Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail (31 page)

All three of them sat on the bed chatting about the benefits of meditation. Brenda was happy to answer all of their questions, as she had secretly hoped Carrie would take an interest. Learning with a friend—with Sam—is exactly how she had started years ago during college.

When Carrie and Milla had finished grilling her about meditation, Brenda picked up the empty clothesbasket and as she headed out the door the air conditioner switched to a softer sound and the two girls looked at each other and grinned. Learning to block out unhappy thoughts and hear their inner voice was something they looked forward to. Learning how to hear Brenda’s footsteps through the clatter of this machine…well that’s something completely different.

Chapter 49

Spencer, Matthew A., born 1816, Reno, NV.

Hmm, thought Devon, could this be a relative? He slid his eyes to the next line: Spencer, Frank, born 1846, Carson City, NV. All of this ancestry information intrigued him. It was his third night digging through old records since joining the online research site Carrie had introduced him to. Milla was fast asleep and he rubbed his eyes, glancing at the clock. He barely remembered kissing her goodnight. Had he?

He picked up the notes he had scribbled and re-read the information he had picked out from the Spencer Family Bible. His father’s name was Thomas Conner Spencer, born 1936 in Dayton, Nevada. Thomas’s mother was Kathryn A. Williams and she was born 1906 in Pine Brook, Delaware. Kathryn had raised Devon’s father, along with his four siblings, alone. Her husband had abandoned her when the children were quite young. His name was not even mentioned. Devon looked at the names of his father’s siblings. He remembered his mom telling him about them when he was little, but he had never met any of them. How could there be so much information written in this family bible and no record of his grandfather’s name? Devon’s dad had died never knowing anything about his father and so far he wasn’t able to uncover anything new. Maybe he wasn’t doing this right. Maybe he should ask Brenda. He closed the notebook and switched off the computer. Yawning, he stood and stretched his aching back. It was after midnight and he hadn’t done any chores. He had told himself on the drive home that tonight would be the night that he tackled some laundry. What was it about this ancestry stuff? I’m becoming obsessed, he thought. He stared at the cover of the bible, feeling unsettled. Something seemed off. He shut off the lights and headed in to brush his teeth.

It was just as he was about to fall asleep when his eyes popped open. Why in the world would anyone name it the Spencer Family Bible when there was so much information written about the Simpsons, his mother’s family name? This is what was bothering him. Finally he closed his eyes and let it go, knowing it would be there to nag him in the morning.

The next day Devon forgot all about ancestry and family bibles. He woke feeling exhausted. He had slept fitfully and his body ached all over. He dreaded Thursdays, as this was the day Mrs. Adams watched Milla and he knew he would have to deal with a fussy kid.

“Dad, do you know what time it is? You’re going to be late if you don’t move it,” Milla called through the bathroom door. Devon didn’t reply. His body wanted to stay in the hot shower a bit longer. The pulsing jets of water felt good on his back and the steam seemed to clear his head.

Milla finished dressing and went to fix breakfast. She noticed the scribbled notes at the desk where her father had been. Wow, Dad is really into this. I don’t ever remember a time when he sat at a computer for more than a few minutes. She thought of her grandma and the many stories she had heard of her grandfather and all of his searching. She knew of the dead ends and worried her dad might be getting his hopes up. I wonder what that would be like if I didn’t know my own dad’s name, she thought. She shivered, realizing it was too creepy. She loved her father and although he sometimes seemed to be from another planet, he was okay.

It wasn’t until Devon opened his drawer to grab a shirt that he noticed the clean laundry. He rubbed his eyes and wondered if he had imagined it. He opened each drawer and a feeling of gratitude washed over him. Someone had washed and dried the clothes that had been piling up in the laundry room. He pulled on his shirt and smiled. Maybe all of Milla’s meditations were bringing laundry fairies to the house.

He was still smiling when Milla looked up and she stood to hug him. “Thanks for doing the wash, Milla. I didn’t think you even knew how.”

“Well, I knew it needed to get done and so I just called Carrie’s mom and asked her how.”

He shook his head and ruffled her hair, pulling her into a warm embrace. “You’re always full of surprises, Mil, and I’m so thankful you were able to pitch in and help me out. Thanks. It really means a lot.”

“No biggy,” she said. She liked this feeling of getting a hug from her dad without having to ask for one. She stood there soaking in that glorious feeling as she gazed out at the Calico Mountains that were sighing in the distance.

When Milla arrived at camp she realized that she was smiling, actually smiling. Usually she was biting her lip and fighting tears trying to forget the latest Foot ordeal, but today was different. Oh, sure, he had said some mean things and even poured syrup in her milk when she wasn’t looking, but she was somehow able to just ignore him today.

Mrs. Preston was getting out of her car along with her grandchildren, Tracey and Mac. Milla usually avoided contact with anyone before running to the bathroom to wash tears from her face, but today she was humming a tune as she walked up to the car. “Can I help you carry something?” she asked, setting her backpack on the ground and reaching for one of the boxes Mrs. Preston was unloading.

“Oh, hi, Milla, you startled me. Yes, I would love some help, thanks.” Chattering away, Milla made a few trips back and forth carrying supplies as Mrs. Preston listened without interrupting. This was the first morning Milla had spoken to anyone and Mrs. Preston didn’t want to break whatever magic spell had been cast.

Carrie arrived and slipped into her usual seat beside Milla. She was surprised to see her friend sitting up straight and actually smiling on a Thursday. Maybe Foot had slept over at a friend’s house or perhaps Milla’s dad had decided to let her stay home that morning. Either way, Carrie was thrilled to have this new happy Milla seated beside her.

Jed poked his head into the classroom and gave Mrs. Preston a thumbs-up, signaling that Eclipse had been placed in the small pen nearby for the subject of the class’s painting lesson. The students collected their supplies and followed their teacher outdoors. She asked them to slowly walk around the big gelding until they found a spot to set up their easels. Eclipse seemed to ignore them and happily munched on the bit of hay that had been placed on the ground. Carrie and Milla chose a spot where they could just see the edge of the barn in the background. All of the children found their places, set out their supplies, and then sat on the ground with their eyes closed.

Mrs. Preston began the daily meditation. “Close your eyes and take a nice deep breath. Good. Now let’s begin to let our minds float above us and let all other thoughts melt away. Take another breath and breathe in the energy of the horse and exhale as if you are blending with the horse. You are both sharing breath and you are feeling what it’s like to breathe through the nostrils of this beautiful creature. We are all connected as we share life and we are none greater than the other.”

She paused to give the children time to just have silence and then said, “When you are ready, open your eyes and paint with your feelings. Don’t worry about technique today, just let the paintbrush flow over your canvas.”

The students began to paint the black-and-white horse that was now standing with his head up and ears fully alert. Dusky was kicking a tub in the next pen and Eclipse snorted. Milla’s painting was comprised of many fast swooshes of brilliant shades of purples and blues. She was painting quickly and her broad brushstrokes seemed striking against the white canvas. Carrie’s painting was softer, as she chose lighter hues and often drew with paint as if she was using a pencil.

Mrs. Preston walked around the class making comments and answering questions. She stopped to look at Milla’s artwork, and everyone glanced anxiously to see what she would say. Mrs. Preston, aware that all of the students felt a bit intimidated by Milla’s talent, merely smiled at the girl and told her she loved the bold strokes, continuing over to Carrie’s painting.

“This is beautiful; you are using colors that really harmonize. Good work, just wonderful, but watch this over here,” she said, pointing to an area that seemed a bit crowded on the canvas. Carrie had started her painting very close to the edge and hadn’t realized it until it was too late. But it was a good painting and Mrs. Preston told her she had seen improvement in her work.

Mac was busy playing with some insects that had crawled onto his backpack and Mrs. Preston shook her head. “Well, Mac, are you going to paint bugs or a horse today?” Mac looked sheepishly at his grandmother. She looked at his blank canvas. “Don’t you want to paint today?” she asked.

The class stopped working and watched the drama unfolding. “I try and try and I’m no good at this stuff. I stink and you know it,” he said, looking down at the bugs. She knelt beside him and said softly, “You don’t stink and no one is better than the other. This is just a fun way to express yourself. You can paint what it feels like to be a horse. You don’t even have to paint the horse.”

“Oh,” Mac said as he stood up and brushed himself off, “you mean I can paint like I’m the horse and what I might see around me?”

“If that’s what you want to do—yes, you can.” Milla walked over and quietly stood behind Mrs. Preston, who said, “Listen, McLeary, you are a bright, talented, wonderful young man and you can use all of your own specialness to create whatever you desire.” Mac grinned, as his grandmother was the only one who ever used his real name, and she only said it when she wanted to tell him something important.

Milla crouched down beside Mac and spoke softly. “Mac, why don’t you bring your stuff over next to me? It will be fun to paint together.”

“Aw, no way, you’re just saying that because I stink.”

“I mean it, come on. You can pretend you’re a horse and stand next to me, but no biting or kicking or I’ll bop you one.” Together they moved Mac’s gear. Mrs. Preston gave Milla a wink and moved on.

Eclipse began to stomp his feet and looked around as if signaling that the class had ended. “Yes, we are finished,” Mrs. Preston said as she walked up to the horse and rubbed his neck. “You always seem to know when the session is over.”

The children stopped talking and gave their attention to their teacher, hoping they would be picked to gather Eclipse’s lead line and walk him back to the stable. Mrs. Preston looked around at the eager faces, searching for someone who had not had a turn and then offered the lead line to a small girl named Fran. Everyone collected their paintings and began to move back toward the classroom. Mrs. Preston walked beside Carrie.

“My mom said she met you recently,” said Carrie.

“Oh yes, she did and she even helped me with my family tree. It’s really remarkable how she can do so much research and find information that I thought was impossible to locate.”

“I know,” agreed Carrie. “She should forget about looking for a job in the casino and just find a genealogy research job. She’s really good at it.”

“Did she tell you we’re getting together this week at the library? She’s going to teach me some of her tricks.”

“Cool, if Mac and Tracey go with you, maybe I’ll come too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mrs. Preston said.

Milla and Carrie found their usual spots on the corner picnic table and began eating their lunch. Carrie was starting to worry about Milla’s obsession with the tiny foal she had helped rescue. Milla no longer called her Hope but now referred to the foal as “my horse.” Changing the subject abruptly, Carrie said, “Hey, that was really nice of you to help Mac today.”

“Did you know that his name is really short for McLeary—isn’t that a cool name? So, anyway,” Milla continued, “my horse is actually starting to get bossy. Mrs. Burke told me she even grabbed a blanket and ran away with it and Mrs. Burke had to chase after her to get it.” Milla laughed.

“Oh, so Mac is short for McLeary,” Carrie said, ignoring Milla’s “my horse” comment. “That’s more like a last name, but I do like it. It sounds like a character from some detective book. I’m going to get to hang out with Mac and Tracey at the library this week. My mom’s helping Mrs. Preston with some ancestry stuff.”

“Really? Mrs. Preston is interested in this ancestry stuff, too? My dad is turning into a freak; he’s positively obsessed,” Milla said. “I have never seen him this interested in anything. I’m starting to get a bit worried about him.”

“I know, trust me. I used to feel the same way, but I love helping my mom now. Don’t you think it’s cool to see where you came from?” Carrie asked.

“How the heck does this have anything to do with where I came from? I was born in Reno and that’s where I came from,” replied Milla.

“No, not that way,” Carrie said. “I mean all the generations before you. When you really dig back and see the names and places that your great-great-great-grandparents lived, it sort of makes you feel more connected to the world and not just the city or state you live in. Do you know what I mean?”

“Hmm, I guess that’s what’s getting my dad so excited. He keeps saying that since Grandma died, I’m his only family. And I guess that makes him the only family I have. That’s why I want to talk him into letting me have my horse!” Milla replied.