right in the stomach.
“No!” I grunt, crying harder as the pain blasts through my insides. “Jessie, no…”
I can’t breathe. The wind is knocked out of me, and all I can hear are her high-pitched squeals, the stamping of her hooves, Amy shouting my name.
I try to pull myself to my feet. I have to get out of this stall, but another kick, and I fall back, hitting my head on the post. White light explodes behind my eyes. My grip on the wooden slats fails, and I go down on the damp hay with a hard thud.
On impact the scene changes…
A cool breeze blows over the tall grasses. I’m sitting in a white, lacy dress smiling and laughing as I watch a beautiful little girl dancing through the flowers. Her chestnut hair is long and hangs in curls down her back. I clap as she waves a garland of yellow daisies mixed with happy bluebells around us.
“You’re so pretty, precious!” I call to her, and she laughs skipping to me and hugging me, surrounding me with her sweet baby scent.
Her voice is a joyful, musical sound. Her chubby cheeks are the softest pink, and her bright eyes dance with a mixture of green and gold just like her daddy’s.
“Come and let mommy hold you,” I say, holding out my hand. I love her so much.
The beautiful little girl only shakes her head. She skips and twirls, and as she dances, I see the shimmer of angel’s wings appear around her shoulders. Fear sweeps over me at the sight of them.
“No!” I say, my voice breaking.
She’s so happy and pretty, I know I shouldn’t feel sad, but sorrow grips my chest so hard I can’t breathe.
“Don’t go, baby,” I beg.
The little girl only continues skipping and dancing as the delicate wings grow longer. They shudder in the breeze, and she rises, reaching up towards the clouds.
I roll onto my back in the long grass and squint into the bright sunlight watching her go, rising higher and higher, growing more faint with every beat of her wings.
“Come back,” I whisper, but it’s too late.
Tears flood my eyes. The white light burns them, and the tears stream down my face. I can’t move. I can only lie on my back and cry as I watch my baby girl fly away.
Justice
Stuart
Evan Robertson sits across from us at the table, tracing his finger over the rim of his coffee cup. Conway Hendricks is beside him, and it appears the two of them have been here a while before us.
“So you’re thinking about staying, I hear.” Conway lifts his mug and takes a long drink of coffee.
I look down at the half-eaten Spanish omelet in front of me weighing my response. My uncle is clearly older, on the edge of retirement, and they’re the vultures circling.
“It’s something we’re talking about,” I say, which is pretty much the truth.
“Interesting.” Conway stabs a piece of sausage on his plate. I watch as he puts the salty pork in his chubby mouth and evaluates me with a calculating glare.
What the fuck? When did these assholes get so mercenary?
“What difference does it make?” I’m not worried about what they think of me. I’m making decisions based on my little family. “Nothing would change from the way we do business now.”
Evan nods, scooping a bite of bright yellow scrambled egg onto his fork. “You’re right,” he says, putting it in his mouth.
I sit back and sip my coffee as I watch him. Clearly these fellows think they’re dealing with a greenhorn.
“The difference is if you decide it’s not what you want to do. We need to know how soon that decision will be made.”
My brow lines. “It sounds like you think it’s going to be made.”
Conway clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “That’s a pretty little gal I’ve seen on your arm, Stuart.”
“What of it?” My eyes blaze into this bastard who has the audacity to drag Mariska into this.
Evan exhales a nervous laugh. “Just past experience. Seems the only women who want to stay in Great Falls is the women who grew up in Great Falls. Nothing more.”
He has a point, but I’ll be damned if I concede. I won’t leave Bill at the mercy of these guys. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mariska has a lot of spirit. She likes it here.”
They both make subservient grunting noises and hastily back away from any insult to my fiancée. “I’m sure she’s quite a gal,” Conway says. “We wish y
ou both all the best. And in the meantime, we have to think about our plans.”
I’m about ready to tell him what he can do with his plans when my phone buzzes. I glance down, ready to dismiss it, but I see the words on the face. All the air leaves my lungs as the words materialize on my brain.
Mariska injured. Go to Missouri River General ASAP.
I’m out of the booth, a distant roaring sound in my ears. Where is Missouri River General? I have to believe a cab driver can take me to her. I’m out the door on the street looking up and down. Not a lot of cabs around this part of town. My lungs tighten and it’s difficult to inhale.
“Stuart.” My uncle grabs my arm roughly. “Come on. Truck’s over here.”
* * *
My sister is crying softly in the background. My mother holds her, stroking her hair, but even Sylvia’s face is pale with fear.
She’s not waking up.
I’m standing in the doorway of the hospital room, fighting to breathe against the pressure in my chest. The fucking nurse almost wouldn’t let me back here because we’re not married. I think the fire in my eyes was enough to convince her she’d better get the fuck out of my way.
Mariska’s tiny body is in the bed. A white bandage covers her head and an array of tubes run from her to monitors and machines making whirring and beeping noises. I want to hold her, soothe her, but I can’t seem to move my legs.
The doctor is talking to my mother and Bill. His words float around me just outside the scrim of torment clouding my brain.
We’re keeping her sedated so her body can rest and heal itself without stress, he says.
A bandage covers one arm. She’s lying on her back, with her eyes closed, her beautiful face pale.
She hit the back of her head pretty hard when she fell, but we haven’t detected a concussion, he continues. Since the injury is near her occipital lobe, I’ve ordered a full brain scan and test of brain function.
Sylvia asks what that means.
The occipital lobe is the primary visual cortex, he says. Extreme blunt force trauma in that location can cause blindness.
My mother does a little wail, and my shoulders collapse. I grip the wall unable to imagine my beautiful artist blind, the light forever extinguished in those sunset eyes.
Let’s not anticipate disaster. Her injuries are severe, but she has no broken bones. The doctor takes a long pause, drawing all our eyes. It appears she tried to protect her stomach, but… I’m so sorry to have to say this. The placenta abrupted. We did all we could, but the fetus was expelled.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I grip the doorjamb. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. All I can see is the little body lying on its back with its feet up. That little baby Mariska was sure was a girl.
…the fetus was expelled.
Pain rips through my heart, leaving it bloody and torn. My mother’s sniffling joins my sister’s tears. I turn my head slightly to look at Mariska lying on the bed, her body still and empty.
“Will she be all right?” Sylvia’s voice is shaky.
“Oh, she should make a full recovery,” the doctor assures her.
He has no fucking idea what he’s talking about. Mariska will not recover from this. He leaves the room, and I hear Bill’s deep voice soothing my mother. I hear Amy’s whispering sobs.
“I couldn’t get her out,” she weeps. “That little horse kept screaming and kicking. I didn’t know what to do. I was so afraid.”
At that, the tension in my chest explodes. I said I would protect her, and when she needed me the most, where the fuck was I? I gave her that horse. I taught her to trust it. I gave her the thing that killed her dreams. All of this is my fault.
My mind clouds, and I turn on my heel stalking out of the room. I vaguely hear someone call my name, but it’s a small hospital. I’m at Bill’s truck in less than three minutes, jerking the door open without a backwards glance. I shove the transmission into drive, jam the accelerator to the floor, and squeal out of the parking lot.
So many questions torment my mind as I drive. How could I leave her this morning? Why did we come here? Mariska wanted to go to summer school. We didn’t need to be here. It was a selfish trip, motivated by my wants and desires. I did this.
These thoughts torment my mind. Rage and guilt war in my chest, until I pull into the yard of the ranch house. Slamming the stick into park, I throw the door open, storming into the main house. Winona is at the kitchen table, and I vaguely recognize she has several small candles lit. She’s clutching a rosary, and when she sees me, her eyebrows lift expectantly. I don’t stop.
I know what I’m looking for, and I know where to find it. I’m in Bill’s office, going to the cabinet behind his desk. The glass door is locked, but the key is on the top. I use it to access the row of six heavy rifles.
When I was younger, before I entered the service, Bill would let me take one out and hold it, admiring the craftsmanship. Sometimes he and I would set up a target on the prairie and practice shooting. He would show me how to load a gun and care for it. Those days were long gone, and I’m a fucking Marine.
Pulling out the largest rifle in the case, I grab the box of ammunition, tossing it on the desk. A few shiny bronze bullets the length of my thumb fall out, and I grab two. Bending the long, metal barrel down, I shove them into the chamber and snap it shut with a loud clatch.
I stride through the main room, my boots making a dull thump on the floor as I head for the door. Another exclamation from Winona, but I don’t stop. I’m in the yard headed for the barn. My boots are a sharp thud as I enter the large, open space. Ranger’s head lifts over his stall, but I don’t stop. I’m moving quickly to the last two boxes in the row.
Freckles moves back and forth in her pen. First her head is over the door then she turns and goes to the back of her stall. It’s the final one I’m interested in.
Lifting the latch, I allow the wooden door to fall open beside me. Standing in the entrance, I level my gaze on the little horse stamping in place at the back of the small corral. She lets out a soft whinny and pushes her body against the back wall.
The taste of metal is in my mouth, and resolve solidifies in my chest. Dumb beast. Mindless killer. I hear my sister’s hysterical cries. She wouldn’t stop kicking. I was so afraid. I didn’t know how to make her stop.
Lifting the gun, I position the stock against my shoulder and hold it straight. The little horse stills as I level the barrel at her head. As if remembering something, she turns to face me. She takes a step toward me as if to put her nose into my chest, but I halt her with the cold steel of the gun. I set my aim on the white circle directly between her eyes.
Time seems to slow. We’re in a place of justice and revenge. The guilty stands before me convicted. Her black eyes locked on mine, and I tighten my finger slowly on the trigger. My breath stills as I wait for the blast of the gun. Only those dumb black eyes make me hesitate, and in that hesitation, in that half-life between conviction and wavering, I hear my name.
“Stuart! NO!” The gun is shoved up just as my finger pulls the trigger.
A deafening blast shatters the quiet of the barn, and all the horses react. I stumble against the wall, Ron on top of me, pushing me back. The little horse, already spooked from before, is now wild with fear. She jumps and runs, pushing past us into the alley, and then, as if knowing it’s her last chance, she bolts, spread out in a full gallop, from the barn and into the prairie.
Ron pushes off of me, his face creased with sadness. He grips the barrel of the rifle, and my hands drop. I don’t move from where I’m collapsed against the wooden wall.
“I couldn’t let you do it,” he says in that raspy voice I’ve known since I was a teenager.
I don’t answer. My eyes fix on a stain of blood, a messy disturbance in the damp hay on the floor.
“How is Miss Mariska doin’?” he asks.
For a moment, I can’t speak. I can only see how she must have looked, a broken little heap on the f
loor of this stall. Someone said it was Ron who finally got in and pulled her out. Darkness floods my brain.
“Let them cut it up.” My voice is as rough and broken as I feel. “I don’t want it anymore. Cut it up and sell it.”
Pushing past him, I stagger to the house and grab the unopened bottle of Macallan off the wet bar. Without even packing a bag, I grab the keys to the rented Silverado and head out across the plain. I can’t take this pain. I have to go to the cabin.
Fragments
Mariska
Everything hurts when I open my eyes. I’m in a dim, quiet room, and tubes are fastened to my wrists with little pieces of tape. I want to roll onto my side. I want to curl into a ball and disappear. I want Stuart.
Looking around it’s the strongest impression I get. He’s not here. I feel like he’s never been here. In all the days of silence, of people coming and going, his absence whispered through my subconscious like emptiness.
Tears heat my eyes, and my throat aches. I try to move, and a monitor goes off. A stirring of warmth at my side, and Sylvia speaks to me.
“Mariska?” Her voice is haunted, sad. “Are you awake?”
When I blink, hot tears hit my cheeks. My throat is so dry, I can’t speak, so I only nod. I want to know how long I’ve been here. Looking around, I see a vase of flowers on a table, but the blooms are drooping.
“Let me tell the nurse.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
She’s out of the room, and I slide my hand over my stomach. The tube on my wrist stings as it pulls and more tears blur my vision. I know what happened. I know what’s gone.
“Well, hello!” The nurse’s voice is bitingly cheerful. It causes the skin on my upper back to crawl. “It’s good to see those eyes open.”
I watch her walk around the bed studying the monitors and making notes on a clipboard. Her light brown hair is cut short to her neck, and her peach colored scrubs are baggy on her body.
Broken and Beautiful Page 110