No Small Thing (18 page)

“What are we going to do now, Nat?” Queenie asks.

“He’ll be fine here until we can think of something. There’s enough grass coming up to keep him fed, and now that it’s warmer, he should be okay staying outside overnight.”

“What about all our stuff—Smokey’s sign and our brushes? Do you think they were burned in the fire? And what about the sled?”

I was thinking all these things too, and I didn’t have an answer. “Well, we can’t go in just yet. We’ll wait until things die down so we can sneak in and get our things. But we’ll have to wait until tomorrow or maybe even later, when no one’s around.”

Ma is waiting for us when we get home. Her face looks old and drawn.

“Is Smokey all right? The man who phoned couldn’t tell me much.”

We tell her all about the fire and what we think happened. We tell her about Smokey being fine out in the field. Ma listens intently. She doesn’t ask many questions but lets us tell the story without interruption. When we’re finished, she leans back in her chair and lets out a heavy sigh. She looks at us long and hard, and I can tell she’s ready to drop a bomb.

“There’s no easy way to say this. We have to sell the house.”

“What?!”

“We have to sell the house. We have no choice. I can’t keep up with it.”

Cid and I howl in protest. Queenie slips into the living room and starts to dance.

“You can’t sell the house, Ma! Where are we going to live?”

“There’s an apartment up the street for rent. It’s big enough for all of us.”

“What if we don’t want to live in an apartment? What if we don’t want to go?”

“Nathaniel, we have no choice,” Ma says with resignation.

“But I can help you, Ma. I can help pay the bills.”

Ma stares at me, her shoulders rounded and her eyes sad. “I know you would, Nat. I know. But the money you earn from your paper route isn’t enough to dig us out of the hole we’re in. We have no choice but to sell. I wasn’t going to tell you just yet, with the fire at the barn and all….”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

Ma looks at the floor. “I have. A man came around today saying he has a buyer. All I have to do is sign the offer.”“How much are they going to pay?” I ask with disdain.

“It’s a good offer, Nat. It’s more than we paid for the place.”

“So that’s it?” Cid shouts. “That’s all there is to it? We just leave and never see our house again? And then what? We just keep moving and moving forever? Why don’t you just shoot us all in the head!”

Ma’s voice disappears to a whisper. “My hands are tied.”

Cid and I leave the table in disgust. I feel bad leaving Ma like that. I can tell she is tired and broken. I can tell she can’t go on struggling any more. But I can’t help myself. I don’t know how much more I can take. I thought the barn catching on fire was bad, but this is worse.

* * *

Ted Henry is waiting for us when we get to the barn the next day. “You kids have to move your pony out. He can’t stay here. It ain’t safe.”

I just stare at him with hatred. Somehow I’m sure this is all his fault.

“Where are you going to take him?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet, but we’ll find a place.”

“Well, I know someone who wants to buy him, if you’re interested.”

Cid and Queenie look at me in horror. We never even considered that we’d have to get rid of Smokey.

“Well, we’re not selling,” I say angrily.

Ted shrugs. “Suit yourself. I just thought I’d let you know. It’s a good home that wants him. A young boy over in Bolton. He wants to jump him in the pony club.”

We spend the night at home combing through the want ads in the paper. There are stalls for rent, but they are either too far away or too expensive. We talk in circles for hours, trying to come up with a solution. By the end of the night, selling Smokey seems to be the only thing we can do. Now I understand Ma’s decision about the house. I feel ashamed for the way I treated her.

Cid sits on the edge of the bed sniffling quietly. Queenie dances off to one side, lost in her secret world. I wish I could dance or just sit on the bed and cry, but I know it won’t change anything. I know what we have to do.

The next day I find myself standing on Ted Henry’s porch again, banging on his door. He whips the door open as usual, but this time he doesn’t seem angry.

“Come to your senses?” he asks.

“How much are they willing to pay?”

“One hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Is it a good home? Do you know the people?”

“I know them enough. They’re rich. They’ve got a big barn and riding arenas and the whole bit. They’ll take good care of him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I am worried about that, and a million other things too. Like, will they love him, and comfort him when he’s lonely or scared? Will they give him carrots for treats, and wet his hay to keep the dust down? Will they rub his mane the way he likes? I can feel a big lump growing in my throat.

“Tell them okay,” I say at last. “Tell them we’ll sell.”

Ted nods, like we’ve made the best decision.

I drag myself down the stairs to where Queenie and Cid are waiting. I can’t look into their eyes or I know I’ll break down. Somebody has to be strong, and I know it has to be me.

“This is it, isn’t it.” Cid says.

I can’t even bring myself to answer her. Queenie reaches out for my hand and we walk back to the barn. When we reach the lane there is no one else there. Queenie and Cid go around to the field, while I sneak inside to recover our things. The inside of the barn is littered with boards. Light from outside filters in through the holes in the roof, but the barn is still somehow dark. Beneath the loft, the ladder lies in a heap, collapsed in the heat of the fire. The windows are smashed where the firemen broke through with their hoses, and the smell of smoke is so thick it chokes me. Smokey’s stall looks small and dark without him in it.

I pick through the rubble over to where we keep our tack. I grab the brushes and hoof picks and roll them up in Smokey’s blanket. I grab the twine harness and the sled. It’s warped slightly from the heat. I grab Queenie’s bridle and loop it over one shoulder, and then I grab the sign and the Gorilla’s noseband. When I have everything, I stop to take a good hard look around.

“This really is it,” I say to myself, echoing Cid’s words. I think of all the life that has gone on here. I think of all the animals and people that have come through these doors and walked along these aisles. And now they’re gone. Gone forever. There is nothing worth saving. No life left.

No horses, no people, no ghosts—nothing.

* * *

Ted Henry doesn’t waste any time arranging the sale. We’re set to meet the people after school the next day. As usual, I suspect Ted and wonder what he’s getting out of it. He’s probably charging the people twice as much money as he told us and keeping half for himself. I fuel my anger for a while, thinking about this.

That night we sit on my bed talking about what will happen. Cid is trying to think of some way to prevent the inevitable. She suggests running away with Smokey. She wants to travel from town to town, riding Smokey and camping out. She even thinks about getting a rifle for protection. I don’t mind the idea, but we both know it won’t work.

With all our talking we don’t notice that Queenie is nowhere in sight. We check her room to see if she’s gone to bed, but she’s not there. We check through the whole house, careful not to alert Ma.

“Where is she?” Cid asks.

“I bet she’s at the barn!”

Cid and I sneak out of the house so Ma won’t hear us and wonder what’s going on. We run the whole way, worried that Queenie may be in trouble. When we reach the barn, I can see Smokey in the distance. We climb the fence and make our way through the field, tripping over stones and tufts of grass.

“Queenie!” I call out.

Smokey whinnies. When we get closer, we find Queenie sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees, the bottles of hoof paint at her feet. Smokey’s hooves shine black in the dark, his one white hoof sparkling silver. “Looks really nice,” I say.

Queenie sniffles. I sit down next to her and put my arms around her.

“It isn’t fair,” she says. “It just isn’t fair. Why can’t things be different for us? Why does everything have to spoil?”

I can’t find the words to explain it to her. I can’t think of one thing to say to make her feel better. So I just sit there, holding her and staring off into the night. Cid stands next to Smokey, running her fingers through his mane. I wish we could stay inthis field forever. I wish things were different for us too—that we weren’t poor and that we had options. I wish I could wave my hand and make everything better.

I pull Queenie close to me. She leans her head on my chest. “I’ll ask Ma if we can take school off tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll explain everything to her. She’ll let us do it when she knows why.”

Queenie nestles into my arms, and we sit like this for a long time. Then we gather up the hoof paint and make our way home.

Ma doesn’t even flinch when I ask her for the day off school. I start to give her some lame excuse because I don’t want to tell her that we’ve decided to sell Smokey. But she doesn’t need an explanation. She says we can take the day and she’ll write us notes too. Before I leave her room, she hands me a box. It’s the sleeve that she gave me at Christmas, only now it’s a whole sweater. I try it on right there, just to show Ma that I like it and that there are no hard feelings.

“Keep your knits about you,” she says in a sad little voice.

Cid, Queenie and I arrive at the barn early the next morning. Smokey canters down from the top of the field when he sees us. I feed him carrots through the fence before climbing over and putting on his bridle. I hand the reins to Cid, because I know she’ll want to ride first. Cid looks at me, then hands the reins to Queenie.

“You go first,” she says.

Queenie hops up on Smokey’s back without any help. She reins him to the right, then canters over to the fence at the far end of the field. She veers to the left, dipping behind the little hill, then canters to the spot where the giant maple tree grows. She reins Smokey in and stands beneath the tree for a while, stroking his neck. Smokey chomps on the bit, anxious to go. Queenie spurs him forward and they take off again, Queenie’s hair flowing as wildly as Smokey’s mane and tail.

Then Cid goes for a ride, following Queenie’s path along the fence and to the maple tree. She canters across the field and pulls Smokey to a stopin front of me. She jumps to the ground and hands me the reins. I run my hand along Smokey’s neck, rubbing his mane the way he likes before I get on.

I rein him to the right, just like Cid and Queenie did, but I don’t let him canter. I walk him to the fence, feeling his muscles move beneath me. He snorts and tosses his head, anticipating the gallop. I keep him close, trotting him easily along the fence to the maple tree. I stop, just the way Cid and Queenie did, then let my legs hang loose at Smokey’s sides. The sunlight dances with the leaves of the maple, dappling us with quick patches of light. It’s cool beneath the tree, the smell of new grass in the air. Smokey paws restlessly at the ground. He turns to look at me. I pat him until I’m ready—and then I give him a kick.

We are off, galloping faster than we have ever galloped before. I shout encouragement in his ears, urging him on. He stretches out his neck, his mane whipping every which way. His breaths are short and hard, and I can feel the power of his muscles and his lungs as he runs. Queenie and Cid are hooting and hollering. They’re egging us on, pushing us faster and faster across the field. My heart races, the beats keeping rhythm with the thunder of Smokey’s hooves against the ground.

“Go around again!” Cid and Queenie shout as we arc past them.

I rein Smokey around and we continue to gallop until we reach the giant maple tree again. Here I slow him to a walk and let him catch his breath, his sides moving in and out like a bellows. I make him walk nice and slowly, back across the field. By the time we reach the girls, Smokey is calm and so am I. I don’t dismount right away but stay seated, feeling Smokey’s warmth.

From where I’m sitting, I’m the first to see the truck. It trundles up the lane slowly, hauling a small trailer behind. It stops in front of the corral and a boy jumps from the passenger’s side, then saunters up to the fence. He looks spoiled and aloof. A man emerges from the driver’s side. His shirt and pants are perfectly pressed like he’s some model from the Sears catalogue. He waves at us, but I just sit there staring. I can’t bring myself to wave back like everything’s okay. The man opens the latch to the gate and starts walking towards me.

I can’t really explain what happens next but suddenly I just can’t go through with the whole thing. Maybe all Cid’s talk about running away planted the seed in my mind, I don’t know, but before the man reaches me, I rein Smokeyaround and kick him hard. Cid and Queenie look totally shocked as Smokey bolts straight to a gallop. We tear down the field, me hollering like some crazy cowboy, the sound of Smokey’s hooves beating like a war drum.

“Hee-ya! Get up! Go on, get up!”

The fence grows bigger and bigger at the bottom of the hill and I know Smokey can’t make it over—not with me on his back. Then I remember the part off to the right, bent low from years of kids cutting across the field. I rein Smokey toward the dip and grab hold of his mane with one hand. He approaches the fence with quick choppy steps and I think he’s going to shy, but then he jumps into the air with a grunt.

To my surprise we clear the fence easily, hitting the ground on the other side with a thud. I slide to one side then regain my seat. Smokey’s hooves slip in the spring mud, but he doesn’t slow down. I kick him again and urge him forward, the mud splattering against our legs and faces. I feel reckless and wild, like nothing can stop me, like Luke Skywalker when he destroyed the Death Star. For some reason I can’t help thinking that this must have been how Dad felt too, the day he sped away in his silver Pontiac Parisienne. No questions. No explanations. Justthe wind in his face and a senseless drive to be free, no matter what the consequences. Maybe running away was all he could think about doing at the time. Maybe he felt he had no choice. Suddenly I feel as though I understand him.