If Wishes Were Horses

by Matlock, Curtiss Ann

  “I was just checkin’ to see how he was,” she said, hardly even aware of her words.

  “He’s fine. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Etta.” He stepped toward her. His blue shirt was wrinkled, there was a piece of straw on his shoulder, his eyes were dark and shimmering. Filled with desire.

  “I know you wouldn’t,” she said, her voice coming hoarsely.

  Johnny stopped directly in front of her. Close enough for his scent to fill her nostrils and her to see his chest move with his breathing.

  “Well, I’d better go on back in . . . since he’s okay.” Etta moved to slip past him and run for it. But then his hand was on her arm.

  She stared at his hand, rough and dark against the pale sleeve of her cotton gown.

  Then, slowly, she looked up at him.

  With sweet abandonment, Etta turned into his arms and into his warmth and into his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his lips and his ardor, tasting him and feeling his pounding heart beat in rhythm with her own. They kissed long and hard and demanding, and then Johnny was looking at her, his eyes all blue silver. She wished he would look at her forever.

  The next instant, he pulled back and set her from him as firmly as setting aside evil intentions.

  A small “oh,” escaped Etta. She put out a hand to steady herself.

  Johnny’s face was turned from her, and she tried to think of something to say. All she kept thinking was Good Lord a’mercy.

  Then she fled, not running, but walking quite quickly, all the while listening for Johnny to call her back. But he didn’t.

  Johnny stood and watched Etta disappear out the barn door, while the warmth of her remained on his hands and his lips and echoed in his blood. Of a sudden, he pivoted, striding along the barn alley, unaware of where he headed, only thinking that he had to get out of there. Things had gotten out of hand, and he needed to throw his gear in the truck and hit the road.

  He stopped, breathed deeply, and turned to look at the red horse in the stall. He went to the barn door and looked at the house and thought of the women inside. The horse . . . the women . . . It was a new experience for him. No one had ever needed him before.

  He wondered just what he should do. He felt something was required on his part, some apology. He knew in that instant that he could not leave Etta Rivers.

  * * * *

  Etta went in the kitchen door, closed it and leaned against it, only just that minute realizing the kitchen light was on, and Latrice, who had been sitting at the table with her Bible open, while the radio played out The Morning Hour of Prayer, raised her head and stared at her.

  Etta shoved from the door and went across to the back stairs and up to her room. Latrice came right behind her, saying, “You might as well tell me what has happened.”

  Etta shut the guest-room door against her and flung herself upon the bed and covered her cold feet and her head, while further thoughts filled her mind: He is a wonderful kisser . . . his lips so sweet and moist . . . Did he feel my baby against him?

  Latrice knocked at the door and called to be let in.

  Etta. buried her face in the pillow until she could not breathe. The baby stirred within her belly. Etta thought of how she had wanted desperately to do all manner of things with Johnny Bellah. And still did. She thought of how she was pregnant, near destitution, and enamored with an itinerant cowboy.

  Well, she was a widow. She couldn’t help it that the man who had fathered her child had gone and died. She had not killed him, after all.

  Latrice said through the door, “I will be waiting in the kitchen,” and Etta heard her firm footsteps disappearing down the hall.

  After nearly thirty minutes of considering her situation, of alternately burying her face in the pillow and dreamily caressing her belly, thinking of all of it and becoming thoroughly worn out with the thoughts, too, Etta got dressed and went downstairs to face Latrice and possibly Johnny, if he came to breakfast.

  The thought of now having to face Johnny got her very nervous. She thought perhaps he would be equally nervous and not come to breakfast.

  She had decided to tell Latrice that she had gone to check on Little Gus and had been overcome by the beauty of the dawn and sadness over Roy. Her mind took instantly to this idea, and she thought she might say she was so overcome that she needed to have her breakfast alone up in her room.

  When faced with Latrice’s concern, however, Etta blurted out, “I kissed Johnny.” She was very curious as to what Latrice’s reaction would be, since she could not seem to fathom her own reaction.

  Latrice said, “Out in the barn?”

  Etta nodded. “It was an accident,” she said quickly. “I went out to check on Little Gus—I thought he might be dead—and Johnny was there, and . . . it just happened.”

  Latrice frowned. “Why did you think the horse was dead?”

  “I don’t know! I just did.” Etta picked up a dishtowel and ran it through her hands.

  “Was it only kissin’?”

  “Well, of course it was. Good grief. What do you think—in my condition?”

  “No tellin’,” Latrice said dryly and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

  More than any silly kiss, Latrice found it disconcerting that Etta had escaped the house without Latrice knowing. Latrice had always tried to keep a good watch on what went on about her. That Etta had slipped out and about without her knowledge made her feel she had failed in her vigilance, and that they were prey to all sorts of evil that might lurk about.

  She said, “You might have stepped on a snake goin’ out there. We wouldn’t have to think so much about snakes if we lived in town, but we do out here.”

  “I was not thinkin’ about snakes,” Etta said, a bit amazed that Latrice was.

  She sat and put her head in her hands. "Oh, God, I must be crazy like Mama. Here I am kissin’ a man, and my husband’s grave doesn’t even have grass fully grown over it, and I have his child growin’ inside me.”

  “Your mother didn’t go around kissin’ men—she thought she was Carole Lombard,” Latrice said. “And as for your husband, well, he is dead. Two days or two months or two years aren’t gonna make him any more dead than the day you buried him, so I don’t think that has any bearing at all.”

  Etta was gratified at Latrice’s words, but her mind was already skimming ahead, imagining having to face Johnny. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I made such a fool of myself.”

  “Oh, honey, it isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

  “Well, thank you for that. That is extremely helpful,” she said sharply.

  Wrapping her arms tight around herself, she went to the window and looked over to the barn, checking for Johnny’s pickup truck, before she even realized she was doing so. The possibility that he would leave brought a pain across her chest, and she was further distressed to find herself gazing out the window for him at all.

  “He’ll probably leave now,” she said, deep melancholy coming over her.

  “He might.” Latrice conceded. “Men do tend to run off from anything sticky. But he’s hung around this long, though, and as long as we keep feedin’ him, he’s likely to stay.”

  “You talk like he’s a dog. I do imagine he could get fed most anywhere. Lots of women out there are willin’ to do that, and more.”

  “True, but he loves my biscuits.”

  “Roy did, too. That’s probably why he didn’t run off with Corinne. She doesn’t look like the type who can cook biscuits. He went over there and got what else he wanted from her and then would come home here for your biscuits.”

  Etta wondered how she would possibly face Johnny. The way he had set her away from him played back through her thoughts.

  Then she thought of Roy.

  “I was crazy for one needy man,” she said, her voice coming husky through her tight throat. “I won’t make that same mistake again. I have a child to think of now.”

  “Havin’ a child
most generally gives a woman wisdom, if they allow it,” Latrice said. As she put the iron skillet on the burner, she added, “Johnny Bellah isn’t like Roy Rivers, though. There’s more to him.”

  “His boot size is larger,” Etta conceded after a moment. She wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life falling for the wrong men.

  Latrice put her arm about Etta’s shoulders, and Etta stood there, relishing the rare touch from this woman who was like a part of her. A sister and a mother and a teacher all in one.

  Then, quite abruptly, Latrice broke away, saying, “I’d better get breakfast. It will be interesting to see if that boy smells food and comes up. See what he does.”

  Etta said, “It is so gratifying that my life provides you with entertainment. God knows, I live for it.”

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Johnny telephoned, using the extension in the barn, and Latrice answered. Etta heard Latrice say, “Yes . . . Fine . . . I’ll tell her,” then she hung up and said directly, “That was Johnny Bellah callin’ from the barn.”

  Etta had forgotten all about the extension in the barn; Johnny had not used it once in all these weeks.

  Latrice said, “He will not be comin’ up for breakfast. He also said to tell you that he had invited some men to bring their horses and have a bit of rodeo practice today. He hoped that was okay.”

  This annoyed Etta no end. While she had dreaded facing Johnny, deep in her heart she had looked forward to it.

  She had expected something of him—an approach of some sort. She did not like that he took the easy way out by avoiding her, and she did not at all appreciate that he was right back at the horses, going on as usual, as if their kiss—quite a passionate kiss, she had thought—had been nothing at all.

  Obie did not come for breakfast that morning, either, and it was a lonesome meal with just herself and Latrice. They filled the time by discussing names for the baby, but neither appeared in a truly talkative mood.

  When Johnny’s acquaintances started arriving, Etta was highly curious. She couldn’t go out with them and watch everything, of course; not only was she shy about facing Johnny, but she felt too pregnant to go out around a bunch of men.

  “Pregnant or not, it’s too raucous a gatherin’ for a woman,” Latrice said. “They wouldn’t want you, either. You’d spoil their fun.”

  Etta went from window to window, trying to see who came and what all was going on.

  Obie came. He was easy to spot as he was so tall and lean and wearing his blue cap. She recognized one of his many nephews, too, Woody, the one who rode the rodeo circuit. He was a bull rider and bulldogger. Unlike Obie, he was short and very thick in the shoulders. He went by the name of Choctaw Woody Lee. His grandmother had been Choctaw, and he avoided trouble in some rodeos by maintaining the family Indian lineage, although this could cause trouble at times, too.

  She thought she recognized Jed Stuart, one of the men for whom Johnny was training horses, and she saw Walter Fudge’s youngest son, Bitta. His real name was Nesbitt, but he’d acquired the name Bitta Fudge early on; Etta thought Caroline and Walter should have thought of this before they gave him the name.

  Harry Flagg came, minus his old army coat now that the weather was warmer, and brought two men and five horses in his trailer. Harry always seemed to have a group with him. None of the horses he brought were ones he had taken from her.

  Etta watched the men bucking out some green horses someone had brought, saw the bottle of home brew passed. Then the men moved back to the pasture track. Etta got impatient, as it was nearly impossible to see the goings-on from the kitchen or the dining room. She moved up to the east guest-room window, and Latrice joined her. They opened the window wide and removed the screen for a better view. Latrice went away and returned with Roy’s binoculars, which they passed back and forth.

  “They aren’t much help,” Etta said, waving away the binoculars impatiently.

  The men ran horses up and down the pasture track. At first it appeared there were trial runs, and then Johnny ran his big golden dun against a brown horse. Etta recognized Johnny mostly by the way he sat in the saddle. He won with his golden dun. They could not see the finish line from where they were, but they could tell Johnny won by the way he came riding back, sitting high and pleased.

  Handsome, Etta thought, watching him with an ache in her chest.

  On the fourth or fifth run she saw Johnny riding forward on Little Gus. There was no mistaking Little Gus; even though he was a beautiful color, red as wet clay and his tail and mane soft in the breeze, he walked forward all loose and gangly. He looked decidedly awkward and small next to Woody on a stout bay.

  Etta didn’t realize how tense she had gotten, until the starter’s flag came down, and she got carried away and yelled, “Go, Gus!”

  Latrice took hold of her. “You are gonna fall out this window!”

  It was most frustrating not to be able to see the finish. She strained and strained to see, until Johnny came riding back into view. He was sitting slouched.

  “He lost,” she said.

  “Looks like it,” Latrice agreed.

  After a time, the men moved to the big corral, where they held runs at calf roping, and then bulldogging and indulged in a lot of laughing and horseplay. Latrice got bored and went back downstairs. Etta sat in a chair and watched the men and stared out across the land and listened to birds.

  Sunset came, and the men gathered themselves, their horses and whiskey, and began to leave. Etta saw Johnny walk his grey gelding over to Harry Flagg’s trailer and lead him inside.

  Watching Harry’s trailer rattle away, Etta wondered if Johnny would come up to the house for supper.

  While she waited for him, she went downstairs and took up peeling potatoes for Latrice. She never had been very good at peeling potatoes. Latrice always complained that she took off too thick a peel, and that was the case now, as she kept looking out the window and the door, trying to see Johnny, trying to prepare herself for him, and thinking over and over of how to act completely natural, as if the kiss had never happened.

  “Lord a’mercy, what is wrong with you?” Latrice jerked the knife out of Etta’s hand. “Look here—you’ve thrown a whole potato away and saved the peeling.”

  Etta dried her hands and went out the screen door. She stood on the porch, gazing across to the barn lit by the golden glow of the setting sun.

  Johnny appeared, coming out of the black opening. Etta’s heart pattered in her chest. He saw her and stopped. Filled with yearning, she reached out and took hold of the porch post, while inside she was thinking: Here I am . . . Will you . . . Let’s . . .

  The next instant Johnny turned sharply for his pickup truck. He strode over, yanked open the door, got in and drove away.

  Etta stood there, watching his truck disappear around the corner of the house, and then she listened to the sound of it until it was gone.

  * * * *

  Obie came up for supper. He didn’t bother asking if he was invited; he just came in and sat down, saying in a breezy manner, “How are you lovely ladies this evenin’?”

  Latrice was a little taken aback. “You appear somewhat full of yourself, Obie Lee.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m lookin’ forward to enjoyin’ your meal and the company of two fine ladies. I don’t think a man could ask more in this world.”

  Latrice raised an eyebrow at his flowery talk, but when he grinned at her, she had to grin in return. She found him quite handsome in such a rare flamboyant mood. She especially liked his even white teeth, rare for a man of his age. She had always found his teeth his redeeming grace, when he fell into acting slow and countrified.

  “This is the last of our ham, so you had better take that big slice on top,” she said, holding the serving platter toward him. She noted Etta’s surprised glance and pointedly ignored it.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Latrice. It looks invitin’.”

  At his eager, happy look, Latrice straighte
ned herself up. She did not want to overly encourage him. Still, she thought, as she passed him the cornbread, she was glad he had come for supper.

  Latrice, having to observe the passion vibrating between Etta and Johnny these days, had been surprised lately to find that she was lonely. There were things in her life that Etta, fifteen years younger in the bloom of youth and white as cotton, could not understand about a middle-aged Negro woman. Ironically, Roy Rivers, being nearer Latrice’s age, had often been good company for her. She had known him for exactly what he was, and she believed this had given him a certain freedom to be himself around her. He used to come into the kitchen late at night, after Etta was asleep, and sit at the table with a glass of warm milk, which he got himself, and talk about jazz and blues and the dusty days. These times he would also flirt with her. Latrice had taken this for what it was: for him an unconscious, innocent act, as natural as breathing, and for her a reminder that she was indeed a woman.

  Latrice did not want to let on, but Roy Rivers dying so suddenly had shaken her. She kept thinking about how she was forty-one now, and her baby Etta was having a baby of her own.

  Things would change with the baby. Etta would have another person upon whom to bestow her heart. Latrice supposed that she would, too, but even as she watched Etta laugh with Obie, Latrice knew their lives were going to change in many ways she would find hard. Etta would get her own child and would finally outgrow being Latrice’s child. And Etta’s child would pull them all further into the white world, with school and teachers and friends. This prospect was daunting, as was their entire uncertain future.

  Latrice found more and more these long days that Obie’s presence had a stirring effect upon her. He had begun to show a little more determination. She wondered exactly how far he would go in pursuit of her.

  “Let me get you some fresh ice tea, Obie,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder as she poured his tea, feeling the muscles hard beneath her hand.