Dante of the Maury River (5 page)

“I know you want to be in charge, buddy. From here onward, every turn your life takes will be because of a choice you make.” Doctor Tom sighed.

He ran his fingers down my front legs and lightly squeezed the wraps. “Looks like they did a real nice job,” he muttered.

I was trying not to hold a grudge and, even harder, not to head-butt him. I will admit that I wanted revenge something fierce, but I loved Marey, and she had asked me to try to be a better foal.

Doctor Tom released his hold, and I went straight to Marey, who nuzzled my poll. I thought she also might want to kick Doctor Tom, so I tucked under her hind. But she didn’t pin her ears or show him angry eyes. Of all the surprises in the paddock, she whickered at him. Like she was thanking him.

“Son, you look well,” my dam said. “I’m glad to have you home.”

“Marey, I hardly remember a thing, and what I do recollect is the worst pain.”

“Oh, you’ll know worse, believe me.” She whinnied right in my face.

“What’s funny about that? And what do you mean?” I asked.

“Little Dante, Kentucky is your birthplace. Mine, too. And your father’s and grandfather’s. There is no finer place to claim, but you won’t stay here forever. You’ll travel the land, training and racing. Such a life is not for the weak. Some days every ounce of your body will long to lie down. Every cell will ache and throb and beg you to stop. Your lungs will burn; your heart will beat so fast you will think you’re going to collapse, and you might. Or you may make your name and future on the track and return here to live a long and good life, if you do everything right. Right now, that’s a very big IF.”

In a most loving way, my dam continued, “Something needs to change, son. Please. For the family. For the bloodlines.”

“But, Marey, I’ve done everything you’ve ever asked me to do. You asked me to stand, and I stood. When you wanted me to walk and run, I did those things, too. When you tell me it’s time to sleep, I sleep.”

She popped her front hoof hard at the ground. “Trust me, I know all about the burdens that a foal of your pedigree carries. I was one! The pressure on a broodmare is even higher. I’m tired of begging you: act right. Got it?”

I looked away from Marey to far across our pasture. My own heart beat loud and strong in my ears. Out on the farthest hill, I imagined seeing my grandfather again. His head tilted and his eye gazing upon me. I imagined, also, how happy everyone would finally be when I was the next Triple Crown winner. I rubbed my face against Marey’s belly, then looked toward the horizon.

“I will, Marey,” I promised. “I’ll make the bloodlines proud one day.”

The next morning before turnout, Doctor Tom separated my dam and me. He came to get me himself and walked me down the yard to the weanling barn. And of all things, Marey let him. She bowed her head and closed her eyes, like she knew all along.

A
whole bunch of us got moved up the hill: me and nine others, including my chestnut first cousin, Covert Agent, who got himself sent to the crooked-leg clinic not too terribly long after I did. Covert, by a different sire, out of Marey’s sister, Gemma, was also a grandson of Dante’s Paradiso. He was a little dusting of a fella with a lot of heart.

The new place was a good bit larger than the foaling barn. All ten stalls aligned down a single lane. Each had its own door and a white column, all situated in an orderly fashion and connected along a finely masoned breezeway. Our rooms opened toward the Edens’ old, sprawling brick house, out of which came some sweet, sweet smells on Sunday mornings. Sugar, Honeycrisp apples, and I couldn’t tell you what all else. Trust me, I had no trouble learning to linger around my stall door on Mrs. Eden’s baking days.

From the front, I gazed out over the life-size statue of Grandfather Dante. The driveway wound past our barn and down the hill to the foaling barn and the paddocks and the turnout pastures. There were other barns over that way, too, for stallions and retired mares. I never saw inside any of them.

At the new place, each of our stalls shared a grated half wall with its neighbor, and we’d all get to cribby-crabbing at each other over any little piece of news: feed, hay, visitors.

I lived right next to the feed room in a stall that had always been reserved for the best foal, like Grandfather Dante and Marey before me. Across time and history, the imprint of every prior top Edensway prospect permeated the walls, the air, and everything about the space, and that’s what gave my stall an aura unseen by human eyes. Wisdom, confidence, and knowledge emanated from the wooden walls surrounding me.

Inside there, I enjoyed a welcome plenty of space to stand and turn and pace about if my supper ran late in arriving. Looking out the back window, I could gaze across the entire north acreage of Edensway.

From there, I kept an eye on my old paddock, the broodmares, and the newest foals. Sometimes in the very early morning, I spied on Marey way down that hill, but when I whinnied, she never picked up her head or even called back to me.

Despite the comforts afforded me, the move away from Marey and into the status-stall tested me greatly. I didn’t care a lick for all that change.

I
n the new barn, it was just us colts and fillies. Nothing but a bunch of young wild things figuring it out for ourselves. Heck, by then I must’ve weighed five hundred pounds, easy peasy. Maybe more. And, shoot, I stood taller than more than a few ponies. So I sure didn’t look that much like a baby anymore.

At first, I figured I’d enjoy not having any mares nearby to boss me around. I learned pretty quickly, though, that also meant no Marey nearby to explain how things worked, to nuzzle me when I got confused, or to show me how to act brave.

One saving grace was that Doctor Tom brought Melody to visit straightaway. She herself was like a filly, in some ways. Long gangly legs, a branchy neck, and a full mane that fell well down her back.

I was standing in a paddock, turned out with Covert, when the two of them came over to check on how I was settling. Doctor Tom placed a hand on Melody’s shoulder. My halter and lead rope were looped over her other one.

Next thing I knew, Melody tucked both her hands in her pockets and giggled.
That’s trouble
, I thought. I sniffed the air and caught a sharp, crisp scent. Something familiar to the nose but foreign to the tongue. Not rich like early morning grass. Not savory dam’s milk.

She held her hand out flat. I walked over to check it out. “Peppermint. For you!”

Then she popped the treat into her own mouth. “Or, for me!”

Melody always was a little old prankster of a girl. The confounding thing was that neither Doctor Tom nor the child made any sort of move to catch me. No harping or chirruping. No kissing the air. No staring me in the face.

I would almost say that neither flashed any interest in haltering me at all. Except here Melody came again, and wafting through the air was the intriguing smell of peppermint.

I casually wandered over and grazed near the girl. She turned her back to me, all the while tinkering with that spiffy-sniffy morsel in her hands. Unable to help myself, I snuck up behind her and very lightly touched the back of her arm with my lip. Doctor Tom stepped in close by me, too. Naturally, I moved a step back. He spoke softly. “How about a fresh start between us? For real this time.”

Well, I about froze.

Was Doctor Tom calling a truce?

On instinct, and from having formed a habit of rearing up and kicking out at Doctor Tom, I shifted my weight. Just to collect some power at the ready.

The girl extended her hand again. Perched in the middle of her tiny palm: one round candy about the size of my nostril. I pondered over whether to smell it or to eat it. The promise of sugar and mint and potential goodness dissolving in my mouth? Mmmm . . . mmmm. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.

“For you,” she said, a second time. “Really truly.” The faintest quiver ran across her open palm; her stretched-out fingers nudged the scent toward me. “Go on. Take it.”

So I did.

In a soft wave, she folded her hand along my neck, right where Doctor Tom and his students preferred to draw blood and stick needles. I tensed but didn’t bolt because next she scratched my mane at the instant of its itch.

Besides, Melody wasn’t armed. She had no weapons on her; not a needle or syringe or thermometer in sight.

The girl rubbed my neck and chest and muzzle in the way Marey often had. That memory triggered a wistful sigh.
I am no longer Marey’s foal
, I realized.

I stood still for a very long time, till my eyelids felt so heavy that I could hardly keep ’em open.

“Look at that,” Doctor Tom said. “You’ve ’bout got him to sleep, Melody.”

“Daddy,” she said. “He’s my favorite colt I’ve ever met. Why don’t you like him?”

I
knew
it! I perked my ears. This I had to hear straight from the doctor’s mouth.

“Oh, who says I dislike this wild fella? He’s strong. He’s handsome. He’s got that large heart from his mama. You know she’s my favorite. As colts go, I actually like him very much. Maybe Dante doesn’t like me.”

“Well, I like you, Daddy.” Melody cocked her head and scratched my cheek in another itchy place. I leaned into her hands. “You and L.D. should be friends now. Look at him. He’s so friendly,” she said. And quite convincingly, too.

“I don’t know that I’d use that exact word: friendly,” Doctor Tom said. “Little Dante — L.D.— doesn’t know it, but what he wants is to win enough to position himself to stand at stud for most of his life. That’s the goal. I’m beginning to worry that his antics and his attitude might overshadow whatever standout assets run in his blood. The last thing he wants is to have to make his name by racing. That’s a life, all right. A tough one. Besides, whether or not we’re friends is not up to me. Everything from here on is up to him.”

Melody shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she said, then clucked her tongue. “Being friends takes two, Daddy. Even I know that much. Have you ever tickled his ears like this? Or, wait. I know —” She plunged her hand into her peppermint pocket, retrieved a candy, and handed it to Doctor Tom. “Here. You try.”

I nuzzled her for defending me.

He smiled at her, but closed one eye and peered at me. “Hmm. What do you say? Water under the bridge?” He placed the candy in the well of his hand and clenched his fist around it. By then, I had decided there was about nothing in the world that I savored as much as the first shock of peppermint on my tongue followed by sweetness in the crunch. And there was easy pickings right in front of me, even if the prize was hidden.

I dropped my nose toward Doctor Tom’s hand; he unfurled his thumb. “For you,” he said, and uncurled his fingers. “Really, truly.”

Now, I didn’t lollygag. Just swiped the treat and nodded for more.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Doctor Tom. He gentled his hand and touched my cheek softer than ever before. And without a needle in sight.

Melody encouraged him. “See? You’re doing great. Maybe L.D.’s just super-duper sensitive. I think he worries a lot. Maybe you have to reassure him. You know, talk to him. Make sure he knows you like him and think he’s a good boy.”

“Hmmm . . . could be,” said Doctor Tom. “Most Edensway foals seem born knowing we’re on their side. Not him, though.”

Melody looked at me, then at him. “Horses are like people, Daddy. You have to take the time to get to know each one. I learned that from you.”

Doctor Tom breathed in a slow breath. I breathed out. He touched my withers, then my shoulder, then my chest. No needle, no tubes, no halter.

“Seems maybe I’ve forgotten some things I should be remembering. What else have you picked up hanging around the barn?”

The child was a confident speaker, that’s for sure. She didn’t hesitate to school her father in equine matters she knew to be true. “When I was six you told me this: ‘Never get yourself into a position of girl versus horse, Melody, because a horse will always win.’ ”

“True enough,” said Doctor Tom. “A pearl that holds true for man versus horse, too.”

“And when I was seven you said: ‘You can’t demand anything from a horse. You have to earn everything through trust. That takes time.’ ”