It had been several minutes since the baby had been delivered. Dr. B. kept blowing into his nose, then taking a big gulp of air and blowing some more. She sat up and took his pulse again. I was afraid she was going to give up. Moonpearl was still watching us. Dr. B. shook her head and began wiping her hands off with a towel.
“He just needs to breathe!” I kept pressing and counting, then pressed a bit harder. I felt the ribs push back, just a little, and then the colt made a wet snuffly noise. I lifted my hands and the colt took a big breath. His ribs moved, then his head went back. His eyes fluttered open and he looked right at me.
Chapter Twenty-One
“HE’S AWAKE! LOOK, HE’S AWAKE!” I cried, still pressing on the foal’s ribs.
“Yes, yes, he is. Eric, you can stop the compressions now,” said Dr. B. I sat back on my heels, but left my hand on the baby’s ribs, feeling him breathe. Moonpearl stepped closer, nuzzling her baby’s face with her nose. I scooched back to give them some room and the doctor did too. Allegra stayed by the stall door.
The colt raised his head, looking at his mom. He scrabbled around with his front legs, then stopped, his ribs going up and down. He kicked his back legs, and rocked back and forth a couple of times before rolling up onto his chest. Bits of straw were tangled in his stubby little mane, which stood up like a rooster comb along his neck. Moonpearl blew on him to shake loose a bit of straw that was dangling over his right eye. The filly hopped over, still shaky on her skinny little stick legs, to look at her brother.
Dr. B. started rummaging around in her blue box. Keeping her voice quiet, she said, “There are still some things I need to do for Moonpearl, so we have to be calm for a bit longer. It’s very important that the second foal start nursing in the next twenty minutes. I want you two to watch and if he doesn’t stand soon, we will need to get some of the milk from the mother and hand feed him.” She poured some solution into a little cup and got out some scissors. “If he stands on his own, Eric, you can steady him and help him to nurse. Allegra, you help me with the filly, but first, put that blanket back on Moonpearl so she won’t catch a chill.”
I didn’t pay too much attention to them after that; I just focused on the new foal. His head was even more wobbly than his sister’s, like it was too heavy for his neck. Moonpearl fussed over him a bit more. The foal rocked back and forth and got his forelegs out in front and bent at the knees. He rested for a bit, then worked on his back legs. After a few more rocks, he scrambled onto all fours and stood there trembling. He swung his head around to look at me and at his mom.
“Go on, you can do it,” I whispered. “Take a step.” Moonpearl tossed her head, like she was agreeing with me. The foal tried to lift a back leg, then sat down, his front legs still propping up his chest. He looked so confused, I had to laugh. After a couple more tries, he managed a few steps.
“This way, that’s a good boy,” I said. I got up to help guide him to Moonpearl’s side and almost pitched over myself. My knees were stiff from sitting so long and my hurt leg throbbed. The foal bumped into Moonpearl’s front leg, but kept going. He wasn’t as tall as his sister, and almost walked right under his mom. He nosed around and finally started to nurse. Moonpearl gave a big sigh, like she was glad that was all over now.
Dr. B. shooed both me and Allegra out of the stall. “I just have a little bit of cleaning up to do here, and Moonpearl and her babies need some time alone,” she explained.
“I’ve been thinking about what to name the babies,” Allegra said.
“Oh, no, you aren’t going to give them long names too,” I said. “It should be my turn now for naming.”
“Lady Shimmershine Moonpearl is a perfectly lovely name, just as lovely as she is,” Allegra said with a huff. It was still a stupid name.
“Children, children, I believe the lady has the right to name her own foals,” called out Timothy from his perch on the stall door. I felt my face redden at that. Moonpearl wasn’t a horse, she was a unicorn. She could hear us and understand what we said, even when we weren’t talking to her directly. Allegra looked a bit sorry for running her mouth.
“Sorry, Moonpearl, Timothy’s right,” I said. Moonpearl nickered back at me.
“The lady is gracious,” Timothy replied. “She says you may give them human names that you can pronounce, as you will not be able to say their proper names.”
“How about you name the colt and I name the filly,” Allegra suggested. That still gave her two names to my one, but since I helped the colt to breathe, it was only fair that I should name him.
“She should be called Jewel of the Night, since she’s dark, Jewel for short,” Allegra said.
That wasn’t too bad and gave me an idea. “His name is Gem, like in gemstone.”
Timothy looked back into the stall, curling up the end of his tail and letting it fall. Moonpearl shook her head and curled up her lip. “The lady approves,” he told us.
I heard Dr. B. laugh at that. She came out of the stall, and jostled Timothy so he jumped down as she swung the door closed and latched it. “Those sound like fine names, a whole family of precious things,” she said. She peeled off her rubber gloves and tossed them into the trash can in the corner.
“You both did well tonight,” she said, putting her hands on our shoulders. “It’s late, past midnight, and we should all go to bed.”
I woke up the next morning on the couch in the Brancusis’ living room, tangled in a bunch of blankets. I sat up when I heard someone on the stairs. Dr. B. came in followed by my dad, who didn’t look too happy with me. I thought Georgie had called to tell him I would be staying here, and I was fixing to explain, when he dropped down to his knees in front of me. He took hold of my arms.
“Eric, I’ve got some bad news,” he started. Dad looked rough, like he hadn’t slept, and his eyes were red. “It’s Mama, your grandma. She’s gone.”
I just stared at him, not understanding. “Gone where?”
He squeezed my arms tighter. “She passed away.” He cleared his throat. “Early this morning, at the hospital. Her heart just gave out.”
“No.”
Dad pulled me down into his arms, tucking my head under his chin, even though Harper men aren’t big on hugs.
“I don’t want her to be gone,” I said, hiding my face so no one could see as I started to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ME AND STEVE DIDN’T go to school that day. Dad left later that morning to make arrangements. Then people started showing up with casseroles and covered dishes. Chinaberry Creek is a small town, and Grandma knew practically everybody. Steve took charge of answering the door. Soon the refrigerator was full and the house looked like a church potluck supper.
Dad got back about lunchtime, just before Georgie came over with a chocolate cake. “We are so sorry about Maggie,” she said to him. “Eric, Kris and Allegra want you to know that the foals and the mare are doing just fine.” She set the cake down on the dining room table.
“Maggie would have been so proud of how you saved that foal,” she said, giving me a hug. It felt a bit like how Grandma hugged me before she got sick—warm and soft.
“I hadn’t heard about the foals,” said Dad.
“You know that horses rarely successfully bear twins. These babies were born last night, and the second one wasn’t breathing at first. Eric did CPR on him while the doctor got his breathing started. He saved that colt’s life,” she said, beaming at me.
“So you’re a baby doctor now, huh?” said Steve, punching me in the upper arm. Dad gave me a funny look as I rubbed the sore spot.
“You’re right, his grandma would have been proud of him. They both always were crazy about all kinds of animals,” Dad said.
After Georgie left, Dad called me over and pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket.
“Your grandma wanted you to read this after she was gone,” he said. “You might want to go to your room to read it. It’s kind of private.”
That struck
me as a strange remark. I looked up at him.
“Do you know what it says?” I asked.
“I haven’t read it, but I have a good idea,” he said.
I flopped down on my bed, then slit open the envelope with my pocketknife. The page was covered with Grandma’s handwriting, all shaky and spidery-looking.
Dear Eric, my favorite blue-eyed boy,
If you are reading this, I must be gone. First I want you to know how much I love you and all of my boys, and how proud I am of you in particular. You are a Harper, through and through.
I know about the white lady, that she’s a unicorn. I knew the first time you came to see me covered in those little white hairs that helped my aching hands.
I’m proud of how you protected her, keeping her secret. That’s why I’m leaving Harper’s Woods to you.
As you might have figured out by now, all those rumors about a white deer over the years weren’t about deer. There are other things, wonderful, magical things that appear in our woods from time to time. We Harpers have always looked out for them, kept their secret to keep them safe.
Your daddy knows about this, but not your brother. Steve’s a good boy, but his path lies somewhere else and I have written to him about it. Your daddy will take good care of everything until you are old enough to take it on yourself. He doesn’t love the animals the way that we do, the way your granddaddy and other Harpers who were caretakers of the woods did. He agrees with my decision to leave the woods to you.
Kris Brancusi doesn’t know the Harper secret, but you can tell her, since she already knows the biggest part of it, that unicorns and suchlike are real. I knew I could sell her the farmhouse when I caught a glimpse of that silly cat with his middle missing, hanging around her office. Tell that cat he’s not as sneaky as he thinks.
And tell your daddy to give you the book, too. It is in the safety deposit box. The book was started by Cletus Harper and it has notes about all the creatures that we Harpers have protected. You will need to add to it about the white lady and her babies. I already wrote about the cat.
I always knew in my heart that you would be the one.
All my love,
Grandma
I didn’t rightly know what to think at first. Now the fact that Harpers had never allowed hunting on their land made total sense.
There was a knock and a creak as Dad opened my bedroom door.
“You read the letter?” he asked. I nodded. He sat down heavily on the foot of my bed and looked over at me. “I figured you might have some questions.”
“Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The family rule has always been to just tell those who need to know, usually the caretaker of the woods and at least one other. Anyone who has seen the ‘visitors’ gets let in on the secret, but generally, the fewer, the better,” he said. “She told me soon after your grandpa died, explaining that there should always be at least two Harpers who know. I didn’t believe her at first. Thought the grief was getting the better of her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Then she fetched down a dog crate from upstairs, with a creature inside. It was furry and had a thick bandage around its middle. At first I thought it was just a big rabbit. Then it turned around. It’s got big old long ears twitching at me and an eight-point rack of antlers growing out of its head that any white-tailed buck would be proud of. She told me it was a jackalope and that they didn’t usually come this far east, being a western species. I had to believe her after that.”
“What happened to the jackalope?” I asked.
“I don’t rightly know; I never saw it again,” he said. “I need to go over to the church, talk to the preacher about some things. You want to come?”
“No, I’ll stay here with Steve.”
“OK,” he said, giving my foot a shake. Then he left.
I flopped back down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I had a lot to think about.
Chapter Twenty-Three
DAD MADE ME GO TO SCHOOL the next day. It was the last week before Christmas break and there were lots of tests and stuff. As if I cared about that now. I wanted to go see the unicorns that afternoon, but I had to stay and keep company with all the relatives who were stopping by the house. There were Harpers that we hardly ever saw, some of Dad’s cousins and a couple of great-aunts who talked a lot about people I didn’t know who were kin to me in ways I didn’t understand. Steve had more patience for all the company than Dad or I did. He even thought to set out a couple of the cakes people had brought by, along with the good plates and all. I guess Grandma would have been proud of him, too, for doing things proper.
We ate one of the noodle casseroles from the refrigerator for dinner. Afterward, we got dressed in our Sunday best. Nobody said much on the drive to the funeral home. The undertaker took us back to the room where Grandma was laid out in her coffin. There were big pictures of her set up on stands—one taken a couple of years ago, at a sort of church thing when she got an award for most years teaching Sunday school, and one of her and Poppaw and Dad, when Dad was just a kid. Dad looked to be about six or seven, with a front tooth missing. People always said Steve favored him, and I could see it in that picture, the way their ears stuck out and they had the same nose. Grandma looked young and pretty, her hair all dark and curly, and long dangly earrings framing her face.
The undertaker, Mr. Schumacher, explained how the visitation would go. People would come in to the right and sign the guest book. Then they would walk past the coffin and the pictures to where we were standing so they could “offer their condolences” to us as the immediate family. He left, closing the door behind him, to give us time to say our private goodbyes.
Dad went over to the coffin first. I hung back close to the door with Steve. Dad stood there for a while, then kissed his fingers and pressed them to her cheek. He gave a big sigh.
“I’m going out for a cigarette break before everybody starts showing up. You boys going to be all right here by yourselves?” he asked. I looked up at Steve, who nodded, so I did too. Dad fished a pack of Salems out of his jacket pocket as he left the room.
We stood there by the door for a couple more minutes, not sure what to do. The last time we had been to a visitation, it was for Poppaw, four years ago. I was just a little kid and didn’t remember much about it.
Steve poked me with his elbow. “Why don’t you go say your goodbyes first?” I walked up to the coffin. Grandma had on her favorite Sunday suit, blue-jay blue, her head resting on a white satin pillow. They put too much makeup on her. I could tell she wasn’t there anymore. She really was gone.
I glanced back at Steve—he was looking at the cards on the flower arrangements. So I took the necklace with the pendant of unicorn hair out of my pocket. I had found it in the box of her things from the hospital.
“Allegra made this for you, an extra thick one to help you get out of the hospital, remember? I guess you didn’t have a chance to wear it,” I whispered, as I slipped the necklace into the pocket of her jacket. “I wanted you to meet the unicorn, to make you better. Her name’s Moonpearl. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see her, but I promised to keep her a secret. I know now you would have kept her secret too.” My throat was getting all tight and my nose was stinging. I looked around. Steve was still on the other side of the room and Dad wasn’t back yet.
“I’ll take real good care of Harper’s Woods. I miss you. Goodbye, Grandma.” I had to go find some tissues so I could blow my nose. I tucked a bunch extra in my jacket, just in case Allegra or somebody might need some.
I went over to look at the flowers myself, to give Steve a turn. He went up to the coffin and I kept my back to him, for privacy if he needed to cry a bit, and to keep from eavesdropping.
Dad came back in at seven o’clock just as the first people arrived, some of the ladies from church. I stood between Steve and Dad, shook a lot of hands, and said “Thank you for coming” a lot.
After about twen
ty minutes, I told Dad my leg was about to give out, so I sat in a folding chair next to the big photos. The stitches were itching and my ankle was throbbing and I could think of about a gazillion places I would rather be than Volger’s Funeral Home right that minute. Jamal and his mom came. He said Butterfinger was still doing great, was still the best dog in the world. Dr. B., Georgie, and Allegra came too.
“The foals are doing fine,” said Dr. B. “Maggie would have been proud of how you helped with them. She was a remarkable woman, your grandmother. I wish I had gotten to know her better.”
Allegra came up right close and I was afraid for a minute she was going to hug me, but instead she whispered, “Timothy said Moonpearl was asking where you were. She wants to see you.” That made me smile.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. You can tell her that.”
They left, and more people shuffled down the line, so many that we didn’t leave until almost eleven o’clock that night.
The next morning I woke up early, before anyone else. I had a piece of cherry pie, made by one of the church ladies, for breakfast. After grabbing a couple of apples, I headed over to the barn. It was one of those crisp days, when the sky seemed closer because the blue was so clear. My bad leg was pretty stiff, so I stopped and rested a few times.
Nobody else was out in the barn yet. All the better, to have some time alone with Moonpearl and her babies. She must’ve heard me, because she gave a little nicker when I closed the door behind me. I looked over the stall door.
Moonpearl looked different, so skinny now, but that shimmer was even stronger. She tossed her head and huffed at me, then stepped aside so I could see the foals. They were so beautiful, so perfect. They swung their big awkward heads in unison to look at me. I slipped into the stall, moving slowly so as not to scare them. There was no sign of that contrary goose, Prissy. I guess it was too crowded for her with the foals and their mom. Their big dark eyes followed me as I walked over to Moonpearl.
The Unicorn in the Barn Page 12