Macadoo of the Maury River (12 page)

I hid behind the cedar’s wide trunk.

“You’re a draft horse. That tree doesn’t even hide your backside. You know that? I can see almost all of you.” Mrs. Maiden held the water hose in her hand in a long arc; its spray fell just shy of me.

When she turned the hose toward me again, I walked to the middle of the field. She bent to clean out the old, empty tub. She leaned far into the tub, pulling hay and muck from its bottom. Water drained out and rolled across the bare ground to my feet. I followed the water trail to Mrs. Maiden and rumbled into her ear.

“Oh! Well, hello. You startled me.” She stood up.

I could have run, but the sound of water made me stay. I was thirsty.

“Hey there, boy, come here.” Mrs. Maiden grabbed for my halter.

I took a step back.

“Shhh . . . hold on, hold on.” She aimed the hose at one of the swollen cuts on my leg. “How about that? Is that better?”

I nickered; the cold water felt good.

Mrs. Maiden brought me into the barn and carefully cleaned the marks from the prod at the auction. “I hadn’t realized they hurt you. I’ll be right back.”

She returned with liniment and apples and giggling girls. Little ones, big ones, and even grown ones circled me, all holding brushes, sponges, and treats. They liked my halter, and they liked my name.

“Macadoo!”

“Oh, somebody loved you! Look at this; he’s got a leather halter with a nameplate. I want one!”

“Macadoo! Fan-cee!”

While tiny hands braided my mane and tail, Mrs. Maiden told the girls, “Judge Isler, from other side the county, got Macadoo as a colt for his grandson four years ago. The judge had a riding accident in September. Broke his leg in three places and suffered a pretty bad concussion. Now he and his grandson have moved to a smaller place in the city.”

“Didn’t they want Macadoo anymore, Mrs. Maiden?” one of the young girls asked.

“Oh, I know they wanted him, but horses and a boy are a lot to take care of for someone of any age. I’ve heard his medical bills are pretty high. Judge Isler just couldn’t do it anymore, and now we have this nice horse. How about if we give Mac a try as a lesson horse. Would you ladies like that?”

“He’s perfect!” “He’s so big!” said the child at my chest. “I don’t know if I want to ride him till I’m older.” “Hey, what happened to his ear?” chimed in the little girl standing on a mounting block, braiding my mane.

“Well, he’s very quiet and standing nicely for you girls,” said Mrs. Maiden. “I like that. What do you think, Naomi?”

I noticed another girl off to the side, squatting on top of a crate, watching me. Her eyes were hidden, covered by her own curly forelock, but she was watching me.

“He’s too big,” she said.

Mrs. Maiden answered patiently. “Yes, he is big. He’s a Belgian draft. He’s supposed to be big. He’s probably close to eighteen hands. I think he’s five years old, so I don’t expect he’ll grow too much bigger. He’s very gentle. Come see for yourself.”

“No, I’m stayin’ right here.” Naomi said as moved farther from me.

“Good gracious, Naomi. Go get an apple from the tack room. Let me show you that it’s all right to be near Mac.” Mrs. Maiden waved her over.

Naomi shook her head.

The other girls giggled.

“Shut up! I’m not scared. I’m just not coming over there, because I don’t want to.”

Mrs. Maiden walked to Naomi and held her hand out. “Come with me. I’ll stand with you while you meet Mac.”

The girl came and stood directly behind me, in the one spot where I could see nothing. Still, I didn’t mind her being there. Another horse might have minded a great deal and might well have flicked his tail or even kicked, but I had learned patience from the mules.

“You never stand directly behind a horse. You might get kicked. Now, calm down and come here.” Mrs. Maiden tried again. “Notice how wide his back is? And look at the muscles he has here.” Mrs. Maiden stroked my shoulders and chest. “Belgians are bred to pull heavy loads and to carry a lot of weight comfortably. If you look at Saddle Mountain, in fact, you can tell that the trees are not that old. Do you know why?”

The girls all shrugged.

“Because horses like Mac here logged that mountain — and mountains all over the country — years ago. Belgians are bred for two things: a good disposition and a strong build.”

I reached my neck around as far back as I could to see Naomi. She smelled of apple, so I reached my lips out, too.

“Ahhh!” She screamed and pulled away. “Is he going to eat me?”

“Naomi, you’re a trip.” Mrs. Maiden laughed. “Horses eat apples, not people. You know that. Come back here.”

A car horn honked twice. “That’s my foster mom. I gotta go now,” Naomi said, and ran from the barn.

The other girls kept misting my legs with fly spray and buffing my coat with a dandy brush. They fed me carrots and peppermints and wondered if they could ride me.

From the paddock, I could see that the drive beside the barn led to the road: that led back to Cedarmont. I could have run across the Maury River, up Saddle Mountain, and all the way to Cedarmont, but even I knew my old life with Izzy was gone.

O
n my first day in gelding field at the Maury River Stables, the October sun burned the morning fog away and, I could see my splendid mountains in every direction. Just beyond the back fence line, the Maury River ran shallow between banks of sycamore, closer to me than it was at Cedarmont.

Here I lived in a field with the geldings-boarders Charlie, Cowboy, Jake, and school horses Dante, and an overweight Shetland pony named Napoleon. I towered over all of them.

The black Thoroughbred gelding, Dante, ruled our field, and he seemed unimpressed that I outweighed him by almost one thousand pounds and that my shadow fell longer than his, too. I could have taken charge of the geldings anytime, but I didn’t want to. I wanted Cedarmont and Izzy.

Poppa had once described the Belgian breed as half work and half love. Mrs. Maiden gave me a job. I worked without complaint, for the woman who saved me from the auction and for the children in her care, teaching the older ones and their mothers to ride, and standing still while Mrs. Maiden used me to teach everyone all about chestnuts, frogs, docks, and horse feathers.

While Cedarmont was a family estate where Judge Isler kept a riding ring and trails, just for pleasure, the Maury River Stables was a business. Poppa had bought me to help restore Izzy’s spirit. But Mrs. Maiden had bid on me, at the auction, for a different purpose: to work in her school with many different children.

Though the barn at Cedarmont would have fit inside the Maury River Stables’ barn, Mrs. Maiden’s barn held only twelve stalls. But there was also an indoor riding ring, a tack room, a wash stall, and a feed room.

Half of me was missing. Girls and boys here came and went as quickly as the clouds moved across the valley.

As a colt, I had learned to live with the absence of part of my ear, and I had learned to live without Mamere, but how could I live without Izzy?

All through the autumn, I watched for Izzy every day sure he would return for me as soon as he and Poppa could. At the sound of a car door slamming, I would canter to the gate and wait to hear Izzy call, “Macadoo! It’s me!”

But car doors opened and closed all the time without bringing Izzy.

The stars helped me remember Izzy though. At the end of each day’s work, the night sky was my solace. I tried to find Bear, Dipper, and Pegasus. When I looked for Polaris and Cetus, I knew Izzy was somewhere watching them, too.

Each night I chose one light in the sky to focus on; I sometimes selected the star shining brightest in the sky and other nights I picked the one hanging nearest the moon. In the light and dark of that infinite space, I remembered Izzy.

But, a loving memory is not the same as love.

One night a dense, low sky had settled over the Maury River Stables, and I couldn’t see the stars that helped me remember my boy.

The tangles awoke in me, again. Up and down the hill I paced, searching for a window through the fog — a moon ring, or a patch of bright stars, but I could only see my own feet and not much more. I thought if I could just roll on the ground to make the pain go away, then I might feel better in the morning.

I jumped up when I heard Gwen, a Hanoverian mare, trot up on the other side of the fence line. She walked beside me in the mare field, on her side of our shared fence. She asked, “Have you lost your way?”

I could hear but could not see her. “Lost?”

She nickered. “You’ve worn down a hard path over there. Are you in distress?”

“Go away.” I pinned my ears. “I don’t feel good. I want to be alone.”

The warmblood nickered softly to me. “Sweetest,” Gwen said, and I thought of Mamere. No one else had ever called me “sweetest.” “Why don’t I stay with you awhile?”

I pushed my ears down, flat against my head, and squealed at her.

“All right, sweet Mac. I will go,” Gwen said.

But she did not leave; she grazed alone, in the mare field next to me. I heard her pulling at the grass, though the fog engulfed all but her legs.

She will have to wait all night,
I thought,
if she is waiting for me.

Along the fence post, I feigned grazing but could not eat. The mare across the fence from me had three white socks, just like Mamere.

I rumbled to Gwen.

The blood bay reached her head across the fence. She nuzzled me.

“I saw your mules at Tamworth Springs when I hunted there with Stu last week.” she said. “They send their love and their breath.”

“Molly and Job?” I whinnied to know more.

“Oh, I’ve known them for years. These days, we speak of you quite a bit — that is, until we hear
tallyho.
Then, we don’t speak at all; we race behind the hounds. Job told me how you like to race.” This time, Gwen leaned across the fence and nipped at me. “Is that true?”

I hung my head. I had not raced anyone, or anywhere, since Cedarmont.

“What is it you want, Mac?” Gwen asked.

Her question startled me, but I spoke the truth, because Mamere raised me so. “What I want is to be with all of my family: Mamere and Molly and Job and Poppa and Izzy.”

“I see.” Gwen turned to leave. The three white socks started down the hill.

“Wait, please. So, you know my mules?”

“Yes, but they are not here,” she said.

I shoved my shoulder into the fence; it shook down the line. “They would want you to help me!”

Gwen spun around to face me. “I didn’t know your dam, but I know the mules and I imagine they all would be saddened to see that you still resist your nature, your true purpose. Count yourself lucky. You have been spared not once, but twice.”

The fog started its drift into the valley.

“Gwen?” I asked for her breath. “Who am I without my family? What do I do now without them?”

She sent her breath to me. “Can’t you see? You’re well loved here. By me, Mrs. Maiden, and all the students. Who are you? I’ll tell you. You are a fine Belgian. What do you do now? You love and you work, Mac. And when you have a favorite child again and when that next child leaves, guess what you do then. You love and you work. That is all you need to do, for that is who you are.”

I asked Gwen one more question. “What else did Molly and Job say?”

Gwen nickered. “Molly asked if you had tried to jump out of the field yet. Job told me that if you got too bothersome, I should tell you to go away.”

“Oh. Is that all?”

The mare nodded toward the sky. “Have you ever heard of a star called Mira?”

“Yes!” My stomach started to rumble. Walking and talking with Gwen had helped me feel better.

“Job muttered something about Mira. He asked me to remind you to remember Izzy’s story.”

I nickered. “Job was in the field with Izzy and me that night but I didn’t know he was listening, too!”

Gwen and I grazed next to each other, with only a fence line between us, for many nights after. I stayed awake and walking, wondering if each star I could not see might be the wonderful star that would bring Izzy back to me. Until our reunion, I would fulfill my promise to serve at the Maury River Stables.