Dreams of a Dancing Horse

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  Molly doubles over with laughter, then dances in the aisle behind us until Jonathan joins her. Soon a conga line of vendors follows, dancing to the woman’s song.

  It is the perfect ending to our perfect day.

  That night, Molly comes over with oats and apples and a simply delicious feast.

  Jonathan counts the day’s earnings as Molly cooks up a great-smelling meal for the two of them.

  “This is more than I usually make in a month of Sundays!” he announces. “Molly, my love, when did you come up with the idea of having me sketch people on Fella?”

  I’m staring at them through the window. Molly glances out at me and grins. “That wasn’t my idea, you ninny. That was Fella’s.”

  “Well, thank you, Fella!” Jonathan shouts. “It was one lucky day when you stumbled into my life.”

  Every day for the next two weeks I give rides to people in the marketplace, and Jonathan sketches, or even paints, their pictures. Molly charges double for paintings. Some humans come to the market just to ride me and get a painting done. It is truly remarkable.

  At night Molly counts the money and places it in the little money box.

  I am so comfortable with my life here that I can’t help wondering if this might be the home I’ve longed for. I still miss my Lena, but I know I’ll never see her again. And Molly and Jonathan could not be kinder to me if they tried.

  One evening before Molly comes over to make dinner, Jonathan joins me outside. He puts one arm over my neck and leans against me. “Say, Fella. I need your advice.”

  I nicker.

  “Thanks to you, Molly and I have enough money to get married now. I’m thinking about asking for her hand in marriage. I’m pretty nervous about it. I mean, we’ve talked about our dreams together. But that was just talk. What if she doesn’t feel about me like I feel about her? What if Molly says no?”

  “Well of course Molly won’t say no!” I reply. And of course, he can’t understand my words.

  “Do you think I should ask her tonight?” he asks.

  I nod. Up and down. Up and down.

  “All right, then!”

  Moments later, Molly walks up looking pretty as a picture. “Hi there, you—!”

  “Molly, will you marry me?” Jonathan blurts it out.

  So much for a romantic proposal. If my young friend could understand me, I would have suggested flowers and an engagement ring. A candlelit dinner prepared by him, perhaps. Soft music playing while he went down on one knee.

  “Yes!” Molly runs to him and jumps into his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  Then again, there’s no accounting for humans.

  Molly breaks into song, and the three of us dance. We dance song after song until we’re too tired to take another step. It is a glorious night.

  A couple of nights later when Jonathan and Molly finish dinner and are counting the day’s income, I peer in at them through the open window. A soft light spills onto the lawn, where I graze on sparse grass. I love eavesdropping on their dinner chats and sharing their joy as they plan their wedding.

  “Where do you want to get married?” Molly asks. “I’m not sure our church is big enough to—”

  “New York City,” Jonathan says, cutting her off.

  “What?”

  “Molly, I’ve counted and recounted the money we’ve saved. We have enough to get us to New York, to have a big church wedding if you want one. And we’ll still have plenty to set ourselves up in our new careers. I’ll start painting right away. And you can get a singing job. All they have to do is hear you sing. You’ll be hired on the spot.”

  “Oh, Jonathan, that would be wonderful!” She grows quiet. “Only there’s one big problem with that.” She glances out the window at … me.

  I shut my eyes and slump, pretending to be asleep.

  “We can’t go to New York. Not now,” Molly says.

  “I know,” Jonathan agrees. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. Fella has been so good to us. We wouldn’t be where we are now if it weren’t for Fella. We could never leave that horse.”

  “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to take care of him,” Molly adds.

  “Me either.” He sighs.

  I open my eyes and gaze in at them.

  Molly reaches across the little table and puts her hand on Jonathan’s. “We’re happy here, aren’t we?”

  Jonathan puts his other hand on hers. “We’d be happy anywhere, Molly.”

  “Absolutely,” Molly agrees.

  When Molly steps out of the house, I nicker to her.

  “Hey! I thought you were asleep, Fella.” She comes over and wraps her arms around my neck as far as they’ll go. Then she kisses my nose. “Good night, sweet Fella. See you tomorrow.”

  I watch her walk away, knowing that I won’t see her tomorrow.

  Through the window I watch as Jonathan packs the money away into his money box and loads his paints and brushes for the morning.

  Jonathan and Molly are two of the best humans I’ve ever known. As long as I’m around, they won’t leave. They’ll stay and see their dreams of New York City fade and disappear.

  Jonathan leans out the window and calls, “Good night, Fella!”

  I whinny a good night … and a good-bye.

  18

  All Danced Out and Dreamed Out

  I travel night and day to put distance between myself and the marketplace. I believe Molly and Jonathan will try to find me, and I can’t allow that. They must move on. I picture them in New York City, painting and singing. I shall never forget them. And I hope they will remember their “Fella.”

  But as day after endless day passes me by, a sadness settles into my soul. The farther I walk, and the more tired I become, the more I wonder. Why can’t I find a friend I don’t have to leave? Why can’t I have a home of my own?

  I would have been happy dancing at the plow with Lena. Later, I might have become part of Bessie’s herd if those cowboys hadn’t run me off. And Mary? All I wanted to do was help that little girl’s dream come true, just like I wanted to help Molly and Jonathan.

  That’s all I ever want. And where does it get me? In the middle of nowhere. Without a home. Without a friend.

  Well, what about my dream? What about Federico the Dancing Horse?

  Dancing. What’s dancing ever done for me, except get me into trouble?

  I slow to a trot and try to hear my mother’s song in my heart.

  Only I can’t. There is no music in my heart.

  There is no Federico the Dancing Horse.

  For days I wander. No dreams. No music. What I need is a job. Fred the Plow Horse needs work. Isn’t that all we plow horses were born to do?

  I pay little attention to where I’m going. I walk with my head down and stay out of humans’ paths. I keep as far away from homes and farms as I can. On and on I travel.

  When it begins to rain, I barely notice. Only it rains and rains and rains. All day and all night it comes down. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Still, I plow on.

  Instead of music, I hear the plodding schlush schlush of my giant hooves striking mud. Instead of my mother’s song, a new refrain plays in my head: I need a job. I need a job. I need a job.

  Even at Quagmire Farms I had a shelter over my head and food to eat.

  And Lena.

  The rain falls in slanted sheets. I turn my face from the wind and trudge on, blinded by watery eyes. And then …

  Thump!

  I crash right into the back of something that feels bigger, rougher, than I. It has a ratlike, hairless tail and wrinkled, rough hind legs that truly are the shape and size of tree stumps.

  “Hey! Whaddya think you’re doing back there?” The creature turns its head, and I see gigantic, floppy ears. A nose the size of my tail pokes me in the face. It’s an elephant!

  I back up and look around to size up the situation. Three elephants. A long truck turned on its side. Perhaps a dozen men watch as the e
lephants try to right the truck. With little success, I might add. Even from here, I can see that it won’t work. The elephants are off center, with three pushing, instead of the four they’d need to turn this truck. Consequently, the truck stays overturned.

  “Who is it, Harold?” The elephant in front asks the question. She has a sweet, high-pitched voice.

  “It’s not an elephant,” the one named Harold grumbles. “I can tell you that much.”

  “Well, bless my soul,” says the second elephant. “It’s a horse!”

  “One of the horses from the show get loose, Fanny?” asks a third elephant. She’s on the far side from her friend, out of sight.

  “My, no,” Fanny the Elephant replies. “He’s a rather large fellow. And brown.” She turns back toward Harold and me. “Harold, introduce yourself.”

  “You introduce yourself,” Harold shoots back.

  “I’d be delighted to do just that. I’m Fanny, the oldest elephant with the Greatest Show on Earth.” She waves to her partner in front. “This is Tina. We’re very pleased to meet you. And you are …”

  “Fed—” I start to say “Federico.” Then I think better of it. “I’m Fred. Fred the Plow Horse.”

  “Well, mercy me,” Fanny says. “What are you doing out here in the rain, child? With all that hair, you’re likely soaked to the bone.”

  “Pull!” Tina shouts.

  They do, but the truck doesn’t budge.

  Humans stand around, shouting orders at one another. A few try to unload the truck. But they jump back when the truck groans and seems ready to flip all the way over.

  “This is not what I signed up for,” complains the elephant I rammed into.

  “Harold is an old grumbling fuddy-duddy,” Fanny explains. “Don’t mind him.”

  “That’s right!” Tina shouts. “When the good Lord was handing out brains, Harold there thought God said ‘trains,’ and he let them pass by because Harold doesn’t like to travel.”

  I laugh and get a dirty look from Harold. As big as I am, that fellow must be twice as big.

  But we plow horses are strong. I step into the empty position to complete the four-cornered team. “Here. Let me help.” I know they’ll never get out of this mud unless I do.

  “Well, bless your sweet heart!” Fanny says. “We can use a helping hand.”

  “He can’t help,” Harold says. “He’s not an elephant.”

  “Can’t put one past you, can we, Harold?” Tina says.

  “Hmmmph!” The sound is blown from Harold’s long snout. “I wish Ricardo was still here.”

  “Ricardo was the fourth elephant. He left our little crew a couple of stops back and joined a zoo,” Fanny explains. “It was his lifelong dream, though I can’t imagine why.”

  Dreams again.

  “I should have gone with him,” Harold complains.

  “They didn’t want you,” Tina says. “Who’s going to pay good money to go to a zoo and stare at you?”

  “Now, Tina,” Fanny says.

  “Hmmmph,” Harold breathes again. “I still say we wait for the humans to get us another elephant to help us. Not this scrawny excuse for a horse.”

  Me? Scrawny?

  “Now, Harold,” Fanny says in her soft, high voice. “You know elephants are scarce as hens’ teeth in these parts. Here we were, the three of us, without a prayer of getting this truck righted, and Fred appears. Don’t go looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

  I like Fanny, and I don’t think she and Tina deserve to stand out in the rain all night. I’ll get this job done and be on my way. “Are you ready?” I ask, getting my shoulder into position. I’m used to pulling and pushing big loads. I don’t expect this to take long.

  “Where in Sam Hill did that horse come from?” A man in a cape marches up to us and stands in the truck’s path. “What’s he doing with my truck?” he shouts in the loudest human voice I’ve ever heard. He wears no hat, and he’s hairless, except for a strip of black that circles the rear of his head. His drenched mustache droops over a round face. His cape waves like a flag in the wind.

  “That’s Leo, the circus manager,” Tina informs me. “Leo is all right … for a human.”

  “Anybody ever seen this horse before?” Leo bellows.

  “Does he always shout this loudly?” I ask. I have seen humans cover their ears to protect themselves from loud noises. Horses don’t have this option.

  Tina laughs, a mixture of breath, honking, and gurgling, all shot through her long trunk. “Leo started out as a circus barker.”

  “A what?”

  “A barker at the circus,” she explains. “They’re the ones standing outside tents, shouting to the crowds to get people to buy tickets. They have to be loud to be heard over the circus noise. Leo’s the manager now, but he’s never gotten the barker out of his voice.”

  “I can tell.” I try to block out his voice. “Ready? On the count of three, Tina and I will push. Harold and Fanny, pull.

  “One. Two. Three!” I call. We push and pull. The truck almost goes over. Then it settles back on its side.

  It’s slippery and hard to keep our ground. But we try again. “One. Two. Three!” I shout.

  This time, the truck looks righted. The humans back up and start to cheer. But I know the truck’s not conquered yet. “Careful!” I shout. “Coming down!”

  The truck slams down again. Groans rise from the crowd of onlookers. The rain seems to pick up even more. Needles of water blind me.

  “One more time, elephants!” I yell. “Give it all you’ve got. One. Two. Three!”

  The truck groans and squeals, then slowly swings up. It bounces on its tires and settles upright.

  Cheers break out all around us.

  Fanny comes down the ditch to meet me. “Bless your little ol’ heart, Fred! It’s a miracle. You showing up out of nowhere!”

  I climb out of the ditch. Tina does the same.

  “I’m glad I could help,” I tell Fanny. “Good luck to you.”

  “Where are you off to, Fred?” Fanny asks.

  “I’m off to find a job. A plow and a job,” I add.

  “Do you really have to go?” Fanny asks.

  The mustache man, Leo the circus manager, runs up to us. His tall black boots slip and slide in the mud. “That was fabulous and fantastic!” he roars in his barker’s thunder. “The most amazing event, an astounding display of power and daredevil bravery! And all happening during the biggest gully-washer rain this circus has ever known!”

  It’s easy to imagine this man shouting in front of a circus tent. I turn and start walking away.

  “You there! You! Horse!” he shouts.

  I stop and face the man.

  “How’d you like a job?”

  19

  Circus Plow Horse

  By morning the next day, the rain has stopped. And I have a job with the circus.

  By midday, Fanny has filled me in on her entire life story. She’s a sweet elephant. I don’t ask her age because I am still a gentleman, although now a gentleman plow horse or work horse. But she must be at least half a century old. Still, she works as hard as, or harder than, the other elephants.

  Fanny grew up in the circus and has never had another home. She remembers being a young elephant calf, watching her mother unload poles for the circus tents. “Land o’ living,” she declares. “I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else.”

  Tina and Fanny are excited about the circus opening tonight. But I pay little attention to that. I do my job. It’s not plowing, but it’s similar. We drag and move long, heavy poles. We pull loads and logs and do all the heavy work behind the scenes of the Greatest Show on Earth.

  “Have you always been a plow horse, Fred?” Fanny asks. We’re uprooting several small trees to make room for a circus tent. The elephants have the advantage with this task. Fanny wraps her long trunk around the tree trunk, gives a yank, and up comes the tree.

  Fanny has asked me three times if I’ve always been a plow ho
rse. Up to now, I’ve managed to distract her and change the subject without answering. This time I see no graceful way out.

  “No. I haven’t always been a plow horse. But for most of my life, I’ve plowed fields. I tried a couple of other things.” I remember trotting along with the cattle drive, surrounded by those generous cows. I remember Mary and wonder if, at last, she has her pony. And I think of Molly and Jonathan the first time I got that little boy to take a ride and have his picture sketched. “But the other things didn’t work out, Fanny.”

  “That’s a shame,” Fanny says.

  Fanny and I have been given this area to clear. I don’t like her doing most of the work. So I back up into the next tree and push, even though the tree bark digs into my rump. Finally, the trunk cracks, and the tree falls to the ground.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to be something besides a plow horse, Fred?” Fanny asks, not letting go of this unpleasant topic. “Not that being a plow horse isn’t an honorable job. Of course, it is! Bless my soul, where would we all be without the harvest? No grain. No hay. No straw. And humans would starve too. Plowing is a time-honored occupation.”

  Fanny pauses and stares into my face. Her eyes are round and small, compared to the rest of her. “It’s just … well, I guess I thought I saw a flash of something else in you, Fred.”

  “So did I,” I admit. “Once.” We’re quiet for a moment. Then I say, “Shall we get back to work?”

  After we clear our area, we join Tina and Harold at the other end of the circus grounds. Fanny and I pass people who are setting up food stands with signs that read: “Cotton candy,” “Cold drinks,” “Hamburgers,” “Hot dogs,” “Fries,” and on and on. Fanny takes us past a tent with big signs that promise things like: “Fat lady inside!” “Two-headed dogs!” “Three-headed snakes and a snake charmer!” “Vaudeville acts!”

  I’m pretty sure that “vaudeville” includes comedy. I wonder if Bessie will ever find her way to a circus. Perhaps she might become a circus cow comedian and …

  No. No more dreams.

  We find Tina struggling to set up a pole that’s three times as tall as she is. Harold is off to the side, nosing through peanut shells.