cut her off. “This is going nowhere. I’ve already told Randy that you have an autistic child, so it’s done.”
“Eva!” The line went dead.
Bird stood listening to the dial tone until it stopped. The recorded message played, “Hang up. Please hang up now.”
Finally, Hannah tumbled the receiver back into its cradle. Bird hung up, too, then sank down to the kitchen floor with her back was against the wall and her knees drawn tightly to her chest.
Autistic. The magic word. It was spoken. Bird had sat through enough “sessions” to know that it was a popular amateur diagnosis for a grab bag of disorders. She had to admit that she exhibited some of the clinical symptoms. She was frenetic at times. Distracted. She’d always been extremely sensitive to noise and light and sudden movement, and was prone to outrageous tantrums when thwarted. She detested change in routine. She didn’t speak, she rocked, she could rarely look a person in the eye. But there was so much more to her than that! More than anyone could see. Sometimes Bird thought that Hannah came close. It was Hannah who’d found the one doctor who’d disagreed with the others.
Hannah explained to him that Bird had begun to talk at a normal age. By kindergarten she was already reading and had a vivid imagination. She interacted with people. She was somewhat shy but made friends easily. Kids and animals were drawn to her. In fact, she had an uncanny ability to understand what people and animals were thinking. Then, everything had changed when she was six. Only Bird knew why.
The doctor had looked her in the eye and pronounced her an “elective mute.”
“It’s not that she can’t talk, Ms Bradley,” the doctor had said in a kind, gentle voice. “She chooses not to.” Bingo, thought Bird at the time.
Now, a small tear of self-pity dripped onto Bird’s sleeve. Her stomach was in knots. Her own mother was ashamed of her — too ashamed to call her her daughter. Suddenly the farmhouse seemed too small. Bird needed to be outside in the fresh night air, with nothing around her but the night and its noises.
SATURDAY MORNING DAWNED TOO soon for Hannah. Sleep had eluded her after her sister’s call. A little after three she’d gotten up for a glass of water and had spotted something in the field. It was the white fabric of Bird’s cotton pajamas shining in the moonlight. There she was, sleeping in the field with Hector curled up beside her and the new horse standing close by. Hannah had approached quietly, not wanting to panic the horse, but he’d been watching her from the moment she’d neared the fence. Hector sat up and thumped his tail on the ground, happy to see her. Bird jerked, settled, then stared at Hannah defiantly. Hannah couldn’t think of one good reason to bring her back to bed by force, so she retrieved a couple of heavy horse blankets from the barn and gently tucked her in. The horse never moved.
Now, in the light of day, Hannah looked out her bedroom window to see Bird dragging the blankets across the field. She looked happy.
To Bird, the morning smelled delightful. Dewy grass, clean air, horse smells, new wood from fence repairs, and mouldy horse blankets, damp with dew. I bet camp smells like this, she thought. Or home on the range, when the cowboys go out for weeks at a time to bring home the cattle. Cattle drives, they’re called. Bird breathed deeply and smiled.
Hector walked stiffly beside her, wagging his tail. After a moment, the new horse followed. Bird awkwardly managed to push the blankets over the fence, then reached to pat the horse’s face. He turned away and stuck his nose high in the air.
Bird tried once more to reach him.
Big horse, will you talk to me?
The chestnut swung his head around and looked at her passively.
Who made those cuts across your back? Who hurt you?
The horse looked startled for a brief second, then closed down again. He turned away from her and moved into the paddock to begin his day of grazing. He ignored her, but Bird could see that he was keeping her in his field of vision. She watched for a minute, pleased that she’d gotten through, however briefly. There is damage piled up in that horse, Bird thought, as she began her morning chores. And no one will get through that damage until he decides to let them.
At Saddle Creek Farm, the heavy work was done by two trusted employees, John Fraye and Cliff Jones. Daily, they mucked the stalls, scrubbed the buckets, and kept the farm looking neat and smelling fresh. They put out the horses for their turnout time wearing blankets or boots, depending on the owners’ requests. Seasonally, Cliff and John kept the lawns cut and the fields free of burrs, and plowed the driveway clear of snow. At all times, they dealt with the surprises and emergencies that were part of life on a horse farm.
Bird’s work was lighter, and she took pleasure in it. With Hector following, Bird began cleaning and filling the outdoor water troughs. Another of her responsibilities was to check gates, fences, and loafing sheds for any needed repairs. It was an important job, and one that Bird took more seriously after three horses had run down the road and almost caused an accident after she had failed to call attention to a faulty latch. “If a horse can get into trouble,” Hannah repeated time and again, “he will.” It was Bird’s daily duty to minimize the possibilities.
While she worked, John and Cliff led the horses out to the fields. Hannah’s horses were out all night in the warm summer months, but the boarders’ horses were kept inside. If the animals were to decide, Bird knew, they’d all be out in the cooler night air and inside during the heat of midday.
Duties done, Bird stretched up her arms and admired the blueness of the sky. She filled her lungs with the fresh morning air and sighed contentedly. Hector plopped down by the barn door in the sun. She knelt, ruffled his fur, then cast another glance at the new horse. The enigma.
Her eye was caught by the unmistakable figure of her aunt as she marched toward her from the house. Even from a distance, Bird could feel her stressful mood. Hannah strode up to Bird carrying a small brown paper bag. She was dressed to ride.
“I made you a bacon sandwich. You must be starving.” She held out the bag. Bird felt immobilized, uncomfortably alert to Hannah’s clipped speech and quick movements. She didn’t take it. “I’ve got to get going. Do you want to come to the show with me? I’m taking Kimberly and Jo and Peter and Melanie.”
Bird could only stare. Hannah was upset, and suddenly Bird knew why. All the joy of the day drained away as Bird recalled last night’s phone call from her mother.
Hannah spoke firmly. “Bird, answer me. Look, how am I supposed to deal with you? Do you want to come with me or not?” With a heavy heart, Bird looked down.
No, I don’t, she thought.
I want to be alone.
She glanced up and saw her aunt’s worried eyes. She felt sincerely sorry for Hannah. It’s not her fault, Bird thought, that her weird sister burdened her with a weird kid whom she now wanted to disown. I shouldn’t be so difficult. I should get my act together and go to the horse show. I could be a help. Bird looked back down at the ground and studied a line of ants as they paraded past in the dirt. But no. She felt too upset. Best to avoid the company of people today. Today, when no one was around, she would get up on the new horse’s back.
“Look, make you a deal. You’ll stay here with Cliff and John unless you’re in the truck by the time the horses are loaded. And if you decide to stay here, whatever you do, you are not to get on the new horse’s back.”
Bird looked up at her aunt quickly. Was she that transparent?
Hannah thrust out her arm and dropped the paper bag with the sandwich. Bird caught it. Hannah smiled briefly. “Good reflexes.”
A short while later, Bird watched as Hannah pulled away with the rig, four horses safely aboard. “Saddle Creek” was emblazened in green, grey, and red on the sides of the white truck and trailer. Saddles, bridles, boots, wraps, and grooming kits were stowed in the