Sundancer. Shelley Peterson

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      “I don’t know why I called, you make me so mad!”

      “So why did you call, Eva?”

      Again, there was a pause, but this time Bird could feel a crackle of energy on the line. Something big was about to happen.

      “Can you tell Randy that Bird is your daughter? There. I’ve said it.”

      In the darkened kitchen, Bird felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She fought the urge to smash the phone against the wall and knock everything off the counter.

      Hannah spoke calmly, quietly. “Let me get this straight. You want me to tell Randy that Bird is my daughter. Is Julia still yours?”

      “Yes, Randy loves her.”

      Bird thought of her little sister. A pretty, cheerful nine-year-old. Chatty, charming, and well adjusted. Blonde and beautiful like their mother.

      “Look, Hannah.” Eva was still talking, faster now. “Don’t go all holier than thou on me. You know I couldn’t take Bird with me to California. She was in school and she had her friends ...”

      “Friends? Since when has Bird had a friend? And Bird had to change schools anyway when she moved in with me. We both know why you left her here, so at least be honest with yourself if not with me. Or with Randy, for that matter. What kind of marriage are you —”

      Eva 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 СКАЧАТЬ