If Wishes Were Horses (9 page)

“Okay . . . I have to know. Why do these people make their coffee on the back porch?” Johnny asked.

“On account of Miz Etta bein’ pregnant. The poor gal cain’t stand the smell of coffee. She been awful sick right along with the baby.”

"Oh."

Johnny ducked his head and took a drink of the coffee. He felt a bit peculiar at the mention of Mrs. Rivers, and the word pregnant always made him feel uncomfortable. It was an intimate, private thing. He felt foolishly like he’d been intimate with the gal, after carting her over to town on the sly and then having her bawling against his chest.

Suddenly grinning, he stuck out his hand to the tall man. “I’m Johnny Bellah.”

“Obie Lee,” the tall man said, taking Johnny’s hand in a firm shake.

“Obie . . . well, good to meet you, sir.”

The tall man’s eyebrow went up at the formal address, and Johnny felt a little silly and self-conscious. Still, he’d been raised to be polite. They drank their coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes, leaning on the fence and watching the sun rise to light the day.

“Didn’t I see you round at the funeral yesterday?” Obie asked, surveying Johnny curiously.

Johnny nodded. “I dropped in to speak to Roy Rivers. I didn’t know he had passed on.”

“It was kind of sudden,” the man nodded, respectfully as one did when speaking of the dead. “A lot of folks put out by Mr. Roy dyin’ like that. Lot of folks sayin’ a lot of things . . . but Mr. Roy was like most of us, filled with bad and good. He knew how to fish up a storm and how to make playin’ poker better than playin’ a woman. You know Mr. Roy well?”

“Well enough to know he did play good poker. I got an IOU from playin’ with him, and I was aimin’ to get it cashed in.”

Obie shook his head, chuckling, “I got a few of those myself, and I don’t imagine I’ll hold my breath till I see the money.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“How much he stick you for?”

“Eight hundred.”

Obie whistled low. “You didn’t look that foolish to me, son."

“Well, I’m supposin’ you knew Roy Rivers a lot better than I did, and you say you got a few, so how much smarter than me does that make you?”

The dark man grinned. “All of my notes together don’t come to twenty dollars, and I never counted on seein’ the money. That’s what makes me different.” He cocked his head. “How come you took an IOU like that from a fella you didn’t hardly know?”

“I knew him,” Johnny defended himself. “I handled sellin’ a few of his horses, and he paid me right on the spot. How was I to know he would be gone from the hotel when I went to collect on my IOU?”

“Well,” Obie drawled, “if it’s a comfort to you, I’ll put forth that Mr. Roy probably did have your money back at the hotel, only when he got there, he probably went ahead and spent it. He meant to pay you, but he just managed to get in that position with a lot of folks, and whoever got to him first was who got their money.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I might have known that goin’ in, but I was half-drunk and had a red-head on my knee. He invited me to play poker with the big boys over in a back room at the stockyards. It didn’t really dawn on me till later that of all those big boys, I was the only one givin’ out cash money.”

The tall man shook his head in commiseration, took off his ball cap, and turned it in his hand, gazing at it.

“You play ball?” Johnny asked, nodding toward the cap.

“Oh, yeah.” He gave a shy smile and a nod. “While back—Negro Leagues, you know.”

“No kiddin’? I’ve seen some of those games. What team—hey, the Monarchs?”

“Yep, Kansas City Monarchs. Outfielder and first baseman.” The man shook his head. “Long time back, but I like to wear the hat, you know. I played till I was nearin’ forty, almost twenty years.”

“Well, I bet I saw you play. Probably more than once. You probably could have spit at me a couple of times, ‘cause I liked to get right down front.” He thought about how he must have seen the old man play, and then here he was, meeting him. “Funny world sometimes, idn’t it?”

“You said it,” the tall man allowed.

“I was in rodeo myself,” Johnny said. “All-round cowboy three times . . . long time ago, too,” he said. “You ever go to many rodeos?” His gaze fell to the man’s dark hands, and he felt a little foolish for the question. The races did not mix as readily at rodeos.

The older man’s teeth gleamed and he drawled, “Guess I was always either pickin’ cotton or pitchin’ baseballs.”

Johnny nodded and averted his gaze. It lit on the red horse that was nosing at stubs of grass now. “You work around here then?” he asked.

“Yeah, a bit.”

“What’s the story on this colt? He’s about three, idn’t he?”

“Three back first of March, I guess. He was born runty as could be, had his legs all folded up, and then his mama died. Didn’t look like the critter had much of a chance, and Mr. Roy wanted to shoot him on the spot.” He slipped his hat back on and tugged at the brim. “Mr. Roy had a deep soft spot in him when it came to anythin’ sufferin’. He didn’t care that the colt weren’t worth nothin’, but he could not stand sufferin’. Every fish Mr. Roy ever caught and intended to keep, he killed right away. He said to me, ‘Nothin’ on earth should have to go ‘round sickly and hurtin’, Obie.’ Mr. Roy’d been pretty sickly as a boy.

“Anyway, he went to get his gun, but Miz Etta, she throwed a fit and said to give it a chance, and that it wouldn’t hurt it to struggle for a few days. She set out to hand-feed it and tend it. I found a plow horse could give it milk, and Miz Etta and me got the colt to suck off her, and that mare took him fine. In three days that colt was jumpin’ around, his legs gettin’ straight. Those scars you see there, that’s from when he got tangled up in the barb wire fence out yonder last year. He was a good mess again, and there were plenty of people would have put him down directly, but Miz Etta got Miss Latrice to tell her what to do, and she worked him over again. She ain’t one for givin’ up, Miz Etta.”

“What’s his breedin’?” Johnny asked.

Obie shrugged. “I don’t know much about that. Miz Etta knows about stuff like that. She was raised up with horses.”

“He seems sound. Does Missus Rivers think he is?”

“Well, I guess she hopes he is, but ain’t nobody been on him. Mr. Roy, he tried twice and got throwed pretty good twice and called that quits. He just wasn’t interested. Miz Etta would have rode him, but ‘bout that time she found out she was pregnant and couldn’t get on him.”

Johnny had slipped through the fence and was running a hand along the horse’s back. The animal quivered and twisted to sniff for the tobacco in Johnny’s pocket. “I might take this colt in exchange for my IOU. Do think Missus Rivers might do that?”

Obie squinted an eye at him. “I don’t suppose I could say ‘bout that.”

Johnny looked at the horse. He knew he’d never get anywhere near eight hundred dollars for him. He might possibly be able to talk the horse up to two hundred dollars, and he was good at talking up interest in a horse. Still, anything he might get out of the animal would be better than nothing.

He really wouldn’t want to sell the colt, though. He’d rather keep it and see what it could do first. He was always curious to know what a horse could do, and what he could do with a horse. If he could get it to win a race or show some talent for cutting a cow, he could boost the price. Maybe this colt would be one who could naturally be used for roping first time out.

A long time ago, when he was thirteen and thrown out on his own because of his mother’s death, he had come across a horse that had never been trained but could do anything right off that you set him to doing. A miracle, and that’s what he’d named the animal, Miracle. Johnny had been able to keep himself fed by renting the horse to cowboys at rodeos. Like this one, Miracle hadn’t been much for looks, and maybe that was why he felt drawn to this red one now.

Johnny knew very well that he wasn’t in a position to increase the horse’s value at the moment, though. With no money to tide him, no place to put his hat, much less to work on a horse, all his ideas were pretty much pie-in-the-sky ones. That knowledge did not stop his mind from twisting around trying to make a plan just the same.

“You feelin’ pretty hungry?” Obie asked.

Johnny glanced over to see the tall man looking at the house, at the Negro woman who had come out on the porch and was vigorously shaking a rug.

“My backbone’s pressin’ my stomach,” Johnny said.

Obie was already walking. “Well, come on. Maybe Miss Latrice’s of a mind by now to give us some breakfast.”

As he approached the porch, Obie Lee jerked his hat off, hoping as always to please Miss Latrice. He never was certain, however, if anything he did pleased her. She seemed put out with him at least half the time. Try as he might, he could not figure out exactly why. He felt he was a fool to keep longing after her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Feeling the way he did about her had come on him slowly, about like a wild grape vine growing over a tree until it had a stranglehold. He’d spent four lonely years mourning his wife’s passing, and then one day he woke up to see Miss Latrice living up the hill from him.

He said now, “Miss Latrice, I thought you might could use some company for breakfast."

She looked at him, her black-as-night eyes seeming to see him for the first time. “I guess you just got hungry,” she said.

“Yes’m, and you’re the best cook in the county, so I’d be foolish not to try to get breakfast.”

He thought he saw a flare of warm amusement in her dark eyes.

She said, “I suppose I could make you some breakfast.” Her eyes traveled beyond him, to Johnny Bellah. “You’re one to make yourself to home.”

Johnny was smart enough to answer, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you."

She studied him, looking a little deflated, Obie thought. Fearing their breakfast might evaporate, he quickly said, “I imagine Johnny could sure use one of your good meals, Miss Latrice.”

She gave out a “Humph,” then tossed aside the rug, saying, “You men remember to wipe your boots. “ She opened the kitchen door and held it for them to file through, like schoolboys. “Miz Etta came down a little earlier feelin’ poorly and went to my bed, so please keep your voices down.”

Obie looked at the closed bedroom door, a little intrigued by the idea of Miz Etta sleeping in Miss Latrice’s big feather bed. He often thought of Miss Latrice in there, dark and big and sinkin’ into the feathers.

One thing he liked about Miss Latrice was that she was tall; he liked a tall woman. He had caught several glimpses of Miss Latrice’s big fancy brass bed and feather mattress and had entertained a few fantasies of himself in it with her. He eased himself down into a chair at the table and watched her dress strain over her full breasts and her hips with each of her movements. His hand itched to rest on her hip.

Miss Latrice served up a fine meal, and Johnny and Obie ate every last crumb of it. Over an hour and a half passed by, taking Johnny’s initial optimism that perhaps Mrs. Rivers would appear with it. Hoping she would come, he lingered over coffee and complimented Miss Latrice again and again for the meal, but then Obie Lee was rising, and Johnny had to, too.

He said just before going out the door, “Ma’am, do you suppose I might speak to Missus Rivers about her husband’s IOU?”

“Not today,” Miss Latrice said. “And even when you get your chance, you’ll be standin’ in line.”

Obie spoke up on his behalf. “Johnny was thinkin’ that Miz Etta might would trade Little Gus for the IOU. He’d be willin’ to do that.”

“I’ll tell her when she’s feelin’ up to it,” the woman said, “but I wouldn’t hold out hope. She’s fond of that horse.”

She held the door open for them to leave, appearing to sweep them right out. In the yard, Johnny paused, looked back and watched Obie Lee linger before stepping off the porch.

“You enjoy more in there than the food,” Johnny said, amused at the expression on the older man’s face.

Obie adjusted his ball cap. “Yes . . . I may have a few years on me, but I ain’t blind . . . or dead.”

Johnny smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Where you headed now?” Obie asked.

Johnny sighed and looked over at his truck. “Well now, I guess you could direct me to the nearest sale barn. I might be able to pick up a bit of work. Usually somebody around there needs help this time of year.”

“You ride with that leg?”

Johnny looked downward, rubbed his leg. “I can still ride, and I train these days. Just can’t do the rodeo no more."

Obie nodded, tugged at the bill of his cap and gave the directions to the sale barn. “Today’s sale day, I believe, so you’re in luck.”

“Oh, I’m usually pretty lucky . . . blessed actually. Thanks for the coffee . . . and stuff.”

He stuck out his hand, and Obie Lee took it in a firm shake. Their eyes met, and Johnny saw something in the older man’s. Each man recognized a friend, and then each shifted his eyes away in the manner of men.

“Bye!” Johnny called, giving a wave as he turned his truck and drove off down the lane beneath the row of elms. He looked in his rearview mirror. Obie Lee was already out of sight. All he saw was the house, and no one watching him go.

He found the sale barn with little effort, and as it turned out, right there in front of his face, the horse of one of the fellows pushing in cattle got agitated (Johnny did not think the rider helped because he was jerking on the horse’s face with a vengeance) and both horse and rider went down, and the rider got his leg broke. Johnny was the only one to get hold of the horse and calm it, and the next thing he knew he had the fellow’s job for the day and an offer of it for the rest of the week, which he took.

That night, when he went looking for a bottle of whiskey,  the manager at the local roadhouse offered him a bottle and ten dollars to go over to Highway 81 and meet a truck bringing a load of booze from Texas and cart it back in his pickup truck.

Johnny had sense enough to ask, “What happened to your regular fella? Did he land in jail?”

“Nah. He’s sick. Nothin’ to this. No one much cares one way or the other.”

Johnny was thinking about how much he wanted a drink of whiskey. Seemed like an easy deal.