“Wow,” said Devon. “All the way back to 1736. Why is he called a brick wall?”
“It’s a term genealogists use when they can’t move backward any further,” Carrie explained.
“Well, my brick wall is my grandfather,” Devon said. “He left my dad when he was six and my grandmother had to fend for herself with five kids to feed. I’ve tried to learn about our family’s origins but after striking out at the library, I gave up.”
“I can try to help,” said Carrie as she wiped the counter and tossed a pile of bones into the bin. Flannel sniffed the trash.
“Can’t she have a chicken bone?” asked Milla.
“No,” Carrie replied. “Chicken bones are dangerous to dogs because they can splinter and cause problems.”
“Sorry, Flannel,” Milla said as she quickly bagged the trash and disappeared out the back door.
Devon turned to Carrie. “Do you really think you can help with our family mystery?”
“All I need is a computer,” she replied. “That family bible has a lot of clues.” She pulled a bag of dog treats from her backpack and handed them to Milla. Flannel seemed to smile, knowing that her patience would finally deliver a reward.
Devon spent the next few hours sitting by the computer watching Carrie navigate through federal censuses, death certificates, and old newspaper articles. Milla took notes and the three of them felt as if they were on a treasure hunt. Devon learned that one of his grandfathers was a shoemaker and a great-grandfather was a blacksmith. Carrie was not entirely positive, but had found a farmer in Virginia around 1795 that might be his great-great-great-grandfather. He shook his head in wonder as she taught him how to look for clues in old obituaries and newspaper articles about social events. It wasn’t until Milla fell asleep with her head on her notebook that Devon looked at the clock.
“Oh my gosh, it’s after midnight,” he said to Carrie. “It’s way past my bedtime and yours, too, I’ll bet.” Carrie stretched and powered off the computer. Devon nudged Milla toward her room and watched as she stumbled into bed. He went to the closet and got out some bedding for Carrie. He was about to make up the couch, but she was already lying on it sound asleep. He carefully pulled a blanket over her and slipped a pillow under her head. Flannel was stretched out on the rug beside her. Devon turned off the lights and quietly went to his daughter’s bedroom to make sure she was all tucked in. The photo of his mother twinkled as if to wink at him in the moonlight.
He went into his room and quietly shut the door. Removing the blanket that had been hastily thrown over the trunk, he lifted the lid and thought of all the stories he had heard from his grandmother about his father’s childhood. She never had anything good to say about his grandfather, and his dad had died before ever knowing anything more about him. It was ironic that a ten-year-old girl with a few clicks on a keyboard could unravel so much history of his family. He straightened a few boxes and closed the lid, wondering what all this new information would mean. Did any of it really make a difference, he wondered—and then his thoughts moved to his daughter and how she was the only family he had. Perhaps all this family research just might give them some sort of connection to a group of people who had hoped and dreamed and laughed and cried and were a part of the blood that ran through him and through Milla.
The moon was full and the night grew cool, and as Devon closed his eyes he began to dream of a time when Spencers made shoes for horses and men.
Chapter 35
Brenda locked the door and turned off the lights. It had been such a long day. Her body ached from the physical labor and she just wanted to relax with a bit of reading before falling asleep. The emotional roller coaster of a missing dog and injured horse was behind her. Well, at least for now. She gathered her grubby clothes covered with spackling and sanding dust and carried them to the small washing machine beside the kitchen. There was a lot of work to be done and she knew this was only the beginning. But it was exactly the kind of project to keep her from worrying about her personal problems.
She thought of the message left on her phone from her husband, Mark. She heard the anger in his voice and decided not to return his call. Not tonight. She stopped in the kitchen and poured herself a glass of iced tea. The bungalow was eerily quiet without Flannel and Carrie but she was glad to be alone. She looked at the clock on the tiny stove and realized it was too late to check on her daughter. I guess she’s staying busy with her new friend and forgot to call to say goodnight. Maybe that’s a good thing and she’s cheerful for a change, I sure hope so. “She’s fine. Stop worrying,” she said to herself out loud as she picked up a book and some mail and walked down the hall to her room.
A moment later she heard a scratching sound on the window and stood there frozen in fear. It was totally dark in her bedroom and the moonlight peering through the windows created creepy shadows stretched across the floor. She wished Flannel and Carrie were here. “Scritch scritch” came the sound again. Brenda adjusted her eyes to the darkness and sighed with relief when she saw a tree branch brushing up against the window. “Click” went the switch to her bedroom light; “click click” went the switches to the light in the bathroom and the light in the hallway. It’s a good thing my dad isn’t here, she thought, I can just hear him scolding me about wasting electricity.
She started to get cozy under the covers with her book and realized she had left her glasses in her purse in the dark little room by the back door. Rats! she thought, flipping back the sheets and getting out of bed. Don’t be ridiculous—you’re no longer a kid so just march in that room and flick on some lights and get your darn purse, she said to herself, trying to instill some courage. Brenda didn’t like to admit this, but she was afraid of the dark. Maybe she should just go to sleep and forget about reading. “Scritch scritch” went the branch on the window. I think maybe Carrie and Milla should stay here if they have another sleepover, Brenda thought, as she stood in the hall stuck in her indecision about entering complete darkness to retrieve her reading glasses.
This fear of darkness started when she was a little girl. She had fond memories of playing with her sisters and brothers but those memories were also peppered with those of older brothers who told scary stories. Even today she couldn’t sleep with a foot dangling because they warned her of icky bad monsters who might jump out and grab a foot. Trolls and creepy things liked to live under beds, especially the ones of little girls. Oh, why did she even play with them, she thought, thinking back to the games of hide and seek and how her brothers would leave her alone in the dark and then slowly reach a hand in to grab her. Ughh, this is ridiculous, she thought—I’m thirty-six and I can’t even go get my glasses.
The realization that things that went bump in the night only grew from the imagination of her childhood helped bolster her courage…but only slightly. She took a deep breath, counted to three, and ran to get her purse as she loudly sang the national anthem. By the time she made it back to her room she was belting out “and the rockets’ red glare.” Panting, she looked around to make sure she had everything she needed. Let’s see…book, bed, glasses, and lots of lights…perfect. As she tossed her purse a folded pamphlet fell onto the rug beside her bed. Oh, yeah, she remembered, this was the brochure Devon had given her. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and adjusted her reading glasses.
The booklet had an entire section dedicated to a woman named Velma Johnston, also known as “Wild Horse Annie.” She was credited for the passage of a law that helped to protect the wild horses and burros. Brenda read the last sentence aloud: “Wild Horse Annie helped to make them symbols of the pioneer spirit of the west.” Wow, thought Brenda—symbols of spirit. Who was this amazing woman and how did she manage to be so courageous?
She closed the booklet and thought about her own life. Heck, I feel like a pioneer myself, she thought. I had to face some hard decisions when I quit my job, packed my bags, and headed out here with my daughter in the hopes of finding a better life. She thought of how he
r family and friends all thought she was a fool. They meant well, she guessed, but change frightened a lot of people. How come I’m scared of the dark but I can forge ahead against all odds and drive almost 3,000 miles to begin a new life? She looked around the little room with its bookcases and shelves filled with Sam’s wild horse statues looking down on her like guardians. There are those horses again, she thought. Maybe they really are symbols of spirit. They sure keep popping up in my life.
I need to give myself some credit, she thought, as she put the pamphlet on top of a book on her nightstand and switched off the light. I’ve done something amazing and I know it’s just the beginning. It’s not going to be easy, but there’s something about this that feels right. I wonder if I can find out more about this Wild Horse Annie? She sounds like just the inspiration I need. Her body relaxed as she rubbed her sore muscles. There would be more hard work tomorrow and she needed a good night’s rest so she could begin fresh in the morning. She was happy lying here in her new little space and she knew she was on the right path. She closed her eyes and rolled over. “Scritch scritch” went the branch against her window. Her eyes popped open and she looked at a statue of a rearing stallion. “Hey, spirit of the west,” she called out. “You’re on night watch.”
Chapter 36
Sam hung up the phone and looked at her watch. State inspectors were coming in an hour. Terrific, just when Brenda had started major renovations in one of the rooms. Oh, well, she thought—at least they would see I’ve started making improvements. Bump…thump. She could hear Brenda moving furniture. How wonderful to have someone else doing some of the much-needed work that she couldn’t keep up with. The bell of the front door rang and she went to greet the guests.
“Welcome,” she said to a couple carrying luggage and a map.
“Howdy,” said a man with a New York accent. Often visitors from the east coast would greet her in cowboy lingo, thinking it was their own private joke.
“What can I do for you?”
“We were wondering if you had a room available. My wife and I want a real western experience and we saw your sign with the horses and thought this would be perfect.”
“Great,” Sam said, as she prepared to enter their information into her computer.
“Do you have a pool?” asked the woman.
“No, ma’am,” she said. “We have a beautiful dining area, a sitting room where we have excellent live musical entertainment, and a large outdoor area with hanging porch swings where you can relax and enjoy the beautiful scenery.”
“Do you have a gym or exercise room?” the woman asked, wrinkling her nose.
“No, ma’am, but there are wonderful trails only a few steps away that will take you to see the amazing Calico Mountains.”
“Um…no thanks, I don’t want to get bitten by a snake,” said the lady, grimacing. Sam tried to remember the last time a snake had bitten someone in Saddlecrest; must have been over twenty years.
“Well, do you at least have a large screen TV?” the woman asked, frowning at her husband.
Sam stopped typing and looked at the couple. “This is a Bed & Breakfast. People come here to enjoy the relaxing desert scenery and unplug from their busy lives. It’s peaceful here and that’s really all I can offer you. That and a wonderful breakfast prepared by a terrific chef.”
The woman tugged on her husband’s sleeve and they moved away to whisper to one another. Sam knew instantly that she was dealing with what her dad referred to as “high-maintenance clients” and she hoped they would go find a hotel in Reno. The whispering became agitated.
“Well, then, you drive!” she heard the man say. “All I’m saying,” whisper, whisper, “if she doesn’t even have clean,” whisper, whisper, whisper.
Have a clean what? thought Sam, now getting a bit ruffled. Moments later two men walked in and the couple moved out of Sam’s earshot. The men opened their wallets and flashed inspector badges.
“See,” said the woman, “it’s probably the Board of Health. Let’s go!” With that they picked up their luggage and the man waved never mind to Sam. She turned her attention to the inspectors and led them back to the kitchen.
CRASH! came a noise from above. Smiling, Sam excused herself and hurried up the stairs. “Ow, ow, ow,” came a voice behind the door. Brenda was lying on the floor, hugging her knee. A ladder was lying on its side.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked, kneeling beside her. “What the devil happened?”
“I went to step up the ladder to finish taping off the ceiling and missed a rung. My foot went right through the ladder and I fell.”
“Come on. We’ve got to get some ice on it or you’ll really be hurting later.” Sam helped her friend stand up.
“Ow-owwww,” Brenda said as she tried to get up.
Sam became alarmed. “Did you break it?”
Brenda reached into a little pocket in her painter’s jeans and pulled out the screwdriver that was digging into her leg. “No, I was stabbing myself,” she said, tossing the tool into a box. The two women sat up looking around the room. All of the windows were edged in blue masking tape. Patches of sanded spackling dotted the walls. Electric sockets were bare, their plates removed, and the drop cloth was bunched up where Sam had knocked over the ladder.
“This is a great day for the inspectors to visit,” Sam laughed. “This place looks like a war zone.”
“Inspectors, today?” asked Brenda, putting some weight on her leg.
“No big deal. Let’s go get that ice.” Brenda limped down the stairs with Sam’s assistance, meeting the inspectors as they came out of the kitchen. Sam smiled and told them about the room being repaired and the men said, “Uh huh,” and made some notes on a clipboard. “Geez, friendly guys,” Brenda said.
Sam went to the kitchen in search of lunch while Brenda, her knee packed in ice, called to check on Carrie. Max strolled in and looked at Brenda sitting in his favorite chair. He looked at the ice bag on her knee and stepped a bit closer. Brenda put her hand out to pet him and he sidestepped her, not wanting any contact from a woman who clearly associated with annoying dogs.
The two women finished their meal just as the inspectors came to say goodbye. Brenda removed the ice and headed back to work. Sam read the inspectors’ report, while Max hopped up onto his chair.
The day continued without any further interruptions and Sam was able to catch up on some chores, including a much needed phone call to her parents. Her dad was in a jovial mood and spoke of days sitting beside a pool or playing golf. Her mother sounded in a hurry to hang up as she was meeting some friends to go shopping. She couldn’t recall the last time she saw her mom in a hurry to do anything. She moved like molasses and it took forever to get her to finish a story. Florida life was really agreeing with her, Sam thought. She couldn’t get over how her dad had changed the subject when she brought up the inspection at the B&B—the same establishment that he had owned and operated for over forty years. He really doesn’t want to hear a peep about this place, she realized. Well, good, I guess. He has finally learned to move on and enjoy his life. Happy, healthy, and living in Florida with people their own age who drove golf carts to the grocery store and whose only worries were stocking up on sunscreen and mosquito repellent. They’ve earned it, she thought, as she looked at Max stretched out across his favorite seat.
Brenda smiled at the lounging cat and was reminded that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for her to slow down and take life less seriously herself. She was no different than anyone else. Sure, she had the stress of running her own business and bills to pay, but she was happy in her own little space. Having a friend who was helping fix up the place made it even sweeter. Life is good, she sighed, and I need to remind myself it could be a lot worse.
“Ring, ring” went the little bell attached to the front door. Sam switched off the office light and went to greet her guests.
“Howdy,” said the man with the New York accent. “We’re back.”
Chapter 37
/> Shannon turned the patchwork so that the inside seams faced her and examined her stitches exactly as her grandmother had taught her. She smoothed out the little seams and placed another freshly cut square alongside the neatly stitched row, checking again that both good sides faced each other. She stopped to examine the pattern to make sure she had it evenly mixed up; her favorite color was blue and sometimes, if she wasn’t careful, she would accidently sew two or three blue squares together. She smiled at her work, enjoying the progress. Her mom, Jodi, sat beside her, admiring her work.
“Shannon, I’m so proud of you. I had no idea you were such a good seamstress.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She beamed as she held up the little quilt.
“Did Grandmom talk to you about the purpose of these little quilts?” Jodi asked.
“She said something about hospitals and special places for kids who really need them,” replied Shannon. “They’re pretty easy to do, Mom. I can teach you if you want.”
Jodi reached for the pincushion, fiddling with the needles. “Your grandmother has been trying to get me to sew for years. I can barely sew on a button, let alone make a quilt. No, Shannon—I think you’re the one with the gift of creating with fabric.”
Brian came into the room and saw his mother sitting close to his big sister. Not wanting Shannon to have all the attention, he sat on his mother’s lap. He picked up a few squares, threw them into the air, watched them fall like little parachutes, and then quickly tossed them up again.
“Stop it, Brian!” Shannon yelled. “Go find something else to play with. This is important.”
“Grandmom didn’t just give them to you,” Brian said. “She let me look at them when we were at her house.”
“Looking and throwing is a big difference,” Jodi said as she took the swatches from Brian and placed them next to Shannon. “Don’t you think it’s time to take that helmet off? Honestly, son, I cannot understand how you sleep in it. It’s like resting on a rock.”
Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail Page 15