“Thanks,” Dakota says, handing back the brushes. “All our brushes burned in the fire. Hank replaced a couple, but I liked the old ones better.”
“I’m really sorry, Dakota.”
“Not your fault. Let’s go see Cleo.”
We tromp through high grass and across ditches and pastures. We’re pretty quiet as we walk along together. Again, I wish Lizzy were here. She’d have Dakota talking a blue streak in no time.
“So,” Dakota tries, “it must be great to be a senior.”
“It’s okay,” I answer.
“Yeah,” she presses. “At least it has to be cool knowing you’re headed for Ohio State next year. Not that I’m crazy about school or anything, even a party school. I’m just saying it would be sweet knowing all the studying was going for a good cause—to learn more about horses and how to help them. You probably have to take a bunch of regular classes first though, right? Before you get to the real veterinarian classes? That would stink. But it would be worth it to end up a vet.”
“I’m not,” I tell her.
“Not what?”
“Not everything. I’m not going to OSU. I’m not going into a pre-vet program. And I’m not going to be a vet.”
“But that’s what Kat said. Catman told her you were—”
“Catman was wrong.”
Dakota frowns at me. “I don’t get it. I thought you’ve always wanted to be a vet.”
“I did. But it costs a lot of money to become a vet. My family doesn’t have money.”
“But if God wants you to be a vet, won’t the money come from somewhere?” Dakota asks this so sincerely that I’m not sure how to answer her. I know that when she came to Starlight, she didn’t believe in God or anything else. So she hasn’t had her faith very long. “It’s not that easy, Dakota.”
“But why not? God’s in charge, right? Kat showed me a verse that says nothing’s impossible with God. Something like that. And there’s that one about God giving us the desires of our hearts. I love that verse. Being a vet is still the desire of your heart, right?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I guess. I mean, I’ve always wanted to be a vet. But the older you get, the more you start seeing that things are complicated. My family couldn’t even pay the electric bill last week. How can I squeeze out money to go to OSU and then vet school? It’s just not going to happen.”
“But if you pray and believe, it could, right?” Dakota asks. “Because God loves you and wants the best for you and everything? Isn’t that how it works?”
I don’t know how to explain it to her. She’s so new. Everything about her faith is still simple and straightforward. I remember feeling like that, like all I had to do was believe, and God would take care of the rest. It would be great to feel like that again. I still love God and everything. And I know He loves me. It’s just different now.
“There’s Cleo,” Dakota says.
I’m grateful to have the subject changed.
At the far end of an overgrown pasture stands a lanky sorrel whose beauty can’t be hidden by the burrs in her tail or the wild look in her eyes. She’s not grazing. Her whole body says she’s watching us, expecting the worst.
My heart aches for the damaged mare. “That poor horse.”
“What are you going to do?” Dakota asks. “Hank hasn’t been able to get anywhere near her since the fire. And he wasn’t doing all that great before the fire.”
“So the horse is as intelligent as she is beautiful,” I mutter, the sting of him calling my horse Wild Thing still fresh in my mind.
“Hank’s not usually like this,” Dakota says.
“For your sake, I hope not.” I climb the fence, and she climbs over after me.
“Hank feels responsible for rebuilding the barn before winter hits,” Dakota explains. “He’s a pretty intense guy, and he can’t see how he’s going to pull it all off, even with the whole fire department coming to help.”
“You’re right,” I admit, feeling a little guilty for being so down on Hank. “I don’t really know Hank. I met him one time. I shouldn’t have said anything. Anyway, we’ve got more important things to work out.”
We lean against the fence and watch Cleopatra. Her eyes are fixed on us.
“Look at those worry lines above her eyes,” I observe. “Even her eyelids are wrinkled.”
A twig snaps somewhere behind her, and the mare bolts sideways. Her nerves and muscles are on high alert.
“We’ll need to make the pasture smaller.” I’m pretty much thinking out loud. “It doesn’t have to be round, but I need a safe area, like a round pen.”
“We had one in the barn,” Dakota says. “Maybe we could borrow some of the lumber Hank’s got stacked up for the barn frame. We could block off the tip of this pasture pretty easily.”
“Good. Remember how you played music to help calm Blackfire when you soaked his hoof to get rid of that abscess? I’d like Cleo to be treated to music when we’re out here. She’ll like the music, so that should take the edge off every time we show up. We’ll be bringing her something she likes.”
“Sweet. I’ll take care of the music,” Dakota promises.
“We need to be around this horse as much as possible from now on. You and I can take turns sitting out here and reading to her or singing or whatever it takes. But she needs to get the idea that not all humans are threatening.”
“Hey, I’m up for it. Totally.” She clears her throat. “Um . . . Hank could be a bit of a problem.”
“Why? Because we want to help his horse?” My anger at Hank comes flooding back fast.
“Not that,” Dakota says quickly. “It’s just that I told him I’d help with the barn.”
I turn to her. “Dakota, I’m going to shoot straight with you. From what I’ve seen of Cleopatra, she’s as shell-shocked as any horse I’ve ever worked with. Maybe even Nickers.”
“Nickers?” Dakota asks. “Was your horse really this far gone?”
I stare at Cleo while I explain what my horse was like when I first met her. “People called her Wild Thing, and back then, the name fit. The first time I saw that white Arabian, she galloped through a mist, leading a pack of horses behind her. Nobody could get near her. The biggest stable in Ashland, Spidells’ Stable-Mart, picked her up at an auction, and they only made things worse.” I turn to face Dakota. “It took me weeks and weeks to make friends with Nickers. And I’ve only got a few days with Cleo.”
“I guess I didn’t realize how bad off Cleo is,” Dakota mutters, her voice breaking.
“Fire gives horses a kind of terror they don’t get anywhere else,” I explain. “And every day that horse is left on her own, she gets farther and farther away from human contact and deeper and deeper into herself. Pretty soon, nobody and nothing will be able to reach her. I need you here with me, Dakota.”
“Then this is where I’ll be,” Dakota says. “Hank will have to understand.”
Note to self: And if he doesn’t, then it’s just too bad for him.
Sixteen
Hank Coolidge
Nice, Illinois
“How’s it going, Kat? Settling in okay, Catman?” I try to sound casual and friendly as I trudge by my sister and cousin for the 10th time on my way to the barn. Each time I pass the porch loaded down with two-by-fours or bags of cement, they’re still lounging on the step in exactly the same spot.
Catman doesn’t look away from Kat, but he raises one hand, fingers in a V, the universal sign for peace.
Like peace is an option with all this work to do? Not for me, it’s not.
Since Catman and crew arrived three days ago, I’ve spent every minute of daylight working on the barn frame. Mom, Dad, Aunt Claire, and Uncle Bart have worked too. Even Wes pitched in before he took on more dogs for dog-sitting money. Dakota’s helped a lot, but she spends most of her time with Winnie. And I don’t even want to know what Winnie’s doing. So I don’t ask.
But Catman? He hasn’t hammered a single nail since he’s been h
ere.
I stumble and drop the bag of cement I’m hauling to the barn. White powder puffs out and floats over me like ash. It’s the last straw.
I stomp back to Catman. “You know, this barn isn’t going to build itself.”
Kat frowns at me. “I thought Dad’s firemen buddies were coming to help with a big barn raising and everything.”
I check my anger because this is Kat. “They’re coming, all right.” I turn to Catman and try not to clench my teeth. “But if we don’t get the frame done first, there won’t be anything for them to raise.”
Catman shades his eyes when he squints at me. “Deep.”
It takes everything in me not to go off on him. “Catman, in case you haven’t noticed, we have a whole barn to rebuild!”
“Dude,” Catman says calmly, “you’ve got more than a barn to rebuild.”
I storm to the barn, hoisting the bag of cement onto my shoulder, before I say something I might regret. I’ve waited for years for Catman to come out and visit us, and now I can hardly wait until he leaves.
Dakota is still hammering on her part of the frame when I get back to the barn. She’s been there for over an hour. She sits on her heels and points to a bag of nails next to her. “Are these the ones you wanted from the truck?”
They’re not. “I needed the bigger ones, the spikes.”
She hops up. “Aye, aye, captain. Be right back.” She jogs toward the truck.
I take over her hammer and examine what she’s done. The nails are straight and right on target.
“Here you go,” she says, dropping a big bag of spikes. “So where’s Popeye?”
I arrange the next section of two-by-fours on the ground. “Dad got called into the fire station before dawn. He woke up Uncle Bart and took him along for the ride. I wish they’d get back since nobody else is around to help.” I hammer in the first spike. It feels good to slam it into the wood.
“Everybody’s doing what they can,” Dakota says.
“Right,” I say with all the sarcasm I can muster. “Catman sits around all day talking cats to Kat. Winnie the Great Horse Gentler disappears all day to play with the horses.”
“That’s not fair, Hank.”
“Really?” I bang in another spike in three swings. “So what exactly is the great horse whisperer doing this morning? Reading to Cleo? Singing to her?”
“Well,” Dakota says, “whatever it is, it’s working.”
“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like it’s working to me. Let’s see. . . . Has she brushed the horse yet? Treated that burn, maybe?”
“No,” Dakota admits. “But Cleo’s coming closer and closer to check things out. I don’t think she’s afraid of Winnie anymore. And we tried something new last night.”
She waits for me to beg her for the newest secret technique of Winnie the Horse Gentler. I hammer another spike. I get it in two swings this time.
“Laughter,” Dakota says.
That stops me. I stare at Dakota. “Laughter?”
“I’m not kidding you. Winnie must have laughed for two hours last night. It was pretty funny, actually.”
“Must be nice to be having so much fun,” I mutter. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed.” I realize I haven’t heard Dad tell a stupid joke for days either, at least not around me. Meanwhile, Winnie’s laughing her head off. “So, is Winnie just naturally happy and carefree? Or is there something about our burned-out barn that brings on her fits of happiness?”
Dakota doesn’t answer right away. Then she says, “Hank, if you spent two minutes with Winnie, you’d see how far off you are. Happy? No way. She’s got a sadness that runs so deep in her I can feel it.”
I stop hammering. “Winnie? Sad? I don’t think so. What’s she got to be sad about? She gets to go home after all of this. She’ll take her horse to her nice barn. And in a few months, she’ll be off to OSU to become star of their veterinarian school.”
Dakota shakes her head. “She’ll be off to a two-year community college. No, I take that back. She won’t be ‘off’ at all. She has to live at home, muck somebody else’s stables, and go to school on the side.”
“I don’t know where you got that,” I tell her. “Catman said he and Winnie are going to Ohio State in the fall. Winnie’s going into a pre-vet program.”
“Not anymore. She doesn’t have the money.”
I’m still not buying it. “Look, I don’t know Winnie that well, but I guarantee she’ll find a way to be a vet. It’s all she’s ever dreamed of.”
“Which makes it even sadder. She’s given up her dream.”
I set down the hammer and try to remember the last time Winnie and I e-mailed about anything except my emergency horse questions. Catman and I haven’t stayed in touch either, especially since he took off to film his cat movie. I know there’s never been much money in Winnie’s family. But surely they could find a way if she really wanted to go to OSU.
“You sure about this?” I ask Dakota.
“Haven’t you seen it on her face, Hank?”
Have I? I blew up at her the night they got here. Since then, she’s done everything she could to avoid me. And I haven’t gone out of my way to be around her either. But when I have seen her, she hasn’t looked happy. Dakota’s right about that.
Man, the last thing I want to do is feel sorry for Winnie. It was easier being angry.
Dakota picks up a metal bucket and loops the handle over her arm. “I need to go. I told Winnie I’d meet her in the pasture.”
“Now? You’re leaving now?” I want to tack up guidelines, but I can’t do it alone.
“I told Winnie I’d—”
“Fine. Forget it,” I tell her. “Just go.” I bang the nail deeper into the board and try not to let any other sound or thought into my head.
For an hour I do what I can by myself. Then Dad and Uncle Bart get back from Nice.
“Good news, Hank!” Dad says.
“I could use some,” I admit.
“The guys at the firehouse got together and volunteered to help us raise the barn on Thanksgiving Day,” Uncle Bart answers. “Your dad has some mighty fine friends, if you ask—”
“Thanksgiving? You mean Thursday? This Thursday?” I can’t believe Dad thinks we could be ready by then. “That’s too soon! Tell them to give us more time.”
“No can do,” Dad answers. “It’s the only day we all have off. Les and Rudy will be on call, but nobody has to go into the firehouse. It’s all arranged.” There’s not a bit of worry in his voice. “We’ll be just fine, Son.”
But we won’t be fine. There’s too much to do. I love my dad. I love my uncle. But sometimes it feels like I’m the only man of the house, the only adult. “Dad, think about it. We have to have the frame completely finished before we can raise the barn. That’s how it works. There’s just not enough time.”
“Nonsense,” Dad says.
“Nonsense indeed,” Uncle Bart agrees.
They work the rest of the afternoon with me. We lay out pieces of the frame. When Mom gets home from the hospital, she trades places with Dad so he can help Aunt Claire get dinner. Uncle Bart lets Mom use his nail gun, and she moves around the frame faster than Uncle Bart and I do.
“Bart, you should at least loosen your tie,” Mom insists.
Uncle Bart fingers his Tweety Bird tie like he’s afraid she’ll try to take it from him. “Say, I’m just fine, Annie, thank you very much.”
The sun has already set when Dad calls us in for supper.
“I say we call it a night,” Uncle Bart declares. “You know what they say about all work and no play.” He helps Mom up, and they start for the house.
I ache all over, but I’m not ready to quit. “Let me finish this corner and I’ll be right in.”
I stay out until it gets so dark I’m having trouble telling if the boards are square or not. When I turn to go, I almost trip over Kat. “How long have you been sitting there, Kat?”
She shrugs.
“What ar
e you doing out here?”
“Reading,” she says. “By moonlight. Are you okay, Hank?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Maybe because you’re still working. So is Winnie. She’s still trying to help that horse. Everybody else has eaten except you two.” When I don’t comment, Kat adds, “I’ve been worried about you.”
Kat’s the one we worry about. She’s the one with cancer. I know better than to say that to her though.
She gets up and points at something behind us. “Don’t you think that maple is the most beautiful tree on earth? Has it ever been this red before or held on to its leaves this long?”
I squint at the tree, but it’s hard to make out the colors in moonlight. I pick up the hammers, hoping she’ll get the hint that I don’t have time to chat all day like Catman does. “I really didn’t notice the maple today.”
“That’s what worries me. You used to notice everything.”
I stop what I’m doing. She’s right. I remember other autumns when the sight of that maple tree shocked me with joy. I’d look at it every day to see the new artwork, God’s artwork.
“They’re leaving this weekend,” Kat says. “You should talk to Winnie before it’s too late.”
“Why?”
“Because she hasn’t noticed the maple either.” Kat walks away, disappearing in moon shadows.
Winnie again. I’ve thought about talking to her ever since Dakota told me about Winnie giving up her plans to become a vet. I’m not proud of the fact that I’ve been so hard on her since she got here. She thought she was coming to help our horses. Just because it isn’t working out that way doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be grateful that she’s trying. Besides, if Winnie really is as torn up as Kat and Dakota think she is, then I’ve probably made things worse. I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot.
Under my breath, I mutter, “You win, Kat.” Then I head to the old McCray farm to find Winnie.
By the time I reach the McCray property, a football field’s distance from Cleo’s pasture, my eyes have fully adjusted to the moonlight. I haven’t been out here for a couple of days. The tip of the pasture has been boarded off, separating it into a makeshift round pen. It’s a good idea, and for the first time I wonder if Dakota might be right. Maybe Winnie’s made more progress with Cleopatra than I figured.
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