Into the Free (21 page)

CHAPTER 31

Mr. Tucker walks into the arena, and I stiffen. Bump pulls Firefly to a quick stop. I’m supposed to be cleaning stalls and feeding horses, not taking riding lessons for free on Mr. Tucker’s horse. Bump helps me as I jump down from the saddle, wincing a bit when my feet hit the ground.

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking to the dirt, too ashamed to look Mr. Tucker in the eye. “I’m almost done with the jobs. I’ll get right back to work.” I hurry back to the stalls, leaving Firefly with Bump.

“Now wait just a minute, Millie. You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says. I stop in my tracks and turn back to face him. “I know how hard you work around here. If you can get the chores done, I don’t mind you riding the horses. Not at all. They need the exercise, and it’ll do you some good to get to know them a little more. They don’t like strangers all that much.” He winks and puffs on a huge cigar.

I resist the urge to hug him, to jump up and down and yell. Instead I smile and say, “Thank you, Mr. Tucker. Thank you!”

So now, with Mr. Tucker’s permission, Bump and I practice with Firefly every day. Camille follows in our tracks, soaking in everything Bump says. He’s worked with Firefly for nearly a year and claims she’s the best horse he’s ever trained. Within two weeks, he has taught me how to get her to lie down and let me stand on her belly. Then she lets me do that while I blow a loud whistle. Then while I crack a whip in the air above her, never touching her with the sting of the snap. For some reason, she trusts me completely. She never flinches. Bump says it only works if I trust her in return.

Camille, still my biggest fan, whistles and claps, constantly whining for Bump to let her have a turn. He treats her like a princess, giving her a black pony to ride while I work Firefly. He tells her the pony’s name is Poison, which piques Camille’s interest.

Today, Bump has set up Camille and Poison in the left training ring. That way, I can dedicate every bit of attention to Firefly. I leave her back bare and do the same with my feet, so I can feel the movement of her muscles, tensing and tightening, reaching and pulling, stretching and snapping beneath my heels. I warm her up patiently, and then ease my way up to stand on her back as she walks slowly around the arena. I’m comfortable right away, as if this were a perfectly sane way to ride a horse, so I click my tongue and signal her to pick up the pace. Three laps and we’re still going strong. The wind rushes through me, and Firefly and I are threaded together. Even with Mama, Jack, Sloth, and River gone, even after the huge black hole opened beneath me, here, in this ring with Firefly, no part of me is missing. I am no longer empty and wanting. I feel fulfilled.

After two more rounds, she slows and moves to the center of the ring. I weave my fingers through her mane and whisper praise in her perked ears. If she were a cat, she’d purr. Instead, she lowers her front legs and sets me down to the ground with gentle release.

“Incredible!” Mr. Tucker hollers, running out to meet me in the dust. “That was absolutely amazing! I can’t believe this.” He’s out of breath. Janine follows him with gentle reminders to calm down. “I should have known. Jack was right. You’re a natural with animals, all right. A real natural.”

“Thanks,” I say, grinning from ear to ear, refusing to let memories of Jack steal this joy, “but it’s not me. It’s Firefly. She’s taught me everything I know.”

“Hey, what about me? Don’t I get some credit round here?” Bump strides out behind Mr. Tucker, his crooked smile bigger than me.

“Yeah,” I say, “I guess I’ve learned a few things from Bump, too.”

“A few?” Bump protests. “Heck, this girl didn’t know the difference between Western and English when I found her. All pathetic and scared, leading poor Firefly here around in circles like she was a leashed-up puppy or something.” He looks at me, smiles that warm smile, and I know he’s only teasing.

“Well, if you ask me, you could be a big star,” Mr. Tucker beams. “Let’s get you an outfit and work out a routine. You can join us for the next rodeo. Trick Riding. One month from today. In Dallas.”

“Dallas?” I blink. Compete? I think of the women in the pictures on the arena walls. Could I be one of them? But then my mind transitions to River. Spring is only two weeks away. “Mr. Tucker,” I say, bracing to turn him down. “I would love to compete, but I’m still catching up with school. I’ve missed so much this year, with Mama being sick, and then my fall. I can’t possibly miss any more.”

By now, Camille has noticed the commotion and enters the conversation. “Don’t be silly, Millie. He can talk to your teachers. Explain the situation.”

“Diana would never allow that, and besides,” I improvise, “who would look after you?” I smile at Camille.

“I’ll go with you!” she beams.

“Right,” I say. “Like Diana would ever agree to that idea.”

I am only making excuses. I can’t admit the real reason I’m reluctant to go. The seasons will be changing soon. In only two weeks, I’ll celebrate my seventeenth birthday and the return of spring. As much as I would love to go to Texas, ride Firefly, become a rodeo star, I can’t risk being in Dallas when River comes back to Iti Taloa. When he comes back for me.

“It’s only one event, little lady,” Mr. Tucker presses. He’s sweating and fanning himself. Janine fans him too. “It’ll be a huge showcase. You’ll put those sponsor girls to shame, I tell you.” If we were cartoon characters, money signs would be flashing in his eyes. I’m tempted. It’s something I’ve always wanted. But I want River more. It’s not worth the risk.

“I think I’ll have to wait until summer, Mr. Tucker. I’m so sorry. I’m honored by the offer. More than you know. And I’d love to ride with your rodeo. Just not yet.”

Camille shoots me a
What the heck is wrong with you?
look. I shift away.

“Sure thing, gal. I don’t want to be taking you out of school. Smart choice,” he turns to Bump. “She’s a smart one, case you haven’t noticed.”

Bump smiles. “I’ve noticed.”

CHAPTER 32

Each day, I fidget through hours at school, counting the seconds until I can get back to the arena. With Camille as my sidekick, I continue to spend every spare minute in the saddle. Even though Bump stays busy training other horses for the big Dallas showcase, he doesn’t seem to mind making Firefly and me his primary obligation. If I am even a minute late, he guilts me about it. “You owe me three minutes,” he says, waiting in the arena with Firefly at the ready. He never scares me though. He’s not the kind of guy to put fear in someone.

He shows just as much patience out of the ring as in, so I’m not surprised when he looks out into the parking lot where Jack’s truck has been parked since the funeral and says, “Seems like a waste to have a truck you can’t drive. Wanna learn?”

“You bet!” I don’t hesitate. It’s Friday but the town leaders are preparing the school for a weekend ceremony so we have no class. I climb behind the wheel and remember Jack peeling in and out of our lives. The power he must have felt, squealing away whenever he felt the notion. Leaving Mama and me spinning in circles, like flies in a dust storm.

Jack’s truck is a 1939 Ford. The day he won it, he came home jiggling the keys. “Wanna go for a ride?” Mama and I jumped in and we all zipped away, my arm making waves up and down in the wind. I leaned my head out into the dust and before I knew it, I had swallowed a bug. Mama laughed. Jack did too. “Let’s test these fancy brakes,” Jack shouted over the noise, pumping the new hydraulic system in and out to give it a go. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Those Ford fellas shoulda’ done this years ago, you ask me.”

Wooden slat-rails rattled above the back bed, and the stick shift stood tall and lean next to Mama’s knees. It shone like a crystal ball, and I couldn’t help but think of the gypsies. Even then, I was dreaming of running away with them someday. The leather seat stuck to my legs in the summer heat. I wanted to open the glove compartment, roll the window up and down. But I knew better than to touch anything in Jack’s new truck. I was lucky he was sharing the moment with me at all.

I counted the trees flying by. The AM radio had to warm up. But between the low background buzz of the signal and the roar of the wind, none of us could understand a word the announcer was saying. Mama turned it off and started to sing. I joined her, and before we knew it, Jack was singing too. There we were, the three of us, bouncing along back county roads singing to the trees.

Get out of town,

Before it’s too late, my love;

Get out of town,

Be good to me, please

Why wish me harm?

Now Jack’s gone. I’m the one driving, and I can in fact get out of town. I can touch any old knob I please. Bump and Camille must think me crazy, flipping the lights on and off, beeping the horn, checking the little fan on the steering wheel that defrosts the window in winter’s worst, Click. Clip. Click. Clip. The sounds bring me joy. This truck—Jack’s truck—is mine.

“Are we gonna just sit here all day and pretend or what?” Camille leans over into the breeze of the tiny fan.

“Where to, my dear?”

“Chicago! Where else?” she says. She’s heard Mabel talk for years about visiting Chicago, where some of her cousins had gone after the flood. Music, dancing, every kind of restaurant you can imagine, we’ve heard it all. I agree with Camille. Chicago seems the place to be.

“Chicago it is, then!” I wink at Bump as Camille bounces up and down between us, clapping and cheering with her usual pep. We haven’t moved an inch, but I swear we feel like we’re on the journey of a lifetime. “Which way do I go?” I ask Bump.

He points out his passenger window and shouts, “North!”

After Bump’s less-than-precise directions, I try to release the parking brake. He leans in, puts his hand over mine and guides me as I release the brake handle and push the lever forward. I try to ignore the chillbumps rising on my arms, so I mash the clutch and put the truck into first gear. I slowly press on the accelerator. The engine revs. My heart does too.

“Here we go!” Camille cheers.

We lunge forward in the gravel lot. But before we even make it to the road, the engine sputters. Then dies. We all start laughing, as if we are the biggest fools in the world. Of course we couldn’t make it to Chicago, even for pretend.

Bump senses my disappointment. “Happens to the best of us,” he says. “Probably just got a little water in the engine. Hadn’t been run in a while. Never good to sit idle too long.” He hops out of the truck and opens the hood. After examining every valve and container, he takes a look in the fuel tank. “Well, heck, Millie. You ain’t got no fuel in this thing.” I can hardly hear him over Camille, laughing so loud.

“Couldn’t a picked an easier problem to solve. Just gimme a minute,” he says, dusting his hands on the legs of his jeans. “I’m coming with you!” Camille yells, climbing out before he has a second to protest.

“Why, of course,” he nods, holding the door open for Camille. “I wouldn’t have it no other way, my lady.”

I playfully roll my eyes and lean back in the seat, thinking how typical it is of Jack to leave with an empty tank.

Bump never loses his temper. Not when I run off the road into a ditch full of water near the factories, not when I nearly get us flattened by a train, not when I stall at every intersection in town, not even when I turn the wrong way and land us in the quarters.

Camille loves the entire adventure. She pokes her head out the window and waves to all the children who run shouting and laughing behind the truck like a parade. I honk the horn for good measure, which draws curious stares from cautious old women on their porches. Bump just laughs, taking it all in, and before I know it, I am driving. Not stalling. Not crashing. Not getting flustered or turning the wrong way. Really and truly driving my 1939 black Ford pickup through Iti Taloa. Queen of the world.

We pass a woman sitting on the porch of a small dogtrot cabin. She is rocking a baby, and she wears a peaceful look on her face. “That’s Mabel!” Camille says. “Let’s stop!”

I pull the truck to the side of the road, careful not to hit the ditch. Camille has opened the door and run to the porch before I can even cut the engine. Bump slides out behind Camille. Comes around to open my door.

“This reminds me of home,” he says, taking a long look at the scrapboard house with a tin roof. “Right down to the oak trees.”

He’s told me he’s from the Delta. That his parents were sharecroppers, barely making ends meet. Was proud that his father worked his way up to be a tenant farmer. “Not much better,” Bump had said, “but every step counts.”

Bump has scrimped and saved and worked his way through school. He’s almost finished the state program to be a veterinarian. A big accomplishment by any means, but nearly unheard of for a sharecropper’s son.

“I’d like to see it one day,” I say. “I’d like to meet your family.”

“Really?” he asks, in a tone of authentic surprise.

“Of course,” I say. “I need to meet the woman who raises this kind of son.”

“And what kind would that be?” he asks, a little worried.

“The kind who takes time to remove the thorns,” I say, looking directly into his eyes for the first time since we’ve met. They are blue. The color of hydrangeas. A color that reminds me of big happy blooms and secret childhood hideaways. The color of sweetness. And of safety.

Camille interrupts the moment. Yells, “Y’all hurry!”

Mabel has left the rocking chair and is coming out to the truck to meet us, holding a baby on her hip. “Well, you just won’t give me one single day off, now will you?” She smiles warmly. “Come on in and let me fix you a glass of water.”

She places the baby down on a blanket in the middle of the floor. “My niece came up from Willow Bend,” she says. “She’s in the hospital. Had no one else to watch the baby. I told Diana I’d come in as soon as I can. I’ll do the cooking here, and I’ll bring supper over at the very least.”

We join Mabel in the two-room house. It is as clean and organized as Diana’s fancy home, filled with some nice things that must have been Diana’s discards. “What on earth are y’all doing out in these parts?” Mabel asks, handing me a cold glass of water, fresh from her well.

I look around the room, remembering nights when I’d get Mabel to tell me stories about her husband. Her son. Both gone.

“Any word from your nephews?” I ask, hoping they’ve sent letters home by now. Both have gone to Germany, eager to join the war.

“Nothing in two months,” she says, pulling a family photo from the wall. “This is Jasmer. Here’s Jeff. This is Jeff’s baby I’m keeping.” She points to the pallet on the floor where she’s laid the baby. “His wife is pregnant, but she’s having some trouble. Hoping it’ll all be okay. Lord be with us,” she says. Then she kisses the frame and hangs it back on the nail in the wall.

“Is that your husband?” I ask, pointing to a photo of a gap-toothed man with a dimpled chin.

“Oh, yes,” Mabel says, smiling. “That’s James. World don’t make too many a man as good as that one.”

“He worked the rails, right?”

“Yes he did,” Mabel says. “Twenty-six years. Till a drunk engineer forgot to pull the brake in time.” She rubs her hand across the picture. Camille, Bump, and I all stand still and wait in the silence. The baby sleeps.

“He might not have been the prettiest bird in the flock,” Mabel laughs, “but I’d choose him all over again, given the chance.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on him, Mabel. Look at those eyes. He’s handsome,” I say.

“Well, I think so too, Millie. But there was a time when I thought he was the ugliest boy on the block.” She laughs. Camille does too.

“Then why’d you marry him?” Camille asks. I’d kick her if I could. She never thinks before she speaks.

I give her a look, and she adds, “I mean, you’re so pretty, Mabel. You should have chosen a looker. Like Garrett Jenkins.”

Mabel laughs. “Oh, dear child. You’ve got a lot to learn about marriage,” she says. “Any fool can choose the boy who sends her heart into a flurry. But there’s a big deep divide between desire and devotion. You better not choose the boy who makes you dizzy. No, ma’am. You have to choose the one who is steady. Stable. Safe. Choose the one who loves you, through and through, for who you really are. The one who wouldn’t change a single thing about you, even if he could.”

“So that’s why you married him?” Camille pesters, more serious now than before. “Because he loved you through and through?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I would do it again tomorrow. I made the right choice.”

Camille puts her glass in the sink and moves over to stare at the baby. I hope she doesn’t wake him up.

Mabel turns from the photo and changes the subject. “Surprised y’all aren’t up at the arena,” she says. “Seems like all you ever do these days.”

“Millie’s amazing,” Bump answers. “You should come out. See her ride. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

I blush.

“It’s true,” Camille chimes in. “She rides that horse backwards. Standing up. With her eyes closed. Mother would die if she knew what was really going on down there!” It’s obvious that the very thought of breaking her mother’s rules excites her.

“I’d love to come,” Mabel says. “Maybe I can make it out for your first competition.”

“Really?” I ask. “That’d make me so happy!” I’m honored beyond belief that Mabel would want to see me compete. I think back to Mama telling me that rodeo people do better when they stick to their own kind. I don’t think she was right.

The baby stirs, cries, and Mabel jumps to tend to its needs. I take that as a cue and say we’d better hit the road.

“I’ll see y’all home for supper,” Mabel says. “I may be bringing the baby.”