Chapter Five

Dale drove me home that night, and by the time we arrived, the lights were on in the house. Mom was home. I was terrified. Dale gave me a sympathetic wink and then was off, leaving me standing at the roadside in front of my house, knowing I had to face the Wrath of Mom alone.

I already knew what she was going to say. How was I going to pay for this, because SHE sure as HELL was not going to spend a penny on "that animal" as long as she was working so hard just to feed me and pay our bills. My head was so far into the clouds already, what was I thinking bringing a horse home, never mind the fact that I didn't really bring him home. How could I possibly know how to take care of a horse, and a neglected one at that? Was I aware of the problems he could have, both medical and behavioral? And never mind the vet bills...how was I going to pay for board, because, yessiree Lady, YOU are responsible for this horse, not ME and don't come cryin' to me for help with ANYTHING with regard to this creature. I warned you once, I warned you twice, and now your reckless, heedless, stupid decisions have written checks you don't even have an account to cash. And-what-do-you-have-to-say-for-yourself-Kaya-Marie-O'Brien!

All this went through my head. I knew what she was going to say; I knew her lectures, I'd listened to many, and I knew her accusations, her concerns, and her demands even before I darkened the door. And now I've gone and rescued a horse.

It never occurred to me, at that time, that I had a defense that was very simple, and that, in fact, Mom might want to hear it before she lit into me. It never occurred to me that Mom had a soft side, because I so rarely saw it.

It's not that I didn't think Mom loved me; no. If nothing else, I knew, even in the depths of my anger, that even deeper within my heart I knew she did what she did and said what she said out of love. And so that night I expected the worst, the sharpest section of her hard edge to come out, because, really...I knew I had acted foolishly and only the grace of God in the form of a friendly horselover had come to my aid.

So I walked in, having no sense of how disheveled I appeared. I tried to be nonchalant, but Mom was having nothing of it.

"Where have you been?" She was at the sink, pouring pasta into a strainer, the steam rising.

I cringed guiltily; I was supposed to have the spaghetti ready by the time she got home. I'd forgotten. Dale would have sent me home immediately if he knew I was supposed to prepare dinner for Mom, even given the situation. He would have managed.

"Um...over the hill..." I was taking my boots off, heading down the hallway to my room to change, needing to wash up before going into the kitchen. Mom would not find my appearance to be acceptable at the dinner table.

But she didn't let me get all the way down the hallway before calling me again.

"Yeah...you come here. You'll be under the hill in a second unless you give me a really good reason why you weren't home writing your paper like you were supposed to be." She was wiping her hands on her apron; that's why I was supposed to cook dinner, because she had to work and would be handling food all night. It was part of our agreement...I was supposed to cook so her time off could be spent sleeping and being a Mom rather than working.

I was already crying out of guilt alone, but stopped in my tracks. This conversation was going to happen on her time, not mine.

I turned and walked back towards the kitchen until I could see her silhouette against the light over the stove. Her expression was unreadable as I approached and stood before her, shaking, smelling like a barn. Mom didn't seem to care.

She waited for me to speak; I knew this routine, and couldn't even meet her eyes.

"Mom...I have to tell you about Nickers..."

"Tell me about Nickers." She lit a cigarette and stood, leaning in the doorway, seeming to provide a barrier between the barn I carried in my clothing to the scent of homemade spaghetti sauce that wafted, still cooking on the kitench stove.

"Well...I told you about him...he was a neglected horse...." I paused, thinking she already knew the end to this story.

"Go on." She exhaled, waving the smoke away from me. She knew I hated that she smoked. The hard edge had left her voice.

"Well...he's at Trinity Creek tonight...because of me...because he's...mine." I stopped there, looking at the floor, terrified to see her expression. Terrified of the lecture that was coming. Not wanting to hear her voice raised in anger, to add stress to her life. Mom worked so hard, and now she'd work harder, even if she said she wouldn't, because that's how Mom was. She'd argue, but really, she'd see that what was done was done...and I would watch her suffer for it and be forced to give up what I wanted. Because I couldn't do this to her. And even if she didn't want ME to feel guilty, she'd make me feel it anyway. She often called herself a "Jewish Mother" although I never understood why. That night maybe I understood a little more...but not at that moment. At that time, I waited for the guilt trip.

She said nothing, simply stared at me, inhaling and exhaling, the cigarette a brief glow of embers in the shadows of the hallway, the smoke unseen but wafting around us, enveloping us in that cloud that always seemed present since I'd hit my teenage years.

I couldn't look her in the eye. Mom hated horses, as far as I knew, but I never knew why. Yeah, she thought they were beautiful, but only from afar. She indulged my love of them to a certain degree, making her displeasure known at every turn.

Mom finished her cigarette and turned away. "Get changed. We'll talk about this over dinner."

I stood there, shocked. Where was the lecture? Was she so angry that she couldn't even speak? How long was I going to be grounded? Obediently I turned and went to my room to change, trying not to cry. I could not give her the satisfaction.

By the time I got into the kitchen, Mom already had dinner on the table and was dousing her pasta with sauce. I went to the fridge to get the milk, and poured a glass for us both before being seated across from her.

There was silence while we both ate, the only sound being that of the AM radio station Mom liked so much. We heard the news and the weather, and then Paul Harvey came on to tell us "...the REST of the story."

But we never got to Paul Harvey's ending, because Mom wanted to know about my story. She knew about the neglected horse in the field behind the forest that separated our house from the neighboring lands. She knew I, along with everyone else in the area, used the deer run as a trail and it was as good as a highway for the neighborhood kids and local horse owners.

So all I did was give her more information, described his condition, and the conversations I'd had with the local horsemen. She nodeed all the while, softening. I was surprised...where was the lecture? Even as I explained what Dale and I had done that night with the little Bay and what was ahead of us, Mom just nodded her approval.

Finally the tale was done, and I sat in miserable silence, still expecting the worst.

Dinner was done, and we sat in the kitchen, both silently, I waiting, Mom...contemplating while she inhaled yet another stick of nicotine. She didn't look at me and didn't speak, but her expression was one I didn't feel I could interrupt. Even fearing to move, I could not remain where I was, so began to clear the table and bring the dishes to the sink.

When I had finished washing dishes and putting the food away, Mom was again ready to speak and gestured for me to sit down again. I did so, bracing myself.

"I loved horses when I was your age, and, being that we lived on a farm, we had lots of horses around us. They were all treated well, much like the horses down the road that belong to the Sheiks from Dubai." She paused, inhaling deeply, and exhaled a stream of smoke before continuing. "I never had a horse of my own, exactly, but had them at my disposal, any time I wanted. Ownership never really occurred to me, because it wasn't necessary."

She finished off her cigarette and tosssed it into the ashtray before lighting another. I watched the hypnotic ritual, the only one I'd ever known with such intimacy, and tried to ignore Mom's cough. She tried again.

"Ownership wasn't necessary to us...we didn't own our horses, but really worked for and with them. And because we, and everyone around us, knew how to take care of animals, I became very attuned to those who were suffering. I couldn't bear to see an animal suffer." She took a deep breath, this time leaving staring out over my shoulder into the livingroom and through the front window, seemingly through the darkness of the winter night that lay outside.

"Where we lived, there was a pasture and a barn set aside for people who paid to board their horses, and every so often, a new horse or so would appear in the pasture. Usually the new owner would become known, because most showed up on weekends or other days off to ride. They had to come to the tack room to get their stuff, or contact the Manager for help contacting a farrier or a vet, if they were new to the area. So we got to know all the owners pretty quick.

"But sometimes...no one would ever show up. All the horses were fed out of troughs and via hay bales and salt licks, every day, right on schedule. They had a herd mentality, those whose owners could not afford to keep them in a stall overnight, and so sometimes it took awhile before we realized there were extra horses. But the farm owners made sure there was enough feed; they always accounted for "losses" of some sort, and I learned a lot about horse and herd behavior by hanging out at this pasture during the week, just watching them.

"I was also often the first to spot a 'stowaway', and always told my Dad. Not because I was afraid that the farm owner was being ripped off; rather, that the animal had no one to love him. I befriended all the lost animals at that farm. It didn't matter if they were horses, dogs, cats, goats, or snakes."

I looked up at her, surprised by this last admission. Mom was smiling, her dark Irish eyes snapping in good humor through her reminiscence. Her laugh was nearly a giggle as she caught my expression. "Oh, yes...I didn't mind the snakes, so long as they didn't catch me by surprise!"

I smiled, relieved Mom wasn't angry. Her stories were always wonderful, but I missed hearing them, and it had been so long since I'd seen her smile like that.

Mom continued, "One of the horses dumped there we called 'Silver' for he looked so liked the Lone Ranger's horse, even in his wretched state. I used to go to him every day, and the treats or food I had for him fell out of my hand. One day, one of the boarders found me trying to feed Silver, and I was crying. He returned to the barn and came back to me with a feed bag, helping the horse eat. But even he could see the problem...the horse was wasted away. He couldn't get sufficient nutrition because he was too far gone. This horse needed a vet. Other boarders tried to help, too, and finally, everyone, from the richest to the poorest, pooled their money and called the vet."

She paused again; this time, I saw tears brimming in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly before continuing. This time, she inhaled deeply of her cigarette and exhaled heavily, watching the smoke swirl away from her. Mom turned away for a moment, looking for a match, which she used to light a Glade candle in the center of the table.

"The Vet came out and did what he could. Boarders put together a schedule to care for this horse at all hours, making sure someone was there to provide medication at the weeist hours of the morning. People gave up time from work, time from their families, to care for this horse. They pooled for the money for a stall in the barn, and the farm owner himself actually donated a huge chunk for the medical bills and discounted the stall fee. He charged nothing for regular board."

She paused again, needing a break. I still didn't speak. It had been a long time since Mom had spoken like this...and from the look in her eyes she was not present in our kitchen, but was in that pasture with Silver, with those people, helping a horse survive.

"Silver rallied for awhile; he began to fill out, the brightness came to his eyes, he was interested in life...but it was too late. No matter what we did, his neglect was too extreme; he'd been starved for too long. The Boarders had a meeting among them; for all practical purposes, this was THEIR horse. The Farm owners attended, because he was on their land, and they, too, had tried to help. But nothing could be done. The all realized that it was time; and in the end, no one had to pay for the last vet visit; the Farm absorbed that cost. I was there the day the Vet came, and he let me stay. The farm owners were there, some of the boarders, but they let me stand, then kneel at Silver's head...they let me hold onto him until he was gone..."

Mom stood and walked out to the garage.

I got up, knowing what she was saying, knowing why she was leaving, wiping tears from my eyes. My Silver was Nickers...

Mom came back with a frayed blue halter in her hands. She held it so that the tarnished metal nameplate was visible to me.

"Silver".

I took the halter in my hands and rubbed my thumb against the surface of the nameplate. Silver.

Mom stood there, tears gleaming, but blinked back. She was strong, as always. It was I who was crying.

She spoke first. "One of the boarders had this made when I began feeding the horse. When I started out, he laughed at me. His own horse was old, he was retired himself, and I thought him unsentimental. But he was the one to bring the feedbag, and one day, he gave me this." She indicated the nameplate on the haltar. "He was the one to rally the troops, he was the one to organize everything, and Silver was wearing this when he died. Everyone saw him as my horse at that point...and so they gave me his haltar. I swore I would never witness such an agonizing death. I would never suffer such abuse."

I was still holding the haltar, and instead of "Silver" I was reading "Nickers".

Mom had passed on a trait to me; I was just as emotional as she, when given the opportunity. I'd never really seen her cry, nor did I that day, but I knew the tears were there; they were silent, but present, but it was my tears that fell.

When she next spoke, her tone was gentle.

"I know why you did what you did today. I know why you took the haltar and the horse and I would have done the same thing. The Bryski's are good people; do what Dale tells you to do, do what Bob and Sharon tell you to do, and learn from it. Nickers is your horse now."

Finally, it was time for me to speak. "You're...you're not mad?"

Mom looked at me, smiling.

"No, Honey, I'm not mad at you. How can I be mad? You're just like me! I just hope your actions save Nickers. But I expect you to live up to your agreement with Dale. I'll speak to the Bryski's if you need me to, but somehow, I think your own actions will do more than any of my words."

Silence descended upon the kitchen, and when Mom left for work, I remained, holding Silver's haltar.