Story #6

Forty five minutes later, Veronica  rode a very tired red mule into the moonlit barnyard, and was overjoyed to see that the green farm truck was pulled in front of the house, and a light was on in the kitchen. Grandfather was probably waiting up for her, since she knew he always went to bed at dark. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing how it probably looked. She should have been home hours ago, and he was probably worried. But the pang passed quickly, as Grandfather wasn’t really a worrier. He’d wait until it was quite late before starting out after her. Still, he’d be more likely to do it in the morning. She made a flying dismount off Shad and stumbled a few steps. She’d been riding so much today her legs didn’t quite work. She steadied herself on his neck and took a few deep breaths. Hobbling as fast as she could to the porch, she threw the reins over the rail and took the steps in a leap. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she flung open the screen door and heard her heels click onto the hardwood floor of the kitchen. She smelled the sweet smell of home, and longed to just run upstairs and throw herself on her red checked blanket, and sleep away the tears she wanted to cry. But she took a few steady steps into the dimly lit room, and looked around. Grandfather was out cold, head lolling on chest, sitting in the rocking chair by the stove. A few moths fluttered around the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. She sighed, hating to wake him up. His white beard tickled his nose as he snored, and his face twitched. His gnarled hands, worn from years of work and injuries, were folded over his blue overalls. She glanced around the room, and picked up the broom she’d left leaning against the fireplace after she was done cleaning that morning. She’d learned when she was a very small girl, that if you woke Grandfather up, especially from a light sleep, he’d hit hard. She’d grown accustomed to waking him up with something long, like a broom handle. She grabbed the bristled end of the broom and poked the other end out towards his sleeping figure. The end swung a little, and then bumped twice against his knee. He exploded into consciousness and grabbed the broom with one hand, jumping to his feet and looking around wildly. Veronica took a step back, it was always a gamble how he would react when woken up. Sometimes he’d wake up with tears streaming down his face, after muttering in his sleep, sometimes he wouldn’t wake up at all, and begin jumping around his bedroom in his longjohns shouting at invisible enemies. His blindingly blue eyes finally found her, standing in the shadows. His bushy eyebrows furrowed and he sat back down.

“Ah, Vern. There you are. You’re late. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed.” She took a step towards him, and the story came spilling out in an incoherent mess.

“Grandfather, I took a ride today to the canyon west of us, and I found a wreck, and there’s a boy, and I need your help!” He looked at her blankly, and stood up.

“Well then saddle up, let’s head out.” She stared. No questions, no confusion, no surprise, nothing. She stammered,

“Alright--I’m going to switch Shad out for one of the horses, maybe Trolly. He’s worn out. You want Clock?” He was bending over with the usual grunting moaning noises, putting on his boots.

“No you’d better get Hank for me. Clock won’t do well with the extra weight since he foundered this spring.” Vern nodded, slightly dazed and a little bewildered, and walked out. She took Shad’s reins in the night air and headed for the barn. He followed willingly, with his head low. The moon was bright, and she had no trouble seeing where she was going. The barn had no electricity, and she unsaddled in the dark. She slipped Shad into his stall next to Clock’s, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thanks, Bud. Couldn’t have done it without ‘ya.” He took a bite of hay and chewed noisily. She felt around in the dark on the rough-hewn wall, until she found Trolly’s bridle. She found his stall, and squinted into the darkness, speaking softly to the horse, as she made out his

ears pricking up. She caught and saddled him and Hank with ease, leading them out into the moonlit barnyard for light. She’d just finished with Hank, when she heard the screen door slam, and her grandfather hobbled down the stair. Hank was a big horse, part draft, and steady. He could go for miles at a canter without getting tired. Her grandfather mounted, and she was again amazed at how nimble he was for his age, which was at least seventy five, but he never talked about it, so she couldn’t know for sure. She handed him Hank’s reins, and mounted up herself.

“Well, you know where. Lead the way.” He rasped, still breathing hard. It got harder and harder for him to ride, but he still did it, and Veronica said nothing about it to him. She turned Trolly, fighting the exhaustion, and they set off into the night.

…..

Song