Dream Wheels (36 page)

“We didn’t always have the horse. Before they came we had dogs,” Johanna said. “The dogs were our constant companions, our sentries at night and our game pointers. They even hauled things around in the travois we later used with horses. Sometimes, in lean times, dogs even sacrificed themselves to feed us. It was a special relationship—all built on loyalty, trust and community.

“When horses ran away from the Spanish they ran straight to us. The old people saw that they were just like dogs. They had the same unqualified desire to serve us, to be loyal, to teach us things. But they were special because they brought
freedom with them, and only spirit beings could do that. So they became Spirit Dogs.”

Claire smiled. “That’s beautiful. They
are
just like that. Even when they have a roll in the dirt, all twisting around and joyful like puppies.”

“Yes, and they always need a good wash. Start with her legs, then move up to her belly. Spray lightly with the hose, evenly, and rub with your hands.” Johanna handed Claire one of the big sponges.

For the next while the women worked quietly, humming, speaking softly to the mare, who lifted one back hoof and leaned, enjoying the feel of the water and the gentle hands on her. Eventually Johanna stepped back and allowed Claire to work on her own. She marvelled at the way the city-born woman had adjusted to working with the horses. Claire moved almost elegantly around them. Her step was assured and graceful, and she showed no fear or anxiety when a horse reared some, flattened it ears or nipped at her. She always laughed her throaty, almost man-like laugh, teased them a little, offered a rub of reassurance and continued with her work. She was a natural.

“Everything in your people’s way is about relationships in one way or another, isn’t it?” Claire said.

Johanna smiled at her. “Everyone’s way is about relationships.”

“I don’t think so for me.”

“We all started out as tribal people. For all of us, if we look back far enough, there was a fire in the night where we gathered together for shelter, security, companionship, community. It’s what we all have in common. It’s what pulls us toward each other, that latent gene that tells us that we all started out around a fire in the night, huddled together against
the darkness. We need each other. All of us. So everyone’s way is about relationships.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Claire said.

Johanna took the hose from her hand and adjusted the spray to a fine mist and began washing the horse’s face. When she was finished she looked around for Claire and saw her sitting on a bale across the corridor from the stall. Johanna shut off the water and settled on the bale beside her. “What is it?” she asked.

Claire gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know. I guess being here, watching all of you, seeing you operate as a family makes me sad somehow. We never had that. Either of us. Aiden or I. We only had each other and it was always a struggle, always a challenge to adjust one way or another. We could never settle somewhere and just be.”

“You had each other.”

“Yes, but sometimes I feel like I managed to screw that up too. Always chasing after some man like he was going to change everything, like he was going to make me a better woman.”

“And now?”

Claire laughed. “Now it’s just the two of us again. Or at least I hope it is. There’s no man. The man was never the answer. Hell, the man was never even the question. Took me way too long to learn that.”

“So what do you do?”

“Do?”

“About men?”

She laughed again and stared out the open door at the end of the corridor. “I do nothing. Not for a couple of years. I won’t live that way again. I won’t give it all up. I won’t surrender myself anymore. Everything I’ve done since Aiden was put
away has been to work at making a home available, our home, his home. Finally.”

“Celibate,” Johanna said.

“As all hell,” Claire said, and they laughed.

“Well then, we’d better get you on a horse mighty quick, girl,” Johanna said. “On a saddle with a high pommel over rough terrain in a hot trot. You gotta put that woman spirit somewhere.”

“Do I?” Claire asked seriously.

“Sometime, somewhere, yes,” Johanna said and gave her a small hug. “It’s what we do.”

“Indians?”

“Them too,” Johanna said, and they laughed.

He leaned a foot on the bottom rail of the corral and watched the stock mill absently about. There was a taste to dust and he’d always favoured it. Now, it kicked up in small clouds that held the sunlight and he could smell it. When he closed his eyes it was like his whole life could be summed up around that smell, every significant event and memory was dusted with the rich brown tan of the corral. The kid would never get that. There was no hook for him. The ranch and the atmosphere of it was nothing because he hadn’t anchored himself to it and he could likely head off back to whatever kind of life he had in the city and not miss it. Bull rider. Joe Willie spat in the dust.

A smallish ranch bull stood alone in the middle of the herd, same one Aiden had ridden. When he looked at it Joe Willie could see the shape of See Four in miniature. That was the thing. These bulls were antsy enough and they could give a novice rider a hell of a thrill, but they were nothing compared to pure rodeo stock bred for bucking. That’s what the point of all the grunt work was. It took a stern will to rig up up on a
mountain of mayhem, and the only place that will was born was in the tough, sinewy work of ranch life. That was the tradition. Real cowboys, real, genuine working cowboys showing off the skill they’d acquired. Even some fluky city kid with great balance and a handful of nerve could get there, but there were dues to be paid. Joe Willie had paid them and so had every cowboy he’d met on the circuit. The kid needed to pay his and he wasn’t going to. That was fine by him. The truck would get done. He’d see to that. He’d see to it even if he had to pay a mechanic to come out and guide him through it. She’d sit straight on her pins again and hold the tradition.

That was the thing of it. The kid had no head for tradition. Everything was all guts and glory to him. All he wanted was the thrill. For Joe Willie the thrill, the eight seconds of glory that you earned the right to, was only the culmination of the life you lived leading up to it every time. He rode as an expression of himself, a real working cowboy, and the kid, to his way of seeing, had nothing to express beyond attitude and recklessness. Well, he’d seen many broken, busted men who’d tried to forge a career on unruly posturing, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. The kid was better off heading back to the city life he knew and leaving the bull riding to men who were bred to it.

His grandfather stepped up alongside him and set a foot on the bottom rail and leaned his elbows on the top. After a moment he pushed his hat back on his head and lit a smoke, then offered the pack to Joe Willie. They smoked awhile and watched the stock.

“Mighty deep well you’re in,” Lionel said.

“Mighty.”

“Everything okay?”

“I suppose. If right is okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“The deal’s off. The kid won’t follow through.”

“Really? Seemed full of gumption to me.”

“Yeah, well, gumption’s only half the thing, ain’t it?”

“I reckon. He was awful fired up, though.”

Joe Willie smirked. “Aw, he’s just a kid with a head full of dreams. Rode that ragged-ass bull over there and figures he’s world champ. But he don’t wanna pay the price to get there.”

“What do you want?” Lionel asked.

“Pardon me?”

“What do you want? Seems to me there’s two parts to a deal, and if she breaks there’s generally a pair of reasons for it.”

“He won’t do the truck.”

They smoked, and Joe Willie could feel the weight of his grandfather’s scrutiny. Finally, the old man pinched out his cigarette against the top rail. “Well, the boy’s in a tough place.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you got reins on all of it. Rodeo and bull riding’s your world. So’s the old girl. You get to call the shots and he’s got to follow. He’s got no room to negotiate. Tough place to deal from, really.”

“What are you saying exactly?”

“I’m not saying anything. I’m just looking at it and seeing that Aiden’s got no wiggle room. In the end, whatever you say goes.”

“You’re saying that’s not fair? He made the deal.”

“I’m not saying anything. Well, other than it’s too bad. Seemed like he had a good head for trucks and he woulda made a good rider with the right direction.”

“Yeah, well,” Joe Willie said.

“Suppose they’ll be heading off, then?”

“I suppose.”

“Shame,” Lionel said.

“Yeah. Real shame,” Joe Willie said. He stared at the stock and didn’t hear his grandfather walk away.

Claire found him in the rec room watching television. He sat on the couch with his fist pressed to his jaw staring dull-eyed at the screen. He made no notice of her presence although she knew he’d seen her come in. There was a rodeo program on and she glanced at. When he made no effort to communicate she went to the couch and sat at the other end. She studied him closely. He looked like a typical bored teenager and she smiled to herself.

“Look at him,” he said quietly.

“Pardon me?”

“Look at him. When he comes out of the chute.”

“Who?”

“The bull. See Four. The bull that wrecked Joe Willie.”

“Oh. Yes.” Claire turned her attention to the screen.

The bull blasted out of the chute and it seemed to Claire that it was impossible for a huge body to behave that way. There was a paroxysm of twists, bucks and humps all at the same time, and the cowboy was flung high and wide, landing on the flat of his back in a matter of seconds.

“Wow,” she said.

“Wow is right. That bull is awesome.”

“Did Joe Willie tell you to come watch this?”

“Joe Willie didn’t tell me anything. Won’t listen to anything either,” Aiden said. He began to rewind the tape. “The deal’s off. I’m just watching this because I’ll never get the chance to see him again.”

“Joe Willie?”

“The bull. He’s fantastic. He’s beautiful.”

“He’s huge,” Claire said. “And why is the deal off?”

“Because the bulls aren’t the only stubborn things around here.”

“What happened?”

“He won’t listen to me. He doesn’t want to do what’s necessary for the truck. Only wants things his way. He won’t even try to think another way.”

“So what’s next?”

“Nothing. It’s over. I’m watching this tape and we’re going home. That’s it,” Aiden said, sending the image of the bull and rider cascading across the screen again.

“I’m sorry,” Claire said.

“Yeah, well, screw it. We had a word in the joint for guys who wouldn’t keep their word, wouldn’t stand up for themselves. Goof. That’s what we called them.”

“You’re not in the joint now. Those rules don’t work out here.”

“They work everywhere. A goof’s a goof no matter where he’s walking.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Really?” He laughed derisively and turned off the TV. “Everyone always wants to tell me how wrong I am. Like I’m a kid. Now you. Is this the heartfelt-mom routine? Pull the kid into line? I’m not a kid. I keep telling people that.”

“Aiden,” she said softly.

“What?”

She could see the depth of disappointment beneath the anger. The image of him as he rode the bull came to her and she knew how it must have felt to him to lose that sense of freedom. He crossed his arms and sat back deeper on the couch. Claire reached out and put a hand on his knee. When he offered no reaction, she let him sit with his hurt and
disappointment. She left the room and went looking for Victoria and Johanna.

The bonfire was crackling loudly. After talking to Claire about the cancellation of the deal, Johanna and Victoria had suggested everyone gather for a farewell fire and had brought out thermoses of tea, soft drinks and snacks, blankets and the old guitar Birch seldom played anymore except on nights like this. Aiden and Joe Willie sat across the fire from each other, glum and silent, watching the flames and sipping idly at drinks. While Lionel poked at the fire to stoke it, Birch fumbled through a few chords, tuning the guitar methodically, and when his father eventually settled he launched into the opening chords of a song.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Claire said, and for the next few minutes she sang in a clear, steady voice while Birch accompanied her. When she’d finished they applauded. “God, I haven’t sung that in years,” she said. “I used to hear it all the time when I was a girl.”

“‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’?” Victoria asked. “Doesn’t seem much like a big-city song.”

“It’s not,” Claire said. “Maybe that’s why I came to love it so much. Because it could take me way from the city.”

She went on to tell them the story of the open kitchen window and the music rolling freely between tenement buildings. The Wolfchilds stared into the fire, nodding solemnly, knowingly. They could hear coyotes in the background and the sounds of the stock in the corrals. The dog slunk in from the darkness and curled itself in a ball at Lionel’s feet. He reached down and scratched its ears. When she’d finished Claire walked around the fire and poured herself some tea from the thermos. “Good to sing that song again,” she said.

“Never heard it talked about quite that way before,” Birch
said. “But it fits. There’s a powerful bit of yearning in it. Seems to me that yearning ain’t strictly a cowboy thing.”

“Amen to that,” Johanna said and smiled at Claire.

“You come from that?” Joe Willie asked. “Poor like that? When you were a kid?”

“Yes,” Claire said. “I never knew it as being poor, though. It just was what it was. Nowadays I like to think it made me tougher somehow. Not tough enough to prevent me from recreating it when I became a parent, but tough anyway.”

“Him too?” Joe Willie asked, tilting his chin in Aiden’s direction.

“Yes,” Claire said, looking at Aiden. “We never had much. Not of our own, at least. Occasionally we did okay. Didn’t we, Aiden?”

He gave her a neutral look and kicked at the dirt with his heel. “I guess. But what’s that got to do with anything?”