"We'll Sort This Out – Pt 4"

Howdy Folks,

 

I wrote a short story, for our Coffee Clutch friends, "We'll Sort This Out" about a boy fleeing a bad home situation set back in homestead times – You can find that story (HERE) – Off and on I've gotten requests to continue the story. Then I wrote Part 2 (HERE).  And Part 3 (HERE) Because of requests to keep the story going and I've decided to turn it into a serial like stories in old time magazines – I hope you enjoy Part 4. – We left Frank and the boy as they were just about to ride up on his homestead.

Kessy, Saturday & me writing a story

 We'll Sort This Out – Pt4

"My name's Mark." The boy hurried Blackie to catch up to Frank.

"What's that?" Frank slowed his horse and twisted in the saddle.

"My name's Mark. And he ain't our father."

Frank stopped his horse and reached over to take Blackie's reins. Mark felt his eyes trying to pull answers from him. "He's not your father? … Who is he? Maybe you'd better fill me in a bit more before we get there. Just over that knob is the house."

The boy knew where he was. He'd hidden behind this very hill many times to avoid the man's fury. He and his sister had huddled here often. They knew every tree, every rock and crevice on the slope. He'd been hoping they would find her here this morning. His worried young eyes had already scoured all their hiding places. It had been their plan, if they ever got separated, they would meet here. That had been their plan, until a day ago when the man had discovered them, and beat them both, again.

"No he's … nobody … " Tears streaked the boys face, his tiny body trembled. He looked deep into Frank's eyes. "He just took us. My sister and me, we were living with our momma." He broke a small smile. "We had a farm, like yours." Tears started again. "Then he just came, pretended to be our friend. After a few days, he beat our momma, and he just took us."

Frank swung from his horse, wrapped his arms around the boy, hugged him hard.

"We were here hiding here in our safe place, waiting for him to go away. I was gonna sneak to the house for supplies, then we were going to run away … but he found us. He knocked me down, then turned on my sister … She told me to run, Frank … She hollered for me to get away." Sobs broke his voice. "I ran to your barn … but I should never have left her."

Frank jerked his rifle from the scabbard, swung up on his horse, "You stay here!" Then started over the hill. At the crest, he stopped.

The boy rode to his side, his blank eyes surveyed what lay before them. A thick cloud of black smoke hung low over the ruble that had been the cabin. Their cow lay dead in the yard. The barn doors hung open. Without waiting for Frank he grabbed the horn and kicked Blackie to a run. He heard Frank order him to stop as he raced down the hill, but kicked Blackie on. Frank caught him, jerked the reins from his hands, then with his rifle at the ready, led them to the barn.

Together they searched the barn and found it empty. But in the mud just outside the doors were tell tale wheel ruts and tracks from a pair of horses. His sister's bonnet lay mashed in the mud.

They searched the tall grass in the fields around the barn. Mark knew all their hiding places. She was in none of them. No signs she had time to leave any messages either. Sometimes they'd left messages when hiding separately, a broken branch meant look for me in the barn, tiny twisted grass bundles meant I'm hiding behind the big oak. Today there were no messages.

Nothing could be made of the smoldering cabin. The boy was glad Frank told him to hold the horses and wait while he searched the black, smoking wood a piles of smelly junk. His heart pounded, his breath came in gasps as stood dazed, waiting to be assured his sister was not … 

"He must have taken your sister with him. From the looks of all this he came back, set the place on fire and left right after he came looking for you."

The boy's eyes spoke for him. No sounds could come from his throat. His sister. She would be terrified now, without him there to protect her. Why did he run and leave her behind? Why didn't he tell Frank and Martha everything right away? How could he have slept a night safe in their cabin, leaving her with him?

"Yes we'll set out after him. We'll find them and get your sister. But first, we've got to get back, make sure Martha's okay." Frank's eyes washed with sudden worry. They set out with all the speed the horses had.

***********************

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

The Lights Went Out - a short story-

Howdy Folks,

This is a short story about the innocence of love - I wrote it for a contest a while back. The first words had to be, "The lights went out." I shared it about a year ago, but we've had so many folks join our Coffee Clutch since then, and lots of folks told me it touched them, so I thought I'd post it again ...  I hope you enjoy ...

Kessy, Saturday & me writing (I wrote this story in the barn with Kessy)

 The Lights Went Out 

 

The lights went out as just as she raised the wine glass in a salute to her reflection in the wine bottle. That's okay, it would be easier to remember him in the dark. She thought of his brown shining eyes and how they'd always warmed her when she lost herself in them. The way they glistened when he smiled. No matter the situation those eyes had never failed to reassure her. To comfort her. She took a sip and ran a quivering finger around the rim of the glass.

They say the first anniversary is the worst. She laughed. Who are they, and did they ever go through it or are they just the appointed ones who tell everyone how and what to feel without having a clue of the richness of love that had been theirs. He'd been gone three months now and tomorrow would have been their fifth anniversary…And his twenty-ninth birthday. Peter loved to celebrate his birthday. She felt the corners of her mouth curve. He'd always wanted to open his present before going to work. Peter made a big deal about everybody's birthday that's why it had been so natural, and fun, to be married on his.

A loud blast of rain pelted the kitchen window and a brief flash of lightning lit the room to shine on his present waiting on the table. The room seemed darker after the flash. She touched the bow on the box, then pulled it to her. He sure would have gotten a kick out of this year's present. She'd bought it six months ago, a little bottle of beach sand with a tiny mermaid inside perched on driftwood. A Kansas boy, Peter had never seen the beach. She had planned to fix that this year. In the bottom of the box lay all the paperwork and a brochure from the Anchor Kitchen bed and breakfast.

     

Some people are given a lifetime to share together. Some never find their soul mate. She and Peter were perfect together and they new it the instant they met. All their friends said so. She grinned when she thought of girlfriends' frequent threats to steal him away. Jealousy gripped her as she thought evil thoughts about how unfair it was to give them such a short time together. Her throat tightened, her eyes let go a stream of tears as she cursed God for creating the perfect match…and then tearing it apart. How could he? Why would he? She gulped a swallow of wine and ground the heels of her hands in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do now?" 

     

She looked around the kitchen, in the flashes she saw his boots sitting on the mat by the door. She hadn't been able to put them away. Hadn't been able to deal with much that she should have by now. Take it day by day, they say.

     

Day by day. That made her smile. Peter had said that too. On their wedding night when she was so scared she started to cry and she'd asked, "What are we going to do now?" She remembered his confident smile when he told her, "I guess we'll take it day by day."

     

"That was Peter," she told the darkness. "Count on him to make everything alright." She poured some wine and through blurry eyes asked his boots, "How do we make this alright? What do I do now Peter?" She dropped her head onto her arms and sobbed. "I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she begged. "Tell me what to do…Where do I start?"

     

A thunderclap so loud it rattled the house preceded a burst of light brighter than any before it. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness she noticed a hint of morning's glow in the kitchen window.

     

Shuffling tiny feet turned her toward the living room doorway. "That was a loud one Mommy!" Their daughter announced as she scrambled toward her. "Today is Daddy's birthday! Can we open his present for him? If we hold it up really high will he be able to see it from Heaven?"

        *********************

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Magic" - A Horse Story With No Riding -

Howdy Folks,

Yesterday I posted on Facebook, in appreciation of the friendship shown there, and here in the Coffee Clutch we'd have a fun contest for an idea for a story. I asked folks to share their ideas, and to vote for the one they liked best. We had over 20 suggestions, lots of fun, and votes. Every idea was terrific, and I could have never made a choice. We even ended by having a tiebreaker! … My promise was I'd write the story and post it here today. So Melanie Foster-Bowles, here is our story, based on your idea "horse story with no riding."

Magic

She knew she was not supposed to be out here. Not alone anyway. But how long did anyone think they could keep her from coming back? The grass was damp, chilled her bare feet. If they knew she'd come barefoot to the back pasture, well they'd have something to say about that too. It's not like they had been apart all these months, but in the barn with father and sister worrying about every step, every move was not the same as being with him alone. The accident wasn't his fault. The trail had simply given way. She shuddered when she thought of the long fall. 

Kessy Saturday & me writing a story

It was early. The sun had just begun to peek above the horizon forcing its way through the clouds. But it had been necessary to sneak out early, before father headed for the barn. He'd been so worried, so, she smiled when she finished the thought, bothersome with his loving attendances to her every need.

Nodding, smiling as if to reassure herself, she said out loud, "I told myself, today would be the day." She missed their time together. The quiet moments just being horse and person enjoying each other's company. He had always been her teacher. Her best friend. Her strength. All along he'd carried her. Even from the beginning, way back when she first started riding and father had worried that her condition made riding too dangerous. She laughed, "We showed them all, didn't we, Magic?" She'd named him that the first day. His heart was like magic to her. His strength made her feel strong. Strong enough to run with the wind, although even before the fall, running was not something she did well. "But together we can fly!" Became her chant.

She'd heard him calling for her those first weeks while she lay in the bed too broken to even be wheeled to the barn. Tears filled her eyes when she remembered his nicker the first day father pushed her chair to the barn.

The visits had not been frequent enough, not for him, and not for her. How was she supposed to heal, get strong, cooped up in a stuffy old house far from her strength. She'd begged for more visits, but it had been a very cold and damp spring and the doctor had expressed great concern. So visits to the barn had been limited to only the few sunny days. Not nearly enough, scarcely a day a week, then only short visits.

He would be just over the rise, in the hollow they loved so much, among the tall trees. Their very own playground. Her walker was difficult to maneuver in the long grass. She looked over her shoulder, back to the house. Seeing no one, and feeling brave, stronger than she had in months, she positioned the walker off to her side, took a shaky step. All on her own. Needles shot through her back, but she stood. She couldn't resist. She cupped her hands to her face, and with all her strength screamed, "Magic." 

She lost her balance, tumbled into the wet grass, but managed another call on her way down. Then a giggle. "Oops." She'd tipped her walker over. Getting up would be a struggle without her walker. She lay on her back, searching the sky for a little light, but the clouds were thick. "Don't you rain on me." She pointed a threatening finger to the gray sky.

She managed to roll onto her stomach and prop herself up on her elbows. "Magic, I could use a little help here, before father finds me." Her voice broke off in a giggle. "He's gonna have a lot to say about this." It hadn't seemed this cold when she left the house, but she was cold now. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea. Her legs had pins and needles, even her hands ached. "Come on body, deal with it," she ordered. She'd had a lifetime of ordering her body to obey her commands.

So absorbed was she in barking commands to her body, she didn't notice Magic until he nickered. He stopped just ten feet away, eyes and ears glued on her. His eyes so big, his ears tilted so forward, she had to laugh. "Come here you big beautiful boy … I could use a hand. Or neck."

Magic lowered his head to her. She grabbed his mane, and clucked. He backed one step, a game they had often played, helping her to stand. One arm draped over his lowered neck, slowly, step by step they started for the barn. Her plan had been for a little playtime in the hollow, or at least a longer visit, but a slow walk together would not only have to do, it would do wonderfully. She could see lights on in the house. "Uh oh," she told Magic. "You might need to help explain this to father."

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Grandpop, the Reporter and Firewood

 Howdy Folks,

This is the 4th in a series of visits with Grandpop – A World War II Veteran and cowboy. We first met Grandpop on June 27, 2013 in "Perhaps I just Lived Too Long (HERE) … Enjoy your visit and please share. 

Grandpop, the Reporter and Firewood 

I knew I was in for a treat when I saw the tiny white car with the local newspaper's logo on the door parked halfway between the barn and house. Every once in a while they'd send an intern out to have a chat with Grandpop and write a story. I found them in the barn. From the looks of things, and the pale face of the young intern, it may have been his first venture into a horse barn, and first time sitting on a straw bale. I smiled at his attempt to settle in a way that the straw didn't poke him.

Kessy, Saturday and me writing a story.

Grandpop tossed a nod my way, introduced us, then went back to brushing Blue. I leaned against the saddle stand, back out of the way, to watch. And listen.

"So they tell me you were in the war." The young man held pen to tablet. "Iraq?"

Grandpop stopped, laid the brush on Blue's back and chuckled. "I'm a might older than that … World War 2." He turned away briefly to tug on Blue's mane, but I knew he was hiding his eyes. Thinking of those years is always hard on him. He'd rather talk about horses, ranching and family. The important things, as he would say.

"Really," the intern said. "Wow, I never thought of that war … don't know much about it." He made a few notes. "Where you always a … cowboy? How did you get the ranch?"

"A cowboy?"

"It's not like I had it pictured, but sure, you've got land, horses, cattle. Seems like a cowboy. Except you ended up with a farm, or ranch."

"Ended up with a ranch, did I?" Grandpop pulled his hat, scratched his head, pretending to ponder that one.

"Sure look at it all. I've only been out here a few weeks, this is my first visit to a real farm … I mean you must have had some lucky breaks to get all this. That's what I'd like to touch on for my story."

Grandpop pointed to the big oak. "How would you like to take a little stroll?"

"How far. I mean, what for?"

"Oh I'd like to walk a little, stretch these old legs a bit, and show you the view."

I followed behind as we made our way to the big oak, walked between the mares, who promptly fell in line behind us, much to the reporter's worry. Grandpop had a little fun, respectfully, assuring him mares don't eat humans. Even city slickers, I heard him add with a friendly chuckle.

We walked beyond the majestic tree and on up to a high knoll just outside the woods, pausing every now and then for Grandpop to lean on his cane and catch his breath. Grandpop used each break to point out one vista or another. The young reporter made notes as he listened.

Finally we reached our destination. A little campsite just outside the fence at the edge of the woods. I'd not been there for years, and from the looks of it no one else had either. The ring of rocks for the campfire was still there, waiting.

"From here you can see pretty near every bit of our spread. One of my favorite spots. Almost built the house up here, but, my wife liked the valley better. We used to come up here real regular for picnics, campfires and the like. Now, not so much." He grinned wide, "Next time I'd better ride a horse, this trek about wore me out … Our youngest son runs the outfit now, and he's doin' a mighty fine job." Grandpop settled down on the log hewn bench he'd made decades ago.

"So there was no house? How did you live here?"

"Well, we were younger then, and bunkin' in a tent that first summer was a high time. Yes sir, that was a mighty special summer. We had a 2 room house up by fall. Over the years we poured a lot of hard work, sweat and love into this little outfit, and by golly it sure was worth every effort … Hey, it's a long walk back, how about a little campfire, since we're here anyway. I should rest a bit, and we can finish up your story." He pointed toward the woods, nodded to the reporter, grinned my way. "Would you mind gatherin' a few sticks for us?"

"Sure." Timidly the reporter began to gather fallen twigs and branches, making certain not to get out of our sight.

Grandpop used his cane to brush the debris from the fire ring, settled back on the bench, then talked the young reporter through building his first campfire.

When the first tiny yellow flames licked at the twigs the young man rocked back, smiled wide at Grandpop, "I never did anything like that before! Look at my fire go!"

Grandpop leaned on his cane, stood and offered his hand to the young man. "These days there's too much talk about some folks havin' more than others and being angry and jealous about it ... There's an old cowboy sayin' … God put the firewood in the woods for everybody, it's up to each of us to gather it and build our campfire." They shook hands. "That's the story you should write, young fella."

Gitty  UP ~ Dutch Henry 

You can read the Fifth in my Grandpop series "How About A Smile"(HERE)

"Sitting In The Shade" - A short story

Howdy Folks,

Our friend Jessica Lynn of  Earth Song Ranch, asked me to write a short story about cooling off in the summer heat for the July, Natural Horse Magazine newsletter. So I did. And I thought it would be nice to share it here with our Coffee Clutch friends, too. Hope you enjoy.

Sitting In The Shade

The air was cooler under the spreading limbs of the grand old oak. She enjoyed many a hot day resting there. Sitting, she leaned back against the trunk, enjoying the moment, and the breeze, to gaze up through those mighty boughs. Sheltered from the sun she could think about her day, her week. Not much to think about really. Her life seemed to be in a holding pattern. A lot like the majestic oak. How many years had it stood watch over the fields and pastures from its vantage point on the hill. It had been there in her childhood when she and the horses sought its cooling shade. She giggled when she remembered the time she'd climbed halfway to the top and her father had to rescue her.

She smiled thinking of the picnic lunches she and her high school friends had here. Her fingers traced the heart shaped carving in the massive trunk. What sweet days had been enjoyed here under the embracing boughs, always in the cool shade. This was her thinking place. No place on the farm offered as great a place to think.

The chestnut mare stomped her foot, snorted. "I know, it's time to head in, Beauty." She swung up bareback, grasped Beauty's mane and they set out at a slow walk, down the hill toward the house and barn. Three more horses fell in line and the tiny procession made its way along the meandering trail toward the buildings. The heat of the sun felt good on her back, but not as good as the shade had. Looking skyward she knew today was going to be a hot one. Back to the oak? Maybe later.

Gitty Up~Dutch Henry