Boy on a Black Horse Page 5

  “Why would he?”

  I shrugged. “I just think he might. He lives right across the hill from the cemetery. He might have seen something.”

  Trying not to show it, I was almost holding my breath. Everything depended on this. If Grandpa went straight to the Altland place I’d never make it in time.

  “Huh,” was all Grandpa said. And I knew I didn’t dare push it anymore. If I overdid it, he’d get suspicious. I stayed quiet, but I was so scared my hands were cold.

  When we got to the stable Grandpa got out of his car and went looking for Topher.

  It had worked! I ran out to fetch Diddle and hustled her to the barn and slung the saddle on her without even brushing. Now my hands weren’t cold, but they were shaking. Getting Grandpa out of the car gave me a couple of extra minutes, but was that going to be enough?

  By the time Grandpa left I was leading Diddle out of the stable. Grandpa had to drive down the road and turn onto another road and then a long rutted axle-breaker of a lane to reach the old Altland place. With a little luck I might just get there before him.

  Topher gave me a strange look when he saw me getting on Diddle in such a rush. He asked, “Does all this hurry happen to have anything to do with the Gypsy kids?”

  “Why would it?” This was turning out to be a good comeback for almost everything. And before he could answer I got out of there at a trot.

  I put Diddle into a canter up the hill past the cemetery—and even at a canter I saw all the markers knocked down, and ugly words spray painted on some of them, and seeing it hit me like a slap. I felt my stomach start to ache. If anybody ever did that to Adam’s grave, I’d—I’d—I didn’t know what I’d do. Cry, probably. As if I hadn’t cried enough. It probably was kids who did it too. Kids didn’t believe in death, they didn’t understand unless they loved somebody who had died.

  But Chav was not like that. He believed in death—he wore black for death. He had loved his mother who had died. He couldn’t have done this.

  After we got past the cemetery and down the hill Diddle really stretched out her fat furry little body and galloped. She must have felt some of what I was feeling, because she had never run like that before.

  I slowed her down to a trot on the gravel of the railroad tracks, then ran her again when we reached the meadow. Rom was grazing not far away, and I didn’t see any sign of Grandpa yet. I was in time.

  “Chav,” I yelled. I couldn’t see him anywhere. But then there was movement in the dark entry to the silo. I saw Chav look out at me a moment, then turn away.

  “Chav, come on!” I cantered over and pulled Diddle to a cowboy halt. “The cops are coming. You’ve got to get out of here.”

  He didn’t answer or look at me again. All I could see was the back of his shoulder, bent over.

  “Chav, the cops are coming!” Was he deaf or what? I didn’t want to get down from Diddle, because then I’d just waste time getting back on her again, but it looked like I’d have to. I jumped down, let her reins drag to ground-tie her, and ducked into the silo.

  “Chav, are you crazy? Get a move on!”

  He didn’t seem to hear me. He said something, but it wasn’t like he was saying it to me. “She’s sick,” he said hoarsely.

  It was hard to see much in there—too dark. All I could tell was that Baval was crouched against the back wall and Chav was holding Chavali in his arms.

  “She’s sick,” he said again. “She’s really sick.” He sounded like he might break in half any minute. “I should have gotten her out of here. It’s my fault.”

  CHAPTER

  6

  “Get her out where I can see her,” I said.

  I said it twice, and he moved like a sleepwalker, but he did it. He had Chavali wrapped in a blanket, so all I could see was her face. She kept her eyes closed, and she was flushed, feverish, and there were little red spots all over her cheeks.

  “Chicken pox.” I wasn’t just guessing, I was sure, because I remembered from when I had it. You could tell by the blister in the middle of each red spot. It wasn’t anything serious—chicken pox wouldn’t kill anybody. When I had it, my mother called family practice and they didn’t even want to see me. They made sure there were blisters in the middle of my spots, and then they just told her to keep me in bed and not let me scratch. Chavali was going to be okay. I had to take a couple of deep breaths, though, before I could stop being scared.

  “Give her here,” I said as I gathered Diddle’s reins and swung up into the saddle.

  Chav just stood there looking at me. I reached down and lifted Chavali out of his arms—wow, she was hot. The first thing to do would be to get her fever down. She peeked at me once, then played possum again because she didn’t feel good. I cradled her in front of me with one hand and picked up the reins with the other. “Get on Rom,” I told Chav.

  He didn’t move. Baval was dragging blankets and clothes out of the silo, trying to bundle them up. “Leave that stuff,” I snapped, and I started Diddle toward the tracks. “Both of you get on Rom and come on!”

  I heard the car coming in low gear down the lane.

  Chav must have heard it too, and he finally got himself in gear. He ran and vaulted onto Rom, and gave Baval a hand to help him up behind him—he didn’t even bother with the halter and the rope reins. He guided Rom with his knees and headed for the closest hiding place, the woods. I kicked Diddle into a reckless canter and followed, hanging on to the horse with my legs and Chavali with my arms. For a minute it felt like I was going to either fall off or drop Chavali, and I was scared silly again.

  Then I was ducking branches. Hidden in the trees, I pulled Diddle to a walk, got myself collected, and looked back over my shoulder. Grandpa’s cruiser was just nosing out from behind the farmhouse.

  “Sheesh,” I breathed. Another minute and he would have seen us.

  Up ahead, Chav slipped off his belt and put it around Rom’s neck and pulled on it to slow down the black horse so that it walked next to Diddle. He looked over at Chavali with a hard face. “Is she breathing?” he asked, and I realized his face got hard like that when he was afraid. His voice was tight as a drum.

  “Of course she’s breathing.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place. We’ll put her to bed. Get her some medicine.”

  “It’s my fault she’s sick.” Now his voice sounded dead. “If I’d gone south when I should have, she would have stayed warm, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Yes, it would’ve,” I told him. “Everybody gets chicken pox. She’ll be okay.”

  We came out of the woods, rode down the tracks, and then cut across the fields toward the stable. Not too fast—my heart was thumping with hurry, even Diddle wanted to hurry, but I held her in. We had to be careful with me carrying Chavali.

  I was so intent on Chavali that we got within sight of the Fischel family cemetery before I remembered how this had all started. “Oh my God. Chav, listen, they think you pushed over the stones in Mr. Fischel’s graveyard.”

  “Huh?” He didn’t know what I was talking about.

  We were close enough so I could point to the broken angels. Then he understood, and his face flushed, and he said angrily, “They think I did that?”

  “Mr. Fischel wants to blame it on the Gypsies.”

  “They’re crazy. I wouldn’t do that to dead people.” He had his voice under control, but I could practically hear the black horse of anger thundering in his chest, and the black horse he was riding must have heard it too. Rom started to swerve and plunge.

  “Go easy,” Baval said softly, hanging onto his brother’s back. “Everything will be all right.”

  Chav didn’t answer. Rom settled down some, but he was still prancing when we got to the stable. Topher watched us ride in—he was standing there holding the hose, filling water troughs. His sandy-brown eyes widened when he saw Chav guiding the stallion with nothing but a belt looped around its neck. “Whooooa, boy,” he said softly, leaving wh
at he was doing and coming over, putting out a hand to get hold of Rom.

  “Never mind them! Chav can handle it,” I called. “Come help me with Chavali.” I had definitely taken charge, which I guess some people would call being an obnoxious bitch. But Topher did what I said. When I handed the sick little girl down to him his mouth opened as wide as his eyes.

  “What the hell—”

  “I have to call my aunt,” I said.

  “This kid’s sick.”

  “I know. Topher, can you keep Rom here for a few days? The black horse.”

  He blinked about five times, but then he nodded. Later he told me it was the way Chav rode the horse that made him do it. He had a prejudice: he just knew a boy who rode like that couldn’t be all bad, no matter what Peck Fischel said. “Stick him in a stall,” he called to Chav. “I’ll drive you,” he told me. “It’ll be faster.”

  Chav came and took Chavali from Topher instead of sticking Rom in a stall. Rom started to wander off. Chavali started to cry. The water trough started to overflow. Things were confusing for a few minutes. When they sorted out, the water was turned off, the horses were in stalls, and we were all in Topher’s Blazer, with Chav in the back holding Chavali on his lap.

  “Emergency room, I assume,” said Topher as he gunned it up the driveway.

  “No!” Chav sounded panicky at the idea. People would ask him questions there.

  “Just take us home,” I told Topher. “Lee will know what to do. It’s just chicken pox.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” I explained to him why I felt so sure, and he believed me. That was another reason I liked Topher. He pretty much trusted me, the way Liana did.

  “But—what’s your aunt going to think of all this?” He meant Chav and Baval and Chavali, I guess, all of whom—well, in the closed car a person could really tell they needed a bath and a change of clothes.

  “She’ll be cool. You’ll see.” I wasn’t as sure as I hoped I sounded, but it turned out I was right. When we went into the house, Liana was in the kitchen baking homemade bread, and she looked up and saw Chav standing there with that hard, haunted look in his eyes and his little sister in his arms, and that was all it took.

  I said, “Lee, this is Chav and Baval and Chavali—”

  “Chicken pox,” she said.

  “—and they don’t have anyplace else to go.”

  She was already wiping the bread dough off her hands. “Go turn up the heat in the spare bedrooms. Chav, follow Gray, take your sister on back the hall; we’ll get her in a bed.” Her voice was very gentle when she spoke to him. “Do we still have Children’s Tylenol?” she asked me, or maybe herself, since I was on my way out of the room. “No, I bet we don’t. Or oatmeal bath, or Caladryl ointment …”

  “You need some things?” Topher asked her. “I’ll go get them.”

  “Would you?” She sounded surprised and glad to see him there. “I’ll give you the money.”

  “No, you won’t. And any other kind of help you need, you call me. I feel responsible, bringing this passel of God-knows-what in here.”

  I missed the rest, getting a thermometer for Chavali. Chav wouldn’t put her down. Instead of tucking her into the ruffled bed in the peach-colored bedroom that used to belong to Cassie, he sat on it and held her. Baval said, “Chill out, bro,” and sat beside him.

  “One-oh-three,” Liana read the thermometer a few minutes later. “That’s not so bad, but let’s get her in a tub of tepid water to bring that down.” She peeled back some of the blankets and said straight to Chavali, “Is that okay, honey? Will you come with me and get a bath to make you feel better?”

  It was like a little miracle. Chavali, the shy one, smiled and held out her arms.

  A couple of hours later, after chicken soup and a dose of Tylenol and an oatmeal bath and some Caladryl ointment on her spots, Chavali really was feeling better. In fact, she was feeling good enough to make Chav do something he didn’t want to do.

  “Story!”

  “Not right now.”

  “Yes, right now!”

  “C’mon, sis. Give me a break.”

  They were in the peach bedroom, with Chavali snug in the bed now, and Liana and I were out in the kitchen putting things away after a late supper. Their voices floated down the hallway to us.

  “I can’t,” Chav was saying. His voice sounded very tired. “Baval, you tell it to her.”

  “You tell her. You’re the one who remembers.”

  I looked at Liana, and my eyes signaled, That’s strange. Baval was old enough to remember most of what Chav did.

  She nodded and stopped banging bread pans. We both eavesdropped.

  “Listen,” Chav said, “how about a new story?”

  This must have been okay with Chavali. There was a silence and a rustling of the quilt while Chav stalled for time by getting himself settled on her bed. “This is a story about the night,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because in a minute I am going to turn off the light and you are going to go to sleep. And it will be night in here. Now, listen. In a stable there is a black horse in the black night.”

  “Rom? Our black horse Rom?”

  “Yes, Rom. The black horse is in the stall in the strange stable all by himself, and he’s a little scared. So he listens hard, like this.”

  I just knew he had his hands up to his head like horse ears pricked forward to hear. To give him some noises to hear, I started sloshing dishes in the sink, and Lee finally got her pans of bread clunked into the hot oven.

  “And he hears he isn’t alone after all,” Chav said. “There’s a fuzzy little horse in the very next stall. A fat furry mare with curly hair is eating her hay.”

  “Diddle!”

  “Yes, Diddle. The stable man with the sandy mustache has brushed all the dried sweat out of her hair. And he gave her oats and water and hay. Rom too. Now he has gone away, but Diddle is there. What else is there?”

  “I don’t know,” Chavali whispered.

  I sneaked a few steps up the hallway to take a look. Sure enough, Chav was doing horse ears.

  “The birds are there in their nests on the beams,” he said. “The mice are there in their nests in the hay. There’s a fat black cricket right on top of the manure pile. There’s a fat black spider on a cobweb on the wall.”

  It was strange what I was thinking, that there were other things in the night too, dangerous things. Once a rabid raccoon had walked right into the stable. Topher had tried to hit it with a shovel, and it almost bit him. Then it bit two of the horses before he could get it killed. The horses had to be put down, and that almost killed Topher. Now he kept a rifle leaning in the corner of the stairs leading up to the hayloft. That gun was there in the night too.

  “And the fat black cat,” Chav was saying, “the fat, fat stable cat, comes padding along the top of the stall. He curls up right on top of Rom’s back, because Rom is a warm place, and he starts to purr.”

  Chav’s voice had gone singsong, but he must have rolled his eyes or something, because Chavali started to giggle. She would go to sleep now and dream of warm things, cuddly cats purring. “Rom’s not scared anymore,” she said.

  “That’s right. The night is big and black, but so is he.”

  Liana and I were still up at midnight, which is when Grandpa slammed in, spitting mad.

  “All right, where are they?” He glared at me.

  Cops must practice their glares in front of a mirror. Grandpa’s was good. I just about wet my pants, I was so scared of him for a minute, and I couldn’t say a thing. But Liana said as if nothing much was happening, “They’re asleep.”

  “Get them out here.”

  “No. Sit down, Dad.”

  He didn’t sit down. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean no. They’ve had their showers, and I’m washing and drying their clothes while they’re in bed. You can talk to them in the morning.”

  “Maybe you’re not under
standing me,” Grandpa said between clenched teeth. “Read my lips. Get them out here now.”

  “This is my house,” Liana said in a hard tone I had never heard from her before. “Do you have a warrant?”

  I dared a look at them, and I could see Grandpa begin to realize Liana was really going to stand up to him. And she was his daughter, so he didn’t want to get into a big fight with her. But he was a guy with his ego hanging out. He couldn’t back down now. “I can go get one,” he threatened.

  “Bull. What have these kids done?” Liana puffed out a breath between her lips and let go of the hardness in her voice. “Sit down and have a cup of coffee, Dad,” she said very gently. “There’s no way I’m going to let you near them when you’re all fussed up like a stampeding buffalo. If you’d seen them, you’d understand.”

  I guess he didn’t want to lock horns with her anymore. He actually did what she said—he sat down. But now he was scowling at me.

  “My own granddaughter,” he said. “I sat out there in the cold for hours waiting for those squatters to come back before I started to get it. And then I couldn’t believe it. My own grand-daughter, making a fool of me.”

  “Sorry, Grandpa,” I mumbled, feeling really bad that I hadn’t thought before about what he’d do or how he’d feel. I guess I just kind of figured Grandpa would survive, but Chav might not. “I couldn’t let you take them to the juvenile home.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because Chav—you might as well kill him.”

  “Chav’s the oldest one,” Liana said, giving Grandpa his cup of coffee. “He takes care of the little ones like a mama hen, but he really needs somebody to take care of him.”

  “Something terrible happened to him,” I told Grandpa. “He has all kinds of scars, like he was in some kind of horrible accident, or maybe a fire.”

  Liana gave me a strange look. “No,” she said. “No, I can see why you might think that, but that doesn’t account for all of it.”

  “All of what?” Grandpa looked at the cup of coffee in his hands and set it down. “No damn coffee,” he grumped.

  “It’s decaf.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t need it. All of what?”