Double Standards

by Patsey Gray

  For a woman, he means, Sis thought, and hoped Doctor Nesbit would send a huge bill. Head throbbing, she opened the pasture gate, closed it behind Lee, and with her pitchfork climbed onto the pickup’s bed to toss out the hay at intervals.

  The valley was darkening when at last she was free, after a final check on Gull. But on the way to her cabin she stopped at the entrance to Manuel’s barn. The only sound inside was the munch of horses finishing their supper. Mixed with the smell of feed, an antiseptic odor tinged the air. From where she stood, the stall doors gave no clue to Fury’s whereabouts. She called Manuel’s name softly, received no answer, and walked in.

  Along the aisle her sneakers were soundless, but she imagined the horses could hear the heartbeats under her dusty T-shirt. She passed several rumps, then stopped and stared into a stall. After a moment, she half smiled to herself. Somehow the picture reminded her vaguely of a Christmas card, the Bethlehem scene with animals at the manger. Side by side, just touching, Fury and Manuel were asleep. She tiptoed away.

  A quick trip to her cabin for a flashlight and money. She’d decided to buy Manuel his supper, along with hers. She’d eat in the stall with him, since Lee felt she ought to help. What did he think she’d been doing all day—resting?

  At the Wagon, Laurie asked the same question, less politely, after Sis described her day. Laurie went on, “I heard some noise at noon, but I was filling an order and couldn’t stop. Then this afternoon it did seem awful quiet. I was glad for Ernie, him havin’ to sleep daytimes. But I’m surprised Lee’d have that lady vet. He never would before. If he thinks men are superior, where are his wonder boys now? One playin’ lover in town, the other snorin’. We’re doin’ the work … suckers. Say”—a wicked gleam sparked Laurie’s black eyes—“how about if you and me go on strike? More pay, less hours, or else. What do you say, kid?”

  “I say no.” Sis laughed, and left with two brown bags. The jumbo burgers and french fries inside them smelled great.

  They tasted great, too, she and Manuel agreed by sign language. A full moon had lit her way to the barn; now the flashlight helped. It showed in Manuel’s face a touching gratitude.

  And it showed Fury. He hadn’t moved, except to open eyes veiled by pain. Of course, by now the sedative would have worn off. Sis ached to put her arms around him, but didn’t dare. Numerous black stitches crisscrossed his poor stomach. Others laced his hind legs. His lovely foretop had been cut off; it would have covered more stitches. Merthiolate painted his wounds a shocking red. As Lee had said, he was far from fighting—nearer, Sis thought, to giving up.

  She made eating motions to ask whether Fury had eaten. Manuel held out one cupped hand, and now he scooped another palmful of oats from a can beside him. When he offered it, Fury lifted his head and lipped a few grains, but the effort was too much. With a groan, he lay back again. His eyes on Sis begged for something.

  She searched for the answer, but Manuel found it first. “Agua.” And he added, to show off his English, “Water.”

  There was still water in the bucket Lee had left, but evidently Fury was too weak to stand up and drink.

  Together they raised his fore-end gingerly and tilted the bucket enough for him to reach water. He drank slowly, for many minutes, and afterwards gave a deep sigh. So did Sis. She’d been terrified that he would tear some stitches.

  She asked Manuel if he meant to sleep here.

  He showed that he understood by lying down as he had before, next to Fury. One brown hand closed around a tiny hoof. Sis left him her flashlight.

  In the dark aisle, she paused a few moments, listening. What she heard, very softly, was Mexican music. Bolder since she’d gone, Manuel tried his English on Fury. “You like, eh?”

  That night she couldn’t get to sleep, tired though she was. She kept seeing Fury in the stall, and the look he’d given her, pleading—for what? She’d thought it was just for water—but it could have been for something else. Maybe he wanted the final release from suffering. Lee had said, “He’ll need luck.” Doctor Nesbit had said, “We’ll see.” How long, Sis wondered, would they make Fury wait? Somewhere she’d read about a horse put down, “beyond the reach of pain and fear…” If Fury were human, he’d have a choice. It wasn’t fair.

  In tears, Sis burrowed under the pillow. But still she smelled a trampled pasture, and heard the snarls, and saw dogs bait a blood-smeared pony who bowed and bowed almost to death.

  SEVEN

  LATER THAT NIGHT a car woke Sis, no doubt bringing Bud home. It passed again almost immediately on its way out.

  The smell of lumber drifted in the window. It reminded her of the housewarming she and Jeff had planned, to finish the treehouse. Jeff’s mother was due for another ride. Maybe he’d bring her. Heavens, he didn’t know yet about Fury.

  Sis sat up at thought of Fury. She wondered if Manuel really knew enough to follow Doctor Nesbit’s orders—things like how to take Fury’s temperature, to feed lightly, to help him turn or stand. And who was supposed to do Manuel’s normal work? And how would they all get ready for the County Fair this weekend? It would be an overnight jaunt at that, because the drive took several hours, and they were to show early Sunday morning.

  Falling back, she groaned, “Go away, everything. I just want to sleep.” But she couldn’t.

  After a restless interval she crawled out onto the platform. Now in July the water beneath her was low. Except for its murmur, silence was absolute. Over her cabin’s roof, she saw how the round moon whitened the valley and blackened the buildings. It dimmed a glow just apparent above Lee’s storeroom. As once before, he’d forgotten to turn off his light. This time it must have been after he put his gun back. The thought of anything unusual next door to Gull made Sis uneasy. She decided to go see. A walk might help her sleep.

  Dressed, she padded down the hill. It was eerie to be out in the black-and-whiteness and the total quiet.

  Light came weakly from Gull’s barn, and at the entrance she saw why: the door to Lee’s storeroom was ajar. A sound inside halted her. Someone was there! Her pulse began to throb, faster and faster. She tried to swallow, and couldn’t. She felt suffocated.

  Should she run for Bud and Manuel—for Ernie? Ernie was at work. Laurie, then?

  Before she could move, the storeroom door swung slowly wider. Petrified, she watched a man’s arm appear—his shoulder—leg—until he stood fully in the light. It was Bud! Relief flooded her, and she called his name.

  He jumped, and both together asked, “What’re you doing here?”

  She answered first. “I saw the light and came to investigate.”

  “Me too.” He switched the light off and added, “The door was open.”

  She heard the door pulled shut, then the click of the lock. She thought of Lee’s gun, but didn’t mention it, only asked, “Was everything all right inside?”

  “Sure, I guess so. Ol’ Lee must be gettin’ careless.”

  “He had too much on his mind today,” Sis explained. “If you saw Manuel, you know about Fury.”

  “I haven’t seen Manuel,” Bud said. “I didn’t stop at the trailer.”

  “He’s not at the trailer. At least I don’t think so. But—” Sis was growing confused.

  Bud stepped closer. Once again, it made her nervous to be alone with him in the dark barn. She turned to Gull who loomed, ghostly, at the door. He nuzzled her as she stroked his neck, and the familiar feel of him reassured her enough to tell Bud about Fury.

  “But,” she ended, still puzzled, “how come you haven’t been at your trailer?” She’d heard him come home quite a while ago.

  After a moment, Bud answered, “I came here direct when I got home—if you have to know.”

  “Oh.” Well, there was no point in standing here arguing at this time of night, or morning.

  Bud agreed, saying, “Let’s move it. Shall we go see Fury?”

  A few minutes later they were standing at Fury’s stall. They heard radio music, but could see nothin
g.

  Bud asked, low, “Want me to get a flashlight?”

  “No,” Sis whispered. “Listen. You can hear them both breathe. Let’s not wake them.” She finished, clumsily, “Good night.”

  Inches away, Bud asked, “Could I walk you home … or something?”

  “No. Oh, no. Thanks.” And she scurried out into the welcome moonlight.

  Her cabin felt absurdly safe to her, considering the door had no lock and the window no curtain. In bed again, she told herself it was silly to be afraid of Bud. He’d never tried anything with her. She needed more experience with boys. Just the same, she didn’t trust him. His sudden interest in Fury, and his attempt to please her, struck her as phony. And then, if it was true that when he came home he’d gone directly to Lee’s storeroom, he would have been there alone fifteen minutes or more. Doing what? Poking around, she guessed. Lee had said he kept nothing of value there. Still, she’d better remind him to be more careful about locking up. Poor man, she hoped he was getting some sleep, after the Fury business. He’d be sure to turn up extra early tomorrow. “Today,” she moaned, rolling over.

  Lee did arrive early, but Sis didn’t know it. She had slept right through her alarm. Skipping breakfast, she ran to Fury’s stall, and found Lee there.

  The pony was up, looking unhappy but a little brighter than yesterday.

  “His fever’s down one degree,” Lee said. “He ate a few mouthfuls just now, and drank. But … I don’t know…. By the way, Bud told me that last night he found my storeroom open. I must have left it that way after I put my gun back. Did you notice?”

  “No,” Sis answered. “I guess I was too flustered. But—”

  Impatient as always, he cut in, “No big deal. I just checked. The gun hadn’t been touched. Now I gotta call Doctor Nesbit, and you get to work. You’re late.”

  It annoyed Sis that Bud had been the one to tell Lee about the storeroom, making himself the hero, of course. He wouldn’t have mentioned how long he was in there. She was further annoyed to find he’d fed Gull and cleaned the stall. She didn’t want his favors. This morning, at her chores, she ignored him. Manuel, too, was working, since Fury didn’t need constant attention.

  Needed or not, he had it nearly all day. It seemed everyone knew his story, which grew with each repetition. Sis heard one version in which Fury, by himself, killed a dog twice his size, and chased half a dozen others away. Another version had it that Fury attacked some poor little lost dogs, and Lee heartlessly shot them.

  “Prob’ly somebody’s pets,” Bethie Nelson said, blinking back tears. “Or maybe one of them was a seeing-eye dog.”

  Realism returned when Lee reported his talk with the sheriff. “Sheriff says there’s more of these wild dogs running our hills here, killing livestock. So, anyone sees a stray, tell me.” His steely gray eyes singled out Bethie. “These dogs are not pets—not any more. They’re dangerous.”

  To Sis he went on, “I heard from the parents of that child who was here. They know that if it hadn’t been for you, she’d have crawled in with Fury, and the dogs likely would’ve turned on her.”

  There were “Oh’s” of horror, followed by compliments for Sis. Praise from the kids was nice; from Lee, it was fantastic. But then, frowning at the group, he asked, “Well, do you aim to spend the day here talking?”

  They did spend a good deal of it talking—to Fury. With furtive glee, they formed the Pony Sitters Club, and took turns waiting on Fury, petting him, tenderly brushing him, fanning off flies. All this between lessons and odd jobs. Sis saw that Manuel felt left out. When she said so to the kids, they made him an honorary club member, whether or not he knew it.

  But the next day their attention to Fury slackened, by Lee’s orders. They had to prepare for the County Fair.

  There was the usual pre-show frenzy of unscheduled lessons; tack to clean; horses to trim, to bathe, to vacuum. Melissa did tails, a dime apiece. The shoer came, and made sparks fly and steam rise from the ping-ping on his anvil. Bud serviced cars, trailers, and the van. The two mothers going, Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Murphy, planned happily for the weekend in the mountains. Besides them, there’d be three young ones: Melissa, Bobby, and Bethie Nelson; and four middle-aged ones: Sis, Bud, Anita, and Melissa’s older brother, another redheaded Murphy. They were to camp on the fairgrounds, sleep in bedrolls around a fire, and cook there or eat in the 4-H tent.

  On Friday, Lee announced he was staying. He wouldn’t risk being gone while wild dogs roamed the area. And, he didn’t want to leave Fury.

  “Bud’ll drive the van,” he said, “with Gull and the Nelson horses. Murph will haul the other two. And you drivers watch out for logging trucks; any trouble, you’re through hauling for me.”

  Sis wondered what Murph was like, having rarely seen him. He had outgrown his horse, and taken a summer job sandblasting. And naturally, she wondered and worried how Gull would perform. Just because he was going well here didn’t mean he’d go well at the show.

  “It’s for your own sake you must behave,” she told him that Friday afternoon in his stall. “Lee can’t wait much longer for you to earn your keep. If you don’t, then what?”

  He must have caught the sadness in her tone, for he raised his head from the feed pan, his fine breedy head that she loved. Big deep eyes returned her love.

  Leaning against his shoulder, she watched the motions of his jaw as he ate. She pressed one ear to his stomach, and heard it digesting. His coat smelled healthy. She must have brushed it a thousand strokes, and given him hundreds of other attentions, large and small. Spoiled him, maybe. She knew him so well! If she were blind, she’d recognize him among other horses, by his height, his neigh, his walk—oh, lots of ways. Just as he’d know her step in the dark any time. If he didn’t prove to Lee soon—if she didn’t prove…. It would be her fault if he lost this good home. He might go to a terrible one…. Her eyes smarted, and Gull wavered through her tears. “I’ll die if he sells you,” she whispered.

  After the day’s last lesson, she listened against her good sense to the children’s descriptions of what the fair treats would include—a Ferris wheel, roller coaster, shooting gallery, burro baseball, chariot races, and the girl in spangles fired from a cannon.

  “Gull will come apart,” she said later that evening to Jeff. He’d brought his sleeping bag for her to take along, and invited her to dinner.

  Nervous and depressed, she turned him down. She guessed his feelings were hurt, for in turn he hurt hers by saying, “I thought you had guts.”

  “I do—I mean, usually I do, but—” She was almost crying. “Oh, it’ll be awful. With all that racket, Gull will blow sky high!”

  “Not if you don’t,” Jeff argued.

  “That’s stupid.” More likely true, she knew.

  He left abruptly. She didn’t care. She wanted to be alone. She wished she could stay home tomorrow.

  Before going to bed, she scraped soap under her fingernails so she wouldn’t bite them in her sleep. It was a trick she’d invented that sometimes worked.

  A good sleep, overdue, improved her mood next morning. “I made a fool of myself over what may never happen,” she said to Whisk. He cocked his crooked ear at her in surprise when she tugged the window shut. “No prowlers while I’m away,” she told him through the glass.

  Before the caravan left, Bud urged her to ride beside him in the van. He volunteered, “This time I’ll bet on Gull.”

  “You expect me to bet against him?” she exclaimed.

  “Only kidding. But somebody will, and I’ll collect. I got a hunch Gull’s gonna be lucky.”

  For that, she almost liked him. Still, she chose to travel inside the van. It was fun to watch the horses, and safer for them to be watched.

  The stretch on the freeway was uneventful. But to Sis, mountain country was exciting, and she tried to recall what she’d read of this territory. It wasn’t until arrival, however, after noon, that she was able to see and smell a logging community combined with a spr
awling fair.

  Bud backed the van skillfully into the designated parking space, and Sis ran to the horse show office. Today was local day, riders being from the area only, some of them obviously green. She had to dodge ponies, 4-H kids leading calves, a loose ewe with twin lambs, and sunburned crowds drifting from the Gayway. From there too came screams and rifle shots, smells of cotton candy, and the taste of frying.

  In the office, she stood in line to receive numbers, programs, and time schedules for the Tanbark bunch. Mrs. Nelson waved to her from another line where camping sites were being allotted. Sis laughed when, outside, Mrs. Nelson collided with a toddler blinded by the giant panda he clutched.

  They’d been given a good site, shady, not too far from the rest rooms or the barns. It included a faucet, a trash can, a stone fireplace, and a wooden table with benches. But before they could enjoy it, they had to exercise, school, and feed their horses.

  Sis put in several hours coaching, all that time riding Gull. It was her attempt to relax him. Though nervous at first—and no wonder—he finally began to tire. With others, she rode on the half-mile track, around the infield where the ring was located. Teams were playing burro baseball in the infield, which upset most horses; fortunately, the chariot races weren’t scheduled until tomorrow. Sis refused to think about them. “We’ll just do our best,” she said to Gull when she put him away, “and, like Bud says, we may be lucky.”

  In camp with the kids, she could see why they spoke of this weekend as the high point of their year. The scene had a sort of romance. One by one, small fires twinkled in the deep blue shadows. Someone played a guitar in a nearby camp, and others sang. A smell strange to Sis intrigued her, and she asked what it was.

  “It’s witch hazel, a bush,” Murph answered, seated next to her. “Some folks call it mountain misery. But the main smell around here is always the lumber mills. Reminds you of a carpenter’s shop.” And of Jeff, Sis thought.