Double Standards

by Patsey Gray

  There stood a man, a few feet away. Her scream startled her. Then Bud’s yellow hair gleamed faintly as he stepped closer. “What’re you doin’ here so late?” he asked.

  “What are you doing?” she retorted. Bud in daytime was merely annoying, but it made her nervous to be here alone with him at night.

  Maybe guessing her thought, he stood still and said, “Don’t panic. I got other things on my mind better’n girls. Besides, I don’t dig brown eyes and a round-type face.”

  About girls, Sis didn’t believe him. She could have answered with some smart crack, but that might make him mad. I’ll bet, she thought, he came to meet some girl, maybe Anita.

  In the silence, she was conscious of horses stirring and the taste of dust on the stagnant air. “I was just going,” she said. “Uh, see you tomorrow.”

  “Mañana, like Manuel says.”

  As she walked away, her ears told her that Bud hadn’t moved. It was a bit creepy knowing he was listening to her go, waiting until she’d left, for—what?

  That night Sis disagreed with the kids who envied her for living here. Her room was an oven, even with the door open and light off. In pajamas, she lay on the cot, feeling trickles of sweat slide off her. Only an occasional rustle came from outdoors. There were raccoons and skunks in the woods, Jeff had told her, and of course squirrels, including hers, whom she’d named Whisk. She always recognized him by his crooked ear. He had grown bold enough to pick up the peanuts that she bought from Laurie and placed on the windowsill. There were owls, too, out there, and quail and woodpeckers. But tonight all were silent, maybe drained by the heat, as she was.

  The rent horses had the best of it, she thought crossly. Turned out on the hill, they’d get whatever breeze stirred. Sometimes the pony Fury squealed up there when one of the others picked on him. His high voice was unmistakable. In looks, too, he stood out, being so tiny, a miniature Shetland. His sorrel coat verged on pink, and a cloud of white foretop screened his face.

  For distraction, she thought about home. She ought to call or write. She could say she was fine, and loved her work; that Laurie let her use her washing machine, and had loaned her a reading lamp, and bossed her about meals. “You eat like you’re retarded,” Laurie’d scolded. “Pizza, pies, coffee! Get a ride to Blanche’s now and then, and have a decent meal.” Sis had done that a couple of evenings, but on the whole she preferred the privacy of her cabin after a day crowded by people. It was luxury to eat her snack in peace, throw off her clothes, and read herself to sleep.

  Planning her letter home, she’d say the Ashbys were real nice to her. Jeff sometimes brought his mother, though each had a car. He’d chat while Sis worked, until Lee’s sharp eyes parted them like a knife cutting butter.

  But her folks mustn’t get the wrong idea about Jeff. It was just that she needed someone to talk to. Everybody here was too young or too old or too busy. Except the barn boys, and for Manuel she’d have to learn Spanish though his English was improving a good deal. Poor Manuel, he moved about dreamily, listening to his little tinny radio. It hung inside his shirt, tuned always softly to Mexican music.

  This whole picture didn’t sound very exciting, Sis realized. But at home they wouldn’t care about Gull, who was so exciting and so beautiful. If only they knew how marvelous it was when a person and a horse had a thing going between them. With some surprise, she was aware that she didn’t really dread thinking about her dad. He seemed far away, his activities dwarfed by hers. She wondered if after all she’d blamed him too much for his real estate deal without fully understanding it. Mimi did pressure him a lot, like for a new car, new clothes, entertaining … though of course nothing really excused cheating a client.

  Unable to sleep, Sis got up and leaned from her window. The freshness above the creek was heavenly. It was only a step out onto a fork of the big tree. Lovely out here, the smell of bay, and of damp ferns below. Through the leaves overhead she glimpsed a sliver of moon, frail among stout golden stars.

  A dog howled in the distance, and she hoped it wasn’t one of the strays gone wild that Lee had told her about. They roamed the hills and attacked young calves, lambs, foals, anything, because they were starving. Ranchers shot them on sight. Horrible, she thought, and wished she hadn’t heard about them.

  She stepped up higher, where three horizontal branches joined the tree trunk to form a level place. Stretched out on it, she looked down, but couldn’t see the water, only hear it. She did see the whole area, though, across the roof of her cabin. A light seemed to glow above Gull’s barn, but so faintly that she might be dreaming it. She squinted to see it better, in vain. If it was real, it had to be coming through the skylight in Lee’s storeroom. But he’d hardly be there this late. He must have forgotten earlier to switch it off.

  After an interval, she grew uncomfortable on the rough tree bark, and climbed down into bed. The room was still hot, and she wished there were some way to camp out. Then inspiration struck.

  “Very clever,” she said aloud. “Congratulations, Sis. You’ll have a reason to ask Jeff over, because what’s a carpenter’s helper for? To build a treehouse, of course.”

  FIVE

  ON THE WEDNESDAY before the Windy Hill schooling show, Jeff brought lumber for the treehouse.

  Leading Gull from the ring, Sis joined him where he was unloading lengths of boards from a flatbed truck below her cabin. She had waited to school until evening, hoping in vain to cool off. But now she was too elated to care about heat. “Oh, Jeff, you should have seen him jump! Like a—a bird!”

  “A sea gull?”

  She giggled. “I never saw a sea gull jump. But you know the stone wall we built?”

  “His mental hazard?”

  “Yes. Well, we had a little argument at it, and I won. Then, after he gave in, he was perfect over it, perfect! Twice!” She stroked Gull’s sweaty neck.

  “Want to show me?” Jeff asked, glancing toward the ring.

  “I’d love to, but—no, we better not. He did it so well at the end, and other jumps, too; it just wouldn’t be right to ask for more now. I want him to learn that when he goes well, he gets rewarded with a rest. When he goes badly, we have to keep at it.”

  She wasn’t sure Jeff understood. But Lee did, and he approved her schedule for Gull: four days a week a pleasure ride, alone or in company; twice a week schooling, as short as possible; Mondays off, since she was busiest then, replacing either Bud or Manuel.

  Jeff was looking at her as if she were a little nutty as she stood dripping beside her dripping horse.

  “I’m going to give him a bath,” she said. “Would you hold him a second?”

  He took the rein, and she struggled from her boots, gasping with the effort, then rolled up her jeans. She tugged off her hunt cap, one of Lee’s musts when schooling. “Whew, what a relief! Did it leave a mark?”

  “Right across your forehead. Look, just to speed things up, I’ll help you with Gull’s bath.”

  Stripping off his shirt, Jeff tossed it in the truck. “I brought some fresh clothes,” he said, “so later we can go eat at Blanche’s.”

  “Why not?” Sis called back on her way to the washrack. She didn’t want to appear thrilled.

  Jeff caught up with her. Misunderstanding, he said, “I’d take you some place nicer, but Blanche’s is close. I thought you’d want to get started building while there’s daylight.”

  Hobbling barefoot, she muttered, “There’ll be a half moon.”

  What a dumb thing to say! Would he take it that she sat staring at the moon every night, dying for a date or something? She had barely enough composure to keep out of Gull’s way.

  The washrack was a cement floor with a drain and hitching post. While Jeff aimed the hose—partly at her—Sis soaped and scrubbed Gull, and used the scraper after each rinse. Rivulets of sweat and dust trickled off him, leaving his coat silvery. His hoofs shone. Drops twinkled on his eyelashes. Sis knew he was enjoying himself, especially when he reached for the hose noz
zle and sucked in great gulps. Suddenly, catching her and Jeff off guard, he gave a mighty shake that showered them both and sent rainbow-hued bubbles soaring. Then, as if to share the joke, he raised his head and let out a boisterous neigh. The private horses answered from the barns, the rent horses from the hill so that for a few moments the shadowy valley echoed with whinnying.

  “But look!” The shriek was Sis’s.

  “What?”

  She peered within inches of Gull’s rump. “Dapples! They’re coming out on him!”

  Jeff laughed. “You make it sound like measles.”

  “Won’t he be gorgeous!” she cried. “I hoped—but I wasn’t sure…. See, this is the first real bath I’ve given him. The dapples couldn’t show up through all his old dirt.” She was plucking at her soaked shirt.

  “Take it off,” Jeff said.

  “My shirt? I would,” she lied, “only the boys or Lee’d be sure to turn up.”

  “Mine’s off,” Jeff persisted.

  She looked at his tanned, muscled torso and mumbled, “That’s different.”

  “How so?” He was grinning down at her in that teasing way that always panicked her. Loosing Gull’s rope, she led him off, and heard Jeff’s laugh behind them.

  It was past eight when they reached Blanche’s, and past nine when they came out. Sis sank back in the borrowed truck and yawned hugely.

  “None of that, girl,” Jeff warned. “We have work to do if you want that treehouse.”

  “We don’t have to finish it tonight,” she said. “Remember, with school out there’ve been little monsters racing around all day. Plus, we’re preparing for Windy Hill. Plus, the vet came to check Hurricane’s hock, and it has to be soaked twice a day. Plus, Mrs. Pickett follows me around and never, ever stops talking. Is she nosy! And there’s acres of tack to clean before Sunday. Then tomorrow, guess what?”

  “It’s your day off?”

  “Very funny. Tomorrow’s Grandma Day.”

  “My gosh,” Jeff said fervently as he braked in front of the cabin.

  In old clothes again, they worked on into the night, at last cooler. Using Lee’s ladder, Jeff passed up boards to Sis on the tree’s natural platform. When they had the whole stack there they had to quit, for it was too dark to use a saw. A couple more hours’ work should finish the job, they figured as they climbed down.

  “Then we’ll have a housewarming,” Sis said.

  “There’s a better way,” Jeff told her. “Have the housewarming first, and put the guests to work. How’s that for a dirty trick?”

  Sis heard him chuckle beside her. His face was only a light blur as they stood by the truck.

  She didn’t want him to leave, and said fast, “Thank you for all your help, and for dinner and everything. You were really swell to take so much trouble, and time, and, I mean…” Her words trailed off. In the sudden silence, she heard Whisk exploring the new boards above.

  “I had fun,” Jeff said.

  “You did? I’m glad.”

  “Then I’m glad too.” By his tone, he was smiling.

  Helplessly, Sis listened to him open the truck door. Then in a rush she blurted, “We haven’t said good night.”

  He turned back, and her heart started to thump. His breathing came nearer, and the glimmer of his shirt. His hand was on her shoulder. He was going to kiss her.

  Instead, he said gruffly, “Come back in a year.” Moments later, his motor roared, tires spurted gravel, and he was gone.

  Sis smiled, while one hand crept to the shoulder he’d touched. Her hand lingered there, and her smile lingered also. Raising her warm face, she said to Whisk, “He wanted to kiss me, I know he did, but he thinks I’m too young.” For dreamy minutes she stood listening to the sound of the truck dwindling smaller and smaller into the night.

  * * *

  Grandma Day began next morning with the arrival of two carloads of ladies. With cries of “This way, girls!” they hurried to the rent horses. They didn’t wear jeans, but odd-shaped trousers and an assortment of blouses, shade hats, and hiking boots. They also wore smiles that were somehow contagious.

  Manuel was a slave to the twittering group. At Lee’s direction, he helped each one onto a horse, handed her the reins, and adjusted the stirrups. It made no difference to them which horse they rode; they had blind faith in Lee’s judgment. All had ridden before at some time, but as one laughingly put it, “We forget everything! Now, Manuel, this is Tornado I’m on, sí?”

  “Sí, señora.” Manuel had just given the same answer to the same question asked by another grandma. In fact, whatever they said he answered with “Sí, señora” and his nice smile. He hadn’t exchanged so many smiles since Grandma Day last month.

  At last they filed out, led by Lee who wouldn’t trust the responsibility to anyone else. Having scheduled no lessons for this morning, he’d told Sis to follow the group. She thought it might be good experience for Gull.

  At the trail markers beyond the bridge, Lee paused and turned to his charges, calling, “Shall we take Redwood Trail, or are you ladies game for Hill Trail?”

  With daring words, they voted for the hill trail.

  Before long their cries of “Wait!” and “Go on!” drifted back down to Sis. But luckily the horses recognized their own names, and obeyed Lee’s voice as if they were riderless. He knew without looking back which ones were causing trouble. Once he hollered over a shoulder, “Git up there, Lightning! Just whack him, Mrs. Olsen, show him who’s boss.”

  The answer floated down, “Oh, dear, I’m afraid he already knows.”

  Later, Lee warned, “Not so fast, Mrs. McCauley. Whirlwind in front of you’s fixing to kick.”

  This morning everything pleased Sis. She was reliving last night, even while she told herself to forget it. So, she’d almost been kissed—maybe. So what? “Pay attention to now,” she said, and dismounted to pick up sunglasses somebody’d dropped.

  Up ahead, Lee halted the group and called, “Keep whatever it is, Sis, till we stop at Half Way Point. One of these days I’ll put on a sale of all the things these ladies drop.” The ladies tittered, and after some maneuvering rode on.

  Half Way Point was a meadow between gentle hills. At the riders’ approach, a meadowlark shot up from the grass. Madrone trees, with their orange bark, gave dappled shade, and white blossoms of the buckeye trees smelled sweet.

  The grandmas snapped pictures of one another and of the valley below. They exclaimed over the buttercups and blue lupin, and praised Sis for how well she managed Gull. Actually, he’d given her no trouble this morning beyond a little impatience. She knew it was Lee who deserved the praise, for his mount was a half-broke mare that he rode so expertly she appeared smooth.

  From experience, Lee allowed only a five-minute rest. Homeward bound, he made sure no horse got by him, though some wanted to hurry. Part way down, he had to lead a timid rider whose horse, she claimed, was being very naughty. All were triumphant on reaching the stables again, where Manuel helped them dismount. After prolonged goodbyes they headed, rather stiffly, for the Wagon. One called, “My treat, girls!” and another, “Me first for the little girls’ room!” What fun they had, Sis thought, and to Bud who sneered, “When I’m that old, just bury me,” she snapped, “Sure. Alive.”

  That leisurely morning was a contrast to the afternoon and to the two remaining days before Windy Hill. Sis discovered how much more easily she could cope with children than with their parents. The first pestered her only for added schooling, the second with constant interruptions. One mother was offended when Sis told her child never to chew gum in the show ring. A father was mortified when, “helping” his daughter, he put her spurs on backwards.

  Of course Sis referred important decisions to Lee, who remained cool through all activity, though busier than usual. He allowed her to use his desk and telephone in the office for checking details connected with the show. From there, she stole occasional visits with Laurie next door.

  Gull was doing well.
He’d put on weight since she’d been feeding him grain, which she bought through Jeff. Her rides, due to heat and added work, were mostly at night, under the ring’s lights.

  Bud’s offer to bet against Gull at Windy Hill was an insult. “He won’t even be in the money,” Bud said.

  “Of course he will! I mean he easily might. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because he’ll throw fits. Five bucks?”

  “I can’t bet,” Sis said. “I’m saving to buy him his own grooming tools.”

  “Chicken! Well, some sucker’ll bet on him.” Bud grinned. “Someone who don’t know him.”

  Sunday morning a knock on Sis’s door wakened her. There stood Melissa, asking, “Am I late, Ms.?” Her voice, always shrill, seemed unbearable at this hour.

  Sis groaned. “It’s not even daylight! But come in. Who brought you?”

  “My mom,” said Melissa. “I told her we better be here about half past four. Don’t you love to get up in the dark and see the stars?”

  It was sort of fun at that—once you were awake. It reminded Sis of past horse show mornings, of trips over snowy miles much longer than today’s drive would be.

  While she dressed, Melissa asked her, “Would you like a roast beef sandwich with pickles and mustard? My mom brought some.”

  “Thanks, but it’s kind of early for lunch,” Sis answered. “I’ll see how my stomach is later.” Right now it was shuddering.

  “My mom thought,” said Melissa, “that if I eat a good lunch I might not fall off today.”

  “That’s an idea,” Sis hedged.

  Within minutes, plans materialized. Headlights appeared as families arrived. Hay was stuffed in trailer mangers, tack in tack compartments, clothes in cars and station wagons. Bud prepared to haul one trailer, several parents others. Lee climbed behind the wheel of the ranch’s four-horse van. Sis loaded Gull in it, next to his stablemate Twinkle. This would be Mrs. Ashby’s first show, in which she’d agreed to enter an Amateur Pleasure class, “just for fun.” Gracious even at this hour, she took charge of Sis’s boots and hunt cap, jacket, shirt, and breeches.