Dreams of a Dancing Horse (6 page)

 

14

A Painter's Dream

I stare at this skinny painter, who sent my enemy in the wrong direction. Why? Why would a human do such a thing?

But of course Lena would have.

“The coast is clear,” he calls over. “Come on out.”

I pick my way through the alley and venture into the open. He's correct. No other human is in sight. It's as if the entire street has closed down.

My stomach rumbles, and a wave of dizziness sweeps through me. My legs give out, and I stumble, but catch myself.

Jonathan rushes up to me. “Easy, big fella.” He pats my neck. “I'll bet you're hungry. Me too.”

He walks over to his tiny suitcase, opens it, and brings out two smallish, reddish apples. “Here you go. They're even paid for.” He bites into his and holds out his hand with the larger of the two apples.

I can't help my bad manners. That's how starving I am. I take that whole apple in one bite.

He laughs. “You really are hungry, aren't you?”

I nod.

He appears to understand at first nod. I must say he is a most interesting fellow. Now that I see his face close up, I believe him to be quite a young man.

“I'll bet you're thirsty too. Well, if you're not in a hurry, you can come home with me. I've got a well full of rusty-tasting water you're welcome to.”

This is by far the best offer I've had in more days than I can count. I nicker my thanks and nod again.

“Right you are, sport! Let's be on our way, then.”

Jonathan chooses to walk rather than ride. Yet he is overloaded with his wares from the market. Under one arm, he carries a bundle of his paintings. Under the other arm, he tucks his folding chair. The small suitcase dangles from one hand. The load is too much for a skinny human. He keeps dropping one bag or the other.

When I can no longer stand to watch him struggle, I take matters into my own hooves. I drop behind him and grab the pack of paintings in my teeth.

“Say! What's the—?”

With one swing of my neck, I place the pack on my back. Lena herself said my back was broader than any horse she'd ever seen. The bag stays there as if it's on a shelf. Then I take his suitcase in my teeth, careful to avoid teeth marks. He gives in without a struggle.

“Well, thanks, fella! Say, you're one unusual horse. You know that? Sure wish you could tell me where you come from and where you're headed.”

I, too, wish I could talk with this pleasant young man.

“I'm headed to New York City,” he announces. “What do you think of that, fella? I'll start as a portrait artist on the streets of New York, where there are so many tourists they'll have to stand in line for me to draw them.”

I know, like most humans, he doesn't believe I can understand his words. It's the human way of talking to oneself. Still, it is lovely to be included in this way.

He turns and grins at me. “That's what I'm really good at. Painting portraits. You probably saw all of those look-alike pictures I paint for the tourists. People take home my cheesy paintings to show their friends where they spent a couple of days.

“But faces are my true love. I love to draw faces and paint portraits. Molly says I can capture what's inside people when I sketch their faces. I've drawn hers dozens of times, and still I haven't begun to capture the goodness that's in that gal. One day Molly and I will get married and live in New York, where art galleries and museums will beg us to show and sell my portraits.”

We walk the rest of the way in a companionable silence. I'm pleased that this nice fellow has such a grand dream.

“Well, here we are. Home sweet home.” Jonathan waves his arm, displaying a rather rundown shanty.

I step closer to his “home.” Gray boards on the roof have been hammered at odd angles to cover gaping holes. There's a nice porch out front, but the steps are crooked, and it would never hold me. I'm amazed it holds my slim friend.

“It's not much, but I don't intend to be here long.” A cloud passes overhead, but there's no promise of rain in it. “I guess I've said that for the last five years, since I moved here to make my fortune. Or at least make enough to see my way to New York City.” He sighs. “I don't know why Molly puts up with me. She's waited all this time for me to get on my feet. I want to ask her to marry me. But that gal deserves a better life than I can give her, someone better than me.”

“Hi there, Jonathan! Who's this you've got with you?”

“Molly!” He runs to her, lifts her by her waist, and spins her around. Her long black hair trails behind her like the tail of a fine horse. She really is quite pretty.

“This is Molly,” Jonathan says, turning to me. “Molly, this is … well, I guess I don't know your name, do I, fella?” He holds Molly's hand, and they come back to my side. “This is Fella,” Jonathan says. “How's that?”

I nicker a greeting.

“I'm pleased to meet you, Fella,” Molly says. She has a musical voice and reminds me a bit of Lena. “Any friend of Jonathan is a friend of mine.” She reaches up and strokes my head, rearranging my forelock.

“I brought carrots and turnips and a good bit of meat on the bone. I thought I might as well pay you a visit and cook up a pot of stew. You don't eat enough to keep a flea alive.” She lifts a sack she's carrying. Then she reaches in and holds out a carrot for me. I take a big chomp out of the carrot, chew with my mouth closed, then take the rest from her dainty hand. I nicker again, hoping she'll take it as thanks.

“You are without a doubt the kindest, most beautiful woman in the world,” Jonathan tells her. “You sing like an angel, making you the most talented, gifted person in the world. Why you ever bother with me is a complete mystery.”

Molly walks over to him. She has the movements of a dancer. Not as practiced as Lena, but very graceful. She stands on tiptoe and reaches up to cup his face in her hands. “My Jonathan. You say something as wonderful as you've just said, and then ask me how I can bother with you? You are the only person who has ever made me feel like I'm somebody.”

He takes her hands in his, and they walk into his home. Soon I smell the aroma of stew. And Molly is even thoughtful enough to save me a few more vegetables.

As I munch on the best meal I've had in weeks, I know I must find a way to show my thanks. If only I could figure out how to help them get to New York City …

 

15

If Horses Had Wings …

“Did you ever see so many stars, Fella?” Molly asks.

Molly and Jonathan have been kind enough to include me in their after-dinner relaxation. The three of us are outside under the stars, lying on a blanket. Well, I'm beside the blanket, of course. I gaze at the sky and decide Molly is correct. I can see the entire Milky Way. I can't help smiling when I think of Bessie's bad joke about the cow jumping over the moon to get the Milky Way, or some such thing.

I miss Bessie and her friends and hope the cattle drive has gone well. More than that, I do hope Bessie will persevere and make it big in cow comedy.

I feel Jonathan's hand on my neck. “Say! You look lost in thought, big fella. Everything all right?”

Molly sits up and begins finger-combing my mane, untangling the mats I've picked up on my journey. “Of course, he's not all right,” she says. “He must be lonely for other horses.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Jonathan admits.

“Okay, Fella,” Molly says in a cheery voice that sounds lighter than Jingles's bell. “You're not the only horse out here, you know.”

I pull myself to a half-sitting, half-lying position used by many colts. I look around, but I don't see any other horses.

“You're looking in the wrong place,” Molly says. She points straight up. “Up there. In the skies. See that horse flying across the stars?”

Now, I have been known for my excellent vision, but I don't see the horse she's referring to.

“Look harder, Fella,” Molly says.

Jonathan sits up and squints at the stars. “I can't see a horse either, Molly.”

“Shame on the both of you.” Molly laughs a little. “You're missing one beautiful winged horse. Let me tell you about Pegasus the Winged Horse.”

Jonathan and I settle in as if we're children waiting for a story from our mother. As I think this, I get a lump in my throat. If my own mother did tell me stories before she died, I don't remember them.

But at least I have her song.

“Once upon a time,” Molly begins, “a wild and free-spirited white horse named Pegasus galloped so fast that he took off from the ground and flew through the air, all the way to the Northern Sky. He was happy there, peering down on the earth and meeting other creatures, like the Big Bear and the Little Bear, Leo the Lion, and others.

“Then one day a young girl, Athena, caught Pegasus and tamed the wild horse with love and kindness … and with a fine golden bridle given to her by her father. Athena and Pegasus explored the starry heavens each night, and all of heaven admired the pair, especially Perseus. The three of them—Athena, Perseus, and Pegasus—had many adventures.

“Perseus was riding one evening when Pegasus heard a cry for help. The horse galloped toward the cry, and soon Perseus could hear it too. He recognized the cry of Andromeda. When the woman came into view, she was in a desperate situation, captured by Cetus the Whale. With skill and speed, Pegasus and Perseus rescued Andromeda from the whale.

“Another time, late on a cloudy night after a hard day's ride, Athena and Pegasus stopped to rest at a great mountain, Mount Helicon. Poor Athena was dying of thirst, and there was no water to be found. Angry and frustrated, concerned for his friend, Pegasus stamped his hoof and pawed the ground. He delivered one giant kick, and something wonderful happened. Water sprang up and flowed from Mount Helicon.

“The spring became known as Hippocrene, and it was said to have been the source of all poetic and artistic inspiration. In the end, Athena made her beloved Pegasus, the Winged Horse, into a constellation.”

Molly turns to Jonathan and kisses him. “And that, Jonathan, is where you must get your artistic inspirations.”

“I rather think I'm more inspired by you, Molly.” He kisses her back.

I gaze at the sky, but I simply do not see Pegasus or any other horse there.

“I still don't see that horse,” Jonathan complains, echoing my thought.

Molly points to a cluster of stars in the Northern Sky. “First, you'll only see the front half of the winged horse. Second, the horse is upside down. Now, see that clump of stars, four stars making a square? That's the body.”

I do see the square of stars, although Jonathan is still having trouble.

Molly points again. “Three stars to the west form the neck, and that bright one is the head. Next to the winged horse, if you look very hard, you can see the outline of a small foal.”

I jump to my feet and stare up. I see it! I see the winged horse. And I see the foal! It makes me think of my cow buddies, Bessie and her son, Moony. I whinny at the stars as if they could answer me.

“Now there's someone with an artistic imagination,” Molly says.

Jonathan tickles her for hinting that he lacks imagination since he can't see Pegasus. “Just for that, Molly, you will have to sing for your supper.”

“I already had supper,” she replies, “which I made myself, if you'll recall. Besides, there's no music for me to sing to.”

“What's the matter, Molly, my girl? No artistic imagination?” Jonathan teases. He glances over at me. “Molly will be a famous singer once we're living in New York City.”

Molly gets to her feet and stands before Jonathan and me. Then she opens her mouth and sings a beautiful song, something about stars and lovers. Her voice is as clear as the night air, as powerful as the winged horse.

As always, I can't stand still. My tail swishes. Before she reaches the second verse, my body sways and my hooves prance. Then I lose all control and dance, dance, dance. I close my eyes and imagine I'm dancing with Lena at a hoedown or in our favorite church service. I rear up and feel as if I'm flying, like Pegasus, through the starry sky.

Molly finishes, and the night turns silent.

I open my eyes and find Molly and Jonathan staring at me.

“Fella,” Jonathan says, “that may have been the single most amazing thing I've seen in my whole life.”

“You're good!” Molly exclaims. “Really good, Fella.”

She launches into another song. This one is fast and fun. Jonathan springs to his feet and dances with his sweetheart.

“Now, wouldn't we be a sight at the market!” Molly says, laughing.

Jonathan sounds out of breath. “Talk about drawing a crowd!”

We dance another song. And another. And another, until at last, Jonathan walks Molly home.

When he returns, he chooses to sleep outside under the stars. Only I can't sleep. Jonathan's words echo in my pointed ears:
Talk about drawing a crowd!

And at last I have an idea.