Chapter 30: Wild Horses Couldn’t Drag Me Away
The horses ran to town through house-lined streets. The townsfolk stood wide-eyed in their doorways, on their porches, and behind their windows. Naomi waved to people as they passed. Sammy just laughed and laughed.
“Everybody is going to know our names,” Sammy shouted. Naomi knew this was true but that wasn’t why she had done it. In the end, it hardly mattered. To have this moment when the horses were safe and the white people free, when people had a new life of meaningful work ahead of them, when Naomi would never have to touch a single drop of paste to her lips again, that was her payment.
The mare carried them past Town Hall where horses rested on the lawn. They stood there grazing and huffing into the night. Foals romped and the adults touched their faces together. The Town Hall steps were filled with townspeople, speaking in hushed voices.
The mare trotted across the lawn. Two foals ran past, happy and pleased with each other’s friendship.
“Like us, kind of,” Sammy said.
“Like kids,” Naomi said, turning back to look at Sammy.
Sammy slid off the mare.
“Hard on the haunches,” he said. Naomi followed. An ache shot up her legs where they had bumped with the mare’s running back. Surprised by the pain, Naomi stumbled. She was falling, then she found herself wrapped in Sammy’s arms.
A huge boom rang out. A spiral of flame leapt into the sky, illuminating the town in a crisp red. Naomi stood, her arm over Sammy’s shoulder, watching the paste factory burn.
“You think they all made it?” Naomi asked, worried about the white people.
“Don’t know,” he said, “but they sure were trying. I think they’re probably safe.”
“Yeah,” she said.
With that, Naomi let her arm fall from Sammy’s shoulder. She stepped to the chestnut mare. “Thank you,” she said, slipping the bridle off her face. The mare flicked her ears and gazed at Naomi with that deep eye. Then she lifted her head and shouted a long, victorious whinny. The other horses joined the chorus until the sound of horse cries blotted out the other sounds of the night. The mare shook her head and winked. She trotted off and Naomi lost sight of her in the herd.
Headlights dotted the road from the paste factory. Naomi and Sammy watched the trucks drive around the lawn, stopping in a line. The gypsies helped white people out of the trucks. Some white people lumbered onto the lawn, some were carried. Once on the lawn, most white people flopped in the grass. Some stared into the night. Naomi walked over to where they lay. She looked at the closest person, and though it was dark, Naomi saw a smile carved into the woman’s face.
A crowd of townspeople approached. Naomi heard whispered questions. People gasped as a gypsy told them what was going on. And though Naomi was thrilled that the factory was gone, this was going to be tough on the town. How would they face the coming days and months without food, without electricity?
A twinkling light cut the darkness. A figure approached.
“Clara,” Naomi said. “What is that?”
“A candle,” she answered. “Here,” handing her two candles. “We have plenty for now. Where’s Sammy?”
“I’m here,” he said.
Clara gazed over the crowd, over the white people, over the horses, looking past Town Hall towards the burning factory in the distance. She sighed. “We did it,” she said. Then she grabbed Naomi with one arm, pulling her towards her.
After a minute Clara said, “Now the real work begins.”
“What is it?” Naomi asked.
“We have to get vegetables here. We have to get these white people taken care of. It won’t be easy. And Sammy there will have to go back to farming. And you,” she said, hugging Naomi close, “will need to teach us all how to talk to these crazy horses.”
“Me?” said Naomi.
“You’ll have help,” said Clara, “You have the gift of the horse-flavored T-shirt.”
“What is that?” asked Naomi. She could not figure out what made her so different.
Clara said, “That’s not for me to tell.”
“Who then?” Naomi asked.
“Your mom,” said Clara, letting go of Naomi and turning. Coming towards them were two figures, one short, and one tall.
“We’re here,” Clara yelled.
“Thank God!” called out Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
“Naomi!” Naomi’s mom called out her name. She threw her arms around her daughter when she reached her. “I was so worried,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” said Naomi. Though she had accomplished so much, a twinge of shame for making her mother worry about her rose in her stomach.
“It’s okay,” her mom said. “Clara told me where you were. Once I heard, I ran to see Molly,” she said, indicating Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was squeezing her son.
“Ma,” said Sammy, “you’re hurting me.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick let him go. “Just happy you’re alright,” she said.
“Where’s pa?” he asked.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick said, “He’s getting ready with the others. We’ll need to get back to farming right away.”
“Wait,” Sammy said. “I have something for you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the strawberry. “It’s a little smashed,” he said, and dropped it into his mother’s hand.
“Sammy!” she cried out. She cradled it in her hand like the most precious thing in the world.
“I know how you like them,” he said, averting his gaze. Naomi couldn’t help but smile.
“Naomi,” her mom said, “why did you leave?”
“Because of my dream,” she said.
“What dream?”
“A gypsy man came to me and told me to find the horses.”
“A gypsy man?”
“Yeah,” Naomi said. “Adelaide had a picture of you with him in her caravan. Leaning on a fence.”
Her mom glanced at Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who said, “It may be time to tell her, Jessica.”
“I already know?” Naomi said.
Jessica said, “Molly, Sammy, we’ll see you soon.”
“Come to the market. You’ll stay with us tonight,” said Molly.
To Clara, Jessica said, “Thank you for taking care of her.”
“No problem,” said Clara.
“You get going,” Jessica said. “You’ve a long night ahead.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Clara.
“You can call me Jessica, if you wish,” said her mom.
“How about Aunt Jess?” Clara asked.
Her mom reached out and touched Clara on the neck, stroking her hair. “I’d like that,” her mom said. Clara smiled back at her.
“Goodnight, Naomi. I’ll see you soon,” said Clara.
“Yeah,” said Naomi. She threw her arms around Clara.
“I’ll see you,” Clara said, and headed back toward the trucks.
“What’s going on?” Naomi asked.
She said, “Clara is your cousin. Did you figure that out already?”
“Yeah, and the gypsy Joseph is my father Joseph,” Naomi said. “That’s why Adelaide had a picture of you with him. That’s why. . .” She stopped talking.
“Come on,” her mom said. They walked across the lawn and up the Town Hall steps. Naomi looked at the people gathered there. Some approached the horses. Others helped the gypsies. Candle flickers appeared everywhere, like fireflies. She could not see the paste factory anymore because it was behind the Town Hall building, but she saw the red sky that marked the burning. Everything seemed calm for now, and for that she was grateful. But how would the world look tomorrow when everyone was faced with real change, with real freedom?
Her mom said, “Here, Naomi,” and both sat on the marble steps.
“Why did you leave?” her mom asked. “I was so worried about you.”
“I dreamt about him, mom.” For a moment she thought she was going to cry, but the tears didn’t come. “I dreamt about h
im and he looked so familiar. I thought I had seen his face before, somewhere.” She looked at her mother, who had started to cry. “I did, though. I saw his face in the mirror.”
Naomi continued, “He told me to find the horses, mom. And I didn’t know it then, but I guess I thought that if I found them, I would find him, too.”
“I think you did,” her mom said.
Naomi balled her hands into fists, suddenly angry. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? Where is he?”
“Oh, Naomi, there is so much you don’t know, and so much to tell. Things were so different before the paste factory. My mother worked as a horse speaker, helping farmers train horses. Gypsies like your father would come by and mend fences and the barns. Sometimes they would shoe horses. That’s how I met Joseph.
“I was your age then, and Joseph was seventeen. He was so good at everything. And he trained with my mother. That feels like a dream now.”
“What happened to him?” Naomi asked.
“He went into the west. There were windmills for energy, and solar, and even still some petroleum that diviners were getting out of the ground. But the paste factory came to Endless Ranches. At first nothing changed, and for years it just made and sold paste. Nobody knew what it was but they ate it. Slowly it seemed like people stopped caring about their lives. It was so strange how disconnected everybody got. It was like, I don’t even know what. Then, there were the Horse Wars. Joseph came back, and things started getting bad.”
Naomi thought about how they never learned any of this in history class. “What are the Horse Wars?” she asked.
Someone yelled by the paste trucks and the candles danced. It seemed like everybody in the town was out.
Her mom continued, “When the horses starting disappearing Texas got crazy. Towns raided each other. They hanged horse thieves right here in the square. It was horrible. But no one knew how to stop the horses from disappearing. Towns didn’t trust other towns, and the farmers didn’t trust the gypsies anymore. They burned your grandmother’s stables.
“Eventually all the horses were gone, and there was no reason for anyone to fight anymore. Everybody had to eat paste. Then the paste company started supplying electricity.”
Naomi looked up at her mom, her eyes soft in the darkness. “What happened to Dad?”
Her mom turned away. “I don’t know,” she said. “He went with the others into the factory. Then, I don’t know.”
Naomi put her arms around her mom and squeezed her tight. There was so much she wanted to know about her father, about the past. She didn’t know where to begin asking.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” her mom said. “I thought I could protect you. But,” she smiled, “I guess I did give you that silly T-shirt.”
“It’s not silly,” Naomi said. “It works.”
“Oh, it doesn’t work, it’s just the confidence that it gives you. That’s what the horses respond to. That’s what Joseph had. That’s why you could come out here and I never could.” She was silent.
Then she said, “I miss your father.”
Naomi thought of Sammy and how she wanted to be near him now. That must be what it was like for her mom, but more so.
Her mom stood and yanked Naomi to her feet. “Come on,” she said. “We should get to the market before it gets too crazy. We’ve got plenty of time to talk. And you have plenty to tell me too, right?” Her mother cocked her head with a smile.
When they got to Farmer’s Market the entrance stood wide open. People gathered around the doors, looking in as farmers ran around in the lamplight. Naomi did not blame the people for staring. Whereas before the farmers had nothing to do, now they ran around like crazy. Wagons filled the alleys and a few men pulled a wooden machine with jagged blades like teeth sticking in the air.
Naomi saw someone she knew speeding by. “Mr. Fitzpatrick!” she yelled. He stopped.
“Naomi, you made it. Good show.” He looked at her mother. “Ah.”
“Jessica, please,” her mom said.
“Jessica,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said. “A pleasure. But I don’t have no time right now. We have to invent us a harvest.” He looked down at Naomi, “Unless you want to eat the other stuff some more.”
Naomi said, “Paste! No!”
“That’s the spirit,” he said. “Please, Jessica, go to our place. Naomi, you think you can find it?”
Naomi looked around at the stalls, then up at the flag flying high above the market. The horse banner filled her heart with hope. Things were finally making sense. “Yeah,” Naomi said.
“Good,” said Mr. Fitzpatrick. “I’m off.” And he was.
“Dillon?” her mother said. Mr. Fitzpatrick turned.
“Thank you.” It occurred to Naomi then that Mr. Fitzpatrick and her mother must know each other. Or that he had known her father. The world was growing smaller, yet more complex for sure.
Naomi’s thoughts turned to Sammy. “Come on. I can find it,” she said.
The booths were alive with activity. It reminded Naomi of that beehive deep in the factory. Young women piled blankets in one booth. When Naomi looked, her mom said, “Those are horse blankets.”
“There are so many of them.”
“Not enough,” her mom said. “And where will we put all of them?”
“You mean the horses,” Naomi said.
“There are some stables here in the market, but not enough.”
They passed a booth where men and women were untangling leather straps from what looked like a snake nest. Naomi recognized the reins draped over the counter and other, more complex harnesses. Then they passed a booth full of saddles.
“We’ve been waiting for this,” her mother said.
“I guess so,” was all Naomi could say.
A boy Naomi’s age went by, carrying a basket of vegetables. She gaped after him.
When they got to the Fitzpatricks’ booth, Naomi yelled out, “Sammy!”
He appeared from inside the house and they hugged.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “A bit confused. I had no idea.”
“Ain’t nobody had an idea.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick appeared with a smattering of kids around her.
“Sammy’s in looooove,” said a little girl. The other kids giggled. Sammy let go of Naomi.
“My rugrats,” he said. Then to them, “This is Naomi and her mom, Ms. Jessica. Say hi to them.”
In a chorus, “Hi, Naomi. Hi, Ms. Jessica.”
“Now git,” he said, and they scattered.
Sammy led Naomi and her mom into the house, and there on the kitchen table, lit by candles, was a huge pile of vegetables. “Where’d they come from?” Naomi asked.
“Clara sent trucks over.” It was Mrs. Fitzpatrick in front of the stove, cooking up vegetables in a huge frying pan. “They’re trying to get supplies here before the electric trucks die.”
“Is there going to be electricity?” Naomi asked.
Her mom said, “Yeah, but not right away. There are resources we can use, like solar panels and windmills. We used to put little generators in the river. People just stopped doing it when the company had a monopoly on power.”
“Eat,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick pointed at plates. Naomi and her mother took the plates and Mrs. Fitzpatrick piled them with food.