Macadoo of the Maury River (10 page)

O
ne Saturday morning in September, Izzy hurried out to our field carrying his pencils and binoculars well before Molly and Poppa left for Tamworth Springs to help train the new hunting pups. I desperately wanted to go with them and whinnied loud and often to make my wishes clear.

I could always tell when Poppa and Molly were going to hunt. Even before the season officially opened, Poppa wore his hunting jacket and best riding pants and shined his tall boots whenever the club would ride out to check fences, set courses, or practice with the pack.

Izzy gave Job and me our breakfast in the field and promised to bring us inside if the day turned too hot. Job had never liked hunting and as old as Molly was then she loved to ride out with Poppa to see her friends at Tamworth Springs. The boy sat in his usual spot on the great granite slab at the top of our paddock. He wrote furiously, the read:

“September fifteenth, eight a.m., Cedarmont Farm, Buena Vista, Virginia. Eighty degrees by the barn, approximately. Mild day, cruel drought. Oak gone to seed, acorns everywhere, dogwood brittle. Pond nearly dry, no frogs seen or heard. Job and Mac drank all their water last night. They’re grazing together. A beautiful day, but rain, rain, rain would make today perfect.

Butterflies I’ve already seen this a.m.:

We were soon captivated with the dance of the spicebush swallowtail, and as Poppa and Molly left Cedarmont for Tamworth Springs, late in the morning on this most beautiful day, Molly whinnied for me. I left Izzy and cantered along the fence as Molly and Poppa passed.

“I wish I could come with you! Maybe tomorrow Izzy and I will ride to Tamworth Springs, too,” I called after her. “Will the beagles run tomorrow? Will all the horses from all around come back tomorrow? And the man who blows the horn to start the hunt?”

Molly halted to answer me, but Poppa gave her a little kick. “Walk on, girl,” he said.

She wouldn’t budge. “It would make me so happy if you and Izzy could come today.”

Poppa squeezed Molly behind the girth. “What’s gotten into you?”

I nickered. “Tomorrow, Molly. We will come with you.”

“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow.” Then she trotted away.

I stood at the gate, whinnying until I was sure she was gone. When finally I heard the baying of beagles through the woods, I knew they would not return until the late afternoon.

Izzy called me back to him. “Quick, Mac! Come here!” he yelled out, and I ran to the far end of the field. “Look!” he said. “The oxeye daisy! Was it here yesterday? How could we have missed this one?” He wrote in his notebook, then read again:

“Oxeye daisy: white petals, big yellow eye, jagged leaves. More spindly than Poppa’s shasta daisy. About twelve inches high. Looks just like the shasta’s bloom. Only one plant.”

I smelled the wildflower just before Job ate it.

Izzy laughed and said, “Well, I’m hungry, too, Job.” Then he scribbled and read:
“Mules eat wild daisies. Not sure about Belgians.”

He folded up his notebook, sat down beside us, and pulled an apple from his sack. A generous boy, Izzy hardly got half, between biting off chunks to share with Job and with me.

Before Izzy could climb up the oldest of the three oaks to rest in its broad lower limbs, Molly exploded through the meadow, carrying Doctor Russ, the veterinarian, not Poppa. They galloped straight toward our paddock.

“Izzy, tack up Mac!” the vet instructed from the saddle. “Let’s go.”

“Poppa’s hurt,” Molly quietly told Job and me.

I stomped the ground and tossed my head. I tried to jump the gate, but fell back.

Molly touched her nose to mine. “Settle down but make haste, Macadoo. Your boy needs you.”

Job pinned his ears at Molly, then turned to me. “Son, let the boy take you out of here, and let Molly lead you to the field. See how you may be of service.” He breathed over me to make me brave.

Doctor Russ hurried Izzy along. “Please, Izzy. You need to tack up Mac and ride with me back to Tamworth Springs. There’s been an accident.”

“What’s happened?” Izzy asked.

The vet, a man of girth and height just suited for a Rocky Mountain mare–mammoth jack cross, shifted his weight, side to side, in the saddle. “Izzy, your granddad fell. Hit his head hard. Now, he’s talking a bit of nonsense. I’m afraid he may have broken his leg, too. An ambulance is on its way, but he wants to see you. We should go now.”

The boy stood squinting at the sun. When Izzy still would not budge, I shoved my barrel against the gate.

Doctor Russ spoke softly to my boy. “Your poppa’s tough. He’ll be okay. Just trot Mac through the forest.”

Izzy patted my neck. “You’ll get me to him, Mac. I trust you.”

He folded away his notebook and walked me to the barn. Izzy tacked me up all on his own. A hairy brown wolf spider crawled along the floor with a hundred spiderlings or more riding on her back, yet Izzy never reached for his pencil. The boy was busy summoning his courage, and I was, too.

As we passed the gelding field, on the way to Tamworth Springs, Job stood square at the gate and asked after me, “Son, you know the forest?”

I nickered.

“Then I’ll stand here, right here, until you come home,” Job called.

Molly led us through the woods at a fast trot. I could’ve managed the hard and narrow path without Molly’s help; I would have cantered the whole way to Poppa. Izzy fidgeted with his hands, then squeezed my reins too tight. He wiggled his seat and, yet, tried to reassure me. “We’ll be there soon,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

Halfway to Poppa, Doctor Russ slowed Molly down and asked, “Everything fine back there? We’re going to canter now.”

“I know what to do, Doctor Russ. You go, then we’ll go,” Izzy said.

He grabbed mane and gave me my neck. My hooves lifted off exactly in time with Molly’s, and all of us cantered away.

On the field, horses stood bunched together in groups of six and three and two, and some stood alone. Most of the riders remained mounted; a few stood on the ground talking to one another. The mild day had brought out the entire hunt club, even though the opening meet was still weeks away. A group of observers — guests of the club — stood a ways off from the horses, pointing at something uphill.

The hounds that I had so often heard baying tumbled over one another in a frolic. A few pups had scampered away from the pack and followed their noses off into the brush at the edge of the field. All I could see was the tips of their white tails wagging furiously in the tall grass.

“Yip, yip, yip.” The hunt master called the pups back. “Yip, yip, yip.”

This should have been a fun day of working with the young dogs who were all yelping and playing in the field, but something had gone terribly wrong.

The kindly Doctor Russ stopped and pointed just beyond the beagles, where I saw Poppa on the ground.

“There, Izzy, let’s go!” he shouted.

Izzy had never galloped. Doctor Russ didn’t ask, but still we charged onto the field. Izzy grabbed even more mane, and we raced to Poppa.

I called across the field to all who could hear. “I’m coming! Macadoo, the Belgian, is coming!”

The mares and geldings of the hunt club whinnied back, and all the horses and dogs moved out of my path.

Poppa held a bandage to his head, and his hunting jacket lay draped over his leg. He waved when he saw us. “Finally! Izzy, you’ve come! I wanted to see you, to tell you.”

“Judge, you’re going to be fine,” said Doctor Russ. “You need to get to a doctor about that leg. It may take a while, but you’ll be fine.”

Poppa’s faced paled, and he held his leg tighter. Izzy jumped down, ran the stirrups up the saddle, and slipped the reins beneath the stirrups. By doing this, Izzy was asking me to stand in this place until he came back. He pushed his way through the people crowded around Poppa. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so.” Poppa wiped his forehead and nodded. “Job took a long spot over the fence down at the bottom of the hill. Is that right?”

“Poppa, you mean Molly. You rode her today,” Izzy corrected his grandfather.

Doctor Russ, who had dismounted the mule, spoke up. “Your Poppa wasn’t riding Molly. I was. He took my green horse, Picasso, out today. He’s right about the long spot over the fence. Picasso clipped it just enough to throw Judge here off balance and out of the saddle.”

“I’m still not sure how I ended up sprawled out in the grass or how my helmet came off. My head hurts.” Poppa winced. “My leg, too.” He reached in his jacket pocket, pulled out a flask, and took a swig.

Izzy asked him, “Poppa, what are you drinking?”

For a moment, Poppa held the container out. “Here.”

Izzy smelled the bottle, then took a sip. “Cider.” He smiled and bent down to kiss his poppa.

We stayed on the field until the ambulance took Poppa away; then we walked home through the forest. Everything about our lives changed that day.

P
oppa went to the hospital, and we went home to Cedarmont without him. When Izzy and I trotted back out of the woods, Job was standing guard at the gate, awaiting us, like he said he would be. Doctor Russ turned Molly out with Job and me. Izzy didn’t correct him and I was glad. I didn’t chase the white ducks or charge the sparrows that day. We all wanted to be together to await Poppa’s return.

Molly blamed herself, but how could she have changed Poppa’s decision about riding the young, green horse? “You know Poppa,” Job consoled her. “Stubborn as you.”

Izzy stayed out in the paddock with us well past nightfall. Even when Doctor Russ came out to get him, Izzy wouldn’t leave. A trace of moon peeked in and out of the clouds and made only a dim light. With no wishing stars in sight, I wished anyway that Poppa would be well and hurry home.

Poppa didn’t come back to Cedarmont. Izzy went to stay with Doctor Russ, but still came to tend to us every day. During the daytime and nighttime, Izzy left the gate between our two fields open so Molly, Job, and I could graze freely together.

One evening some weeks later when the nights turned cold, Izzy visited for a long while with us in the pasture. Like always, he scrambled atop my back. He took a flashlight from his pocket and read from his notebook. Then he wrote about Poppa, not birds or weather or insects.

Poppa sat up today and ate oatmeal, toast, and black coffee. He tried to read the paper. I read it to him, then Poppa fell asleep. His doctor says to keep the room dark. I don’t know when he can come home or when I can come home either. I’m staying with Doctor Russ till Poppa gets better.

“I like Doctor Russ all right,” Izzy said into the night. “Even though I can take care of myself. I’ll be fourteen soon. I could take care of Cedarmont for Poppa, too, but it’s Doctor Russ who’s making decisions for Poppa.”

Izzy closed up his notebook and stretched out on his back. I stopped grazing to give him a steady place to recline and stargaze.

“Let’s see if we can find Cetus, the whale. Do you know why I love Cetus, Mac?” Izzy asked.

I flicked my tail to keep him talking.

“A special star lives in Cetus. One called Mira Stella — the wonderful star. Macadoo, how do I tell you about Mira? Mira isn’t like all of these other stars. Mira is different; Mira goes away, then comes back.”

I nickered, but not so loud as to awaken Job.

Izzy stretched out long on me and rested his head on his arms. “Almost anytime, I could find the North Star, Polaris. It’s always there, every night.” Izzy sat up. He wrapped his arms around my neck. “But Mira shines brilliantly for weeks, then fades away to nothing, and to us, it looks like the star’s gone completely out. Sometimes, it even seems like Mira may never come back. If you find Cetus — the whale — you can see Mira there, shining brightly, and if not, that’s where she’ll be when she comes back. She’s always there, whether we can see her or not. Poppa told me that story when I first came here. He was trying to make me feel better about Mom; only she will never come back.”

Izzy pointed to all the pictures in the sky that he had taught me: Pegasus, Bear, Dipper, and the Great Dog. “Do you remember them, Mac? Never forget, okay?” he said.

I searched the valley sky for the wonderful star, Mira. Each looked wonderful to me. I blew out a long breath and ate some fescue.

In our silence, we watched the stars and planets rise and rest over Shenandoah, the Valley of the Stars. Izzy pulled his knees up into a ball and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mac.”

The next day, when Izzy came to feed us, I knew from his tear-streaked face that the story of Mira Stella had been his way of saying good-bye. It was time for me to go.

Izzy placed my leather halter around me. “You should have something of your own to take with you,” Izzy said. “This one with your name. Macadoo.”