by Lisa Wysocky
Throughout, Keith and Melody’s single, “Do Good,” was playing on a loop over the PA.
Do good
Do right
Do the thing that keeps love in sight
Do good
Tonight
Do your best to be the light
The presentation ended amid a mixture of laughter and tears and when the horses left the arena I found Melody standing next to me.
“Sorry I wasn’t able to break away earlier. The reporters were very persistent tonight,” she said with a smile.
“No problem,” I said. “This is a great place. I see why you like coming here.”
“I really love it,” she said. “And you know what else I would love?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“If you would come over tomorrow and take your pick of the furniture I am not taking to the new house.”
I had almost forgotten that Melody had bought a sprawling house not too far from here. She’d had a great year on tour, and Davis and Scott, her manager and attorney, encouraged her to spend some of the money on real estate.
“I’m closing on Thursday,” she said. “Can you believe it? I am going to be a homeowner!”
I remembered how I felt when I closed on my farm. It was a mixture of excitement and promise––and fear that I would not be able to pay the mortgage. I didn’t think Melody had to worry about that, though. I was pretty sure she was paying cash.
My furniture needs were fairly well met, however. When my grandmother died and I purchased the farm, I moved most of her things to the farmhouse. What I needed, I had bought over the past eight years. Jon, however, was another story. I hadn’t been up to his loft in a while, but I thought he lived rustically. With only a minimum amount of cast-off furnishings up there when he moved in, I didn’t think he had added much since then.
“Are you sure you don’t want to donate the furniture to the riding center, or maybe to the church?” I asked.
“Positive. I give generously to them. I want to do something nice for you, and I am sure there must be something in my house that y’all might want or need.”
“I’m sure I can find something,” I smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Cat’s Horse Tip #2
“Riding a horse moves a rider’s pelvis and hips in a way that is similar to a human gait. That’s why riders who have physical disabilities can show improvement in mobility, flexibility, muscle strength, and balance.”
3
“THOSE PEOPLE ARE WEIRD,” DARCY said, popping her gum as she slouched in the passenger seat.
“How so?” I asked.
“Seriously? All that mighty happy crap isn’t overkill?”
“Well, maybe a little,” I said. “But, you have to admit, they did seem . . . mighty happy.”
I felt Darcy roll her eyes in the darkness.
On some level, I understood the concept Pastor Ruthie promoted. If you tell yourself something long enough, eventually you begin to believe it. And what pastor, priest, or rabbi didn’t want several dozen pews full of happy congregants? On the other hand, when some people repeated the “mighty happy” phrase, it seemed forced, even patronizing. I understood Darcy’s point of view, too.
Darcy switched the radio from the classic country station WSM-AM to one that played a mixed format of music. Meghan Trainor was singing “All About That Bass.”
My old green truck had developed a little hitch in its “git along,” and hiccupped as we drove up the long hill on Sam’s Creek Road. The truck was ten years old, had well over two hundred thousand miles on it, and would soon need to be replaced. I had Jon looking online, to get an idea what a newer used one would cost, and the prices were frightening. It had to be done, though. Pulling up to six world caliber horses in a trailer behind me, I could not risk a breakdown.
As Whitney Houston belted out the Dolly Parton classic, “I Will Always Love You,” I recalled a time in Texas when an axle broke on my trailer. We limped into a tiny town and had to wait a full day for a new axle to arrive with no place other than the trailer to house the four horses we had with us.
Twice a day Jon and I unloaded the horses and walked them around the little town square, then fed and watered them next to the trailer. We tried tying the horses to the trailer, but there wasn’t room at the repair shop, and when the horses got restless I was afraid that even with polo wraps that they’d bang their legs up pawing by the trailer. When the axle finally came in, mechanics jacked up the truck and trailer, with all the horses in it, about six feet in the air. My heart pounded in my throat the entire three hours it took to install the new part. Fortunately, the horses came through the ordeal in better shape than I did. It was a scenario I never wanted to repeat.
Now, back at the house, Darcy went to cram for a history test and Hank I went out to the barn. Hank is a howling, yowling part-beagle, part “who knows what” hound dog who showed up on my front porch about a year ago. He was a puppy then, so was maybe sixteen months old now. Since then he’d turned into a great barn dog who was protective of the horses, and me, on the road.
Tonight he had a long, narrow stick in his mouth and had to turn his head sideways to get in through the barn door. Hank usually preferred shorter, fatter sticks. We then walked companionably up our dirt aisle to check on Sally. She was dozing as we came up to her stall, but when she realized I was there, she dunked her head into the bucket again, and blew.
“Okay, I get it,” I said rubbing the soft red hair on her forehead. “Something to do with water. Are we getting a flood? Will the pipes break in a cold snap? You want swimming therapy?”
Several places in the Kentucky-Tennessee area now offered spa services for horses. From standing on a vibrating plate to loosen muscles, to acupuncture, Reiki, and water therapy, many horses now received the same kind of physical therapy that people got. The vibrating plates had made a huge difference in quieting our yearling filly, Glamour Girl, whom we called Gigi, at a big show last summer. I would love to have one of those plates right here.
I gave Sally a final pat and looked in on the other horses. Darcy’s tall dark gelding, Petey, was sprawled out flat on his side, snoring, and Reddi, the other horse owned by Sally’s mom, Agnes Temple, was munching the last of her hay. Bob, and Wheeler, a palomino gelding who would soon be moving with his owner to another state, were dozing, and Gigi was walking in circles around her double stall. That horse had more energy than all the others put together.
Excited about the furniture Melody had offered, Hank and I trotted up the stairs to Jon’s loft, and I knocked. Until earlier this year Jon and I had a great working relationship. But, Jon thought that finding two dead bodies within a matter of months had distracted me from the barn and the horses, and I have to admit that he was right. A lot of extra work had fallen on his shoulders as a result, and he did what he could, but sometimes the boss has to be there to make decisions. That would be me.
Jon was intensely private, and I had recently discovered that was part of his background. His privacy was why I rarely went up to his loft. But new furniture was a big deal and I wanted to get his ideas.
“Coming,” Jon called. Then he kept talking. It sounded as if he was speaking to someone other than me, but his words were soft and indistinguishable. His voice grew louder, however, as he got closer to the door.
“Okay honey,” I heard him say. “Love you, too.”
I was flabbergasted. Love you, too? How could Jon have a girlfriend? He never went anywhere and often chose to work on his days off. Maybe once a month he disappeared down the driveway for the day, but he was always home by dinnertime. To make matters more confusing, even though I often begged him to come out with Darcy and me to lunch, dinner, or a movie, he rarely accompanied us. Now I hear him say, “Okay, honey. Love you, too?” What was that all about?
Jon ended the call as he opened the door.
“Cat?” he asked. “You okay? Your mouth is kind of hanging open.”
“Ah, fi
ne. I’m just fine.” I said.
With anyone else I would have asked about the call, but with Jon it seemed inappropriate to inquire. Jon still had on the matching blue jeans, turtleneck, and warm, waterproof vest that he had worn to the video shoot, but he had removed his ball cap and boots. Short dark hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and a slender frame on a five-foot-nine inch body, Jon was probably around my age. Thirty.
“Um,” I stammered, still flustered, “I have good news. I think.”
“You think?” Jon smiled all the way up to his eyes. “Come in. Hank, you too, but leave your stick. Hurry, though. This standing in the doorway is letting in cold air.”
Hank debated his options, obviously torn, but then he clamped down hard on his stick, turned, and trotted back down the stairs.
The loft was long and narrow with an open living room, dining alcove, and kitchen, with a small, three-quarter bath and bedroom at the far end. The whole place was only twelve by fifty-four, so it was a little over six hundred square feet. The roofline of the barn came to within five feet of the floor, which further reduced the space, but there were several skylights to let light in and the bedroom had a big window that looked into the covered arena. The furniture was as I had remembered.
“I’ve got a bit of news and thought it would be best to deliver it in person,” I said.
“Sit down,” he said pulling out a chair next to a small, white table that had been placed under a skylight. Years ago the little rectangular table had sat on my grandmother’s front porch. Often, a yellow ceramic pitcher filled with flowers had been on top of it.
“You remember that Melody is closing on her new house on Thursday?” I asked.
“No, but go on.” Jon’s eyes were now intent on my face. I had his attention, at least.
“When I saw Melody tonight she mentioned that she had some furniture that she didn’t want to take to the new house and offered it to us.”
“To us?” Jon asked.
“Well, to me,” I said, flustered. “I wasn’t sure what you had in here or what you needed.”
I looked around the small apartment and saw that Jon could probably use a new sofa and coffee table, and a new lounge chair, low bookshelves maybe, for storage, and some end tables. I looked toward the bedroom, but the door was closed.
Jon noticed the path my eyes had traveled.
“I’m fine with what I have, Cat,” he said. “I don’t need a thing.”
“But if you had the option, maybe you would trade up?”
“Maybe,” he said. But he looked doubtful.
“Why don’t we do this. I don’t want to force anything on you, but I can take pictures of what she has and text them to you. Then you can tell me if you are interested, or not.”
“Sure,” he said.
I also told Jon about finding Robert Griggs at the therapeutic riding center, and that Robert looked a little grayer at the temples but still had the long bangs that went almost to his eyes. Most important, though, Robert seemed calm and happy.
“Maybe you could come with us on Friday, to tour the center,” I said. “I know Robert would like to see you, and they have done some interesting things in their barn.”
A series of conflicting expressions danced across Jon’s face, but I knew my comment about the interesting barn would hook him, and it did.
Finally, we discussed Sally.
“I’m not ready to admit that she’s psychic,” I said, “but every time she acts weird something bad happens.”
“Agnes, however, is sure that her Sally Blue has psychic powers,” Jon said, a quirk at the end of his mouth.
“Well, let’s watch her closely. I want to be sure she isn’t starting to colic.”
Cat’s Horse Tip #3
“Horses developed an intuitive nature because they are prey animals. To survive, a horse has to know the intention of every living thing within his or her proximity.”
4
THE NEXT MORNING I WAVED Darcy off to school and joined Jon to check on Sally. She was on her back in the center of her stall, eyes closed, with all four feet up in the air.
“She looks dead,” Jon deadpanned.
“Except that she is breathing quite steadily,” I replied. “Plus, she keeps opening her right eye to look at us.”
“There is that,” he said.
“Maybe she’s stretching her back.”
“Maybe,” said Jon.
“Okay,” I sighed. “I’m off to look at Melody’s furniture.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m sure it’s nothing. She’s just being Sally,” he said.
On my way to my truck and through the tall hedge that divides our properties, I glimpsed Carole and her kids raking leaves in their front yard. Carole was pointing out the different shapes of the leaves, and the kids were calling out the names of the trees they came from. The Carsons could easily have shuttled their kids off with nannies, but both took a hands on approach to raising their offspring. The kids attended public school, and Carole made sure her children learned something from everything they did at home. Keith was involved, too–– when he was home.
“Hey,” I said, pulling a few hedge branches aside and glancing around, hoping for a glimpse of Keith. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey,” Carole said back. She gestured to the kids. “Teacher in-service day at school.”
I nodded.
“Hi, Cat!” Kevin, Keith and Carole’s second oldest, dropped his rake and ran over to show me a colorful leaf he had crammed into his pocket. He had the exuberance only a seven-year-old can have.
I admired the leaf, which had crumbled some inside Kevin’s pocket, then called to Carole. “I’m heading to Melody’s. Any words of advice for her? She’s moving into her new house on Friday.”
Carole stopped raking and smiled. “Go with the flow, that’s all I have to offer.”
Go with the flow seemed to be Carole’s entire philosophy on life, and it wasn’t necessarily a bad idea.
Melody was renting a cute yellow cottage in Pegram, up the hill from the new Dollar General. The home was gated and partially screened by shrubbery. Perfect for a rising young star. I’d been to her house a number of times, and today, I half expected it to be piled with boxes. Melody reminded me, however, that the movers would do all of that tomorrow.
We wandered around the small house and I took pictures of some of the furniture as Melody told me the history of a few pieces, including those she was taking with her to her new, gi-normous home in Kingston Springs.
“I bought that futon the first week I was in Nashville, even before I had a place to live,” she said. “It folds up, and it fit in the back seat of my old Honda. A few nights, when I had nowhere to go, I pulled it out and slept in the woods.”
Melody offered her trusty futon to me, and I was honored. I knew it would come in handy when either Jon or I had guests. Not that Jon, to my knowledge, had ever invited anyone other than Darcy or me to his loft, but hell could possibly freeze over someday.
Melody had come a long way in a short time, and I admired much about her. She had a good work ethic and she never, ever took her eyes off her goal of making a living singing country music. What made it all the more impressive was that Melody had come from almost nothing.
Like Dolly Parton, Melody moved to Nashville the day after she graduated from high school. But instead of a depressed town in East Tennessee, Melody hailed from Toad Suck, Arkansas. Toad Suck is an unincorporated community west of Conway, Arkansas in the central part of the state.
Melody once told me that when pop star Harold Jenkins changed his name back in the 1960s to become a country singer, he put his finger on a map and it landed on Conway, Arkansas, and Twitty, Texas. Thus, the legendary Conway Twitty was born. Melody hadn’t used a map to change her birth name, but you have to admit that a name like Melody Cross is a bucket load of pigs better than Raylene Potts.
I’m not sure why Melody and I hit it off so well. She was short, bl
ond, naïve, sweet, and talented. In other words, everything I am not. We did have alcoholism in common though, her mom and my dad.
We also shared not being raised by our parents. My maternal grandmother took me in from a rundown Chicago apartment after my mother died, and after my dad went off the deep end and started to drink. I was nine and she took me to her home in rural Bucksnort, Tennessee. My dad is still around, somewhere, but I rarely hear from him.
The little girl who would later become Melody Cross had been the youngest, by far, of the Potts children. Her mother, Claudine, had given birth to an older sister, Brandyne, at fifteen, and a brother, Bodine, a year or so later. Melody came along when her mother was thirty. And, yes, all three kids had the same father, who was now serving a long prison sentence for doing something Melody didn’t want to talk about.
Claudine got tired of being a mom when her youngest was about six, so the future Melody Cross became a foster child. Melody spent most of her youth in the home of an older couple who attended a small Baptist church. I guess we both had small towns in common, too.
With Melody’s help, I took photos of a coffee table that was hand made out of old barn wood, and two matching end tables. They would be big improvements over the battered tables Jon now had. There were also two lamps and some gently used pots and pans. Melody then helped me attach the photos to a text and we sent the lot off to Jon.
I swear, I am the most technologically challenged person on the planet. I must be missing a gene, because even though Darcy had shown me how to use my new iPhone a bazillion times, I never could remember how each feature worked.
Fingers crossed, I hoped Jon didn’t think I was interfering with his private life. The furniture was free and I thought he needed it. I didn’t want to commit to Melody though, until I heard back from him.