Walking Into The Unknown (# 10 in the Bregdan Chronicles Historical Fiction Romance Series)

by Ginny Dye

  “Good. Sandy Lady is in trouble. It’s been too long since the front feet appeared. She is going to need help.”

  Where Emerald’s groaning had seemed normal, Sandy Lady sounded distressed.

  “Sandy Lady loves you,” Susan said calmly. “I want you to hold her head and talk to her.”

  “What are we going to do?” Amber asked anxiously, her fear making her forget all Robert had taught her about assisting in births.

  Susan reached outside the stall for the lead rope hanging from its hook. “The first thing we’re going to do is make her stand up,” she said evenly. “Most times this will make the foal slide back into Sandy Lady’s womb. I can turn it more easily in there. That should help it come out quicker. You will need to help Sandy Lady stand up.”

  Amber nodded, grabbed the lead rope and snapped it onto the leather halter. She rubbed Sandy Lady’s muzzle before she stood and gave a gentle tug. “Get up,” she ordered. The laboring mare stared at her but didn’t move. “Get up,” Amber commanded, pulling harder on the lead rope. “You can’t stay there, Sandy Lady.” She suddenly remembered Robert having to do the same thing. Now was not the time to be gentle. Both the mare and foal’s life could depend on getting the mare to stand. Amber stepped back, gave a sharp tug, and made her voice stern. “Up, Sandy Lady! Up!”

  Sandy Lady’s eyes widened, but she folded her front legs obediently and struggled to stand. Amber wanted to cry at the distress in her eyes, but now was not the time to get soft. “Up!” she commanded. “Stand up!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Susan roll up the sleeve on her right arm and apply a thick lubricant.

  Sandy Lady groaned again as she pushed her way to her feet, swaying slightly when she was upright. Amber wanted to cry with relief, but she simply moved forward to hold the mare’s head tightly. “Good girl,” she murmured. “Good girl.”

  Amber watched as Susan slipped her arm into the birth canal. Susan’s face tightened with intensity as she worked. Amber tried to imagine what she was feeling inside, praying the day would come when she would be big enough, strong enough, and smart enough to do the same thing.

  Susan must have sensed her desire to learn. “I found the protruding leg. I’m following it down to the foal’s chest.” She paused for a moment. “There is the other leg. And there is the head,” she said softly.

  Without warning, Sandy Lady began to lay down again.

  “Sandy Lady! No!” Amber cried.

  “It’s all right,” Susan said. “I believe I’ve repositioned it enough to make the birth easier.” She stepped back just as Sandy Lady collapsed onto the straw and began to push again.

  Amber continued to stroke her head and murmur encouraging words, but her eyes never left the foal. “Come on,” she whispered. “Come on, little one.”

  Both the front feet had once more broken free of the birth canal. The nose followed a moment later, but then Sandy Lady groaned loudly and lay still again, her breathing labored.

  Susan reached for the towel she had tossed over her shoulder and grasped the front two hooves. “I’m forcing the foal’s front feet down toward Sandy Lady’s hind hooves in order to rotate the baby’s head through the birth canal,” she explained as she began to pull gently.

  Amber held her breath and prayed. She wanted to cheer when she saw the head and shoulders appear. “Good girl, Sandy Lady. You’re doing great!”

  “Once the head and shoulders have passed through the birth canal, you pull straight out along the line of the mare’s spine,” Susan said, demonstrating as she talked. “Sandy Lady is tired, so I’m going to keep helping her.” She waited until the hips appeared, and then once again pulled down toward the mare’s hooves. “Doing this helps rotate the foal’s hips so they can pass through the birth canal.”

  Amber sucked in a harsh breath of relief when the foal slipped out onto the straw.

  Susan smiled and stood. “We’re going to leave them right there. Sandy Lady will stand when she is ready. The foal is fine.”

  “You’re sure?” Amber asked anxiously. “The baby isn’t moving either.”

  “The birth was tiring for both of them,” Susan said reassuringly. “The foal is breathing normally. If she’s not at least looking around in thirty minutes, there will be reason for concern. But,” she added quickly, “I already know there is not a reason. This little one is just fine.” She nodded her head toward the other stall. “Let’s check on Emerald.”

  Amber cast one last concerned look at Sandy Lady and her foal before she followed Susan. A huge smile bloomed on her face when she looked over the door. “She’s sitting up!”

  “He’s sitting up,” Susan corrected with a matching smile. “And he is just as beautiful as I thought he would be.”

  Amber watched as the colt gazed at them for a moment and then, as if inspired by their presence, he folded one front leg under him, and lurched forward slightly. “He’s going to stand!” The experience never lost its thrill for her.

  The colt pulled one front leg under him, and then the other. He paused for a moment as if questioning whether this was a wise move.

  “You can’t eat until you get up,” Susan murmured. “You can do it.”

  The foal glanced up at his mother and lurched forward again, pulling his hind legs behind him, and then pushed. He started upward, but teetered precariously. His front legs splayed out to the sides, sending him crashing to the floor again. He shook his head and stared around, obviously startled to find himself still on the ground.

  “You can do it,” Amber called as she giggled. “The first try is always the hardest.”

  The colt waited for several moments and then pulled his splayed front legs back into his chest before launching forward again. This time, he gained his feet. He swayed unsteadily but remained upright. He looked completely surprised to discover he was standing now.

  “You did it!” Amber cheered quietly. She didn’t want to bother Sandy Lady with loud noises.

  “Good job!” Susan murmured. “What should we call him?”

  Amber was ready. “Eclipse’s Ace of Spades.”

  Susan turned and gazed down at her. “That was quick.”

  Amber shook her head. “Robert and I named him last spring. Well, if he was a boy…and if he came out black,” she added. “Robert wanted him to have a real special name.”

  “Eclipse’s Ace of Spades it is,” Susan replied with a delighted smile. “It’s the perfect name for him. He’s going to be as big as his daddy, and just as black as his mama.”

  Amber grinned as the colt tottered over to where Emerald was waiting patiently. He leaned against his mama’s side for a moment and then began nudging her in search of the meal he knew awaited him. It took only a few minutes before he was latched securely to her teat.

  “That’s number ten,” Susan said contentedly as she watched the pair. “All the mothers should have their babies within the next few weeks. The new foals will make it easier to see the yearlings go.”

  Amber sighed. “Not that I can tell. I know we are breeding horses for sale, but every time one of them leaves, they seem to take a part of me with them.” She watched the colt for a few minutes longer and then peered up at Susan. “Does it ever get easier?”

  Susan considered the question. “Not for me,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but I feel like I’m losing a part of me every time one leaves, too. I suppose there are people who raise horses just for the money, but I do it out of love. And I fall in love with each one that is born. It never gets easy to see them leave.”

  Amber nodded thoughtfully. “I’m glad you feel the same way I do.” She gazed at the colt suckling his dam. “Anthony is coming today for the yearlings. Did he find real good homes for them?” She had been pushing thoughts of it aside, but since his arrival was only hours away, she could no longer pretend it wasn’t going to happen.

  “He did,” Susan assured her. “He goes to inspect each horse operation before h
e agrees to represent them as their buyer. His standards are quite high. He loves horses as much as we do.”

  Amber felt a little better, but she still knew how much it would hurt when the yearlings she had worked with on a daily basis for a year were led away to where she would never see them again. All My Heart took that moment to send a ringing call from the pasture. Her sadness disappeared instantly. “At least I’ll never have to say good-bye to All My Heart,” she said. When she glanced at Sandy Lady’s stall, Susan interpreted her thoughts.

  “I’ll let you know if I need your help with Sandy Lady. You go on out there with your filly. You have to leave for school soon anyway.”

  Amber gave Susan a quick hug and then dashed out the door. The sun was hovering over the top of the trees, its rays dancing off the dogwood blooms lacing the woods. The air still held a faint chill, but she knew the sun would chase it away before much longer. She loved spring’s soft air. All My Heart was waiting for her outside the barn door that led into the pasture, dancing lightly in place. As soon as Amber appeared, the filly dipped her nose to begin nuzzling her body. Amber laughed softly, standing still as her filly carefully inspected each pocket, finally stopping at the one on the back of her breeches. All My Heart snorted and pawed the ground one time, eying her expectantly.

  “Found them again, girl,” Amber crooned, reaching in to pull out the carrots All My Heart had discovered. She rested her head against her filly’s neck, listening to her crunch the carrots as the sun cut through the low-lying mist over the pastures. She watched the yearlings grazing and playing, knowing they had no idea their whole world was about to change. “You’ll miss your friends,” she murmured, “but now you’re going to be the leader of the pack around here. I expect you to set a good example for all the new foals,” she said.

  All My Heart bobbed her head obediently and then stepped back to rest it on Amber’s shoulder. Amber sighed and stroked the velvety nose, hoping she would never have to leave Cromwell Plantation. She knew there was a big world out there, but everything she wanted, and everything that was important to her, was right here.

  “That was a mighty big sigh for a little girl.”

  Amber gazed up at Miles as he emerged from the stable with a huge yawn. “Did you miss Cromwell Plantation after you escaped before the war, Miles?”

  “Every day,” he assured her.

  “Are you glad you’re back?”

  “Every day,” he repeated.

  “Do you ever want to leave again?”

  Miles peered at her closely. “No. What is going on in that head of yours?”

  Amber shrugged. “Everyone seems to be leaving because they’re looking for something else. Maybe something more,” she said thoughtfully. “I know Moses and Rose want to make a difference for our people, and Carrie believes she is supposed to be a doctor. Is it wrong that I don’t want to leave? That I just want to stay here and be with the horses?” Now that she had finally had the courage to ask, her emotions swelled within her chest. “Am I bad because I don’t want to leave to do things for our people, Miles?” She took a deep breath. “Would Robert be disappointed in me?” she whispered, swallowing back the tears that wanted to come.

  Miles stepped closer and laid a wrinkled, leathery hand on her shoulder. “Not all people are the same, Amber. Rose...That woman got a gift for teaching. Moses...He got a gift for speaking and leading. Carrie...She got a gift of healing.” He paused. “Each of them gifts mean they gots to leave the plantation to go to school or to use that gift. But you, Amber? You got the gift for horses. You don’t got to go nowhere to use that gift but right here.”

  Amber opened her mouth to interrupt him, but Miles held up his hand.

  “Don’t say it,” he commanded. “I already know what be going on in that head of yours. It ain’t up to any of us what gift we got. But it is up to us what we do with it. How good we use it. You just got to be the best horsewoman you can be. You got an awesome gift, sho ‘nuff. Your gift as special as any other gift, Amber. As long as you use that gift the best you can, you’ll be doing exactly what you supposed to be doing for our people,” he said. “There be plenty of people who don’t think a little black girl can do what you do with horses. Every time someone gets a Cromwell horse they’s gonna know just what a little black girl can do, and then they gonna think twice before they say we can’t do what we do. As you get older, you just gonna get better and better. That means more people will pay attention.”

  Amber pondered his words. “I reckon that sounds right,” she said, a glad relief blooming in her heart. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” she confided. “There can’t be another place in the world as beautiful as Cromwell Plantation.”

  “That be right, for sho,” Miles agreed. “I’m real glad I escaped so that I could learn how to live free on my own. Leaving here be one of the happiest days of my life. The next happiest be the day I came back home.”

  Amber wrapped her arms around him in a desperate hug. “You’ve got to live a long time, Miles.”

  “I reckon I will,” Miles chuckled. “Course, I done lived a long time already.”

  “I mean it,” Amber said fiercely. “I love you, Miles. I don’t want to lose you, too.” She was surprised when tears clogged her throat once more. She knew she was crying about Robert again, but it didn’t lessen her love for Miles.

  Miles knelt down and wrapped her in a warm embrace. “I ain’t going anywhere right away, Amber,” he said gently. “I still got me some things to teach you.” Then he chuckled. “And I reckon you got some things you need to teach me.”

  Amber couldn’t clear the tears from her throat. “You have to promise me you’re not going to leave me,” she said. “Promise me, Miles.”

  There was a long moment of silence before Miles pushed her back so he could peer into her eyes. “Can’t make you that promise, Amber,” he said gravely. “I love you. I can promise you that leaving you won’t be my choice, but this country is a real crazy place right now. Ain’t no black person alive can make that kind of promise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Welcome to New Mexico, Carrie.”

  Carrie stared at Captain Marley, jolted from her enjoyment of the beautiful terrain they were riding through. Snow-covered peaks surrounded them, their rugged sides painted with pine trees and bare alders. The stream they were following bubbled and danced its way over boulders and rocks. “Really? We are now in New Mexico?”

  “We are,” Captain Marley assured her. “Of course, you may be cursing that fact by tomorrow.”

  Carrie thought through what she had read in the book Felicia had prepared for her. “Raton Pass?”

  “Raton Pass.”

  Carrie nodded, choosing to focus her thoughts on the reality that they had successfully traveled through Kansas and Colorado. The choice had been made weeks ago to follow the Mountain Route rather than the Cimarron Route. Captain Marley had explained to her that dry conditions meant there would not be enough water for the animals along the Cimarron Route. They could have carried barrels of water with them, but if a snowstorm were to have blown in and kept them from going forward, most of the animals would have died of thirst. Combine that with the increased danger of Indian attack along the Cimarron Route, and it had been easy to understand why the captain had decided to take the longer route, despite the one hundred miles it added to their trip.

  “Is it really so terrible, Captain Marley?” Carolyn asked.

  “Raton Pass has quite a history,” Captain Marley responded. “When Mexico opened its borders to trade with the United States in 1821, the Santa Fe Trail was born. The biggest problem, however, was how to cross the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Early explorers and trappers, as well as the Indians, of course, had discovered the path through the mountains, but taking a covered wagon over it was unthinkable.”

  “Until William Becknell,” Carrie interjected, wondering if Carolyn also saw the twinkle in the captain’s eyes. Janie and Melissa were reading and kni
tting in the back of the wagon.

  “That’s right,” Captain Marley replied, being careful not to meet her eyes. “Becknell was a horse and mule trader who was determined to do business with the Mexicans. He was the first to take a wagon through Raton Pass. He proved it could be done, but there were still many that perished in their attempt. The path is narrow, steep and rocky. Some areas of the pass are so tight that only one wagon can go through at a time. It’s not unusual for wooden axles to shred and snap on the rough terrain. When the Cimarron Route was developed, it was easy to believe it was the preferable route.”

  Carrie had already explained to her team why they were traveling the longer route through Colorado, rather than cutting across the relatively flat grasslands and deserts of Oklahoma. “I understand the Raton Pass was used by General Kearny during the war with Mexico,” she said, “and then by the Union Army after Kearny improved the trail by having workers remove rocks and debris.”

  “That’s true,” Captain Marley said, beaming with admiration before he winked. “Is that in your book?”

  “It’s in my book,” Carrie agreed, but she decided to let him continue to build the drama for Carolyn.

  “The trip over the Raton Pass takes five days,” Captain Marley went on. “Our teams will have to work hard to make it up the two thousand-foot elevation gain.”

  “How many miles is it?” Carolyn asked in a tense voice.

  Carrie hid her smile.

  “Twenty-seven miles to the top of the pass,” Captain Marley replied. “There are times the trail is so narrow that it must be propped up by long poles supported by the mountainside below.”

  Carolyn’s face grew white and her eyes widened. “That must be quite dangerous.”

  “I’m afraid many wagons and animals have been lost.”

  “People as well?” Carolyn breathed.

  Captain Marley’s only response was a tightening of his lips as he nodded his head.