A couple of days went by, and more news filtered in about the case surrounding the Mustangs. A couple of other younger
men from our area, in their early twenties, had been part of helping to round up and poach the horses. One of them had been
friends with Daniel when they were in high school.
Frank was out on bail, was what Kristin reported to Guthrie during a phone conversation. He was making himself scarce,
though, not hanging around the trailer park much.
Whenever I thought about Kenny, I felt all weird inside. Guthrie, too, seemed thoughtful a lot of the time, as if he
were miles away.
One of the mornings, I went with Hannah and Crane to the grocery store, and even there, you could hear the differing
opinions of townspeople concerning the case. Even the older women from our church were clustered together, at the end of
the dairy aisle at the store, gossiping over things. Men, though, they seemed to linger more over the topics of
whether it was wrong or right to round up the wild herds and sell them off.
That wasn't the greatest of mornings. After hearing a couple of those conversations in passing, and then having the
checkout girl at the grocery store, Maizie, talk about the horses, saying, "I don't see what the big deal is. They're just horses.
They're not anybody's pets, or anything like that. Why shouldn't people make a little money from them? Everybody knows
they give the ranchers problems."
I was so suddenly furious, white-hot with anger, that I snatched at the bag she was reaching for, and began putting the
food into it myself, instead of waiting.
"I'll do it," I told her, in a clipped tone.
"What's your problem, Harlie?" she asked me, looking genuinely perplexed.
I wanted to say something mean, really mean, but I felt both Hannah and Crane's eyes on me. Hannah looked
a trifle concerned that I was going to rip Maizie's head right off of her body. Crane didn't say a word. At least not
vocal. But, the look he was giving me, was loud and clear. I'd have him to deal with if I shot off my mouth, and told Maizie
just what I thought of her. I remembered how he'd gotten on to me earlier in the summer, saying that he wanted me to
be kinder to people, not to judge so harshly.
I settled for an answer that I thought wouldn't have me in trouble with Crane, or with Hannah.
"I just wish you'd learn some more about the Mustangs," I told her. "Before you form an opinion, I mean."
"What is there to learn?" she asked, blithely.
Again, I would have liked to have pulled some of that bleached-blonde hair from her head.
"There's lots to learn about them," I said, and then knew that I'd reached my Maizie-limit of the day.
I took the sack that I'd filled with our groceries, and left the rest of the bagging and carrying to Maizie and Crane, and
went on outside to the Jeep, where I stowed the bag in the back seat and then climbed in myself.
It took Crane and Hannah a few minutes to finish and come outside with the rest of the groceries. Crane went around to
the back, and put some of the perishable stuff in the cooler. When he got back in behind the steering wheel, Hannah sort
of twisted to face me.
"We're going to run down to the doctor office and let Doctor Meyer have a look at your hands," she said.
"What?" I immediately began to protest. "We don't need to do that. They're a lot better."
"They're some better, yes, but they're still awfully red." Hannah said. "And Clare thinks, and I agree, that they ought to be looked at, anyway. Just to
be on the safe side."
I knew exactly what she was getting at. It had to do with my diabetes, and how I had to take precautions that other people
wouldn't necessarily have to worry about.
"Oh my gosh," I muttered.
Crane gave me a look in the rear view mirror. I flicked my glance away. He put the Jeep into motion, and drove
the short distance to the doctor office. When he'd parked, and turned off the engine, Hannah got out.
"Come on," she said to me, sounding brisk.
"So totally unnecessary," I said, stubborn to the end.
"Harlie," Crane said. It was short, and to the point. A quiet, but very stern reprimand. I met his eyes in the mirror
again. And then I got out, not saying anything more.
7
Dr. Meyer was busy, so he was brisk and efficient. He said my hands were healing, but slowly, and he prescribed something called
salicylate vasoline to put on them. After that, he talked to me about my diabetes. How I was managing it, and all of that. He's
a nice man, so I tried to answer his questions politely.
"Any problems since your last visit, then?" he was asking me.
"Not really."
"Low blood sugar episodes?"
I wondered if the time in the last week or so when I'd had a headache and then my level was low, and Evan and Ford had practically
stood over me while I ate a banana, was worth mentioning.
Hannah was sitting there quietly, but I knew she was thinking of it, too.
So, I did mention it.
That caused Dr. Meyer to go into his long spiel about how I needed to be vigilant at all times, etc. etc.
I was quiet on the way home. I felt tired, and wrung out. With sarcasm, I thought to myself, my, my, best not
show that I was tired! It would be attributed to the stupid diabetes, for sure.
The more I thought about it, the more irritated I got. Hannah, and Crane, too, had obviously known that I was
going to go to the doctor's today. They hadn't told me. They'd hidden it from me as though I was a little kid, or something.
I decided, not very maturely, that I wasn't going to talk to either one of them for a while. I helped carry in the groceries at
home. Mostly because Crane handed me a sack, and so I had no choice. As soon as we got into the kitchen, though, I set the
sack on the table, and went right back outside again.
I went to the barn, up in the hayloft, and laid on my back, looking up at the jagged streaks of sunshine coming
thru the places in the roof where there were spaces. Which needed to be repaired, is what my brothers were always saying.
I keep a book or two up in the loft, so that I'm always prepared if I want to hide out up there. Well, hide out is not the
right term. I wasn't hiding from anybody.
I was reading, lying on my stomach, when I heard my name, from right below the hayloft opening. I sighed, and
felt a bit of trepidation. I sat up, and scooted over to the opening, settling back on my knees, and looking down at Crane.
"Come on down," he said.
I sat there, perched as I was, on my knees, and looking at him. "I've done my chores," I told him.
"Good for you," he said, mildly enough. "Come down, please."
"Why didn't you or Hannah just tell me I was going to the doctor?" I burst out.
"So you could pitch two fits instead of one?" he asked sardonically.
"I wasn't," I protested. At his continued look up at me, I went on, "Pitching a fit. I wasn't."
"Come down here," he said again, and this time there was a new tone to his request. Or his order, rather. I sighed.
It takes a lot to tick Crane off. It really does. But, he was close to it now. I could tell.
"Okay," I said, getting to my feet, and going to climb down the ladder.
Once down at the bottom, he was there, waiting, at the open doorway of the barn.
"Come on," he said, and began walking. Out of the barn, and down the driveway. I followed along,
and started walking side by side with him.
Halfway down the driveway, I demanded, "Where are we going?"
"Just taking a walk," he said mildly.
"I wasn't unkind to Maizie," I preempted him. "You say I need to be more patient with people, and I was. I didn't tell her
what I really thought of her."
"Maybe you can change her mind. Educate her a little," Crane said.
I looked at him, a little puzzled.
"Isn't that what you want to do?" he asked then. "Try to give people new information that they may not
have heard before? About the preservation of the Mustangs?"
"Well, yeah," I said, after considering. "I mean, it would be good. Some people aren't going to want to listen, though-"
"Some will," he interrupted me.
"Yeah."
We walked in silence for a couple of minutes, and I couldn't help not feeling totally at ease. Crane hadn't taken me 'out walking'
for no reason.
"Is Hannah mad at me, too?" I spoke up.
When Crane looked at me in question, I went on, "I mean, if you think that I was snarky about going to the doctor, then she
probably does, too. And she's going to look at me, all disapproving, and think I'm not taking the diabetes seriously-." I let my voice
trail off.
"Harlie, why do you make everything so hard for yourself?" Crane asked, instead of responding to my comment.
I gave him a questioning look, not sure I wanted to know what he meant.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Making things what they don't have to be," Crane said, and he paused in his walking, turning to face me, his hands in the
pockets of his jeans.
I paused, too, looking up into his face, feeling uncomfortable.
"If you're feeling badly, health-wise, it's absolutely up to you to speak up, and ask for help," Crane said. "It's vital, and your
responsibility to do just that. On the other hand, when it's something that you don't consider concerning, like today, with your hands,
then you don't get to make the decisions. Sometime, though, you will. You'll be grown up, and able to decide whether or not you need medical
attention. But, until that time, it's our responsibility to look out for you, and make the decisions we think are right for you."
Wow. What a mouthful of lecturing words.
"Okay," I said, suddenly tired, and just wanting our conversation to be over with.
"Okay, what?" he asked.
"Okay. I get it. You all are the bosses, and I need to listen when you're looking out for my stupid diabetes."
"There you go," Crane said, in a disappointed tone.
"There I go, what?"
"You know exactly what I mean," Crane said, and now he sounded mostly stern, not kind.
I felt my face get all warm in embarrassment. I absolutely hate that! When my face gets all hot, and the person I'm talking to can
tell that I'm feeling embarrassed.
"No, I don't, Crane," I protested. "Honestly."
"You're giving me attitude and a smart answer, when neither one of those was necessary."
I hesitated, looking at him, and feeling at a loss for words.
"That's what I mean about making things harder for yourself," he went on.
I was done now. All I wanted to do was go up to my room, and lie down for awhile, with the door closed.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Crane looked at me, thoughtfully, and then he said, slowly, "What is it that you're sorry for, exactly?"
"For having attitude about going to the doctor. For making smartass comments. I'm sorry."
Crane stood, just giving me that same, contemplative gaze, never wavering, and not looking particularly
appeased.
"Anger or wishing, neither one make something go away, Harlie," he said.
I sighed. My brain was tired.
"Your diabetes isn't going anywhere," he continued.
"I know that," I said, feeling frustrated.
"Then why the fight, like today? About going to the doctor?" he asked.
"I-" I hesitated. I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said again.
For a long moment, I thought Crane was going to press on, keep lecturing, all of that. But, he didn't. He
nodded, and said, briefly, "Okay. We'll drop it for right now."
I was so grateful that I didn't even feel embarrassed any longer.
"Thanks," I said, really quietly.
"Just promise me you're going to do better. With listening, when we're worried about you," he went on. "And not be
so impatient with us."
"I promise to try," I said.
7
When Ivy came over, a little later on, to make a check on the cattle, she had the news of the burro's tests. He was healthy. Not
sick. I was standing outside with everybody when she said it, and I couldn't help the leap of happiness I felt inside. There. Now they
shouldn't mind that he came around. Well, I rethought that. Brian and Adam seemed as though they were going to have reservations
about him, regardless. But, still, at least he hadn't made the cattle sick.
Clare, standing there, as well, gave Brian's arm a pat. "That's good," she said. "Isn't it, Brian?"
"It's good," Brian allowed. Adam, meanwhile, didn't say anything. He only nodded, and then they got involved with the cattle,
checking over them. and discussing things.
I gave Clare a grateful look. She was trying to help smooth things out. That's what's so great about Clare.
Our cattle situation was grim. Better, but still grim. None of the other cattle were showing signs of illness, but the ones
that were sick were making varying degrees of a return to health. Some, you could hardly tell had been sick. Others, well, they
were still very obviously not recovering quickly.
I kept my joy about the burro 'close to the vest', as they say.
7
When Guthrie and I were out riding, making certain there were no cattle too far from the herd, we saw the Jack. He was
standing near a stand of trees, and, as we rode closer, I saw that he had the Jenny with him!
"Look, Guth!" I said, in excitement. "This is the first time I've seen her since the night she had the baby."
As we rode closer, though, and then paused, sitting on our horses, and watching the pair of burros, Guthrie argued
that it wasn't the same female burro.
"Yeah, it is," I argued.
"No," he maintained, pointing. "See that streak of white there? Around her neck? The other female didn't have that."
I rode up closer, and, as he followed, I turned back to tell him, "I think it's the same one."
"Nope," he insisted.
I turned to survey the burro 'couple' more closely. "I don't remember. Maybe she did have a streak of white like that."
"She didn't."
"I don't know how I wouldn't have noticed that marking," I said.
"Probably because you had your mind on what was going on, and were too excited," Guthrie pointed out.
"You make me sound like some dingy female," I complained.
I slid off of Charley. "Watch," I told Guthrie, and was able to walk right up to the Jack, and rub his head. Only for a moment, but still. The
Jenny, though, she took herself out of reach quickly.
"See?" I said, looking back to Guthrie. "He's really getting tame. You want to pet him?"
"Not now. Maybe later on."
"Okay." I gave the burro a final scratch, and came over to remount. "I wonder why he's with a different Jenny."
"Why not?" Guthrie countered.
I gave Guthrie a look, as he went on, "Gotta admire him. Havin' more than one girl."
I only rolled my eyes at him.
7
It was later that evening, well after supper, and after I'd talked to Lori on the phone for a long time. I went out to the barn,
toting my saddle, and beginning to polish it.
It was already dusk, and I turned on the lights in the barn.
It was while I was busy, rubbing, and polishing, that Brian came into the barn. He had a claw-foot hammer in his hand.
"Hey there, peach," he greeted me.
"Hey."
Brian went to hang the hammer on the pegboard, where the tools are kept, and then walked over to stand beside me.
"Guthrie says you saw the burro today, while you were out riding."
"Yeah. We did," I said, looking up to meet his eyes.
Brian nodded, but didn't continue on that. I would have told him about the different female, but I didn't think that
this was a subject that he and I should really elaborate on.
He surprised me by his next words, though.
"I'm glad the burro wasn't the cause of our cattle problems." As I searched his face, he said, "I'm real glad about it. I am."
"Me, too," I said, thinking that this was where he and I would reach a mutual understanding of the burros.
"The thing is, though," he began, and I felt my hopes fall. "He's still a wild thing. He's not a pet."
Since I did, already, think of the Jack as a pet, of sorts, I didn't answer immediately.
"He's been free all of his life," Brian went on. "He, and all the other ones, their place isn't bein' domesticated."
I put down my cloth that I'd been using, and said, directly, "He just likes hanging around. It's not such a horrible thing, if he does, is
it, Bri?"
My tone was respectful, I made sure of that, but there was a bit of pleading in there, as well.
"No," Brian said slowly. "It's not that it's a horrible thing. I'm worried that you're gonna get disappointed, though. Let down."
"Why?"
"Because he's likely to take it into his head to disappear one day, just as fast as he first came," Brian said.
"I don't think he will," I said, and realized how stubborn I sounded. "I don't mean to sass you, Bri. I just don't think
he would just leave."
Brian was quiet for a long few moments, our eyes meeting, and then he nodded briefly. "Well, time will tell on that, I guess."
7
The next morning I went out early, to run my barrels, and look about a bit for the burro, but he was nowhere in sight.
Later, I went to town with Evan and Guthrie, when they went to pick up some feed, and fencing supplies. Evan had said
he would treat Guthrie and I to a malt or something at the Dairy Kurl, so I made certain that I ate healthy for breakfast.
Oatmeal.
It was while we were at the feed store, that all the talk centered around, of course, the Mustangs, and the arrests.
I tried to tune it all out. I was tired of hearing about it. I just wished they would find all the dumbasses who had
chased the horses and the burros, and then it would be done.
I browsed around the store, looking at stuff on the shelves, as Evan was paying for the feed. Eventually, though,
the voices of the older ranchers reached me, even though I was trying to avoid it all.
And then, I heard one of them, a long-time rancher in the area, Myron Stroup, say that he'd shot a couple of
the burros, when they'd come down and were eating on his winter hay that he had stored.
I had enough presence of mind to put the bright purple halter that I'd been looking at back onto the shelf,
and then I went to exit the store. Fast. I walked right past Evan, who was still at the counter, paying, and past Guthrie,
who was getting gum from the gumball machine. I pushed the door open, hard and fast, making the bells over the top
jingle.
I went to sit on a bench just outside the door, breathing in and out, and trying to get a grip on my emotions.
Guthrie appeared beside me. "What's wrong, Har?" he asked.
"Didn't you hear?" I demanded, trying hard not to cry.
"Hear what?"
"He shot two of the burros!" I said, and now my eyes did fill with tears.
"Who did?" Guthrie asked, looking perplexed.
"How could you not hear him? He was bragging about it! That-Mr. Stroup! He shot two of the wild burros!"
Guthrie looked shocked, and then he wrinkled his forehead, and said, "I didn't hear him. I guess I wasn't payin'
attention-"
"It doesn't matter," I said. I sat there, staring off into space, as trucks and cars passed by, and hanging on
by a thread to my control.
"Why did he do that?" Guthrie asked then, still sounding shocked.
"He said they were eating his winter hay, or something," I muttered.
A sudden, horrible thought occurred to me then. I'd been thinking in general terms of the herd of burros.
"What if it's my burro that he shot?" I said, getting to my feet, and literally shaking.
"I'm sure it's not him," Guthrie began.
"You don't know that!"
Evan came out then, heading towards his truck. "We've got to pull around to load up," he said, and paused
beside us. He'd obviously heard what had been said inside the feed store.
"You heard what he said, huh?" he asked me quietly.
I nodded, looking at him in misery.
"Come on," he said, looking sympathetic, but determined. He put a hand in the center of my back, and steered me
towards the truck.
I climbed up and into the center of the truck seat, as they each got into their respective spots, as well. Evan drove around
to the side, and backed up to the loading dock. He and Guthrie both got out, and up into the back of the truck, as the employee at the
store began tossing sacks of feed to them, while they stacked.
I sat there, feeling miserable, and sad, and staring out the windshield. When Guthrie and Evan were finished, and back
in the cab of the truck, Evan started the motor, but then we just sat, without moving.
7