“After you finish feeding, I’ll show you how to groom.”
We walked down the aisle handling out the food, and then wheeled the empty cart back to the feed room.
“Thanks, Maryann. You’re a big help.”
After the horses finished eating and we’d put the feed buckets away, I learned how to groom.
“We groom the horses in the aisles,” Russ explained. “There’s more light there and room to work. Since you’ve ridden Snowy, I’ll let you start on her. Wait here, I’ll get her.”
He walked by each stall patting noses, scratching ears and occasionally opening a door to check on something a horse’s attitude alerted him wasn’t quite right. The language of these animals was more powerful than the English I spoke. I was just beginning to understand it.
He returned with Snowy and a wooden box filled with brushes and grooming tools.
“These are cross ties,” he said holding up a metal chain with a clip on one side. “You hook them to each side of the halter.”
He stroked Snowy as he moved around. She relaxed at this touch.
“Always talk to horses and touch them. Let ‘em know where you’re moving and what you’re gonna do. They understand a lot more than you think.”
He took out a round rubber brush with circular rows of what looked like rubber teeth.
“This is a currycomb. It loosens up the dirt. You use this first.”
Then he took out what looked like a brush for scrubbing floors.
“After you use the currycomb, then you use this stiffer dandy brush to get more of the dirt off. Then use the softer brush to finish up.”
He handed me both brushes. “Here. You try.”
At first they looked identical, but I could feel a difference in the bristles when I ran my fingers over them. I scraped tentatively at Snowy’s coat with the stuff brush.
“Don’t be afraid to brush too hard,” Russ said watching me. “Horses like being brushed. It makes them feel good and it helps circulate their blood.”
As if in agreement, Snowy snorted and nodded her head. We both laughed. I held the brush with both hands and leaned into Snowy’s flank.
Russ watched me. “That’s good, you’re getting the hang of it. Start at the neck and work down. Always brush the hair the way it grows, not against it.”
The horse seemed to enjoy being groomed. I understood why Dad liked working on the ranch. Helping in the barn I missed Dad because I remembered him doing all the things I was learning how to do now. Impatiently, I rubbed my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. Weeping is a waste of time, I told myself sternly. It won’t bring him back.
I never realized how big a horse was until I began brushing Snowy. By the time I finished, my arms ached. You couldn’t stay neat around horses either, I realized looking down at my clothes covered in dirt, hair and sweat. Snowy enjoyed being brushed and I liked the feel of her warm skin.
“You did a good job, Maryann,” Russ said approvingly. “I’ll put Snowy back in her stall.” He walked down the aisle with her. I heard him open a stall door.
Then the clattering of hooves startled me. A large horse ran into the barn and stopped a few feet from me. His chestnut coat sparkled with gold. I’d never seen a horse like him. He bent his head and sniffed close to my face as if to identify who I was. Large intelligent eyes blinked at me. He turned sideways and I could see a white rump with dappled markings. He was the most beautiful horse I’d ever seen. As if he knew it, he turned around, tossed his mane and pawed the ground.
“Aren’t you beautiful,” I crooned stepping closer, wondering where he’d come from. He had no halter on.
We stared at each other in fascination. I held out my hand. He blew hot and moist into my cupped hand then licked my palm lightly with his thick tongue. It tickled and I laughed. He tossed his head as if sharing the joke. I patted his glossy neck in awe of this beautiful animal.
“Here he is.” Russ walked up and put a halter over the animal’s head. The horse threw his head back nearly pulling Russ off his feet.
“Easy, easy,” he said, patting the thick neck.
The horse turned for another look at me then obediently followed Russ.
Once in the corral, he pranced around, bucking and galloping.
“Shadow Dancer,” I whispered, the name coming from a place deep inside.
“If that don’t beat all,” Russ muttered. “Did you see that, Bess? Did you see what that fool horse did?”
“Yeah, I saw it all right.” She snapped. “Maryann you’ll get trampled if you don’t use more sense around horses.”
Something important had just happened between me and this beautiful horse. Yet, I couldn’t explain it, since I didn’t understand it myself.
“What kind of a horse is he?” I turned to my aunt.
“Why he’s an Appaloosa, child,” she said. “He’s descended from my original stock.” I heard the pride in her voice.
“What did you call him?” Russ asked, coming over to stand beside me at the fence.
“Shadow Dancer,” I said. Taut muscles rippled under his sleek coat as he pranced in and out of the shadows, leaping in the air, kicking up his heels. He had a blanket of white on his rump with chestnut spots, a white blaze and four white stockings. The rest of him was a rich chestnut color.
My hand rested on the rough rail of the fence aching for charcoal and paper to capture his beauty, the graceful way he moved.
“See.” I pointed. “He’s dancing with his own shadow.”
Russ rolled the name around as if tasting the sound of it. “Shadow Dancer. It sure fits him.” He turned to my aunt. “What do you think, Bess?”
“That’s a fine name.” Aunt Bess stood behind me, resting her hands lightly on my shoulders. “A fine name.”
As I watched Shadow Dancer frolic, now l understood my aunt’s passion for horses. How could she not love something so beautiful?
Shadow came over to stand in front of me. His bright eyes studied me. Nudging my hand, he looked for sugar or carrots. I showed him my empty palms and he wheeled away from the fence. None of the horses I’d seen compared to him. He was so beautiful, so elegant, he was in another league altogether.
Something changed for me when I met Shadow Dancer.
Now I wanted to learn to ride. I promised myself that someday I would ride him.
Chapter 5
Thursday, April 20, 1961
“These clothes aren’t real practical for the ranch or school,” Aunt Bess said going through my closet. She shook her head holding up a designer label dress my mother bought me shortly before she died.
I remembered Mom and I had gone shopping — just the two of us. She fussed over me, making sure we chose styles and patterns that complimented my coloring. Mom knew clothes and dressed with a style that made heads turn wherever we went. Tall and slim with long dark hair and vivid green eyes, she wore deep jewel tones and bold prints. I was short with an average figure and thin blonde hair that defied the best hair salons of Boston. My eyes were bluish grey and I looked best in pastel colors and small prints.
We had lunch in the store’s restaurant. I don’t know what I enjoyed more, the food or having Mom to myself. Later, we had manicures. I didn’t know that would be the last day we spent together.
“We wore uniforms at school,” I said, hurt by my aunt’s criticism. Even though I disliked the dress, I felt disloyal to Mom. Even my clothes weren’t suitable for Wyoming.
Practical. Yes, Aunt Bess was practical all right. That was evident in the way she fixed her hair, the clothes she wore, and how she ran the ranch.
Sam’s Mercantile Store in town was a far cry from Lord & Taylor and the other expensive stores where I’d shopped in Boston. We bought more blue jeans, flannel shirts, a cowboy hat and leather work gloves. For school, I picked out a corduroy jumper, some skirts, blouses, and sweaters. With this new wardrobe I felt like a lizard shedding its skin.
While Aunt Bess paid, I went out to the truck with s
ome of the packages. My arms so full I could barely see over them.
“Oh, excuse me,” I said bumping into someone. The bundles in my arms went flying. Bending over to hide my burning cheeks, I gathered the bags and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to knock you over.”
“Don’t worry. You didn’t.”
I straightened up looking at a tall boy, older than me. His brown hair matched his cowboy hat and his warm smile made me automatically grin back. Blue eyes were pale against his tanned face.
“Here, I’ll get these for you.”
He snatched everything from me before I could protest.
“Where’s your truck?”
I pointed to my aunt’s green pickup. He put everything in the back then turned to me.
“You’re living out at Table Top Ranch, aren’t you?”
I had to look up to meet his eyes. Too tongue-tied to speak, I nodded.
“What brings you to Wyoming?”
I wasn’t a difficult question, just a painful one.
“My…my parents died recently in a plane crash.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice husky with emotion.
“Aunt Bess is my guardian.” I stumbled on. “I used to live in Boston. Now I live here.”
His blue eyes saddened. “I’m sorry about your parents.” Then he continued. “I lost my mom, too.”
Surprised, I looked up at him. “You did?”
“Yeah, I was only six. I barely remember her. Since then it’s just been my dad and me.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, looking down at my feet.
“What’s your name?”
I looked up. “Maryann. Maryann Madigan.”
“I’m Rick Ferguson.” He put his hand and I shook it “Welcome to Wyoming, Maryann. Our place is next to your aunt’s. We’re neighbors.”
“Oh.” I wished something clever came to me. I couldn’t think of anything, so I just smiled back at him. Then I noticed we were still holding hands and I withdrew mine self-consciously.
About to speak again, he was interrupted by Aunt Bess.
“You’re Doug Ferguson’s boy, aren’t you?” she demanded.
He tipped his hat politely. “Yes ma’am.”
“Then I thank you to stay away from my niece. I don’t want nothing to do with no Fergusons.”
His jaw tightened. Rick tipped his hat in my direction. “Maryann, a pleasure to meet you.” He turned and was gone.
“You keep away from him, young lady,” said Aunt Bess, watching him walk away. “You’re not to have anything to do with the Fergusons.”
”Why?”
“Because Doug Ferguson killed my Jacob, that’s why.”
The ride back to the ranch was long and silent.
* * *
“Why does Aunt Bess hate Doug Ferguson?”
Russ and I were grooming horses in the barn that afternoon. He shook his head. “Your aunt’s a proud woman. It’s not easy for her to forgive what happened.”
“What happened? How did Uncle Jacob die?” I wanted to understand.
“Then one night Jacob swerved to avoid an elk on that bad hairpin curve down on 301. He lost control. He plowed into Doug’s truck coming the other way. Jacob died. Doug dislocated his shoulder. Bess never forgave him for surviving.”
Death surrounded me everywhere I turned. I swallowed the lump in my throat. That’s what Rick and I had in common. He’d lost his mother and knew what loss felt like.
He let out a big sigh. “Doug Ferguson was in love with your aunt. Hell, so was I.” He laughed. “She was a mighty fine looking woman. Still is, as far as I’m concerned. The minute she met Jacob Perkins, she didn’t have eyes for anybody else.”
He let out a big sigh. “A couple of years later, Doug came back from California with a wife. Mary was frail with that clear kinda skin that you see the blue veins through. She couldn’t abide the loneliness here — or the cold. Got the flu one winter. Turned to pneumonia. She died. The boy was only six.”
Russ shook his head. “Damned shame. Doug lost his wife, and then his best friend died. And your aunt made it clear she never wanted to see him or talk to him again.”
“Doug kept his ranch going. Got involved with the fire department in town. Sorta became his family. Hasn’t been easy on his son I don’t reckon without a momma.”
He took his hat off and rubbed his arm across his forehead.
“Damned shame is what it is. Douglas Ferguson is a fine man. Your aunt? Every time she looks at Doug she sees her dead husband — and she can’t stand the pain.”
* * *
Aunt Bess said grace that night at dinner. Conversation revolved around the Appaloosas my aunt’s Table Top Ranch was famous for. Although I didn’t understand much of the discussion, I felt relieved not to do any talking. The ranch hands ate breakfast with us and sometimes dinner. They usually packed a lunch because they were somewhere on the ranch working.
Afterwards, when I helped with the dishes, I broke two glasses.
“I guess you didn’t help out much in the kitchen,” Aunt Bess observed.
“We had Alma.”
“Alma?”
“Our housekeeper.”
“Well, housekeepers cost money. Everyone helps out around here,” she informed me. “We share the work. Got to. If someone doesn’t do their chores, just means there’s more for another to do.”
She smiled. “You’re a big help working with Russ in the barn. You’ll settle in and learn to do dishes — and we’ll teach you to ride.”
Without warning, tears filled my eyes. “It’s not just the riding.”
I waved my arms to include everything around me. How could I explain to her when I didn’t even understand it myself?
“It’s…it’s…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s everything,” I whispered.
Aunt Bess reached over and cupped my face in her hands.
“I know. I know. I felt that way after my Jacob died. Some days I didn’t know how I’d go on. I did — and you will, too.”
I didn’t know much about my aunt. We’d only visited the ranch once. My father hadn’t stayed in close touch with his older sister. I wished now that he had.
I still felt as if I were living someone else’s life; that I’d wake up one morning and I’d have everything back the way it used to be. I missed Mom and Dad. I even missed my private school.
Adjusting to ranch life wasn’t easy. Everything around me was different. I couldn’t even wash dishes without breaking something. Nothing in Boston had prepared me for life in Wyoming.
Would I ever fit in?
Chapter 6
Friday, April 21, 1961
The first day of ninth grade I learned the importance of roots.
“Who are you?” a pretty girl in a fuzzy pink sweater asked me. Her blonde ponytail switched jauntily behind her. I fumbled to get my new locker open.
“I’m Maryann Madigan,” I replied. “Who are you?”
She eyed me suspiciously, noting my new clothes and my uneasiness. Her nostrils flared with the scent of news.
“Why, I’m Pauline Richardson,” she replied, as if I should know. I felt stupid, then angry that she should expect me to know who she was.
“This is my first day,” I said.
“Is it? Where do you live?” she probed.
“With my Aunt Bess on Table Top Ranch.”
“Do you?” She looked me over. “Where did you come from?”
“I lived in Boston,” I replied coolly, looking her straight in the eye. “You may have heard of it. It’s on the east coast. My parents are dead. Aunt Bess is my next of kin.”
I turned away as if it didn’t matter, cursing the tears that sprang from my eyes.
Walking away I heard her chuckle. “So you’re an orphan. How quaint. Little Orphan Annie.”
“Don’t mind Pauline,” said a short girl with curly brown hair and freckles. “She’s just trying to get your goat. I’m Lisa Barrows. I know your aunt. My mother is
a good friend of hers. We would have been over to welcome you last weekend, but we had a family reunion down in Colchester.”
Her broad face beamed warmth and friendliness. I couldn’t help smiling back. We had two classes together and sat beside each other. Everyone liked Lisa. Her friends accepted me into their group. She helped me find my way around the maze of hallways. We sat together at lunch. I couldn’t believe she wanted to be my friend.
Rick Ferguson was in my fifth period study hall. He sat near the back with the rowdy boys. As I walked to my seat I looked up at him and he winked. My face turned bright red. I quickly took my seat before anyone noticed.
After class, he approached.
“How are you settling in?” he asked.
“Okay.”
I thought he was the best looking guy I’d ever seen. Tongue-tied, I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Do you ride?” he asked.
It seemed like everyone out here did except me.
“Not very well,” I admitted. “Do you have a horse?”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Maybe we can go riding after school some time.”
Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Can I ask you a favor?” I blurted out.
“Sure.”
“Can you teach me to ride?”
“I thought you’d already know how, living with your aunt and a ranch full of horses.”
“Not yet. I want to learn.”
Rick studied me. “Now you’ve got me curious.”
Since I’d met Shadow Dancer, I really wanted to master riding. Rick Ferguson looked like the only way I was going to learn. Aunt Bess wouldn’t approve. I didn’t care. I’d do anything to avoid another riding lesson with her or Russ.
Pauline passed by and her eyebrows rose as she met my eyes.
Rick and I agreed to meet Saturday morning. He explained how to get to a meadow that adjoined my aunt’s ranch.
Saturday, April 22, 1961
The crisp morning air made the sheepskin lining of my new denim jacket feel nice and warm. Although it was early spring, it felt more like winter. One afternoon I even saw snow flurries. The horses’ coats were still thick. Spring came slowly to the mountains.
Maryann's Appaloosa Page 3