If Wishes Were Horses (20 page)

“His boot size is larger,” Etta conceded after a moment. She wondered if she was going to spend the rest of her life falling for the wrong men.

Latrice put her arm about Etta’s shoulders, and Etta stood there, relishing the rare touch from this woman who was like a part of her. A sister and a mother and a teacher all in one.

Then, quite abruptly, Latrice broke away, saying, “I’d better get breakfast. It will be interesting to see if that boy smells food and comes up. See what he does.”

Etta said, “It is so gratifying that my life provides you with entertainment. God knows, I live for it.”

Johnny telephoned, using the extension in the barn, and Latrice answered. Etta heard Latrice say, “Yes . . . Fine . . . I’ll tell her,” then she hung up and said directly, “That was Johnny Bellah callin’ from the barn.”

Etta had forgotten all about the extension in the barn; Johnny had not used it once in all these weeks.

Latrice said, “He will not be comin’ up for breakfast. He also said to tell you that he had invited some men to bring their horses and have a bit of rodeo practice today. He hoped that was okay.”

This annoyed Etta no end. While she had dreaded facing Johnny, deep in her heart she had looked forward to it.

She had expected something of him—an approach of some sort. She did not like that he took the easy way out by avoiding her, and she did not at all appreciate that he was right back at the horses, going on as usual, as if their kiss—quite a passionate kiss, she had thought—had been nothing at all.

Obie did not come for breakfast that morning, either, and it was a lonesome meal with just herself and Latrice. They filled the time by discussing names for the baby, but neither appeared in a truly talkative mood.

When Johnny’s acquaintances started arriving, Etta was highly curious. She couldn’t go out with them and watch everything, of course; not only was she shy about facing Johnny, but she felt too pregnant to go out around a bunch of men.

“Pregnant or not, it’s too raucous a gatherin’ for a woman,” Latrice said. “They wouldn’t want you, either. You’d spoil their fun.”

Etta went from window to window, trying to see who came and what all was going on.

Obie came. He was easy to spot as he was so tall and lean and wearing his blue cap. She recognized one of his many nephews, too, Woody, the one who rode the rodeo circuit. He was a bull rider and bulldogger. Unlike Obie, he was short and very thick in the shoulders. He went by the name of Choctaw Woody Lee. His grandmother had been Choctaw, and he avoided trouble in some rodeos by maintaining the family Indian lineage, although this could cause trouble at times, too.

She thought she recognized Jed Stuart, one of the men for whom Johnny was training horses, and she saw Walter Fudge’s youngest son, Bitta. His real name was Nesbitt, but he’d acquired the name Bitta Fudge early on; Etta thought Caroline and Walter should have thought of this before they gave him the name.

Harry Flagg came, minus his old army coat now that the weather was warmer, and brought two men and five horses in his trailer. Harry always seemed to have a group with him. None of the horses he brought were ones he had taken from her.

Etta watched the men bucking out some green horses someone had brought, saw the bottle of home brew passed. Then the men moved back to the pasture track. Etta got impatient, as it was nearly impossible to see the goings-on from the kitchen or the dining room. She moved up to the east guest-room window, and Latrice joined her. They opened the window wide and removed the screen for a better view. Latrice went away and returned with Roy’s binoculars, which they passed back and forth.

“They aren’t much help,” Etta said, waving away the binoculars impatiently.

The men ran horses up and down the pasture track. At first it appeared there were trial runs, and then Johnny ran his big golden dun against a brown horse. Etta recognized Johnny mostly by the way he sat in the saddle. He won with his golden dun. They could not see the finish line from where they were, but they could tell Johnny won by the way he came riding back, sitting high and pleased.

Handsome, Etta thought, watching him with an ache in her chest.

On the fourth or fifth run she saw Johnny riding forward on Little Gus. There was no mistaking Little Gus; even though he was a beautiful color, red as wet clay and his tail and mane soft in the breeze, he walked forward all loose and gangly. He looked decidedly awkward and small next to Woody on a stout bay.

Etta didn’t realize how tense she had gotten, until the starter’s flag came down, and she got carried away and yelled, “Go, Gus!”

Latrice took hold of her. “You are gonna fall out this window!”

It was most frustrating not to be able to see the finish. She strained and strained to see, until Johnny came riding back into view. He was sitting slouched.

“He lost,” she said.

“Looks like it,” Latrice agreed.

After a time, the men moved to the big corral, where they held runs at calf roping, and then bulldogging and indulged in a lot of laughing and horseplay. Latrice got bored and went back downstairs. Etta sat in a chair and watched the men and stared out across the land and listened to birds.

Sunset came, and the men gathered themselves, their horses and whiskey, and began to leave. Etta saw Johnny walk his grey gelding over to Harry Flagg’s trailer and lead him inside.

Watching Harry’s trailer rattle away, Etta wondered if Johnny would come up to the house for supper.

While she waited for him, she went downstairs and took up peeling potatoes for Latrice. She never had been very good at peeling potatoes. Latrice always complained that she took off too thick a peel, and that was the case now, as she kept looking out the window and the door, trying to see Johnny, trying to prepare herself for him, and thinking over and over of how to act completely natural, as if the kiss had never happened.

“Lord a’mercy, what is wrong with you?” Latrice jerked the knife out of Etta’s hand. “Look here—you’ve thrown a whole potato away and saved the peeling.”

Etta dried her hands and went out the screen door. She stood on the porch, gazing across to the barn lit by the golden glow of the setting sun.

Johnny appeared, coming out of the black opening. Etta’s heart pattered in her chest. He saw her and stopped. Filled with yearning, she reached out and took hold of the porch post, while inside she was thinking:
Here I am . . . Will you . . . Let’s . . .

The next instant Johnny turned sharply for his pickup truck. He strode over, yanked open the door, got in and drove away.

Etta stood there, watching his truck disappear around the corner of the house, and then she listened to the sound of it until it was gone.

Obie came up for supper. He didn’t bother asking if he was invited; he just came in and sat down, saying in a breezy manner, “How are you lovely ladies this evenin’?”

Latrice was a little taken aback. “You appear somewhat full of yourself, Obie Lee.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m lookin’ forward to enjoyin’ your meal and the company of two fine ladies. I don’t think a man could ask more in this world.”

Latrice raised an eyebrow at his flowery talk, but when he grinned at her, she had to grin in return. She found him quite handsome in such a rare flamboyant mood. She especially liked his even white teeth, rare for a man of his age. She had always found his teeth his redeeming grace, when he fell into acting slow and countrified.

“This is the last of our ham, so you had better take that big slice on top,” she said, holding the serving platter toward him. She noted Etta’s surprised glance and pointedly ignored it.

“Why, thank you, Miss Latrice. It looks invitin’.”

At his eager, happy look, Latrice straightened herself up. She did not want to overly encourage him. Still, she thought, as she passed him the cornbread, she was glad he had come for supper.

Latrice, having to observe the passion vibrating between Etta and Johnny these days, had been surprised lately to find that she was lonely. There were things in her life that Etta, fifteen years younger in the bloom of youth and white as cotton, could not understand about a middle-aged Negro woman. Ironically, Roy Rivers, being nearer Latrice’s age, had often been good company for her. She had known him for exactly what he was, and she believed this had given him a certain freedom to be himself around her. He used to come into the kitchen late at night, after Etta was asleep, and sit at the table with a glass of warm milk, which he got himself, and talk about jazz and blues and the dusty days. These times he would also flirt with her. Latrice had taken this for what it was: for him an unconscious, innocent act, as natural as breathing, and for her a reminder that she was indeed a woman.

Latrice did not want to let on, but Roy Rivers dying so suddenly had shaken her. She kept thinking about how she was forty-one now, and her baby Etta was having a baby of her own.

Things would change with the baby. Etta would have another person upon whom to bestow her heart. Latrice supposed that she would, too, but even as she watched Etta laugh with Obie, Latrice knew their lives were going to change in many ways she would find hard. Etta would get her own child and would finally outgrow being Latrice’s child. And Etta’s child would pull them all further into the white world, with school and teachers and friends. This prospect was daunting, as was their entire uncertain future.

Latrice found more and more these long days that Obie’s presence had a stirring effect upon her. He had begun to show a little more determination. She wondered exactly how far he would go in pursuit of her.

“Let me get you some fresh ice tea, Obie,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder as she poured his tea, feeling the muscles hard beneath her hand.

Etta watched Latrice’s unusual solicitations to Obie with some surprise, followed by a slice of self-pity that Johnny was not there with them. She definitely felt the third wheel.

“Johnny got the whole thing up this afternoon to set up the best odds on Little Gus,” Obie said, grinning and plainly enjoying being the center of attention. “He wanted that horse to look good enough to run, but not so good anyone would know the little fella could really run. Woody was in on the whole thing, but none of those fellas would think it was like that, you know. Miss Latrice, might I have some more sugar in this tea?”

“You mean he held Little Gus back when he ran him?” Etta asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Obie nodded. “I heard Harry Flagg tell one of the boys that he thought Johnny wanted to show out that big dun. They was"—he glanced at Latrice—"were all tryin’ to do that, put their horses either in a good light or poor light, dependin’ on which way they were wantin’ to go with them, sell today or get better odds later.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Those boys can sure get crazy over horses. Johnny got Harry Flagg to buy his grey for six hundred. Johnny didn’t want to let him go for that, but he wanted the money. That youngest boy of Walter Fudge’s—Bitta—he paid one thousand dollars for a horse from Harry Flagg. Cash money.”

“Sounds like that boy has too much money,” Latrice said.

“Well, Johnny seems to think that the horse was worth that. And he’s thinkin’ if Little Gus hit many races hereabouts, he could be worth several thousand in no time.”

Etta sighed. “Obie, horsemen do one thing better than ride horses, and that’s inflate prices.”

“Well, I did think some of them were gettin’ carried away. Seemed like the more they drank, the wilder the braggin’ got about those horses. I thought maybe Johnny should wait to sell his grey, but it probably wouldn’t have helped, ‘cause Mr. Flagg don’t drink much.”

He grinned and shook his head, and then his grin faded. “Oh, Miz Etta, I almost clean forgot. I stopped up to Burgess Feed this mornin’ to get that grain mixture you and Johnny been feedin’ Little Gus, and Mr. Burgess wouldn’t let me have it. He said he just couldn’t go no more on the credit.”

“Oh,” Etta said, thinking of the bill that had come from Burgess Feed only two days ago. She had not opened the envelope, so she didn’t know the exact amount. “Earl’s been patient long enough, I guess. We’ll just have to do without.”

Johnny would likely be disappointed, she thought. He had put Little Gus on the grain mixture, the same thing he was feeding his own two horses, saying it would heat them up. He called it giving them “firepower.” Roy used to do the same thing with certain horses he was racing or wanted to show out especially well. The proper feed gave the horse a lustrous coat and made him have extra energy. Roy called it "pizzazz."

“Well, those cattle don’t need feed no more, anyway,” Obie said. “I put out a little minerals, but those critters are fine since we’re just grazin’ out the wheat. Now, if prices weren’t so far down, I’d suggest you sell ‘em.”

The idea of selling the cattle gave Etta a little start. “Can I sell them? I thought they belonged to the bank. I mean, I know Roy borrowed to buy them and that’s still owed the bank.”

“Well...” Obie rubbed his head. “The bank gave Mr. Roy the money to buy them cattle. The money is owed the bank, but they don’t rightly own the cattle, I don’t guess.” He stretched his legs. “But like I said, cattle prices are bad. The other day they were down ten dollars a pound on average from the spring sell-off, which was already way down. We didn’t even much have a spring sell-off, the way I hear it. People are holdin’ out rather than take such big losses.”

Etta rose and took her plate to the counter, her mind revolving with the thought that she could sell the cattle.

In her mind the cattle were all bound up with the farm. She had rather thought that when she sold the farm, everything went with it like a package, equipment and cattle, everything. She realized she did not have an accurate picture of her position. She had not asked enough questions.

Leaving Latrice and Obie lingering over the meal, Etta went into the den and telephoned Leon at home. She thought of Leon with some annoyance as she dialed. Leon should have discussed these things with her. Undoubtedly he had not talked over any of her options because he assumed that she could not handle any of the farm business and likely did not want to handle it.