Liberty Biscuit by Melanie Sue Bowles

Author:Melanie Sue Bowles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Trafalgar Square Books

chapter 9

Daddy walked over to the ATV. He dropped the little tailgate, then spread the sleeping bag out in the bed and climbed up. I followed. We sat with our legs stretched out in front of us and our backs against the frame of the roll bar.

“Henry is my brother.”

I was right. My uncle. Why had no one ever talked about him? Daddy tipped his head back to gaze up at the starlit sky and didn’t say anything else.

“What happened to him?” I finally asked.

“I guess you’re old enough to hear all this,” Daddy replied after a moment. He reached out and gave my hand a squeeze, then crossed his arms over his chest like he was cold even though the night was muggy.

“Henry was more than my brother; he was my best friend,” he began. “Horses were our life. We rode every day. And you think Grandpa Joe is good with horses? Henry was brilliant. Calm and kind, he could gentle any horse that Grandpa brought home. Even ones who had been so mistreated, you’d think they’d never trust again.”

Daddy paused. He shook his head and looked off toward the pasture. The glow of the rising moon defined the fences and cloaked the ground in pewter light. I could see the hint of a smile cross his face as he recalled some moment from his past.

“It was as though Henry and horses spoke the same language,” Daddy continued. He uncrossed his arms and dropped his hands down into his lap. He laced and unlaced his fingers.

“I wanted to be like Henry. He was my hero. We always helped Grandpa with all the horses we had at the time, but we each had our own, too. Grandpa bought them for us as yearlings. I named my colt Indigo. Henry named his Padre.

“We weren’t allowed to work with our horses the first year we had them. We just let them be…let them be horses. We taught them to accept the halter, we brushed them, trimmed their feet, took care of them. But work them? No. Then Daddy…Grandpa…helped us with groundwork the following year. We weren’t allowed to get on their backs till they were four years old.

“One day, Henry and I were here alone. Both horses were coming five—we’d been riding them for about a year. I was showing off, making Indigo rear like the Lone Ranger. Henry kept telling me to knock it off.”

Daddy slid off the ATV and took a few steps into the dark. His back was to me.

“But I didn’t listen. Henry was carrying two metal buckets, walking past us to go into the barn. I brought Indigo up one last time. I was laughing as Indigo pawed the sky. And then, in the blink of an eye, Henry turned and accidentally dropped one of the buckets. It clattered to the ground, the noise startling Indigo. He hopped forward, still rearing…and…his front hoof…came down on Henry’s head.”

I gasped, the sound echoing through the night.

Then, silence.

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