Summer of the Redeemers (7 page)

“A white Schwinn?” That bicycle was my pride. The idea that those boys might leave it out in the weather tormented me. I’d had it for a year and there wasn’t even a dent on it.

“Yeah, a white bicycle.”

“With a deep front basket?”

“No,” Jamey Louise smiled. “There wasn’t a basket. If that bike had had a basket, it would have looked just like yours.”

“Are you sure?” My palms felt hot and sweaty, and a stinging sensation started on the top of my scalp. Either I was going to faint or I had been gripped by a fury so powerful that I’d never experienced it before. Had they dared to take my basket off?

“I’m sure. You think I don’t know a basket on a bike?”

“What time?”

“About half an hour ago.”

So that explained the bonnet, the lipstick and the dress. Jamey Louise was sick, sick, sick, dressing to catch the eye of one of those Redeemer boys. She obviously didn’t think it was a waste of time no matter what Libby said. “Did he say anything?”

“He asked me if I knew a girl with pigtails and another one with blond hair and freckles. He said they had a baby. Sounds an awful lot like you and Alice and her kid sister.” Jamey’s eyes were small and brown. Hidden under the shade of her hat they had a distinctly pig-like quality.

I wanted to tell her that he’d stolen my bike and hit my dog with a stick, but the horrendousness of those acts would wash over Jamey like a cloud across the sun. Besides, she’d twist it up and gossip it all over the road. Before I knew what hit me, it would be everywhere that I was consorting with the Redeemers down in the woods. Mama Betts would have my hide.

“He must have seen us when the buses went by. All those folks looked spooky to me, like zombies all going down the road in a bus to hell.”

“I’m telling on you for cussing.”

“Be my guest.” I looked up at her. “Shithead.” That did the trick. She tore out of the field as if I’d thrown roaches on her feet. Emily wouldn’t believe I’d called Jamey a shithead. Emily thought I was the most courteous child she’d ever met.

I put the shovel back in Gus’s shed and found a sharp garden knife he kept on hand for cutting vegetables. There was a store of paper sacks out there, too, and I got a big one. I’d cut it full and then take the okra and potatoes up to the house to divide with the Welfords. Mama insisted that whenever I picked vegetables, I was always to pick enough for us and for them too. The pleasure of the afternoon was
lost, though. I couldn’t shake the image of my bicycle stripped of the basket and God knew what else. I felt more helpless than I’d ever felt in my life. Totally hamstrung. It was at that moment that my decision to go back to the McInnis place crystallized. If I hurried with the okra I’d have time to hurry down there and back before anyone missed me.

Seven

T
HE
green Chevy and rusted old trailer were parked at the end of the driveway, just inside the gate. It didn’t look like much of a rig, but I could imagine that it had been all over the world. I’d read about the MacClay and Madison Square Gardens and the Grand Prix. Never in a million years had I dreamed that a little piece of that world might drive down Kali Oka Road. Not until today. All I had to do was walk into the barn to see those horses and the woman who rode them.

Picket and I stood in the driveway in the shade of the biggest chinaberry tree. The big barn doors were open wide. In the dim light near the front of the barn, a small shape flitted through the shadows. Beside me, Picket tensed. I grabbed a firm hold on her collar and spoke softly to her. Not all chickens were as savvy as the Welfords’. Whatever was in the barn, I didn’t want Picket chasing it. I didn’t want to have to go in that barn after her. We surely hadn’t been invited.

For a long time we didn’t move. Deep within the barn something repeatedly stirred, but it wasn’t a sound I was familiar with. As much as it shamed me, that barn still scared me. By all reasons of logic, there were supposed to be horses in there. What if it was something else? I didn’t have to go in there. I could always walk home, picking up the sack of potatoes and okra I’d left by the Welford fence.

Walk home in defeat, a coward twice in one day!

I had a mental picture of my bicycle, stripped of its basket and neglected in the sun and rain. I started walking toward the barn. The
Redeemer boy had sent me a challenge, and I’d failed to answer him. I would not lose the entire day.

There was a big iron gate that allowed the truck and trailer to pass into the barnyard, and there was a smaller gate for people. It was latched with a rusty hook on part of an old dog leash. Only that morning there hadn’t been a hook on the gate. I opened it and walked through, still holding tight to Picket’s collar. A yellow streak zipped by the barn door. Cat. Picket tugged against my hold. She liked to chase cats. She’d never hurt anything. Like with the hens, she liked the sport. But I suspected that the cats and chickens didn’t much care for it, even though Addy Adams’ big tabby cat Mr. Tom seemed to take delight in taunting Picket whenever we went over there. Addy said her cat was smarter than most people and that Picket didn’t stand a chance. That cat was something. He’d lead Picket a chase all over the yard and then end up in my arms, purring away, just to get Picket’s goat. He was a special cat, almost like a child to Addy.

Picket wanted to go after the yellow cat at the barn, but she knew I had a hold of her, so we let the gate bang shut behind us and walked across the red clay barnyard to the open door. It was late afternoon. Later than it should have been. The sun was hovering above the tallest oak tree along the fence row, and it was about four-thirty by my best calculations. I didn’t have time to dally if I wanted to see the horse woman and get home before Mama was really irritated.

There was the sound of something big shifting around in the darkness. Picket lost interest in the cat and turned her attention to the interior of the barn. Her ears perked forward. Something cool touched the backs of my arms and made my teeth clench. That barn was so scary. It was almost as if it breathed, waiting for me to walk inside. Waiting for a chance …

I forced myself to walk to the open door, where a shaft of light stretched deep into the gloom. As my eyes adjusted I could see four horse heads sticking out of the first stalls. They were all looking at me. With their bodies hidden behind the doors, it was a creepy picture. It was like their heads were disembodied, hanging over the stall doors.

Then I saw her. She was sitting on a cement block at the end of the barn, up against the right wall. Light from the west side of the barn poured in through the barred windows and fell in these slatted trapezoid patterns across her face. She was wearing dark clothes and
her blond hair was spun gold in the intense June light. Her shirt was sleeveless, and her slender arms showed muscles. She was staring straight at me and didn’t make an effort to move.

Deep in her throat, Picket growled. “Easy,” I whispered. I couldn’t tell if it was the horses or the woman that made Picket anxious. We were all frozen in place, horses and woman staring at me and me and Picket staring back.

“I’m Rebekah Rich from up the road.” My voice echoed in the barn. It almost made me step backward into the full protection of the sun. My eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the barn, and the woman shifted, putting more of her face in the light. She had brown eyes that seemed to catch the light and send it up the barn to me.

“Welcome, Rebekah,” she said. The features of her oval face never changed expression. Her skin was unmarred by freckles or any other marks. “I’ll bet you’ve wanted a horse all your life.”

Her voice was slower than mine, tinged with some strange accent that I couldn’t place. She wasn’t Jexville, that was for sure.

“When I was a young girl like you, all I could think about was horses. But my mother didn’t want me to ride. She was afraid I’d be hurt.”

She stood up and walked toward me, stopping in the next pattern of light. Her blond hair was shoulder-length and tangled-looking, as if it had been whipped by the wind while she was on the back of a galloping stallion. She took another five paces and stopped in the next pool of light.

“I don’t know why mamas always think they can keep their babies safe by never letting them experience life. Do you?”

I thought my throat had rusted closed, but my voice was strong. “No.” I gathered my courage. It was necessary to tell her. “My mother would skin me if she knew I was here.”

The woman’s laughter was soft and rich and easy, like water over rocks. It made me smile too.

“She must love you very much,” she said. “Isn’t it odd how something as wonderful as love can be so smothering?”

She didn’t really expect an answer, I could tell by the way she asked the question. Besides, to answer honestly would have made me feel as if I’d injured Effie, and Mama Betts, and even Daddy. This woman understood, and I didn’t have to say anything.

“Would you like to ride?”

My fingers almost lost their hold on Picket’s collar.

“Go ahead, let the dog loose. I’ve got fourteen cats out here, but they’ve all gone up in the loft.” She motioned for me to lift my hand from Picket. “She’s a fine-looking dog too. Very smart. I’ve got five dogs, but they’re in the house. I had to give them something to make them sleep on the trip down here. They probably won’t wake up for a while.”

“Picket may chase the cats.”

“Let her. They need the exercise.”

Her laughter seemed to dance in the sunlight. My fingers slipped from Picket’s collar, and she was trotting down the middle of the barn, stopping at the first horse to sniff and explore. She seemed perfectly at home.

“Well, do you want to ride?”

I could tell by the sunlight that it was getting late. Very late. Mama Betts would be waiting on the potatoes. They were more than likely destined for potato salad, and I should be getting home with them. They had to be washed and peeled and boiled and then chilled.

“Can I just sit on one?”

“I have five more horses that I’ll get at the end of the week. These four are my best. Which one appeals to you?”

The entire time I’d been talking, I’d been noticing this one horse, middle stall on the left. A white blaze started between her eyes and moved down her nose to end in a curl over the left nostril.

“So it’s Chameleon, is it?” There was approval in her voice. “A good choice. I see you have an eye for horseflesh. Cammie is perfect for you.”

“You named her after a lizard?” She was such a beautiful animal to be named for a lizard.

“She can change her looks.”

“How?”

“Well, in the show ring she’s all fire and flash, but when we’re working, she’s very reliable.”

“Where did you come from?” The question was rude, but it popped out before I could stop it. “I mean, I live just up the road. I’ve always lived there, my entire life.”

“I’m from Cleveland. Not the city in Ohio. I’m from the Mississippi Delta. You know anything about the Delta?”

I knew there were cotton plantations and rich folks, and poor Negroes. Since this woman was white, it followed that she was rich. That and the fact that she had nine horses. What was she doing on Kali Oka Road?

“My parents died in a car accident. I didn’t want to stay in Cleveland, so I decided to move around. It’s not so easy with nine horses, fourteen cats and five dogs. Before you ask, my name is Nadine. Nadine Andrews. You call me Nadine.”

“Where’s your husband?” She was older than I’d first thought. There were tiny lines around her eyes and mouth. She’d walked up a little closer, and I could see that her hair had a funny cast to it too. And it was considerably darker close to her head.

“I don’t need a husband. Where’s yours?”

“I’m too young to have one.” She was smiling, and I could see she was teasing me.

“Well, I’ve had three, and none of them suited me. My advice to you is do without as long as you can.”

I almost asked her if all three of her husbands had died, like her parents, but I knew that would be rude too. Besides, she’d turned away and had picked up a halter from beside Cammie’s stall. With practiced moves she slipped it over the horse’s head, unlatched the door and led Cammie out into the center of the barn. In a few seconds she had the horse tied on both sides to ropes hanging in the barn. She was an enormous horse, bigger than any I’d ever seen before in my life. I couldn’t see over her back—withers was the correct term I’d learned from all of my reading—and I was tall for my age.

From inside what I’d supposed was the tack room she returned with a basket full of brushes and supplies. She explained the different combs and brushes and showed me how to use them, and then how to saddle the horse. The little saddle was light enough for me to carry, even though I had to stand on a cement block to put it on Cammie’s back. As much as I was learning and enjoying myself, I couldn’t forget that I was due home.

“Maybe I’d better wait until later to ride, Mrs…. Nadine.” We had Cammie saddled and bridled, but it was five o’clock at least.

“Mama gonna fuss?”

“I’m supposed to be getting some potatoes for supper. She’ll be waiting for them.”

“Jump up on Cammie for a few minutes, and I’ll drive you home.”

“No!”

She laughed, easy and deep.

“I mean, I couldn’t put you to that trouble, Mrs. Andrews.” I’d really stepped in it, but I knew from looking at her that Effie and Mama Betts would take an instant dislike. She wasn’t like them, or anyone else on Kali Oka. Nadine Andrews was not going to fit in.

“It’s Nadine, and I’ll drop you off before we get to your house. That way your folks won’t see you consorting with me.”

My face burned. She knew exactly why I couldn’t let her take me home.

“Listen, Rebekah, I gave up a long time ago worrying about whether folks approved of me or not. The truth is, I’ve got enough money to do whatever I damn well please.” She cupped her hands beside the horse, and I put my foot in them. Two seconds later, I was in the saddle.

It was better than I’d ever dreamed. Cammie shifted beneath me, and I felt it. My body went right along with her. My fingers tangled in her mane until Nadine handed me the reins and showed me how to hold my fingers so that they worked as springs against the horse’s mouth. Then she walked me out in the yard and turned me loose.

Picket danced beside me, as eager as I was. In a matter of minutes I’d mastered walking and turning. Cammie was a dream. In the sun her coat was a deep brown. Nadine called her a mahogany bay, with two white stockings on her back legs. She was better than anything I’d ever imagined. We trotted, and even though I bounced for a while, I finally got the idea of posting.

“You have a real talent, Rebekah. You and Cammie seem to have a special bond.”

I felt it. It was everything I’d ever wanted.
Black Stallion, King of the Wind, Silver Birch.
The potatoes and Mama Betts and Effie disappeared. There was only the sensation of moving with Cammie, of riding high in the sun and the afternoon, of Picket trotting beside us and of Nadine’s smile of approval.