Running Around (and Such) (28 page)

She became good friends with Barbara and Mary and often spent Saturday nights with them. One weekend blended into the next until Lizzie’s world was filled with warm golden sunshine and so much to do and think about that time flew by like the spring breezes.

She still liked Amos, and she was never quite as thrilled as when he asked her to go for a buggy ride with him. Those times felt like romance to Lizzie, if not true love, although she didn’t know what the difference was between the two, or how you could know whether your feelings were right or not.

She liked everyone, and all the boys were her friends. But somehow, it seemed a little different whenever Amos was around. It was almost as if the group of youth was not quite complete until he arrived. And as soon as Lizzie knew he was there, she was not completely happy until he had noticed her and said hello.

There seemed to be lots of talk about Emma getting married in the fall. Actually, it was only teasing among Mam and the girls because Emma was still too young. She would be only 18 by November. Lizzie knew how Emma felt, though. She had secretly told Lizzie that she would love to get married in the fall and move to Joshua’s parents’ farm in Allen County.

The old place had a huge brick house with an L-shaped porch, a barn, and lots of sheds and outbuildings. It was the home Emma had always dreamed of, and there were stars in her eyes as she folded towels and sheets and placed them in the cedar hope chest that had her initials on the front.

Lizzie did not want to get married so young. She discovered that soon after she turned 16. Running around was much too exciting to think of settling down on an old farm with a husband and nothing to look forward to except cooking and cleaning for the rest of your life.

Mandy heartily agreed with Lizzie when they talked about the possibility of Emma getting married so young. Mandy nodded soberly though, when Lizzie said that Emma had always been different as far as working in the house with Mam, and that she really enjoyed all kinds of domestic duties at a very young age.

“Hey, look at Clyde!” Mandy yelled.

Lizzie was in the garden pulling weeds with Mandy. She looked up, shading her eyes with one hand in the morning sunlight. Mandy pointed toward the big brown horse pulling the plow in the old hayfield.

“What’s wrong?”

“See how he can barely settle himself down long enough to stay in line and pull his share with the others? He’s always prancing or stepping sideways or shaking his head up and down. I guess he’s just too full of himself to act decent when he’s hitched up!”

Lizzie continued to watch as Dat plowed the hay stubble. He had already plowed enough so that the girls could see a thin line of dark brown, overturned earth following the curve of their gently rolling land. When Dat and the team of horses returned from the far end of the field, they came close enough for the girls to hear the clank of the plow and the squeaking of the leather harnesses.

Mandy shook her head in her wise way, clicking her tongue. “Clyde’s never going to last in this heat!” she said.

Lizzie stood, watching anxiously as Dat turned the team of horses at the end of the furrow. What at first seemed to be an impossible turn became a picture of perfect motion, as Dat called and each horse stepped tightly to the right. It seemed to Lizzie as if they all knew exactly what was expected of them, and they executed the short turn with no effort at all.

Except Clyde. He hopped about three times too often, tossing his head before Dat yelled at him. Lizzie looked at Mandy and they both smiled, knowing how impatient Dat was with Clyde.

As the team pulled the plow up over the slope, making the brown strip wider, the girls bent down and resumed their tedious job of weeding. The sun was very warm, reminding them of the hot summer days ahead.

“Wish we could go down to the creek and cool off,” Lizzie said.

She plopped down between the rows of corn.

“Watch out! Lizzie, you sat on some cornstalks,” Mandy said.

Lizzie didn’t move. Who cared about a few measly little cornstalks? Nine chances out of 10, they wouldn’t make it anyway, so what was wrong with sitting on a few?

“Wish we could go down to the creek,” she said again.

“Wishing won’t get you anywhere. Come on, Lizzie. Help with these weeds.”

Lizzie turned and pulled absentmindedly at a few weeds.

This garden is way too big,” she said.

“We need a big garden now. We’re poor farmers,” Mandy said, tossing a handful of weeds into her white plastic bucket.

Lizzie selected a wide piece of grass, stretched it expertly between her forefinger and the base of her thumb, and, lifting it to her mouth, she blew as hard as she could. A shrill explosion of sound followed. Mandy ignored her.

“That was a good one,” Lizzie said.

She got no response so Lizzie watched Mandy pulling weeds. She was mad now, Lizzie could tell by the way Mandy jerked on the weeds and hurled them into her bucket. Mandy was so thin, Lizzie thought. These kinds of clothes made her look good, she decided, because the black bib aprons fit her perfectly. She was wearing a dark blue dress with its sleeves made in a looser fashion, which only accentuated her slimness and made her face even prettier.

Lizzie scrambled to her feet, pulled her bucket over, and began pulling weeds in earnest.

“Mandy, did you really, really mind going to church here the first Sunday we went?” Lizzie asked.

“I don’t know. Not really, I guess. I mean, Elsie and Aunt Becca and Mommy Glick were there. But it wasn’t exactly
fun
, if that’s what you mean, with all those strange people staring at us.”

“They probably didn’t really mean to stare, Mandy.”

“I know, but … it felt as if they were all looking at us.”

Lizzie walked down the row of corn, lifting her bucket of weeds and tossing them across the fence into the pasture. On her way back, she said to Mandy, “It’s because our clothes don’t look right.”

“What do you mean?” Mandy asked.

“I’ll tell you the truth, Mandy. I feel so self-conscious and ugly since we live here. Our coverings haven’t been made nearly as neat as everybody else’s.”

“I know. But you know why? Emma said it’s because Mam comes from Ohio, and she doesn’t really know how to make neat coverings for young girls. She never did. So Emma told me that’s why she’s learned to make them. Otherwise, we’d never look any better. She didn’t want to insult Mam by saying hers aren’t neat enough. They are alright for mothers and little girls.”

“Emma can sew anything she tries,” Lizzie said.

“I know. Did you see her make bib aprons? They’re just as neat as a pin.”

“I’m so relieved she’s making our coverings now. I was so tired of being embarrassed. I just want to look nice.”

Lizzie and Mandy took turns using the hoe to unearth the small weeds as they talked on. Birds circled overhead, calling while they flew into the old walnut tree at the end of the sidewalk. The diesel was droning in the distance as Mam filled the clothesline with load after load of clean laundry.

A desperate cry sliced through their conversation. Mandy dropped the hoe, and she and Lizzie turned to see Dat standing at the corner of the partially plowed field, waving his straw hat frantically.

“Something’s wrong!” Lizzie gasped.

“C’mon!” Mandy called, already running across the garden. Together they raced over the tilled plot and out the lane to reach the hayfield. Breathless, they arrived and discovered immediately what was wrong. Clyde was down.

It seemed as if time stood still, immobile as a huge concrete slab. Lizzie stood looking at the beautiful horse who tried desperately to get up from the ground, who wanted just to keep going. She didn’t want to look at this fallen creature. It was so awful and so pitiful all at the same time that she could not take her eyes away.

Dat was panting, his eyes wild with fear and worry.

“You need to help me a minute. Lizzie, I’ll hold up his head. You try and loosen some of the snaps that keep him attached to the team. I don’t know if we can. Mandy, you might have to run to the barn for my leather shears. If nothing else works, we may have to cut the harness. Let’s try and get him up one more time.”

Lizzie worked to free Clyde, but she couldn’t. Finally, Dat turned toward Clyde, lifting at the bit of his bridle. “Come on, boy, come on. Get up! Get up, now!”

Clyde tried valiantly. His eyes opened until the whites of his eyes showed the whole way around, and he struggled repeatedly to get his forelegs underneath himself for better balance.

Dat urged him on continuously, while Lizzie clutched her hands to her chest, bit her lips, and choked back agonizing sobs. What caused him to go down? She was afraid she knew why, but she wasn’t sure she could face the answer.

Dat kept talking to Clyde, trying to get him to stand up. The rest of the horses stood by patiently, tossing their manes as if they knew something was wrong. Clouds floated overhead as the sun beat mercilessly down on poor, struggling Clyde.

Finally, Clyde heaved once more with tremendous strength and managed to stand on all four legs. He was shaking violently, sweat dripping from his stomach and running down his legs in rivulets, pooling underneath him.

“Quick, Lizzie, help me unhitch him!”

Lizzie hurried to unsnap the traces that attached him, while Dat loosened reins and chains and took off Clyde’s cumbersome collar.

“He’s loose,” Lizzie said, her voice shaking.

“Come, boy,” Dat said gently, as he led him beneath the shade of a small locust tree. Clyde took a few faltering steps to the spot where Dat wanted him, away from the sun’s relentless heat.

There Clyde stood, his head hanging down as far as it would go as he heaved great, unbelievable breaths. His chest and sides rose and fell, rose and fell, in an almost hypnotic rhythm. Lizzie clenched her hands in despair. She could not believe the amount of perspiration draining from this massive animal.

“Dat!” Lizzie cried. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

Dat shook his head as the trembling of Clyde’s limbs increased. He shook like an aspen leaf in a summer thunderstorm, almost as if his legs had a power all their own. His nostrils flared in and out as he breathed in small, gasping, sucking sounds.

“Lizzie, I don’t think so. I don’t know. I should have been more careful. It’s not even noon yet, and he just became overheated, I guess.”

“Can you call a veterinarian?”

“I suppose I should. If you’ll stay here, I can go, but honestly, Lizzie, I’m afraid he won’t make it.”

“Why does he tremble like that?”

Dat lowered his head as he turned to walk down the field lane to use the neighbor’s phone. Lizzie called after him.

“Dat, could we try and cool him down with water?”

“Let me talk to the vet first,” Dat said.

 Meanwhile, Mandy had run to the house, looking for Mam, but she couldn’t find her. Now Mandy came flying along the field lane, her skirts billowing around her knees, her face pale with fright. She slid to a stop when she saw Clyde standing under the locust tree.

“He’s up!” she cried.

“Yes, but Dat doesn’t think he’s going to live much longer,” Lizzie said.

They stood side by side, their nearness giving strength to each other. Lizzie was grateful she did not have to stand out there all alone with this suffering, broken horse. Tears pricked her eyes as she watched Clyde struggling to breathe. Poor, poor boy, she thought.

Then he folded, his limbs buckling, until he slowly sank to the ground. Lizzie cried and reached toward him, helpless, unable to do anything. Mandy stepped back, wrapping her arms around her own waist.

Clyde rolled over once, his legs stretched out, and, for one heart-stopping moment, Lizzie thought he had died. But his side rose and fell, his breathing accompanied by a deep grunting sound.

“He’s never going to make it!” Mandy whispered.

And then Lizzie decided to pray. Whether God heard her or not, and even if he seemed far away, she needed to call on him right now and ask him to do something. They could not afford to lose this good, strong workhorse—God would surely know that. So she prayed, turning away from Mandy and toward the remaining team of horses who still waited quietly at the field’s edge.

God, you are going to have to look down here and help us. Please let Clyde live because we really need him. Whatever your will is, I guess, but please, please, please let Clyde make it, she prayed.

“Lizzie!”

Lizzie turned to see what Mandy wanted.

“Look, I think he died!”

She turned and saw that his sides were no longer heaving quite as heavily, but he was definitely still breathing on his own. “No, Mandy, he’s just quieting down.”

It seemed like hours until they heard Dat return. He was half-running, half-walking, his hair and beard blowing back in the breeze. He was panting as he reached them.

“Is he dead?”

“No, he’s still breathing,” Mandy said.

“He is, isn’t he?” Dat said, bending down to peer into Clyde’s frightened eyes. “Well that’s something.”

He straightened up.

“The vet will be here soon,” he said.

“What can they do for him?” Lizzie asked.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I just feel awful about this. I’m so ashamed to even have the vet look at him. He’ll think I’m some horseman, working my horses until they die of exhaustion.”

“Dat, you didn’t. You
didn’t,”
Lizzie said. She felt like hugging Dat, she pitied him so much, but she didn’t, because that was just how their family was. They never hugged, because it would be too embarrassing for a grown girl to hug her father. But she wanted to anyway.

A white pickup truck came bouncing in the lane, a cloud of dust rolling behind it. The driver slammed on the brakes and hopped out. He ran to the side of the truck, quickly stepped into a pair of clean, white coveralls, and then ran to kneel beside Clyde.

“Beautiful animal,” he said quietly, touching, kneading, taking the horse’s temperature, shaking his head, and muttering to himself. He ran back to the truck, asking Dat to come help him. Lizzie and Mandy watched wide-eyed as they prepared a huge plastic bag of solution. There was a small plastic line attached, which looked very much like the I-V line Mam had around her wrist when she had pneumonia.