Sam (a pastoral) by Susan Larson

Author:Susan Larson [Larson, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Savvy Press
Published: 2014-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Hot weather came again, and sometimes we would all meet at the old slate-quarry swimming hole in Trace Hollow. Mom and Sergeant Holden and Ed had ordered us to never to swim in there because somebody or other had maybe drowned there a hundred years ago. After they said “no swimming,” the place drew us like a magnet. We’d turn the horses loose in a brushy old pasture, strip to our undies and splash around in the water for hours or sunbathe on the raft that somebody had put in there. The Quarry was so much fun that I could sometimes forget about Dad and Mom fighting and Evvie not talking, and me ruining everything and then losing Robbie. I figured he must have been long dead by now.

One day Annaliese and I had the Quarry all to ourselves. Our conversation was more earnest when the Holdens weren’t around. Annaliese took me seriously even though I was younger. We discussed books, horses, the Meaning of Life. I wanted to tell her about my parents fighting and Dad leaving, but I didn’t.

Annaliese was tall and had long palomino-colored hair that she wore in a braid down her back. I wanted to be just like her, so I started wearing my hair in a braid too. I loved just lying on the raft with her. I loved the little white-gold hairs shining on her arms, and I loved how she smelled, like spring-water and sunshine and hay. We talked and dabbled our hands in the water all afternoon, until it suddenly got dark; big black storm clouds started blowing in over us.

“Weather’s coming, we’d better get on home,” she said.

We climbed out of the quarry and into our jeans and boots, caught our horses, threw the tack on them, waved, wheeled, and lit out in opposite directions. I walked Sam for a while to get him warmed up again, but as the rain started to patter on the leaves overhead, we cantered up the Trace Hollow trail. The air beneath the trees went all thick and green; it felt like I was riding in an undersea cave.

It was thundering when we turned onto the Lame Buck road. We trotted up it, the rain blowing right in our faces; I was wet to the skin in two shakes. Lightning started to flash, making people’s white roadside mailboxes seem to jump out at us a perfect excuse for any ordinary horse to pull a spook and bolt for the barn. Sam never twitched as the thunder growled and the green daylight faded.

“Hast thou given the horse strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?” I yelled; that was my favorite part of the Bible and it seemed to fit right then.

As we swung around the final turn before the big hay-meadows at the end of Lame Buck Road there was a crackling noise and lightning hissed near us…in the glare I saw a dark horse and a white-cloaked rider standing in the street. Sam’s

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