Solomon's Oak

by Jo-Ann Mapson

  “I can’t let go!”

  “Yes, you can!” With all that bending the horse was forced to make, he slowed down to a walk, which allowed Joseph to convince him to halt. Poor guy was as scared as the screaming meemie on his back. His sides heaved, and a scrim of lather had risen on his neck. Joseph kept his voice steady, saying, “Ho, ho,” over and over. The horse’s nostrils flared, but his breathing was slowing down. In a few minutes, Joseph would be able to help the girl down and walk the horse back to wherever they’d come from. “See?” he said. “I knew you could do it. Good girl.”

  Now that the horse was still, the girl released one shaking hand and grabbed the horse’s mane. “N-now what?”

  “Hold on a second.” Joseph caught the second rein and walked the snorting horse in the other direction. The worst of it was over, but he knew better than to relax. “Ho, buddy. That’s right.” Then he told the girl, “Okay, slide your right leg across his back and dismount.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “I’ll fall.”

  “If you do, I’ll catch you.” His heart pumped with adrenaline; he could only imagine how the girl’s was behaving. He’d lived rural long enough that he’d seen his share of horse wrecks. It was a mystery to him why so many people believed they were born knowing how to ride. The emergency stop was the first lesson he’d learned, and the most valuable. He wondered why Glory Solomon hadn’t taught her daughter that lesson.

  The girl was crying hard now. He patted her leg. “Come on, take your right leg out of the stirrup. Put your weight in the left.”

  Finally she slid her other leg over, and he grabbed her waist to help her to the ground. Immediately after the dismount, she screamed, “Take your hands off me, you pervert!”

  This startled the horse again, and he crow-hopped, which nearly yanked Joseph’s left arm out of its socket. He patted the gelding’s muscular neck to calm him down. More luck. Inexperienced rider plus freaked-out horse equaled darn lucky he was in the woods taking pictures. Then he noticed the border collie, wagging his tail as if this occurred every day. “You there,” Joseph said, “looking so calm and all. How come you didn’t herd this animal back home?”

  The dog wagged its tail.

  The girl was still crying, so Joseph handed her a napkin from his pants pocket to wipe her eyes. Every café he went to, they gave him too many, and he hated throwing them away, so wasteful, that he ended up with wads of them in his pockets, which made for problems on laundry day. “Remember me from the wedding? Ex-cop picture taker? I sure liked the leftovers you sent home with me.”

  She wiped her face. “Joseph? What are you doing out here on Christmas Eve?”

  “Oh, the usual. Pulling my gun on reindeer. Looking for a solemn ceremony to crash. Saving girls on runaway horses.” The horse was breathing normally now. He’d recovered and so had the girl. Joseph looked around. “You’re not riding alone, are you? Where’s your mom?”

  “I’m not alone. Cadillac’s with me. My dog.”

  “I see that. Now, pardon me for sounding like a cop, but ride in pairs or a group until you’re more experienced. Your horse could’ve stumbled, thrown you, any number of unfortunate scenarios.”

  She had stopped crying, but not trembling. “I’m not a beginner! I’m fine now.”

  You’re a beginner until you can keep control of your horse, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “You lost your reins and you were screaming your head off.”

  She smoothed her two-tone hair back behind her ears. “So? What if you stumbled all alone here on Christmas Eve and nobody saw you?”

  It was a good point. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where’s your mom?”

  She looked away. “Aren’t you supposed to be at church or home with your family? I don’t have one, so I can do what I want.”

  “That might come as news to your mother.”

  He turned and walked the horse in the opposite direction. “My family’s eight hundred miles away. I miss them.”

  “So then why aren’t you at the movies with your girlfriend, or helping out at the homeless shelter? Serving up instant mashed potatoes with that canned brown gravy.”

  She laughed her head off after that. In moments she’d gone from big sobbing tears to hysterical laughter, and he wondered if she was high on some drug or drunk, or if that was her normal behavior.

  “Homeless people are funny?”

  “Of course not,” she said. “But two holidays out of the year is all they get?”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Like people want to be reminded they have no family so they go into the shelter expecting something halfway decent. It smells good; it looks like it should taste good. But put a spoonful of gravy in your mouth and it’s like eating brown snot.” She laughed again. “Sorry. Guess you had to be there.”

  “Sounds like I’m glad I wasn’t. Juniper, like the tree.”

  “What?”

  “Your name. I just remembered.”

  “Give the man a prize. How about some extra gravy?”

  She was laughing again. Juniper wasn’t such an odd name. Where he came from, people had last names like Spottedhorse and Twohills, or hyphenated mouthfuls like Valle-Sanchez-de-Gallardo-Iglesia-Montoya. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re out here, does she?”

  Juniper patted the neck of the now calm horse. “She’s at the store buying crackers and a cheese ball. Tonight is a very big deal. Blood relatives.”

  What did that mean? “Do you have permission to ride by yourself?”

  Juniper shrugged. “So I broke out of jail for a half hour. Big wow. I’ll be back before she gets home, the horse will be cleaned up and she’ll never know. Are you taking pictures today?”

  “I was.”

  “Of what?”

  “All these oaks.”

  “I bet I know why. If you photograph trees in an orchard to make a pattern, the negative space becomes just as important as the subject. That’s what Michael Busselle did.”

  Joseph was shocked to hear her mention Busselle. Knowing that name meant she’d been looking closely at photography, exploring the greats. “Well, no more trees for me today. I’m going to follow you home. My car’s the yellow—”

  “Land Cruiser, I know.” Juniper gave him a dirty look. “I’m very disappointed in you, Joseph. You look cool on the outside, and the gun is major bonus points, but open your mouth and you sound just like every other adult. You don’t trust teenagers.”

  “I trust ’em. It’s the rest of the world I have trouble trusting around them. Come on, I’ll give you a boost up. You keep that horse at a dead walk.”

  “I’ll lead him home by hand.”

  Joseph knew if she did that, she’d never get on another horse again. “Oh, no. You wanted to ride, so you’ll ride.”

  “Why should I listen to you? We hardly know each other. Technically, you’re a stranger.”

  “Did you forget I’m armed?” He patted the left side of his jacket, where the gun used to be snug in its holster. The day after the wedding he’d bought a lockbox for it and put it under his bed, finally admitting that the likelihood of getting mugged at Lake Nacimiento was low unless the chipmunks had taken up arms. “I’ll rat you out to your mother in a heartbeat. Once a copper, always a copper.”

  “Copper.” Juniper laughed at that, but she let him boost her right leg up and over the saddle.

  “Relax,” Joseph said.

  “I am relaxed!” The horse startled.

  “Stop yelling.”

  “I’m not yelling! Let’s go, Caddy.” The stealthy, blue-eyed dog led the way, the horse following like a thousand-pound magnet.

  Joseph drove alongside her at five miles an hour. They crossed the county road and went up the Solomon Ranch driveway. He parked by the vine-covered fence in front of the barn and got out. Juniper was through the gate before he shut his car door. She groomed the horse at Mach 1. She was still so y
oung that she expected if she brushed hard enough, no evidence would remain to convict her. Joseph knew from his years in the crime lab that most criminals left glaring calling cards. Well, riding horses without permission was her problem, not his. The pinto horse behind the fence whinnied and screeched as if her best friend had threatened to move cross-country. “Those two look inseparable,” he said. “What made you take the horse out by himself?”

  Juniper didn’t answer. She offered the mare a handful of oats, but the horse let them fall to the ground. “Cricket, shut up!” she yelled. “How was I supposed to know Piper would flip out like some nutcase?”

  “Imagine if Cricket jumped the fence and ran to the county road. A horse that freaked-out isn’t going to stop and look both ways. Your mom could’ve come home to a real train wreck.”

  “That’s such a cliché.”

  Ouch. The tyranny of teenage girls, Joseph thought. It’s a wonder anyone gets married.

  Once Piper was settled in the turnout arena that led to the stalls, Juniper turned to Joseph. “You can go now.”

  She’d left the grooming tote outside the barn, which Mrs. Solomon would spot right away. Should he tell Juniper, or let her bust herself? “Because it’s Christmas Eve, I’m going to give you a present. But I want something in return.”

  “What? Sex?”

  He sighed. “That’s not funny. I want your solemn promise that you won’t go riding by yourself anymore. Deal?”

  “Depends on the present.”

  He pointed to the tack tote, spilling brushes and a cake of saddle soap. “Put that back exactly where you found it or your mom will know immediately what you did.”

  Juniper packed the tote and carried it into the barn, where, Joseph imagined, every single piece of equipment had its assigned space. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s weird how you show up every time there’s a problem.”

  “Coincidence.”

  Juniper shook her head. “I’m totally exhausted. Already today I’ve fed the dogs, the goats, and the chickens, I’ve scrubbed the kitchen tile grout with bleach and a toothbrush. I waxed the mantel and buffed it, swept the floors, and folded the laundry. I even put the cider and spices in a Crock-Pot so it’ll be ready when the relatives arrive. I should change my name to Cinderella.”

  He chuckled. “What’s so bad about relatives? We all got ’em.”

  “They’re her relatives, not mine. I’m a foster.”

  “Lucky you,” he said, and meant it.

  “Yeah, well, she treats me like a slave.”

  “Do you get an allowance?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “I’m not telling you that just so you can beat me up with it.”

  “Some kids grow up without an allowance.”

  Any gratitude she’d shown was replaced by a dead, icy look in her eyes. “Some kids don’t grow up at all, Joe. Merry effing Christmas. Now get out of my sight or I’ll tell Mrs. Solomon that you tried to touch me.”

  “Remember the story about the kid who cried ‘wolf’? Merry Christmas, kid.”

  GLORY

  “Come in, come in,” Glory said, taking hold of her mother’s arm while Bart held the front door open. Chilly winter air mingled with the heat from the fireplace, and the smell of the hot cider was everywhere. “I made appetizers,” Glory said, leading her mother, who was wearing a red pantsuit and her silver squash-blossom necklace, to the mission-style rocker. The oak chair back and arms made it easy to get in and out of. “Mom, you look lovely tonight.”

  “Thank you, honey. It’s so good to see you. I haven’t been to your place in I don’t know how long.”

  Glory knew. Nearly ten months. The day after Dan died, her mother, who rarely ventured past a ten-mile-radius comfort zone, had braved the freeway and back roads to stand at the stove and make her daughter “milk toast,” a childhood tradition whenever Glory was convalescing. After that she sat on the couch and hugged Glory, singing her all four verses of “The Gate Ajar for Me.”

  Glory motioned Juniper closer. “Mom, I want you to meet Juniper, my foster daughter. Juniper, this is my mother, Ave Smith.”

  For her Christmas outfit, Juniper had chosen the black sweater that was miles too big for her and black jeans. Over the sweater, she wore the purple Celtic horses T-shirt. She refused to add a scarf, a necklace, or Christmas-tree pin; this was her outfit and she was sticking to it. She also had all her face jewelry in place. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Hello there, Juniper.”

  Juniper brought her a mug of hot cider with a cinnamon stick. “Have some. It’s really good.”

  “Juniper made it,” Glory said.

  “Thank you,” Ave said. “You look very festive with those ornaments in your eyebrow and such. Tell me, did it hurt when you poked the holes?”

  “A little.”

  “Do they let you wear them to school? Glory told me you’re at King City High now. A freshman.”

  “They don’t, but I put them in the second I get home.”

  Bart held the door open for Halle, who balanced a huge gift basket wrapped in green cellophane in her arms. “Noel, Noel,” she said, and set the basket on the kitchen counter, where it dwarfed the plate of crackers and the almond-encrusted ball of sharp cheddar. She slipped out of her suede coat and handed it to Glory, who hugged her sister.

  “Thanks, Halle. Merry Christmas to you, too.” Glory pointed to a box wrapped in brown paper with a pinecone ornament tied into the raffia bow. “I’ve got five kinds of jam to send home with you.” She looked up at Bart, the only one who looked comfortable in his clothes, faded jeans, scuffed loafers, and a green sweater that actually fit. “Halle, Bart, meet Juniper, my foster daughter.”

  Bart shook Juniper’s hand, moved closer, and asked about the graphic on her T-shirt. “We’ve been to Ireland twice,” he said.

  “Did you see Stonehenge?”

  “That’s in England,” he said. “But, yes, we did, and pretty much every stone circle and plinth we could find on a map. I hope someday you can visit.”

  Halle said, “Hello,” but kept her distance.

  Glory watched her sister survey the room and tried to see things from her eyes. No doubt she counted every stray dog hair and scratch in the worn wood floor. It made no difference how much Glory scrubbed, the old house would not pass Halle’s inspection. When Halle came to visit, Glory saw the flaws so plainly. It wouldn’t take much to snazz things up, a coat of paint, new cabinet hardware, and slipcovers to cover the slipcovers, a few new floorboards. The problem was that Halle left, and once she was out of sight, Glory got busy with more important things. Juniper ladled a mug of cider for Halle. Glory watched her sister try to unobtrusively inspect the rim of the cup. One lousy time Glory had accidentally given her a used wineglass, and that did it, twenty years of the lay health inspector’s distrust unleashed.

  “Glory,” Halle said, “your house reminds me of one of those Christmas cards put out by Leanin’ Tree. Everything is so homey and cozy and Western. But where’s your Christmas tree?”

  All of that was code for “run-down, cramped, and tacky.” Glory felt sure Halle would rather be at a world-class performance of The Nutcracker somewhere in the Bay Area than here in Glory’s derelict homestead. “We bought a live tree so we could plant it after Christmas. It’s by the chicken coop. I can take you out there if you want to see it. We decorated it with popcorn strings and cranberries. The other day birds were all over it.”

  “That’s okay. Did you do something to the cupboards? Refinish them?”

  “No, but I plan to get around to that soon. Come and sit down here, on the throw. I vacuumed the couch. I promise, no scabies.”

  “Glory,” Ave warned. “Don’t bait your sister.”

  “What? This throw is cashmere.” Glory held back the information that it came from T.J.Maxx and was marked down to $9 because it had been opened and had an easily repairable pulled thread. In the background, Edsel yipped and s
cratched at the bedroom door. “Juniper? Would you mind getting the dog?”

  Juniper excused herself, returning with Edsel in his holiday outfit, a black fleece hoodie with silver bows, one-two-three down his long back. “Be sweet,” Juniper whispered, and he headed straight for Glory’s mom.

  “There’s my little Eddie!” Ave said. “Come here, you cutie-pie!”

  “I have to show you my new car,” Halle said. “It’s got a hands-free cell phone, built-in GPS, and side air bags.”

  “Sounds great,” Glory said.

  “Glory,” Ave said. “He looks like Frank Sinatra in that outfit. Eddie, you’ll have to jump up by yourself, I’m afraid. I can’t trust these old claws of mine to catch you anymore.”

  “Mom, don’t let it snag your new clothes,” Halle said.

  It. Glory felt her heart clench. Every holiday reminded her that her mother’s arthritis was advancing. In one fluid leap, Edsel was in her mother’s lap, holding up one paw for a high five, working Ave’s soft heart in hopes of treats. Out back, as if they could hear what was going on, Cadillac and Dodge began complaining.

  “Isn’t he overheating in that outfit?” Halle said.

  “Believe me,” Glory said, “if he didn’t want it on, it would be in shreds.”

  “He can’t have crackers,” Juniper warned Mrs. Smith. “Let me get you one of his special biscuits. Mom taught me how to make them.”

  Halle’s head turned at the sound of “Mom.”

  Glory stared a hole in her. I dare you to say something. Just try. Nothing would make me happier than watching you put your size nine Naturalizer in your mouth.

  Bart put his arm around Halle. “Glory, that little dog of yours is such a character. He must be great company for Juniper.”

  Juniper shook her head. “Edsel’s all right. But he’s not Cadillac.”

  “I’d like to get a dog someday,” Bart said. “When I retire.”

  “Why wait?” Glory asked. “I’ve got one out back ready for adoption. A housebroken, Frisbee-playing, come-when-you-call, watchdogging sweetheart named Dodge. You can take him home tonight. I’ll even throw in a bag of kibble.”