When Mountains Move Page 13

  “It’s different here, isn’t it?” I try to make her feel more comfortable. I’ve been here an entire summer, and I still feel overwhelmed at times.

  Oka nods and watches everything with wide and cautious eyes.

  “I remember the first time I ever saw Colorado,” Janine pipes in, pinning her hair beneath a scarf to block the wind. “I couldn’t believe how dry and brown everything is here. It’s as if the whole state is dead. Or dying. Or burning. Or burned.” We cross a bridge with no water underneath. “See what I mean? They call that a river!”

  I laugh, and Oka leans to examine the evaporated water route. “Just wait till you see the ranch. I promise, it’s absolutely beautiful.”

  Oka keeps looking out the window, taking it all in, not minding the way the wind whips loose wisps of her hair. “Did you know Oka runs a store, over in Willow Bend?” I ask, shifting focus on Oka again.

  “That right?” Janine asks.

  Another nod from Oka. Janine struggles to continue the conversation. “You sell clothes?” Her voice lifts, excited by the possibility.

  “No,” Oka says. But she adds no more information. I sense she is overwrought by Janine’s rapid speech, her quick change of thoughts. Like all the Choctaw I’ve ever seen in Iti Taloa, Oka’s conversations move slowly, her intonation stays flat, and her stories are rarely about herself. Janine is a complete contrast.

  “It’s an old trading post,” I explain, trying to remember details Oka shared in the letter she gave me just before we left Mississippi. She enclosed it with our wedding gift, a list of things she wanted me to know about her family. “More of a general store now. Oka manages the whole place by herself. Fuel. Lunch counter. And everything else you could possibly need. Right, Oka?”

  “My son help me. His boys, too.” She refuses to take the credit.

  Oka has left her entire family for me. She has sacrificed so much to make this move. I feel a surge of guilt, even though she hasn’t yet said how long she plans to stay. I can only imagine how her son must feel about her visit. I’m sensing Oka is having second thoughts, and I hope she doesn’t decide to return home with Janine and Mr. Tucker in a few weeks.

  “I think it’d be fun to run a store,” Janine says. “Especially if I could sell clothes. I always say, there’s nothing you can’t handle if you have the right outfit. Most people could really use my help.”

  Janine keeps me laughing, but Oka doesn’t react at all to Janine’s rambling. It’s as if she tuned her out hours ago. Janine doesn’t seem to care, though. She goes from chatting about fashion to filling in details about her wedding plans to gossiping about the rodeo guys back home.

  “How’s Firefly?” I ask quickly, when Janine finally breaks for air.

  “Oh, she’s been plumb pitiful without you, Millie. She mopes around, won’t eat. Cauy ended up leaving her pastured at night. Couldn’t take her in with the other mares because she was kicking the stall. Tore up her hooves. The farrier said it would do no good to shoe her. We were worried she’d do damage to her leg.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s gone lame!” I can’t stand the thought of her being injured.

  “No, no. Just stubborn is all.”

  “I can hardly wait to saddle up again,” I admit. “It’s been too long.”

  “You probably shouldn’t ride in your condition, honey.” Janine moves her hand onto my stomach, and I flinch. “I want to be a mother more than anything,” she adds. “You’re so lucky, Millie.”

  Shame overwhelms me. I drive the rest of the way in silence. Janine talks, but I barely hear a word she says. My mind is listening to another voice, a tiny, fragile bean that sings “Here I am.”

  By the time we arrive home, Oka seems eager to escape Janine. She walks away from the two of us, taking in the scene. I leave her in peace, escorting Janine into the house and making three trips to carry luggage from the truck. When I finish, I find Janine staring at a chamber pot. “Please tell me you have indoor plumbing.”

  “I tried to warn you,” I say, laughing. Janine isn’t amused. “Sorry,” I admit. “It hasn’t been top on our list.”

  “Honey, nothing should top an indoor restroom. You’re pregnant, for heaven’s sake. I’ll speak to Cauy about this.”

  “It’s not so bad,” I say, secretly hoping Mr. Tucker will indeed help us figure out how to get indoor plumbing as soon as possible. “We also only have one bed, so I’m afraid we’ll have to make do.”

  “My goodness, Millie. I had no idea we’d sent you kids to the middle of nowhere with not as much as a bed to sleep on or a faucet to drink from.”

  “We’re fine, Janine,” I assure her. I can’t imagine what she would have said if she’d seen the place before we fixed it up. “It’s actually been kind of fun, living off the land like this. Every day I do something I never thought I could do. Everyone should get this experience.”

  “No, thanks!” Janine tilts her nose with disgust.

  An hour later, Janine is calling my name from the outhouse. “How does this work?” She swats flies.

  Oka shoots her a look from the porch and I can’t hold back my laughter. “You’ve never used an outhouse?”

  “Never!” Janine says.

  I smile and tell Oka, “At least she’s had the sense to trade her high heels for boots.”

  Then I move to explain the lime bucket to Janine, who blushes when I show her the scrap paper. “Well, one thing’s for sure,” she says. “This day’s been full of firsts for all of us.”

  I smile again, but inside I’m worried that Bump may be having a first too—the first time he realizes I am not the girl he thinks I am.

  Chapter 16

  Before I know it, a week has passed and the men are expected to arrive with the horses. “We’d better make extra,” I tell Oka and Janine, scooping three more cups of beans into the pot to make sure we have enough for all the hired hands who are helping drive the herd to our ranch.

  Just before sundown, the air fills with the sounds of hooves and the calls of riders. “Right on schedule.” I smile.

  “My goodness, it sounds like thunder!” Janine says, running outside to meet the men. Oka and I follow.

  Bump, Mr. Tucker, and about ten extra hands lead the horses onto our property. It’s a breathtaking sight, hundreds of quarter horses moving in against the red-ribboned sunset. Janine and Oka hold gas lanterns to light the fading path, while I dash around to open and close gates, trying to contain the anxious herd within the pasture’s boundaries. Another four or five horsemen round off the back of the herd. Fortner directs that group.

  Everything is running smoothly until a testy blue roan gets kicked by another who wants the lead. She panics and twists in the opposite direction, launching herself onto her front two hooves, throwing her two back legs up in violent defense.

  I am in a bad position, pinned between the fence and the angry horse. I hurry to move to safety, but I’m caught. And I am scared. As the roan becomes more and more upset, the herd shifts from a controlled walk to a frenzied stampede, crowding me against the fence. It’d be different if I were on horseback, but I’m on my own two feet, a tiny, brittle being compared to even one horse, much less hundreds. I try to keep my stomach turned away from the herd, feeling an overwhelming maternal instinct to protect my baby at all costs.

  I have no choice but to crawl between the slats of a closed wooden gate and find safer space inside the pasture, but at six months pregnant, bending and crawling is no longer an easy maneuver. I scramble to find the right position, while the roan continues to buck out of control. This time, I am caught in her aim. Her right hoof clips my gut, slamming me back against the wood. Finally, she makes room and bolts away from the herd with aggressive jolts. About twenty horses follow her lead.

  “Fortner!” Bump yells, breaking away to follow them in pursuit. No one seems to have noticed I got kicked.
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  Swinging his horse around, Fortner joins the chase. Two extra drovers pull out from back to help, while the others try to prevent the rest of the herd from following the runaways. Mr. Tucker keeps the lead. I pull myself off the fence, pumped full of adrenaline, and hurry to close the gate behind the last of the horses that stayed with the main herd.

  Mr. Tucker begins counting the horses that have made it. The other cowboys turn to help Fortner and Bump, who are still struggling to catch the runners. They’re too far away now for me to see them in the darkening dusk, especially with all the dust kicked up during the stampede, but I can hear their voices calling back and forth. This way! Cut back! Here they come! I sag against the fence, as the pain swells. I clutch my belly, where a thin strip of blood spreads across my cotton shirt, and I hope the wound is only skin deep.

  Within minutes Fortner returns, leading the rogues back toward the pasture. Bump rides on the other side as I handle the gate. The other hands stretch across the back to keep them moving toward the opening. All but the roan move in. She resists, not wanting to move through the unfamiliar barrier. Bump has no choice but to throw a rope. He catches her with the lasso, causing her to snort and squeal, upsetting the rest of the herd even more, but somehow Bump manages to work her into the pasture, where I quickly pull the gate behind her. As soon as the rope is released, she bolts again, but this time the headstrong horse is safely contained. She doesn’t like it though, roaring almost as furiously as a penned stallion.

  Emotions are high, and I don’t dare call attention to myself in the midst of such an important moment for Mr. Tucker. For Bump. Our boss climbs down from his saddle and receives an especially warm welcome from Janine. Oka scoffs again at their display. Stepping toward the house, she says, “I go check supper.” The hired hands dismount, removing their saddles and talking quietly about the pay that’s due. We still have no barracks, but I’m sure they’ll pitch tents here for a night or two before heading back south.

  As the chaos begins to settle, I lean against the gate to catch my breath. I’ve seen others handle kicks before, but none of those cowboys were pregnant. I don’t allow myself to consider the worst. Before the adrenaline has a chance to wane, I feel a nudge. I know, without looking, it’s Firefly. She nickers softly to greet me, prodding for attention. I turn to her and she nods her head across the barrier, rubbing her face against my own. I tickle her behind her ears, her favorite spot, and kiss her tender nose.

  “You found me,” I whisper. Pain now spreads across my middle, but I will myself to ignore it. I focus only on the joy of seeing my favorite horse.

  Firefly stomps her front hoof into the ground and neighs loudly. Her eyes are still wide with stress. I lean my weight against her and she supports me from across the fence, the closest thing to a hug I can offer from here.

  Bump finds me with Firefly. “Big job,” I say, removing his hat and running my hands through his hair. The other arm, I leave across my belly. I start to mention the kick, but then I stop. This is his moment, not mine. And he’s so happy. I don’t want to ruin it. Besides, it’s probably nothing to worry about. It was hardly more than a clip, just enough to break the skin and leave a bruise, nothing serious. “Mighty proud of you,” I tell my husband.

  “Had good help.” Bump shuns the compliment and kisses me. “Missed you like crazy.”

  “Missed you more.” I kiss him again, relieved he’s come home without the distant behavior he left me with in Longmont. He covers our faces with his hat and returns a long, passionate kiss.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll make up for it tonight.”

  I give him a flirtatious shove and say, “We have guests.”

  “That’s right. And they’re hungry. You ready for supper?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I say. “It’s all ready. I just want a few minutes with Firefly. Would that be too rude?”

  “Not at all,” Bump says, kissing me again before heading to the house. “Don’t blame you a bit.”

  “I’m glad you’re home,” I call behind him. He turns back and smiles before entering the house.

  I move toward the gate, and Firefly follows, soothing me with her earthy smells and deep bass sounds. Her tail is still clamped tight and her ears are stiff, twitching. I wait until she calms a bit more, relaxing her ears and lowering her head. Then I undo the latch and release her, closing it behind to make sure no other horses follow. I pet my sweet mare slowly, softly, moving from her black forelock down her sleek, muscular neck, across her smooth, firm back, and down her brown, bulging belly. Then I do it all again on the other side, offering gentle pressure to soothe her sore muscles and humming softly to ease her fear. She blows loud and rubs the side of her face against me, pawing the ground with her right hoof, an eager gesture to let me know she wants my full attention, as well she should.

  Within minutes, she begins to relax even more, bending her back leg and swishing her tail slowly in the night breeze. I kiss the white blaze that runs along the bridge of her nose. “I think you’ll like it here,” I whisper. “Fewer bugs. Not as hot. Spring-fed ponds. Pretty good grass.” I wrap my arm beneath her chin, letting my elbow bend back to the crest. Then I lead her slowly to the barn, where I’ve prepared new bedding in a stall just for her. Bump has tacked a sign to the door with her name burned into a strip of wood. Despite her long journey, she follows me into her new home without hesitation, with complete trust. A new start.

  “Promise you won’t kick the walls?” I tease her.

  She neighs, and I laugh.

  The stall is a bit smaller than the one she had in Mississippi, but it’s clean and cozy and offers a private sleeping spot when she wants a little pampering. I show her the new water bucket, and give her a fresh stash of hay. She drinks, eats, and makes a sound so unique she might as well be purring.

  “I bet you’re tired.” I reach down low, where her legs are marked with black socks, and bend her left front knee, asking her to lie down. She responds, and I slide down with her onto the straw bedding, next to her warm folds. I mold my body to her curves and let my head rest across her massive chest, closing my eyes to let the steady rhythms of her breathing comfort me.

  It’s more than an hour before I wake in the dark on the floor of the stall, curled next to Firefly. Oka stands above me, holding a lantern, her face etched with worry. She says nothing, but stoops to take a closer look at me. My bones ache as I pull myself up. Firefly does the same, causing Oka to step cautiously out of the stall. Firefly would never intentionally harm anyone, but at nearly twelve hundred pounds, she could do serious damage. Oka seems respectful of this and keeps her distance. As soon as I stand, I feel a deep, heavy pressure between my legs.

  “Millicent, you bleeding?” Oka lifts the lantern.

  I hold my arms up for inspection, feel my face. A string of cuts from the fence stings across my back and neck, but it is my stomach that contracts in spasms. I try not to cry out in pain. “Oh, Oka,” I cry. “The baby!”

  “I get help,” Oka says, turning to leave me in the stall with Firefly. I am gasping for breath now, holding my belly as cramps seize control. Before I know it, Bump is running to the barn with Oka, Mr. Tucker, and Janine all in tow. Thank goodness the extra cowboys haven’t followed. I am angry at myself for putting the baby at risk. Ashamed for causing such a scene.

  “Millie?” Bump calls. His temples pound with tension, as he lifts me from the stall and carries me home. “What happened, Millie?”

  “I got kicked.”

  “Firefly kicked you?” I’ve never seen Bump this upset.

  “Of course not,” I defend my devoted horse. “It was the roan. She spun around and kicked me before making a run for it.”

  “The roan,” he says, harshly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It wasn’t a direct hit,” I explain. “I didn’t think …”

  Bump pushes
open the bedroom door and signals Janine to prepare the bed. He places me in the chair until extra linens can be draped across the mattress. It takes him a while to calm down enough to speak, and still his words are fired with alarm. “You could have died, Millie. Did you think of that?”

  No one mentions the baby, but as Bump moves me to the bed, Oka pulls hot water from the stove and Janine makes several trips back and forth with a bucket and towels. Bump works to stop the bleeding, to clean the hoof-shaped wound that oozes from my belly, to prevent the loss of a child he believes is his to save. I reach for the towel and try to help, but he snaps it away from me. “Let me handle this.”

  I give in, too numb to cry. Again and again I hear Jack calling Mama pathetic, weak, useless. Everything I don’t want to be.

  Fortner takes the truck to fetch Doc Henley, promising to come right back. Janine and Mr. Tucker stay in the living room to give us space. Oka chants in her Choctaw language, and even though I have no idea what she is saying, I know she is asking for help. Like Oka, Bump stays right by my side, bent in prayer, asking God over and over again to save me. To save our baby. I go even further than Oka and Bump. I beg for this child, this baby I didn’t think I wanted, to be safe. But I also beg for forgiveness. I’m sorry for all I’ve done that led to this. “I’m sorry,” I say aloud. To everyone.

  As the minutes pass and the bleeding slows, Bump’s anxiety begins to wane. Oka now sits on one side of my bed, deep in thought. Bump sits on the other side, his face a web of emotions. Within an hour, Doc arrives.

  “The bleeding stopped,” Bump stands and tells Doc Henley.

  He places a large black satchel on the foot of the bed and says, “I should still have a look.” Oka and Bump step aside.

  “Stay,” I tell Bump, reaching my hand out for him. His anger has diffused now, but still, there is heat between us, friction.

  “You did all the right things,” Doc praises Bump as he finishes the exam. “But this is serious.” He continues speaking to Bump, not me. “If there’s any chance at all of saving this baby, Millie needs to take it easy. Strict bed rest.”