Читать книгу Revenant - Carolyn Haines - Страница 13

Strange Yoder was a man of indeterminable age. When he bent or moved, he seemed young. He was thin, like a teenager, and he wore his hair long. Quick, alert eyes belied the lines in his face. He was older than me. I knew this only because I’d known him all my life. He had a gift when it came to horses’ feet, and though he was one of the best farriers in the nation, he chose to stay in Greene County, where there were still long stretches of piney woods and the slow amble of the Leaf River.

Strange didn’t talk a lot. Mostly he looked. He could watch a horse walk and know exactly how to trim a hoof or shoe it or what treatment to prescribe for thrush or founder. He did it not for the money, but because he liked to help animals. He’d been my brother Billy’s best friend. He’d come back from Vietnam; Billy had not.

Morning light shafted into the old barn through cracks in the east wall, and I sat on a hay bale holding a slack lead rope. Strange crouched in the center of the aisle with Mariah’s left rear leg resting on his thighs as he used nippers to trim off the overgrown hoof.

“She’s lookin’ good for an old girl,” he said of Mariah.

“She seems to feel good. I don’t see arthritis, but I’ve got her on some joint supplements anyway. I’m glad I didn’t jump her too hard.”

“She jumped what she wanted,” he said. “You didn’t push her and she knew what was right for herself. If more folks listened to their horses, there wouldn’t be the trouble there is today.” He shook his head. “Damn quarter horse people just about ruined ten generations of horse breeding for those little tiny feet. Like putting a fat woman in ballet toe shoes. Damn bastards.”

Strange didn’t earn his name because he was normal. He was opinionated, but about animals, which was the only thing he ever talked about. I could remember Strange when he was called Dustin and had a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He left those things, and his sense of humor, somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam. He’d held Billy as he bled out, unable to stop the flow of blood. Billy had been hit by a piece of shrapnel in the femoral artery. Had a medic arrived in time, my brother could have been saved. That was the midnight image that came to visit Strange when he slept—my brother, trying to smile and not panic as his blood soaked the jungle floor. Strange never talked about it after he’d told me this.

Strange trimmed Mariah all around and started on Hooligan. “Needs shoes on the front. His toes are chipped slam off,” he said, going to his truck to get horseshoes. “I hate to shoe ’im. If he gets down in the back pasture with all them roots, he’ll tear ’em off.”

“I’ll tell Dad to keep them up in the front for a few weeks.”

He nodded and went to work. Hooligan was half snoozing as Strange hammered the iron shoes to his two front feet and trimmed the back.

“Now for Bilbo.” I got the gray pony, a cross between a Shetland and a Connemara. For Annabelle, Bilbo had been a dream pony. He didn’t hold me in the same regard, but Bilbo was always good for Strange, saving his practical jokes and shenanigans for me. Mariah and Hooligan were snuffling at the last morsel of grain in their stalls. For the first time in months, I felt a shadow of peacefulness slip over me.

“This pony needs ridin’,” Strange said. “He misses your daughter.”

“I miss her, too,” I said. With Strange, it was okay to talk about painful things.

“Maybe I could send someone over to ride him.”

I hesitated, and though no word was spoken, Strange stopped his work, stood and looked at me.

“Your daughter wouldn’t mind. She’d be glad someone was giving the pony attention.”

“You’re right,” I said, trying not to tear up. “Please, if you know someone, ask him or her to come over. I’ll tell Dad. I think he’ll be relieved.”

Strange finished the last foot and stood, arching backward to relieve the strain of his job. “This here pony won’t ever forget your girl. She’s a part of him, like she’s a part of you. But he needs someone to love him now.” He gathered his tools. “Animals got a lot more sense about dying than human folk. They know it’s the cycle. Livin’ and dyin’, they’re not so different, except for those of us left behind.”

“I wish I could believe that,” I said.

“It took me a while to get there, Carson. Maybe I believe it ’cause I have to to survive. I can only say I’m a more peaceful man since I came to that way of thinkin’.” He gave Bilbo’s rump a gentle slap. “Turn ’em out now, and I’ll be on my way.”

I pulled money from my pocket.

He shook his head. “No, I won’t take the money. When my mama was dying, Mr. Lynch mixed up her medicine special. When we didn’t have the money, he mixed it for her anyway.”

“The horses are my responsibility, not his.”

He gave me his sharp blue gaze. “It’s one and the same and you know it.”

I was about to argue when I heard a vehicle pull up. I walked to the barn door and looked out, surprised to see Michael Batson walking toward me from his red vet truck.

“Carson!” he said, his face breaking into a wide smile. “What a surprise.”

“Michael,” I answered, knowing it was no surprise at all but my meddling mother. “What brings you here?”

“Spring vaccinations for the horses. Dorry implied you were having a conniption to get it done.”

“I see.” I realized that my sister now rivaled my mother in games of manipulation.

“Hey, Dustin, how’s it going?” He held out his hand.

The men shook, then Strange gathered his tools. “I’m done here, Doc.”

Michael glanced down at Bilbo’s feet. “I wish you’d come over and work out of my clinic. Folks could come to you instead of you having to drive all over tarnation.”

Strange shook his head. “I like drivin’. I like to look at the woods and think.”

Michael nodded. “Well, the offer stands.”

“Thanks, but I like it the way it is.” Strange inclined his head, then he was gone, his slender frame slipping out the barn door and casting a long, thin shadow across the patch of dirt in front of the barn.

“You called him Dustin,” I pointed out.

“I don’t like the name Strange. Dustin’s a little different, but if more people were like him, the world would be a better place.” He took Bilbo’s lead rope and moved him so he could feel in his mouth. “Dorry said I should float their teeth, too, if they need it.”

“Dorry’s mighty good at tending to everyone’s business,” I said.

He laughed. “I thought this might be a setup. She asked me to lunch, too.” He released Bilbo’s head and started toward his truck. “I brought a Biloxi paper. I figured you’d want to see the front-page splash you made.”

“Don’t take it in the house,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to.” He walked out of the barn and returned in a few moments with three vaccinations and a stainless-steel bucket containing a rasp to file the sharp points down on the horses’ back teeth. “This won’t take long at all.”

After we’d finished with the horses, Michael led Bilbo while I took Mariah and Hooligan out to the front pasture. We stopped at his truck and he handed me the newspaper.

Bridal Veil Killer Strikes After 24-Year Hiatus, the headline screamed across the top of the page. My stomach knotted. If I’d ever doubted Brandon’s total disregard of responsibility, I didn’t any longer. Right below the headline was my byline. Mitch and Avery would both know I had nothing to do with the way the story was played, but most people didn’t understand that.

“You’re making quite a name for yourself,” Michael said.

There was no criticism in his tone. Michael wasn’t a man prone to panic, so he didn’t see the potential damage such an article could do.

“It’s a frightening situation, but this—” I shook the paper “—isn’t going to help. My boss is an idiot.”

Michael put his equipment back in the truck. “I’m not staying for lunch, Carson.”

“Mother and Dorry will be disappointed.”

He touched my chin, a whisper of a caress. “I don’t really care what they think.”

“I figured you’d want to be home for lunch with Polly and your daughter.” I held his hazel gaze.

“Polly’s filed for divorce. She wants a husband who gets off at five and comes home smelling of aftershave and money instead of cow shit. I’m not the man for her.”

I had a jolt of memory. Polly was standing in front of Elliot’s Jewelry Store on Main Street. It was a hot summer afternoon. We were eighteen, just graduated and wondering what the next fall would bring for us.

“I’m going to marry a rich man,” Polly had predicted. “Mama says you can love a man with money as easily as one without.”

June Tierce had been with us. June’s future was set. She’d gotten a full academic scholarship to Ole Miss. She claimed the school was filling a quota for black females, but I knew better. June was brilliant.

“Money doesn’t have anything to do with happiness,” June said to Polly.

“Of course it does,” Polly said with a grown-up snap in her voice. “Try being without money if you think it’s not important. It’s the only thing my mom and dad fight about.”

“Carson, are you okay?” Michael touched my arm, and I left the past to return to the barnyard and my former lover looking at me with open concern.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking of Polly.”

“She’s still a beautiful woman. She’ll find someone who gives her what she wants.” He shook his head. “I was foolish to think she’d—” He broke off. “Anyway, tell your folks I send my regrets. The truth is, I’ve got a herd of cows to vaccinate over in Vinegar Bend. It’s going to be a long day so I’d better get after it.”

I headed home before lunch, telling my parents that I had work. No one questioned me, but no one believed me, either. Greene County was dry. At one time my parents kept liquor in the house, amber and clear liquids for an afternoon highball or the frequent visitors who came to play cards or have dinner. It was only recently that the cut-glass decanters had been emptied and not refilled. I was the cause of that.

Almost home, I stopped at a small joint tucked away in the piney woods of Jackson County. The state blue laws had once dictated that liquor could not be sold until noon on a Sunday, but with the arrival of the casinos, times had changed for the Gulf Coast. I asked the bartender for a screwdriver, and she handed it over without even blinking.

When I got home, Mitch had called, tersely asking for a meeting Monday morning. There was also a message from Brandon, hyperventilating about the next big story. The sound of his voice made me want to do something violent. The last call on my machine I returned.

“Jack,” I said. “Those were good stories on the Dixie Mafia.”

“It’s easy to dredge up history. Your piece on the murders was well written and restrained.”

“Except for the headline.”

Jack barked a laugh. “You should’ve seen Hank and Brandon go at it.”

I felt a twinge. Hank had a bad heart, and he had no business arguing with Brandon. I took what comfort I could in knowing that if it wasn’t my story they fought over, it would be something else. “You said you needed a favor?”

“I’m in a little bit of a jam.” Jack’s voice was thin, as if he were having to force the words out. “Could I borrow five thousand dollars until Friday?”

“Sure.” I didn’t hesitate. Money was one thing I had. When Daniel and I had sold our property in Miami, we’d made a lot of money. Daniel had been more than generous. “Want me to run it by?”

“No!” He took in a deep breath. “I’ll come get it now. Thanks, Carson.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jack.” I could run up to the ATM and get some cash, since it sounded like a check wouldn’t do. “Come on by.”

The bank was only five minutes away, and I was sitting on my front porch when Jack pulled in. The fact that he wouldn’t meet my gaze told me a lot. I put the envelope on the seat of a wicker chair.

“I’m glad to do this, Jack. It’s the first time I’ve felt useful in a long time.”

He still didn’t look at me. “I’ll pay you back.”

“I know. Don’t be in a rush about it.”

He was a proud man, and whatever circumstances had forced him to borrow money from me was not my business unless he wanted to talk. Obviously he didn’t. I stood up. “I’m going to make a drink. Would you care for one?”

“No.”

I left the door open when I walked inside. His footsteps sounded on the porch, and then the screen door slammed. He was gone.