Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories
Page 19
“I must go,” she said in a voice that trembled. “The ranch . . .” She groped for her clothes, keeping her back to Lisa Moondaughter. “Perhaps, someday . . .” Getting to her feet, she looked for a moment at Lisa Moondaughter, reclining like an odalisque in the dusky light, her body more eloquent than any words. With a resolve that cost Jennie every ounce of reserve strength in her body, she fled up the path toward the horse pasture. “I’ll call you,” she flung over her shoulder. A sound tore through the night air, like the wail of a wounded mountain lion—“We don’t have a phone.”
Back at the ranch, Jennie groomed and watered Firebird in a daze, oblivious to the horse’s playful attempts to get her attention. She couldn’t think clearly—anxiety over Jeb’s dinner, remembrance of Lisa Moondaughter’s powerful thighs, and the new things she had learned about tofu all swam together in her head. Firebird whinnied plaintively and she looked at the horse. “Yes,” she said, “I know what you’re asking. You’re wondering what you’re doing back here in this cramped stall, instead of gamboling about a grassy meadow. You’re yearning for the horsy friends you made this afternoon, longing to butt their withers and rub necks with them. Yes,” she said somberly, “I know how you feel.”
Jennie heard Barb’s hacking cough, and went into her room. The old woman was awake. With a pang, Jennie noted the spots of blood on Barb’s handkerchief. “I’ll go fix your broth,” she murmured, turning away. Barb smiled weakly, and patted the straight-backed chair by the bed. “You’re very good to me, Jennie,” Barb croaked. “I know it’s hard taking care of an old woman like me, especially when you’re still a newlywed.”
Jennie dropped into the chair and took Barb’s hand. “You know I love having you here.” For the first time she struggled to explain how things really were between her and Jeb. “It’s different than I thought it would be,” she said finally. “Sometimes I wonder if maybe my marriage was a mistake, if maybe I could have stayed single and kept working—maybe lived with some other single girls.”
A look of pain and weariness crossed Barb’s face. “That’s what I thought, when I was your age,” she said, and then paused for a fit of coughing. “But women friends get married. Horses die. Eventually, even your own body fails you. No, Jennie, be grateful you’ve got some security—you won’t end up an old broken-down woman, living on charity.”
Wordlessly, Jennie pressed the older woman’s hand.
While the broth was on, she wandered into the living room and examined the wedding pictures on the mantel—there were her parents, glowing with pride, her with her bridesmaids. She picked up the portrait of herself and Jeb. The radiant bride in the picture was a stranger to her.
She was still lost in her reverie when she heard a creak behind her. “Hon, you in there?” called Jeb.
She turned to face her husband, the man she’d vowed her life to. He crossed the room in two big strides, and pulled her into his arms with a whoop. “Well, we finally got ’em!”
“The mustangs?” Jennie gasped.
Jeb mistook her horror for delight. “Yep! We had to wait a long time, in that little clearing you told us about, but we finally got ‘em!” His rough kiss bruised Jennie’s lips. “And guess what else! I found a spot in the County Rest Home for old Barb. It’s the best thing for her, really. This way, you won’t have to play nurse anymore . . . until you’re nursin’ my son!” Laughing loudly at his joke, Jeb scooped Jennie’s unresisting body in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
As soon as Jeb had rolled off her and was snoring, Jennie got out of bed and crept outside to look at the captured mustangs. The full moon bathed the corral in its timeless radiance. All was still, except for a lonely dog barking in the distance. The horses were quiet. Some of them, blessedly ignorant of their fate, were asleep where they stood. Others looked at Jennie, their brown eyes full of an ancient animal wisdom. From inside the house came the sound of Jeb snoring.
Jennie knew what she must do. Entering the little room off the stables, she gently shook Barb awake. “Jeb wants to put you in the County Home,” she said briefly. Fear leapt into Barb’s eyes. “But we have one chance—some friends I’m sure will take us in—if you can ride a little ways—”
Barb pulled herself out of bed with game determination. “I was straddling a horse before you were born. They’ll have to pry my cold, dead fingers from the reins before I’ll let Jeb or anyone else send me to the County Home! Go saddle up!”
Jennie led Firebird and another horse out of their stalls, then stood for a moment in the shadow of the barn, looking at the mustangs. “Can I turn my back on everything I know,” she thought, “from the Bible to Love Story to Cosmopolitan? Can I ignore the precepts I’ve been taught by my parents, my teachers, my troop leader?”
But Jennie knew that the old voices no longer held sway over her. She would listen to her own strong woman’s voice now. As Jennie moved toward the corral gate, she noticed that a strange hush had fallen over the farm. The horses were all awake, their nostrils flared as they searched the wind for a certain scent—and yes, now Jennie, too, breathed in the pungent odor! Lisa Moondaughter was coming!
She stepped out of the forest with the grace of a mountain lion. Her flimsy, tunic-like garment was transparent in the moonlight, and Jennie bit her lip at the sight of the body she had caressed only a few hours before. Lisa Moondaughter slid across the yard like a liquid brown shadow and fumbled with the latch of the corral. Like a gazelle, Jennie bounded lightly to her side. Placing her hand gently on Lisa Moondaughter’s shoulder, she said, “Lisa Moondaughter, I . . .”
Lisa Moondaughter whirled, and her hand gripped Jennie’s arm. “Jennie,” she breathed, “don’t try to stop me!”
“I don’t want to stop you, I want to come with you!” Jennie cried.
With an inarticulate strangling sound, like some primeval beast choking, Lisa Moondaughter seemed to cough up a great chunk of pain and sorrow. “I hoped,” she said softly when she had caught her breath, “even when I did not dare hope.”
And now Jennie saw more women, two of whom were helping Barb mount her horse. “Half a lung?” one was saying. “Western medicine can do nothing. But I have some tea . . .”
The mustangs poured out of the opened corral gate and galloped for the hills. Lisa Moondaughter swung astride the coal-black horse, flashing Jennie a blinding white smile. “Let’s ride!”
Jennie ran to Firebird and mounted the waiting horse. “Let’s ride,” she echoed Lisa Moondaughter. “Ride to freedom!” With a snort, Firebird joined the herd in their race toward the forest.
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2002 by Alisa Surkis and Monica Nolan
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-0254-3