Page 56 of Grounded
“Indian! And I’m not talking Shawnee. I’ve never seen such colorful food. Bright yellows and red, and spicy as all get-out. Don’t you know, Joe gobbled it up! Missy ordered him something with potatoes in it, and he ate like a pig. I think he was puttin’ on for Missy, but he swore to me he wasn’t. I liked it real well myself, but I was afraid all those foreign spices would tear me up and sure enough, they did. I was up all night with the hiatal. And that’s what I called to tell you this morning. I don’t usually take to sitting out on the porch at one in the morning, but there I was, not able to sleep and burping up some spice grown a half a world away.”
“Yes …,” Annie said.
“I saw headlights come down May Hollow Road. From the security light out by the garage, I could tell it was a small car, kind of silverylike, but I’m not sure of the exact color. It stopped in front of your driveway, and a woman got out. She carried something to Beulah’s mailbox and put it inside. Then she got back in the car and drove real slow to Gibson’s Creek. I know it’s a federal offense to go messin’ with another person’s mailbox, but I checked to see what she put in there, afraid it was some sort of bomb and I might need to call the ATF. But all it turned out to be was an empty casserole dish and a pie plate.” Betty sounded disappointed.
“Thanks for telling me,” Annie said. “I’ll get them out before the mail runs.”
Odd time to return dishes, she thought, but the woman seemed to want her privacy, so Annie shrugged it off and returned to her morning ritual of taking her cereal and coffee out to the back porch. It had become one of her favorite parts of the day. Since her grandmother had been gone, she used that time to pray. It was a nice place to eat breakfast or supper with the back of the house facing south. There was enough room for a table and chairs, even with the old pump and leaving space for the dinner bell. If her grandmother agreed, maybe she would purchase a set since they both enjoyed the outdoor space.
In the meantime, Annie slid onto one of the cold metal chairs, content to eat her cereal amidst the freshness of the morning. She prayed for her grandmother to continue healing and for Jake as he was about to make such a drastic change. When she finished, she looked for Booger, who usually didn’t appear until later in the day. Then she watched as two cardinals chased each other in the mating dance, the male, bright red with a pointed head that almost looked like a lodge hat of some sort, and the female with brown feathers not nearly as majestic as the male’s.
She pushed a strand of hair out of her mouth and tipped the cereal bowl up to drink the last of the milk. As she did, one of the barn cats grapevined in and out of her legs, meowing and purring, asking for leftover milk. She stopped drinking with a spoonful of milk still in the bowl and poured it out on the concrete. The cat lapped it up.
Watching the cat reminded her of Stuart’s orange tabby. Was Chester snuggling in Beverly’s lap like he did with her? Had Stuart told her he came from a client, or had he told her the truth? Maybe Beverly was the kind of person he wouldn’t have to lie to. The thought of Stuart didn’t make her sad now—sorry she had been so vulnerable, sorry she hadn’t been wiser, but not sad. It had been a hard lesson learned, but one that had changed her for the better.
The cardinals had flown away, but now a squirrel chattered in the maple tree next to the porch. Annie watched it ease down to the lowest branch, its beady eyes on the cat. The cat looked up once and blinked slowly. The squirrel turned, climbed a branch and disappeared in the leaves.
Annie’s years in New York had been so exciting, yet she had drifted away from old friends, her faith and her family. It would be different when she went back. Living in Somerville the past month had shown her how important it was to have a community of people who cared.
Bathed and dressed for the trip to the hospital, Annie remembered at the last minute to check on Nutmeg. From the back porch, she could see the horse standing in the exact same position as yesterday. Annie started to get in the car, but something told her to go out to the pasture. After all, with a large field, why would the horse be in the same place for an entire day and night?
Nutmeg whinnied when she saw Annie coming to her. She stomped a hoof into a freshly made dirt spot. A pile of manure behind her tail told Annie the horse couldn’t move for some reason. Something was wrong.
“Nutmeg, can’t you move?” Annie grabbed the halter and looked at Nutmeg’s head, examining it from her ears to the whiskers on her chin. There were no abrasions. The animal’s large eyes followed her movements, assuring her she could see.
“Never trust a horse,” Woody had said. His words reminded Annie to take care in the examination. Gently, she worked her hands slowly down the front of her chest, and then her legs. She lifted up each front foot, as Woody taught her to do, and checked for something caught in her hoof. Both feet looked clean.
Tenderly, her hands felt over the back, side and underbelly of the horse. Crossing in front of the horse, she went ’round to the other side and repeated the same move. Next she felt over the back haunches and down each back leg. The horse was standing too close to the fence for her to pick up the back hooves. She patted Nutmeg’s behind to try and move her out a foot or so. The horse stepped forward, and it was then that Annie saw the problem.
A section of Nutmeg’s tail was caught in a deep fissure in the fence post. It was wedged so tight Annie was forced to climb the fence in order to pry it out from above. It would not budge. Nutmeg’s pulling against it had firmly embedded the hair deep into the crack.
“Be right back, girl. Hold on!”
Annie hopped off the fence and ran to the house. Since they had recently cleaned out the kitchen drawers, Annie knew right where to look for the scissors. A minute later, she was gnawing through the tough horse hair. Finally, the last strand was cut. She slapped Nutmeg again on the haunches, and the horse took off in a gallop, straight for the water tank.
Annie watched the horse run, a sick feeling churning in her stomach. It was June, and the heat and humidity were not bad, but if this had happened a month later, it could have been a disaster. The horse might have died of dehydration right there, within sight of the house.
Annie had feared Nutmeg at first, a powerful and unpredictable animal. But day after day, she spent time with the horse, brushing her down, giving her carrots, and in the process they had formed a trust of sorts. Horses operated out of fear, she had read in one of the books in her grandmother’s library. She worked to show Nutmeg her intentions were good. Eventually, Nutmeg allowed Annie to lead her and Annie’s direction became more confident, her body more relaxed. But even this beautiful and strong horse was completely dependent on the care of the humans around her.
Standing there in the field and watching Nutmeg drink, Annie saw this one incident as representative of everything about living on a farm:It’s interdependent with the humans who care for it. We need what it gives us and the farm needs us.
Grandma was right,she thought. You needed to live on a farm or have someone living on it. There were too many things that could go wrong.
“Would you look atthat?”
Annie watched her grandmother’s face light up as her eyes took in the paint job.
“Who did this?”
“Evelyn orchestrated it. Jim, Elbert and Ronnie from your church volunteered the labor. They just finished this morning.”
“Land sakes, how nice. And what is this?” Beulah caught sight of the porch swing and the petunias.
“Do you like it?”
“The old swing broke around the time Fred died. I never got around to putting up another.”
“We’ll drive around to the back where there’s only that one step.” Annie stopped the car in front of the step up to the back porch.
