Surrender A Dream

by Jill Barnett

  "You're going to hold me to that silly bargain?" Montana gave her bicycle a look of dread.

  "Uh-huh." Addie maneuvered it through the crackling hay that covered the dirt floor to where her husband stood, a twenty-eight-year-old man who looked at the cycle as a young boy looks at a spoonful of cod liver oil. Which reminded her… She unchained her lollipop-shaped oil can from the handlebars, then bent down and squeezed a few drops of cycle oil on the chain mechanism. She purposely ignored Montana's groaning because she was not going to let him get out of this. Biting back a smile, she stood. "There. Now you're all set. Where shall we begin the lesson?"

  He grimaced at the cycle.

  "Let's go outside." She rolled the cycle out the barn doors and waited. He didn't follow her, so she backed up and stretched her neck around the door. He still stood there frowning.

  "Come on!" She stood there until he reluctantly followed her around to the back of the barn. Once behind the barn, she leaned the bike against the barn wall and checked out the ground, which was dusty but hard-packed, and much easier for him to maneuver the pneumatic tires.

  "Now…'' Addie took her instruction stance, lecturing finger raised shoulder high, her other hand propped on her small waist, her face serious. A little devil within her couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "Bicycles are very economical. You don't have to feed, water, or clean up after them. And they don't bite or eat apple pies."

  "You're never going to forget about that, are you?" He sighed, a long-suffering male sigh.

  "And the bread and the cake and the potato salad," she listed, then added, "besides, that horse hates me."

  "No, he doesn't. He just needs to get to know you."

  "He always lifts his lips and bares his teeth at me, like he's ready to bite."

  "He's smiling at you, Addie."

  "I know. He smiles just before he bites. Now let's get back to the cycle lesson. This vehicle is much easier than riding an old horse because you don't have to catch it first."

  He shook his head at her.

  "Well, you don't." She placed her hand on the seat. "This is the bicycle saddle. Unhke a horse saddle, it's light, there are no straps, and it's attached to the cycle until a new one is needed."

  "How often is that?" he asked.

  "That depends on how much it's used and whether it's ridden on rough roads. Out here, I'll have to replace it every year or so. Although this saddle is a custom-fitted, plaster-cast seat, and I'm not sure where I can get another," she said as she suddenly wondered where she'd get the bicycle supplies that she couldn't order from the Montgomery Ward Catalog.

  "Plaster cast? What did you do, sit in a plaster mold?" He laughed, thinking he was being really funny.

  Addie looked up. "As a matter of fact, I did."

  He eyed her fanny and then he howled. "You could always sit in your biscuit dough."

  "Are you going to be serious?"

  "Give me a minute. The image of your butt in a bowl of plaster is a little hard to ignore."

  She waited while he laughed. "Montana, you can try to be as obnoxious as possible but I'm not going to let you get out of this. You promised."

  "I had a weak moment," he said, then added, "I was under duress."

  "No," Addie said, "you just wanted something."

  "That too," he admitted with a leer. "Wanna do it again?"

  "Not now. I want to see you ride this bicycle," she said stubbornly.

  "Okay." He grabbed the handlebars, straddled the seat and pushed off, his boots on the pedals and his long legs bent outward to avoid banging his knees on the handlebars. The bicycle was too small and he looked like a crab, a wobbly crab. But a few minutes later he'd mastered the cycle, despite its size, and he was riding it around the barn.

  He rang the bell as he went past her. "Hey, this is fun."

  "I told you so!" she shouted after him, watching her husband catch on to the fun of cycling. He had a great sense of control and balance. Probably from riding that ornery horse, she thought, remembering how he had looked on Rebecca's horse. He had ridden as naturally as if he'd been born on a horse. Addie watched him and soon he had the cycle swirling up dust around the barnyard. He whizzed around the back of the barn and tipped his hat at her, looking cocky and certain and male. He made another pass close by her, and suddenly he leaned out, wrapped his arm around her waist, and in one swift, sure motion lifted her onto the handlebars.

  Squealing like a pig caught in a gate, she grabbed onto his shoulders. Once they had made two turns around the barn, she was feeling secure and laughing at the devilment on her husband's face.

  "Now I've got you where I want you." He gripped the handlebars, bracketing her between his arms.

  "You're crazy," she yelled on a laugh.

  Montana's face leaned over hers and he kissed her.

  So around the barn they rode, sparking on a bicycle. It was silly, it was fun, and it was the way their marriage had been ever since he'd opened up to her—more comfortable than an old shoe, more full than a lifetime of I love you's, more wonderful than a year of dreams.

  The wind howled into the dark western sky. A storm thundered in from the Pacific, and before long there'd be rain with the wind. Eucalyptus leaves and bark skipped across the back of the farmhouse, and the chicken gate rattled like a thin bell. The giant oak groaned at a strong gust, and the music of the wind was the only other natural sound, because the birds had fled the upcoming storm.

  But inside the farmhouse it was warm, and laughter floated on the music in the parlor. The tinny tune stopped, and Montana walked over to the roller organ where he switched the music roller and cranked the handle. The bellows filled and the gears that drove the music reeds wound tight. Soon the reeds pinged slowly in three-quarter time. A waltz rang out from the organ box, and Addie and Montana danced around the room to the melody of "After the Ball."

  As he spun Addie past the front window, a loud thumping sounded on the porch, followed by a whinny.

  "What the hell?" He stopped and bent to look out the window. Jericho was on the porch.

  "What is it?" Addie placed her hand on his shoulder as he squinted through the glass.

  "Jericho's out." He straightened, grabbing his hat and coat off the hall tree and shrugging into them. "Custus must have forgotten to close the barn door when he left. I'll be back in a few minutes." He gave her a quick kiss and went out the front door.

  His horse stood in the shelter of the porch and nickered when he saw Montana. "Hello, boy." He stroked the horse's muzzle. "Kind of cold and windy out here, isn't it?"

  He led the horse down the porch steps and across the drive. A distant banging rattled from the barn. He couldn't see the barn doors, but it sounded like them, open and banging against the barn wall. They rounded the corner and the doors battered again.

  "Come on, boy. It's not much farther."

  A few minutes later they were inside the dark barn. He slapped the horse on the backside to send him to his stall and then he turned and closed the banging doors.

  Jericho snorted again and Montana turned, surprised to see that his horse wasn't in the stall. He always went straight there with just a slap on the backside. It was routine with them. He let his eyes adjust for a minute, then looked over to the worktable where they kept the kerosene lanterns. There was only one and they had three. He figured Custus must have left them somewhere, or maybe Addie had. Everytime she came near his stuff he couldn't find anything. Hell, the woman had labeled everything but the animals, and those she'd named.

  He struck a match on the worktable and held it up to the lantern. The wick wouldn't light. He shook the lantern. It was empty. He swore and looked around for the kerosene can. It was gone too.

  Mumbling, he looked around for the can and spotted it near the ladder to the hay loft. He walked over to it, calling Custus every name in the book. When Custus got back from picking up the feed in Stockton, Montana thought, he was going to have a talk with him about his carelessness. He bent and picked up the
can. It was empty too.

  His guard came up and he slowly perused the room. There was a wet pool in the hay a few feet away. Montana squatted down. It smelled of kerosene. Two drops hit his shoulders and he looked up to the hay loft. Two more drops fell from above. Very slowly he straightened. Silently, he climbed the ladder.

  Addie checked the time. Montana had been gone for forty-five minutes, and that was awfully long, even to curry the horse and check on the other animals. Of course, once he'd gotten into the barn, he'd probably managed to get sidetracked. More than likely he was messing up the work-table again. She had tried to get him organized, but he just didn't understand her numbering system and he refused to use the card catalog.

  Another eternal fifteen minutes and she had had it. As she opened the back door, the wind snatched it from her hand. She paused on the back porch to shrug into her coat. The barn doors were closed. He was probably inside, fiddling around. She made her way across the farmyard, the leaves and twigs dancing at her feet in a whirling circle. She bent her head to block the dust from her eyes and she pulled on the barn doors. They were latched from the inside.

  "Dadgummit!" She banged on the doors. "Montana! Let me in!"

  Nothing happened. She went to the narrow side window and tried to see inside the barn. It was dark, and that bothered her. Montana should have lit the lantern, and he would have, especially if he had gotten sidetracked. In back the barn doors only had an outside latchbar, so she hurried around to the other side. She turned the corner and tripped, slamming to her knees on the hard, cold ground. She pushed up and looked over her shoulder.

  Then she screamed.

  A man lay on his back, his head bent at an unnatural angle. She crawled closer, her breath held in fear. She looked at him and closed her eyes, a sigh of unrepentant relief escaping her lips. It was the railroad agent who'd had Montana arrested. From the cold stare of his eyes, she knew he was dead.

  "Montana!" she screamed, looking frantically around the area. The loft doors crashed against the barn and she glanced up. The dark hole of the loft stared back, its doors swinging and clapping in the wind.

  "Montana!"

  Nothing answered back but the howl of the wind.

  She searched and searched, then saw him, lying next to a stack of baling wire. She ran and stopped above him, afraid to look and afraid not to.

  He lay sprawled faceup, his hip turned oddly. Still panting with fear, she stared at his still face, tears rolling down hers.

  "Oh God, don't let him be dead." Her prayer disappeared in the wind.

  She knelt near his head. His eyes were closed. "Montana." Her hand stroked his cold cheek. His eyes opened and his lips moved, but any sound that came out was wind-stolen like her prayer.

  "Oh God, Montana, please…'' She held his head and cried.

  His lips moved against her cheek. He was trying to speak.

  "G-G-Get h-help…'' he rasped, then winced in pain.

  "Let me get you inside, love, please." And she started to try to get her arm under him.

  He groaned, "N-Nooo," still gasping for breath. "D-Don't move me…''

  "Okay. All right." She nodded, so panicked, so scared. His eyes were closed. Dear Lord, she had to get help. She shot upright and shrugged out of her coat, tucking it around him.

  "It'll be okay, my love. I'll get help, I promise…'' She stood and started to run, but stopped and turned back. "Montana, don't you dare die!"

  She ran into the barn, heading straight for her bicycle, but then she stopped. The cycle was too slow on the dirt roads, and the wind would hold the speed back.

  Jericho whinnied and she turned, knowing she had no choice before she ever focused on the horrid animal. The horse was faster.

  She plucked the halter off the wall and approached the horse. Its eyes followed her as usual, as if it were looking for a nice meaty piece of white flesh. Okay, she thought, now just be calm. She tried to remember what Montana had taught her. Talk sweet, he'd said.

  "Nice horsey…'' She moved closer. It ran to the other side of the barn.

  "Dadgummit!" Maybe if I move slower, she thought, easing toward it. When she was a few feet away, she held out the halter. "See, Jericho, all I want to do is slip this on your nose. Okay?"

  It snorted and pawed the dirt floor.

  "Sweet Jericho, nice horse, just let me…'' She almost had the rope on his nose, and he threw his head back and off he took.

  They faced off, a good twenty feet between them.

  "Look you! Stop this! Montana needs us and I don't have time for your obnoxious games!" She was going to cry, and she wasn't sure if it was because she was more scared, angry, or frustrated. She swiped at her eyes and glared at the horse. "You will not stop me," she said, determined to catch the horse. And once determined, she didn't back down, so she walked closer, reciting over and over that it couldn't stop her because she was more stubborn than it could ever be.

  The horse bared his teeth.

  "I swear if you bite me, you dadgum beast, I'll bite you back!" It snorted, but didn't nip at her. She cursed and prayed at the same time, and just as she had the halter over the horse's nose, it threw its head high out of reach and shifted backward. Then it looked right at her and smacked those big, freckled lips like it had every time it ate her food.

  Food… the cake! Addie turned and ran to the front doors and unbolted them, running full bore across the windblown farmyard. She slammed into the kitchen, grabbed the apple cake from supper, and was back in the barn in little more than a minute.

  Panting, she walked over to the horse, stopping about three feet away. She set the cake down.

  "There." And she moved back, grabbed the halter and waited. So did the horse.

  "Come on… eat that cake…'' Jericho didn't budge, just stood there flicking its tail.

  "Oh God." Her hand covered her mouth. What was she going to do? She looked over her shoulder to where she had left Montana. Her heart tightened so that she thought she might just fall apart, right there, but she couldn't, he needed her. She looked at the horse, remembering the animal was so contrary. So she slowly moved toward the plate, appearing as if she were going for the cake.

  It worked! The horse moved faster, beating her to the plate and planting his muzzle in the cake. She dropped the halter and lugged the heavy saddle over to the horse. With a wide stumbling heave, it landed on Jericho's back. Gasping, but not hesitating, she buckled the strap things, making sure she did them right—that part of her lesson she hadn't forgotten. By the time she finished, the horse was swabbing the plate with his big tongue. She picked up the halter and tried again. The horrid animal curled its lips and nipped at her.

  "Damn you!" She slapped Jericho so hard her hand stung.

  He threw back his head, shook it and, mane flying, he loped past her, out the open back doors, disappearing into the darkness.

  "Oh nooo!" she cried, running outside, but the animal was nowhere to be seen.

  Through a sea of tears she turned toward Montana, looking at his still figure. Defeated, she went to him, just needing to touch him. She knelt beside him, brushing the hair off his face. "Don't die," she whispered, "please, please…'' His eyes opened; hers teared more. His eyes glazed with pain, then slid closed, and she hung her head in her hands and sobbed, "Don't die, don't die," for what seemed like forever.

  Something soft nudged her back and she looked up. Jericho stood over her, nuzzling her. She held up her hand to fend off the bite she expected but was too upset to care about. Jericho licked her hand, as he'd always done to Montana. The horse stared at her. Her sobbing quieted and she stood, holding her hand out again. The horse licked it again, then nuzzled her hand like a lonely old hound dog. She stood and ran for the halter. The horse actually followed her, then stood perfectly still while she slid it into place.

  "Oh, thank you," she prayed, hugging the horse at the same time. She grasped the handle thing and mounted, perfectly, except the foot holder things hung down too far for her fee
t to reach. They were adjusted to Montana's long legs. She didn't dare waste any more time, so she grabbed the halter rope and the saddle handle in both hands, and saying one last prayer, kicked the horse into a gallop. They sped past the doors and into the night with Addie bouncing and holding on for dear life as she yelled, "Don't die, don't you dare die!"

  Chapter 25

  His hip is broken." The doctor snapped closed his leather bag and cleaned his spectacles on the hem of his coat.

  "He'll be okay?" Addie prompted, twisting a hunk of her skirt fabric into a knot. She looked at the older man's serious face and waited for him to tell her that Montana would be all right.

  "I'm not going to lie to you…''

  At those words, her insides crumbled like old brick.

  "…There's spinal damage of some sort. He fell almost thirty feet. He told me he caught that railroad agent trying to set the barn on fire. They struggled and fell out the hay doors. He's damn lucky he didn't end up dead like the other fella." The doctor put his spectacles on and looked Addie square in the eyes.

  She stared at him but didn't see him, all her senses dulled, except the sense of sound. With dread she listened.

  "He can't move his legs, Mrs. Creed."

  She sagged back against the chair back and closed her eyes. After a numb moment she asked, "Is it permanent?"

  He shrugged, "I wish I could say for sure. We just don't know. Once his hip heals, we'll have to see how he does." He stopped and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

  She lifted her pale face and nodded, accepting his words given in kindness, but they both knew the words were impotent. Being sorry wouldn't help her husband walk.

  The front door clicked closed after the doctor, and Addie stood staring at her hand on the glass doorknob, feeling so vacant. She released the knob and walked over to the chair, resting her hand on the back for support. She couldn't seem to grasp a single one of the feelings that raced through her. She wanted to run to Montana and hold him; she wanted to hide until everything got better; and she wanted it to be yesterday, forever. Part of her wanted to cry and never stop until everything was back the way it had been. But she didn't dare.