Macadoo of the Maury River (3 page)

“Not all of them?”

She nuzzled me. “Tomorrow, you will find a new home. Your help is needed elsewhere. Do you understand?”

I rested my head on my dam and rumbled. She had taught me to be an honest horse, for that is an honored trait of all Belgians. “No, I don’t understand,” I answered. My lip quivered and I tried to hide in her mane.

“Tomorrow you will be sold at auction. A sale of the finest drafts from all around. After that?” Mamere blew her still-sweet breath across my face. “You must accept whatever the day brings.” She tried to comfort me. “I only know what Janey tells me, and what I hear when she returns from the auction house. Often, she speaks of kindly people; occasionally, she weeps.”

“How many children of yours have gone to the auction?”

“Oh, my son, too many. I imagine the end of my service here is approaching. Even a broodmare’s work can’t last forever. Janey has been reducing the herd these past few years. There will be a price to pay for your father’s appearance in our field today. I expect we’ve missed our breeding time for this season. That will cost Janey dearly. I may only have another season or two left with her.”

Mamere looked out at the dark and distant mountains — solemn giants surrounding our field. She blew out across my face, trying to comfort me, but the sadness inside her escaped. Her breath hinted at sorrow or regret or change in fortune.

“Will you go to the auction house, too? When you leave here?” I asked.

“What a kind colt you are to worry about me. All right, yes, you are my favorite.” Mamere nudged me away, but I stayed tucked in. “Run on, now,” she urged me. “Look at all of your cousins playing without you.”

The other yearlings were galloping through the field, but I stayed with Mamere, and we watched the sparkling stars ignite and race across the sky.

After a long quiet, my dam dreamed aloud, “I do wish . . .”

“What do you wish?” I needed to know.

The brightest star of the night flared close and lit up Mamere’s face. “Darling, I wish that you will always, for the rest of your life, have fields to run in, mountains to protect you, and stars to gaze upon. That is all. Now, go on, and catch up,” Mamere insisted.

I stood still and asked, “Why must I go? This is my place.”

My dam whickered. “Your father was right about this: no horse stays here forever, gentle one. Not even I. This place is for making horses, not for keeping them.”

I reached up to catch Mamere’s breath and make it my own. I breathed in all the hope and power and magic of every shooting star in the night sky. I sent a new promise back to her and said again, “My place is with you. Do you know what I wish?”

She sighed, relaxing against me. “Sweetest, you are too young to know what you really wish, but go on, tell me.”

I touched my muzzle to Mamere’s. “Here is my wish: wherever I go tomorrow, I wish for you to go there with me so that I won’t be lonely and you won’t be alone.”

“Yours is a very generous heart, indeed, and these stars tonight are strong. Yes, then, my sweetest, my biggest, my fastest, and my favorite one! May our two wishes come to pass, and may tomorrow find us together.”

I curled up in the grass with Mamere to watch for our tomorrow. From the branches of the pine, I heard the owl’s wings beat, felt its hunting eyes pierce the night, and then heard the cottontail’s last squeak. I moved still closer to my dam as the darkness moved closer, too.

B
efore the sun came up, Janey came with breakfast. Mamere urged me to eat my grain, and she gave me hers. “We have a few minutes more. Today you’ll need your strength and energy. Eat.”

Janey reached her hand to touch Mamere’s face. “Tina, there’s not another like you.”

Janey nudged her floppy straw hat out of her eyes and sighed. “Time to go.”

One last star raced across the August sky. I looked up and pleaded, again, with the wishing stars.
Please keep me with Mamere for today and tomorrow and tomorrow.

“Come on, Cypress. Time to go.” Janey pulled the lead rope to get me moving.

Mamere pushed at my barrel with her muzzle. I stomped and started to kick out. I wanted to bolt away to the top of my hill, but I hadn’t a chance. I pushed my feet into the ground. I refused to walk on.

“Mamere, no! I won’t go. We’re supposed to stay together. Please, Mamere. Don’t make me go.” I tried to rear but Janey pulled me down.

From hiding, in the dark of morning, two farmhands appeared. One haltered me; and the other, Mamere. In seconds, they forced both of us into the black cavern of the trailer.

“Mamere! No! What is happening?”

“We are going to auction. Your wish came true. We are going together,” she said.

Janey and the hands loaded the other foals next. Mamere whinnied to all of us. “Remember your calling and never give up! You are all purebred Belgians. Made to work and to serve. This is only your beginning. Do not be afraid.”

I tried to be brave and believe Mamere, but it was the stallion’s words I thought of:
We are coming to the end, I fear.
I shuddered to think that my father could be right.

E
ven though I was with Mamere, I was afraid of what might happen. The trailer was dark and cold and I was tied in place. I couldn’t nuzzle her or curl up next to her.

Tangles started to trace their way along my barrel, looking for a way inside, or, looking for a way out. I could not tell; I could only want them to stop. I kicked and pawed at myself and made a racket to quiet the tangles.

Mamere brought me back from their deathly grip. “Hush, there is so much to tell you.” She bent her head to me. “We will be there soon. Now, listen closely with your ears; listen also with your mind and your heart. I’ve heard Janey and the farmhands describe this sale many times. While I don’t know what will happen, I do know this: it is always in a horse’s best interest to stay alert and be aware.”

“Alert so I can help? Like when I helped the butterfly and when I helped you?”

“At the auction, you will need to help yourself first. Everything around you is an opportunity. You must watch for just the right one. When Janey’s grandchildren have come to our farm, I’ve seen how their hearts are open and kind toward the horses in a way that is different even from Janey. So, reach out to children, if you see any. Look into the eyes of any man or woman who appears kind.”

“But Mamere, I will have you with me.”

“But if we should get separated, stay to yourself, and, perhaps, you’ll be noticed. If you get hit, accept the beating no matter how harsh. You may feel frightened; act brave! You mustn’t give up.”

There was no way to run, so I crouched my whole trembling self between Mamere and the trailer wall.

When, at last, we arrived at the auction, Janey told the grader that I was the finest Belgian she had ever bred, but he did not see me through Janey’s eyes.

“Not good enough!” he shouted. “Bad ear!”

He ordered workers to take the other colts and fillies and Mamere to the opposite end of the sale, where the sale of fine horses was starting. My father had left his mark on me, and this mark — the missing tip of my ear — made the man cast me off.

Good Janey didn’t budge. She held me aside to appeal the grader’s choice, and we waited while he inspected my papers.

I pulled to go with my dam.
My place is with Mamere.
I tried to tell Janey by yanking against the lead. Then I found my voice and whinnied as loud as I could. No one called back, not even Mamere, who stood quietly with one of Janey’s helpers, waiting. Janey begged me to quiet down.

My papers, proof of my lineage, would not change the grader’s mind. “No, he can’t go to the yearling sale,” he said.

“What?” Janey blew up at the grader. “You’re sending him to the kill sale?”

I reared and yanked hard on the lead rope to escape to the trailer or any place away from there.

“Mamere, help me!”

My dam said nothing. She would not move a foot nor an ear, but she showed the whites of her eyes. That was the first time I had seen her afraid.

But Janey turned dark in the face; she stamped her feet and shook her hat. “I will not let this horse get butchered — ground up — because you don’t know a good colt from pet food. You’re a blooming idiot. Now, let him go with my other foals!”

“Forget it, lady. Move on.” The grader folded his glasses and rubbed his nose. Without another word, he tore my papers to pieces, leaving Janey holding nothing of value, holding only me.

“You can’t do that! You can’t do that!” Janey hollered. She tossed her hat on the dusty ground.

“I just did; he’s going over there. Now, move; you’re holding up my line!”

Janey lowered her voice from a yell to a plea. “Sir, please. Forgive me. He is a fine and good animal; he deserves something more. Please, can the mare at least go with him?”

The grader looked at the line forming, then at his watch. Janey didn’t budge. Finally, he waved the auction workmen over to remove Mamere and me. We walked on to the kill sale; we walked on together and joined the other forgotten horses.

A
skinny man carrying a long stick corralled us into a maze of cold gates and steel fences. He took us from Janey and away from the foals.

When I resisted, he struck me with his prod. “Come on, get in here,” he yelled.

Janey ran up beside me. “Little man, be good,” she said. “No funny antics.”

Standing there in the crowded chaos, Janey covered her face with her hands. Perhaps, she had grown tired of bringing her Belgians to auction.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and spoke to herself. “Stop it! Stop it, Jane. Get hold of yourself. You do your best; that’s all you can do.” She kissed the top of my head and patted Mamere’s neck. Then, there was no one left to help us, and I never saw Janey again.

Through every sharp turn of the corral, the stick man poked at my barrel and tapped at my neck to keep me moving. I didn’t strike back, nor did I complain, nor did Mamere. Both of us obeyed, at first. I tried to suckle Mamere, and the man beat me away.

He kept us moving to the kill sale.

I thought of my dam’s story of the special calling of our breed: to help. “Mamere, I can save us. I will help us both.”

“Oh, sweet one, you may have wished the wrong wish, to be bound to me. Had you been sent in with the yearlings, you’d have a chance of finding a good home, but who will want an old broodmare and her son? Who but a kill buyer will have need of a tired mare and a colt with no papers?”

“Shhh, we’re together now, and we’ll stay together, Mamere.”

I stepped to the front of the pen. I sought out women, children, and kind-faced men. I only needed to find but one true friend.

I stretched my head between the corral bars and nickered to everyone who passed by. Soon, a crowd gathered. Some wanted to look at my teeth; others handled me in places that even Mamere had avoided. In the commotion, I glimpsed people whom I would willingly serve and gladly befriend, but the stick man always made me move away from them. Little by little, I could see Mamere giving up hope.

A fine lady strolled by with her arm sealed in a hard cast. I called her over, then reached through the bars toward her. She laughed with the delightful, dainty laugh of a wren.