REBIRTH
A Novelette
C.A. Clemmings
Copyright © 2014 by C.A. Clemmings
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part, without written permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
To Merle, with love
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Part One
Nicolette pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt the shade of ash. She took her tool belt outside with a cup of black coffee and began nailing the last few slabs of plywood onto the porch.
Pre-dawn haze hung over the ranch. The land was lifeless and bleak, and the trees along the perimeter were as pale as straw ghosts.
By the time she finished sawing pieces for the front steps, the sun had begun to rise. She felt its warmth across her back where she knelt. Truck wheels made an unhurried approach over the soft grass and Nicolette turned to see Mulder getting out.
“Howdy Nico,” he said. “That gal still out there by herself?”
He was referring to the cow, Gordita, which Nicolette had let out of the barn. Mulder had sold her the cow when she first came back to Virginia for good. He’d been trying to get another sale out of her ever since then.
“Yup,” Nicolette said. “She’s got a lot of grazing to do out here.”
“She always did look like she could use somebody to graze with,” Mulder said.
“I like a bit of grazing myself,” Nicolette said. “I keep her company in the afternoons.”
Mulder laughed and placed a basket of apples on the porch. “The old lady sent these up.”
“It’s a little early.”
“We suspected you’d be up. Not much to do around here, but I figured out you ain’t partial to lying around in bed.” He looked out across the land. His face had the absent countenance of a countryman, but Nicolette had always sensed his intelligence.
“Had to finish the porch,” she said, turning back to her work.
“If you need help you could always let me know, kid.”
She was twenty-five and capable of managing her own affairs. Mulder and his wife Barbara were being over-protective, and Nicolette had not been the object of anyone’s concern in a very long time. She had spent part of her childhood at the ranch, but her family had moved away when her father, Augustus, inherited his family vineyard in New Jersey. The family traveled back and forth between New Jersey and Virginia for years.
“Sure you don’t want to come work for me at the farm?” Mulder prodded.
She had her parents’ life insurance payout and not much else. No college education or any useful skill she could think of. Perhaps she would end up at Mulder’s farm. It seemed inevitable.
“Tell ya what,” Mulder said. “How about a horse? I got new stock in this week. I’ll sell you it for half price.”
Nicolette shook her head and turned toward him. When Mulder wasn’t trying to coddle her he was trying to make money off her. “What could I possibly do with a horse?”
“Race ’em. They opened up the Albemarle track again. Quite a few trainers been coming round my stables. Had to bring in some new hires just to handle all the traffic.”
“I don’t know the first thing about horse racing.”
“Hire a trainer. Learn as you go along. Your brain is still young. Not like this old man peddling everything he can think of for a penny.” She knew Mulder was actually quite well-off. His estate sat on several rolling acres about ten miles from the ranch. “Come on by later today and see what I got. Stretch your legs out for a change.”
Workers buzzed around the farmland at Mulder’s estate. Long rows of crop ran the length of the fields at one end, and at the other the apple orchard flanked its way up rounded hills.
It reminded Nicolette of her childhood at the vineyard, where their family home sat on a hill above the pristine rows of trellises. Her favorite spot had been the gazebo overlooking the fields. She’d had a panoramic view not only of the vineyard, but also of her father’s constant drinking and his implosive nature, her mother’s wandering spirit. Over the years, she had watched visitors come and go down the small winding road east of the property that led to their house. They came for tours and wine tasting hosted in the front room by Nicolette’s mother, Millicent, then back out to the desolate country road.
Millicent began to travel more for business. Everyone at the vineyard knew she was having extra-marital affairs and that Augustus was powerless to stop her. Whenever she left he’d grapple with himself and turn the house into turmoil.
When Millicent returned he was calm again. Her perfume was always strong inside the house. Her jean jacket hung over the back of a chair. Duffin and Perdita would snuggle up to her. “How are my little darlings?” She kissed their cheeks and pulled them into her lap. Augustus would shower and brush his hair. He’d put on a clean shirt and bring Millicent a glass of wine. But just as quickly she was gone again, and Augustus returned to his ritual of drinking. After time, visitors at the vineyard were rare. The winding road became a lonesome dark snake curling through the green hill.
Now a cloak of sadness engulfed Nicolette as she stood in the brisk afternoon sunshine at Mulder’s. She shrugged it off and went to meet him outside the horse stables where a group of young boys swept the yard and pushed out barrows of shavings from the stalls.
“This here’s Nico,” Mulder said to the boys. They had been studying her from the moment she arrived. She was long and lean and her arms hung at her sides. She wore a frayed leather jacket that clung to her flinching muscles and her hair came down in long waves lit by the sun. Nicolette pretended not to notice the curiosity on the boys’ faces. Her entire being was often draped with an imperious rancor that she could not contain. Sometimes just sitting on the porch at the ranch she caught herself with her jaws clenched and her shoulders taut. Jailhouse life had also left her short on words when it came to strangers.
Mulder patted her shoulder and went over to one of the horses in the yard. “How about this gal?” The filly shifted from one leg to another with indifference. Nicolette shrugged.
“Renatus is ready,” a young lady said, and led a big brown horse out by its reins. The woman wore a Mulder’s Farm shirt and hat, and her jeans and galoshes were covered in mud. A flap of dark hair came down at the sides and front of her face.
“Beautiful bay-brown colt,” Mulder said. He rubbed the horse’s back and patted his mouth. “Well looked after by Lydia here.” Lydia avoided looking into Nicolette’s eyes, but Renatus nudged at her.
“He would be my choice,” Mulder said, with an expectant grin. Nicolette guessed Renatus was more expensive, but he was her choice too. “And he comes with her.”
“With who?”
“Lydia. The horse comes with her,” he said, as if there was nothing odd about this offer.
“I can only afford one,” Nicolette said, matching his demeanor. “So I’ll take whichever is cheaper.”
The young woman glared at her. There was a defiant edge to her petite frame, and her brown eyes conveyed relentless intensity. Mulder pulled Nicolette to the side quickly.
“You need help and she knows about horses…”
“I never wanted the darn horse in the first place,” Nicolette said.
“So why buy it?” Mulder asked, with fake incredulity.
“Forget this.” Nicolette tried to leave but he held onto her arm.
“The truth is, she mig
ht cause a messy situation here,” he whispered. “And I can’t let that happen.”
“You hired her, right?” Nicolette asked.
“I just think… it can’t be bad for her to get away for a couple hours each day.”
Nicolette tried to pull away again. “She’ll still work for me, but you need someone to exercise the horse and feed him, don’t you?”
“There is a catch, huh? She’s too much to handle?”
“Nah. I wouldn’t put it like that,” Mulder said. He was nervous and apologetic.
“Then what is she?”
“When she’s around here the boys get all giddy and foolish. Like they never seen a woman before, much less a pretty one.” He sighed. “I’m too busy to keep an eye on her all day.”
“Where is she from?”
“Lydia grew up round these parts. Had a good spell at Frisch Training Center under some top-notch trainers. She worked as a stable hand and galloped for them.”
“She’s a jockey?”
“A damn talented one.”
“Why isn’t she still at Frisch then?”
“Fell out of favor, I guess.” He shrugged. “It’s a competitive business, Nico. She got a couple mounts and suddenly had some jealousy problems from the other jockeys. And Lydia don’t back down easy.”
“Just what I need.” Nicolette sighed.
Mulder and the boys brought Renatus in a trailer and loaded him into the barn. Gordita was unperturbed, but Nicolette felt ridiculous. She was alone on a ranch with a cow and a horse for company. She avoided Renatus that first evening. Horses were unpredictable and strong. She imagined being kicked in the stomach, the blow coming hard and swift as if from an iron fist.
The next morning she got up early and let Gordita out to graze, then she finished her coffee by the edge of the porch. She gazed at a small weeping tree some distance beyond her fence. The hanging branches appeared bright and delicate like mint leaves, as they dangled against the decayed wood of a nearby shed. She felt a sudden panic inside, a clanging against her chest.
Buying the horse was a mistake.
She went to the barn and threw handfuls of hay on the floor of his stall.
“First of all, he needs high quality grain and hay. And you’ve got to leave it in front of him so he eats when he feels like it.”
It was Lydia. She looked different, older, out of her Mulder’s Farm adornment.
“Hello,” Nicolette said. She was startled.
“At least eight quarts per day. Sometimes even ten.”
“Right.”
“He’s in good condition, but you will need a vet.”
“Okay.”
“And… well.”
“Well?”
“That paddock out back needs some work.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Nicolette’s brows furrowed.
“When he busts through the fence you’ll find out.” Lydia smirked. “It’s small, but I suppose it’ll work since you’ve only got the one horse.”
The woman was in her early twenties, but she spoke as if she knew everything about everything, most of all horses. She pushed her hair from her face and sauntered up to Nicolette. “This stall is adequate,” Lydia said. “He’ll spend most of his time here. We don’t want him to overexert himself outside of his exercises.”
She was standing close, and realizing this, took an abrupt step back. “I’ll feed him the grains the old man left and get him ready for a walk,” she said. “You need to go to the store.”
“Do I now?” Nicolette put her hands to her hips and squared her shoulders. She was a good five inches taller than Lydia, and she peered down at her. “And what is it I’m buying?”
“I’ll write you a list,” Lydia said quickly, and started to walk away. When she reached the barn door she looked back over her shoulders. “And we really do need the paddock fixed.”
That smirk had Nicolette’s blood sizzling. She decided not to argue since mere seconds ago she was at a loss about what to do with the horse.
Nicolette drove into town and stocked up as instructed with lead ropes, halters, lunge lines, sheets and blankets, boots, and an assortment of equipment that took almost two hours in the store to select, after numerous phone calls to Lydia for confirmation. She cursed under her breath as she loaded the supplies into the back of her Chevy and got in. She should have told the know-it-all to come get the supplies herself.
A pickup entered the parking lot and blocked her path as she was about to pull out of the spot. The driver lowered his passenger window and looked over, as if to make sure it was really her. Nicolette recognized him immediately. When he got out and trudged toward her truck, Nicolette considered getting out too, but she unbuckled her seatbelt and waited.
He came to the window and glared at her. “Well, if it ain’t Miss Fuck-up Jailbird. How was the slammer?” His face was pudgy and dark from the stubble across his jaw line. Adley was his name. She remembered the hatred in his eyes. It was the same menacing look he’d had in the courtroom at her hearing.
Her teenage years were chaotic. She had to make money for her family’s survival after the vineyard dried up. Her father had fallen into a helpless stupor and her sisters were depending on her. She’d driven down to Virginia with some friends to meet their supplier and stock up on weed to sell. It turned into a week of hanging out and smoking, then another week of looking for fun because they were restless. Adley’s house had been in their path one night. They’d smashed a window in his house and broken in.
“Why you hanging round town, bitch?”
She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. She’d done her time. For the breaking and entering, and for every other screw up in her short life.
Nicolette had been quick to throw her fists ever since she was a child. That always seemed to put a decisive end to disagreements. But lately she had made a conscious effort to stifle her reckless ways.
As Adley leaned in at her truck window she felt the tension in her body wind tight like a pulley rope. A harsh chill washed over her. She cleared her throat. It was dry from adrenaline and an anxious desire to decimate him.
“You’re blocking me,” she said, and it took every scrap of control she possessed to keep her voice steady.
“What’d you take from that store?” He moved towards the back of her truck. “I know that shit ain’t yours.”
She was about to get out and meet him head on when a voice came over a loud speaker. Please move your vehicle. Someone must have called the cops. A patrol car had pulled up behind Adley’s truck. The officer got out and came toward them.
“Is there a problem here?”
“I need to pull out,” Nicolette said.
“Move your car, sir.”
Adley spun around and looked at the cop, then back at Nicolette. He was about to say something, but thought better of it and stormed off.
The officer came up to her window. “License and registration, please.”
She handed them over without protest. She’d dealt with plenty of cops in the past. The fire that once drove her to provoke them had been effectively snuffed out. Or maybe she was beyond her idiotic stage.
“Nicolette Shue.” He gave her a knowing look, as if he’d read her name before. After briefly scrutinizing her documents, he handed them back to her. “Weren’t causing any trouble were ya?”
“Nope,” she said. “Just picking up supplies for my horse.”
“Oh? What you gonna do with a horse?”
She shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
He laughed and tipped his hat.
“So long as you and that horse toe the line.”
The end of March brought warm days in between the last of winter chill. Rain fell in fat, slanting drops that breathed life into the land. Lydia came by at four thirty every morning and tended to Renatus for two hours. She stopped by most afternoons to see the horse again. Nicolette began to make biscuits, the one cooking skill she actually learned from her mother. But
not even Millicent’s biscuits were able to tempt Lydia, for she hardly ate. It was all part of the life of a jockey, she explained. She was used to one substantial meal each day – a sandwich of grilled chicken or salmon or some fish fillet. Nicolette had spotted her munching on an apple once.
Lydia was strict and efficient when she exercised Renatus in the repaired paddock, as if all her activities with the horse were for a greater purpose. It gave Nicolette a heightened sense of anticipation, one she’d never felt before. She channeled that strange energy into painting the barn. It took several days to wash the grime off and prep the surface. A natural lacquer finish was ideal for the major portions, but for the door, windows and trims she drew inspiration from the color of the weeping tree. It had been a struggle to find the exact shade of green, but it was close enough. She began to paint in sections, a little each day, and was consumed with that for some time.
As she painted one afternoon, Lydia and Renatus were out in the open field. They had an effortless chemistry even though the animal seemed so large and intimidating, and Nicolette watched them canter back and forth from the weeping tree. They galloped faster. Lydia’s slender frame and command of the horse reminded Nicolette of jockeys she’d seen on TV. Renatus’ true beauty was on display as he ran full out. They rode across the endless flat of grass, the hooves and fluid motion of the horse and rider almost a blur.
“Aren’t you afraid?” Nicolette asked, as they trotted up to where she knelt. “You were going so fast.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Lydia said, ignoring the question.
“Yes.”
“That guy, my friend from Frisch who came by and looked at Renatus…”
“The trainer?” Lydia had brought him over a few days ago to make an “assessment” of the horse.
“Hm-mm.” She nodded. “He wants to nominate Renatus for the Albemarle Open Stakes.”
“I’m not gonna race him,” Nicolette said.
“You do realize he is a thoroughbred?”
“Oh, is he?” Nicolette feigned innocence.
“I told you that, Nicolette. He was born for this.”
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