Running Barefoot
Page 43
I stood on the front porch in all my grown-up finery and waved them off. The lights were still on at the Yates place. I could see a truck out front that must belong to Samuel. What possible excuse could I come up with to stop by at eleven o’clock at night so I could see him? I stood there shivering, willing him to come out. Instead, as I watched and wished, the lights flicked out and the house was dark. Trying not to cry, I walked inside and flipped our front porch light off in dejected response.
My dad woke me up at 5:00 a.m. to tell me he’d gotten called in to work at the plant. The supervisor on duty had been in a car accident the night before and they needed someone to cover the early shift. I told him to be careful and rolled over and immediately started to go back to sleep. I heard him whisper that he’d be home in time for Christmas dinner at Louise’s, and to make sure I fed the horses when I got up.
I woke up again at eight and considered lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself all alone on Christmas morning. But the truth was, I didn’t mind having the house to myself, and I figured I’d just make myself a big plate of leftovers from last night’s feast and listen to Handel’s Messiah as loud as I could blast it. I pulled on my softest pair of blue jeans, my green and red striped Christmas socks, and a truly ugly sweater with a giant reindeer head on it that I had received last year as a white elephant gift. I’d pulled the pins out of my hair before I’d gone to bed, but I really hadn’t wanted to part with my new make-up, so I’d slept in it. I laughed at my raccoon eyes when I saw my reflection, and decided my makeover had definitely run its course. I scrubbed my face clean, brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my riotous curls, and called it good. I had just sat down with my plate of food and hit play on the new CD player I’d received the night before, ready to hear the sounds of Handel’s opening movement, when I remembered the horses.
“Ah hell!” I cursed, sounding exactly like my dad. It was hard not to grow up swearing when you lived on a farm. We never took the Lord’s name in vain or said the F-word, but pretty much damn, hell, and shit were part of the vernacular of most folks born and raised in Levan. To tell the truth, those words weren’t really considered swear words. Last week in church, Gordon Aagard was giving a sermon on trials. He referred to horse shit right in the middle of his talk, and nobody really batted an eye.
Pulling on Johnny’s old boots, I trudged out to the corral. Yazzie danced his happy dog dance around my legs as I walked. Yazzie loved to visit the horses. Dad had built a little lean-to adjacent to the corral, and Joe and Ben greeted me with nickers and bunted me with their noses as I mucked out the lean-to and refilled the feed buckets. The water in the trough was iced over and I broke it with my shovel, spooning the ice out and topping it off.
Daisy, Dad’s mare, was in the barn, separated from the other horses where it was a little warmer and drier, until she delivered her foal. I swung into the barn, eager to be done with my chores and saw that Daisy was lying down, her breathing heavy, her back slick. There was a little blood on the floor of the big stall, and I dropped the feed bucket I was carrying as I ran to her. I’d watched enough foals be born to know that Daisy was well on her way to being a new mama, and I was home alone.
“Dad said this was going to happen,” I said out loud, rubbing my hand down Daisy’s soft nose, “So now what do I do?”
I ran inside and dialed the number to the power plant. Usually there is always someone in the front office who relays messages to the guys on shift. Today was Christmas, and the staff was at the bare minimum. Nobody answered the phone. A recorded message came on with instructions to call back during regular operating hours. I growled in response and hung up the phone. I called Jacob and Rachel’s house and got Rachel’s cheerful voice on the answering machine telling me she and Jacob weren’t home and to please leave a message. They were home; they were just lying in bed enjoying their Christmas morning. I left a slightly panicked message demanding that Jacob get his butt to the farm. Johnny was at Sheila’s parent’s home, and I called their number with the same results, only this time I asked a little more nicely. Jared was too far away to do me any good. I left him alone.
I ran back out to the barn and paced nervously. I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure I knew what to look for exactly, but there were no little hooves or a head sticking out of Daisy’s nether regions. Daisy groaned and a watery gush swooshed out between her hind legs.
“Oh man! I cannot do this by myself,” I shrieked. Running out of the barn I ran as fast as my muddy boots would allow towards the Yates’s house. Don would know what to do. Out of breath and gasping, I reached the front walk and slipped and slid my way up to the front door, banging on the screen and yelling for Don. I’d been so focused on Daisy and the impending birth that I had run right by the truck that I’d seen the night before without really noticing it. I heard a door open behind me and swung around to see Samuel step out of the truck with concern playing across his handsome face. And it was a handsome face. I momentarily forgot all about poor Daisy. He wore a pair of Wrangler’s and a Carhart jacket. One foot was planted on the ground in a Justin boot and a black cowboy hat sat low on his head. The other leg was still inside the cab of his truck.
“Josie? My grandpa’s not here. He and Grandma headed over to my Aunt Tabrina’s house earlier this morning. They wanted to see the kids open their gifts. I’m heading over there now…would you like me to give him a message?” Samuel was so polite and formal that for a minute I just stared at him, wondering if I had just imagined our past friendship. He stared back at me, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for a response.
My dad woke me up at 5:00 a.m. to tell me he’d gotten called in to work at the plant. The supervisor on duty had been in a car accident the night before and they needed someone to cover the early shift. I told him to be careful and rolled over and immediately started to go back to sleep. I heard him whisper that he’d be home in time for Christmas dinner at Louise’s, and to make sure I fed the horses when I got up.
I woke up again at eight and considered lying in bed and feeling sorry for myself all alone on Christmas morning. But the truth was, I didn’t mind having the house to myself, and I figured I’d just make myself a big plate of leftovers from last night’s feast and listen to Handel’s Messiah as loud as I could blast it. I pulled on my softest pair of blue jeans, my green and red striped Christmas socks, and a truly ugly sweater with a giant reindeer head on it that I had received last year as a white elephant gift. I’d pulled the pins out of my hair before I’d gone to bed, but I really hadn’t wanted to part with my new make-up, so I’d slept in it. I laughed at my raccoon eyes when I saw my reflection, and decided my makeover had definitely run its course. I scrubbed my face clean, brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my riotous curls, and called it good. I had just sat down with my plate of food and hit play on the new CD player I’d received the night before, ready to hear the sounds of Handel’s opening movement, when I remembered the horses.
“Ah hell!” I cursed, sounding exactly like my dad. It was hard not to grow up swearing when you lived on a farm. We never took the Lord’s name in vain or said the F-word, but pretty much damn, hell, and shit were part of the vernacular of most folks born and raised in Levan. To tell the truth, those words weren’t really considered swear words. Last week in church, Gordon Aagard was giving a sermon on trials. He referred to horse shit right in the middle of his talk, and nobody really batted an eye.
Pulling on Johnny’s old boots, I trudged out to the corral. Yazzie danced his happy dog dance around my legs as I walked. Yazzie loved to visit the horses. Dad had built a little lean-to adjacent to the corral, and Joe and Ben greeted me with nickers and bunted me with their noses as I mucked out the lean-to and refilled the feed buckets. The water in the trough was iced over and I broke it with my shovel, spooning the ice out and topping it off.
Daisy, Dad’s mare, was in the barn, separated from the other horses where it was a little warmer and drier, until she delivered her foal. I swung into the barn, eager to be done with my chores and saw that Daisy was lying down, her breathing heavy, her back slick. There was a little blood on the floor of the big stall, and I dropped the feed bucket I was carrying as I ran to her. I’d watched enough foals be born to know that Daisy was well on her way to being a new mama, and I was home alone.
“Dad said this was going to happen,” I said out loud, rubbing my hand down Daisy’s soft nose, “So now what do I do?”
I ran inside and dialed the number to the power plant. Usually there is always someone in the front office who relays messages to the guys on shift. Today was Christmas, and the staff was at the bare minimum. Nobody answered the phone. A recorded message came on with instructions to call back during regular operating hours. I growled in response and hung up the phone. I called Jacob and Rachel’s house and got Rachel’s cheerful voice on the answering machine telling me she and Jacob weren’t home and to please leave a message. They were home; they were just lying in bed enjoying their Christmas morning. I left a slightly panicked message demanding that Jacob get his butt to the farm. Johnny was at Sheila’s parent’s home, and I called their number with the same results, only this time I asked a little more nicely. Jared was too far away to do me any good. I left him alone.
I ran back out to the barn and paced nervously. I couldn’t see anything. I wasn’t sure I knew what to look for exactly, but there were no little hooves or a head sticking out of Daisy’s nether regions. Daisy groaned and a watery gush swooshed out between her hind legs.
“Oh man! I cannot do this by myself,” I shrieked. Running out of the barn I ran as fast as my muddy boots would allow towards the Yates’s house. Don would know what to do. Out of breath and gasping, I reached the front walk and slipped and slid my way up to the front door, banging on the screen and yelling for Don. I’d been so focused on Daisy and the impending birth that I had run right by the truck that I’d seen the night before without really noticing it. I heard a door open behind me and swung around to see Samuel step out of the truck with concern playing across his handsome face. And it was a handsome face. I momentarily forgot all about poor Daisy. He wore a pair of Wrangler’s and a Carhart jacket. One foot was planted on the ground in a Justin boot and a black cowboy hat sat low on his head. The other leg was still inside the cab of his truck.
“Josie? My grandpa’s not here. He and Grandma headed over to my Aunt Tabrina’s house earlier this morning. They wanted to see the kids open their gifts. I’m heading over there now…would you like me to give him a message?” Samuel was so polite and formal that for a minute I just stared at him, wondering if I had just imagined our past friendship. He stared back at me, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for a response.
