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Authors: Elizabeth Kelly
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true that there are no atheists in foxholes, but there were no twelve-year-old unbelievers in the stable that day.
The barn door was within reach, my hand was on the handle, when I heard glass shatter, reverberating like a minor explosion coming from inside the tack room. It was followed by a long low moan, lonely and disconnected, with only a tenuous claim on consciousness, and all I could think of at that moment was, Thank heaven that’s not me. Urine streamed down my legs as Gula sprang toward the open tack room door; I felt a cold rush of air as he pounced, the door shutting behind him in a heartless thud.
I ran. Ran from whatever was going on behind that door. I ran from the yellow barn, Vera in my arms, straw blowing in the wind. I ran through the grazing pasture, the horses lifting their heads in unison, ears slowly twitching, idle antennae signaling their indifference. Gin’s old Shetland pony, Judy, chased Vera and me from the field, sent us clambering over the old wooden fence and into the forest, propelled along a path that represented the long way to our house.
I ran toward home. I ran and I ran. I kept running. I ran for another thousand years.
Chapter Six
C ARS LINED THE DRIVEWAY, FOUR OR FIVE OF THEM IN VARIOUS shades of dark blue, parked on the diagonal next to one another. I sprinted past them and up onto the verandah. The screen door banged shut behind me as, shaking from exertion, throat burning, I leaned for support against the staircase in the hallway.
“Riddle?” My mother called out to me from the living room. I could hear voices, men and women, exuberant voices I didn’t recognize, Camp’s voice, everyone excited and happy. “Is that you? Did you find Vera?”
She wandered out into the hallway carrying a glass of wine. “What happened?”
Vera hopped from my arms. My mother dropped to her knees, smothering the joyful puppy in kisses. “Thank God. Where did you find her?”
“Gin’s,” I said. “I found her in the woods.” I was lying and though I didn’t fully understand why, I knew enough. I knew that something had happened in that barn, something bad. I just wanted it to be over, to be done. I wanted to make the events of the afternoon vanish, as if nothing at all had happened. I didn’t tell my mother. I didn’t tell my father. At that point I didn’t even tell myself, but I can never say that I didn’t know.
So I lied. The tiny voice in my head that urged me to tell was no match for the thunderous knocking of my knees. It didn’t stand a chance against the living memory of Gula’s hands on my shoulders, in my hair. In those days, I was all about the soft landing, especially when I was the one plummeting through the atmosphere, the earth rising up to greet me. Something wasn’t right with what had happened in the yellow stable, but I was determined never to know what was wrong about it.
“When are they going home?” I couldn’t catch my breath.
“When the booze stops flowing. As usual, your father reneged on his promise. You can’t believe a word that man says. Oh, Vera, you dear little thing! Whatever would we have done without you?”
Camp came around the corner. “Whoa,” he said, mildly taken aback when he saw me. “Jimmy! Are you all right?”
I glanced at myself in the hall mirror. My knee was cut. My lip was bleeding. My skin was so white I looked as if I had been systematically stripped of pigmentation. My hair, on the other hand, was so alarmingly red it was standing in the middle of a crowded theater screaming “Fire!”
“I’m fine, just . . . Judy chased me across the field,” I said. “I scraped myself on the fence when I was trying to get away from her.”
“That pony is a menace,” my mother said. “She came after me last week, too. Gin won’t hear a word against her. He insists that she’s ‘complicated.’ Crazy. Heavens, Riddle.” She got back to her favorite pastime, assessing my dishevelment. “You look as if you’ve
The barn door was within reach, my hand was on the handle, when I heard glass shatter, reverberating like a minor explosion coming from inside the tack room. It was followed by a long low moan, lonely and disconnected, with only a tenuous claim on consciousness, and all I could think of at that moment was, Thank heaven that’s not me. Urine streamed down my legs as Gula sprang toward the open tack room door; I felt a cold rush of air as he pounced, the door shutting behind him in a heartless thud.
I ran. Ran from whatever was going on behind that door. I ran from the yellow barn, Vera in my arms, straw blowing in the wind. I ran through the grazing pasture, the horses lifting their heads in unison, ears slowly twitching, idle antennae signaling their indifference. Gin’s old Shetland pony, Judy, chased Vera and me from the field, sent us clambering over the old wooden fence and into the forest, propelled along a path that represented the long way to our house.
I ran toward home. I ran and I ran. I kept running. I ran for another thousand years.
Chapter Six
C ARS LINED THE DRIVEWAY, FOUR OR FIVE OF THEM IN VARIOUS shades of dark blue, parked on the diagonal next to one another. I sprinted past them and up onto the verandah. The screen door banged shut behind me as, shaking from exertion, throat burning, I leaned for support against the staircase in the hallway.
“Riddle?” My mother called out to me from the living room. I could hear voices, men and women, exuberant voices I didn’t recognize, Camp’s voice, everyone excited and happy. “Is that you? Did you find Vera?”
She wandered out into the hallway carrying a glass of wine. “What happened?”
Vera hopped from my arms. My mother dropped to her knees, smothering the joyful puppy in kisses. “Thank God. Where did you find her?”
“Gin’s,” I said. “I found her in the woods.” I was lying and though I didn’t fully understand why, I knew enough. I knew that something had happened in that barn, something bad. I just wanted it to be over, to be done. I wanted to make the events of the afternoon vanish, as if nothing at all had happened. I didn’t tell my mother. I didn’t tell my father. At that point I didn’t even tell myself, but I can never say that I didn’t know.
So I lied. The tiny voice in my head that urged me to tell was no match for the thunderous knocking of my knees. It didn’t stand a chance against the living memory of Gula’s hands on my shoulders, in my hair. In those days, I was all about the soft landing, especially when I was the one plummeting through the atmosphere, the earth rising up to greet me. Something wasn’t right with what had happened in the yellow stable, but I was determined never to know what was wrong about it.
“When are they going home?” I couldn’t catch my breath.
“When the booze stops flowing. As usual, your father reneged on his promise. You can’t believe a word that man says. Oh, Vera, you dear little thing! Whatever would we have done without you?”
Camp came around the corner. “Whoa,” he said, mildly taken aback when he saw me. “Jimmy! Are you all right?”
I glanced at myself in the hall mirror. My knee was cut. My lip was bleeding. My skin was so white I looked as if I had been systematically stripped of pigmentation. My hair, on the other hand, was so alarmingly red it was standing in the middle of a crowded theater screaming “Fire!”
“I’m fine, just . . . Judy chased me across the field,” I said. “I scraped myself on the fence when I was trying to get away from her.”
“That pony is a menace,” my mother said. “She came after me last week, too. Gin won’t hear a word against her. He insists that she’s ‘complicated.’ Crazy. Heavens, Riddle.” She got back to her favorite pastime, assessing my dishevelment. “You look as if you’ve
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