Chapter 4
Over the next two days, Kestrel and I went out to find the mustangs during the day and waited for them to return during the night, but there wasn’t a whisper of their presence. Deer, moose, and smaller animals brave enough to come close to a human dwelling consumed the hay in the meadow.
The three of us, Mom included, enjoyed watching the animals in the moonlight as they cavorted around their newfound wealth. One big bull moose was the boss of the menagerie, and as the hay dwindled, he sent the others on their way one by one. The third night, he was the only one left to search for stray wisps, his silhouette hulking and magnificent beneath the bright moon.
“We have to find them today,” Kestrel said to me the next morning as we headed out. Seth, her dad, was coming to get her that afternoon.
But again, there was no sign of them. They seemed to have vanished, as if they were mythical forest creatures instead of wild horses. It was weird, walking through those frozen forests as if we were the only living beings in the world. Once, I sensed some fear from Twitchy. The bay mare caught a stray whiff of something, and for a while walked with her head almost on Rusty’s hindquarters, she was so nervous. However, nothing appeared – no threat, no strange noises, no odd scents – and soon she calmed down.
In a way, I wished we hadn’t kept searching for them. I felt confident they’d return after sensing them that first day, but as we rode hour after hour through the bush and I heard nothing, I wondered if they were ever coming back. I wondered if they actually had recognized me.
Rusty kept telling me they would return, that they were hungry, that they’d come for the hay when they were desperate enough to overcome their fear, but I wasn’t as sure.
Both Kestrel and I were awfully happy to get back to the house on that last day. We sat and warmed our hands around cups of hot chocolate while Mom took a rare afternoon break and made us some lunch.
That afternoon, after Seth had arrived and he and Mom were drinking coffee and catching up on the latest gossip, Kestrel and I dragged four new bales to a clean spot in the meadow. When we finished spreading it out, we looked toward the cabin. Mom was watching us from the window, her face grumpy and her arms crossed. Seth stood beside her and I wished some of the amused expression on his face would slide over to hers.
“She looks mad,” said Kestrel.
“She’s afraid we’re going to run out of hay this winter,” I explained. “And I bet she’s worried about that big bull moose moving in permanently.”
“We can bring over some more hay if you run out,” offered Kestrel.
That’s what people do here; they take care of each other. “Thanks,” I said. “But you know how Mom is – Ms. Do-it-ourselves.”
Kestrel just laughed.
Too soon, Kestrel and her dad were riding away from the cabin on their way back to their ranch.
“Come over to visit as soon as you can!” Kestrel called just before they rode out of sight down the trail.
“I will,” I yelled back and waved.
Then they were gone.
I kept staring after them.
“Go gather up the hay, Evy.” Mom’s voice was calm – which was the worse possible thing for the mustangs. She wasn’t planning to change her mind.
I turned to face her. “Mom, they’re coming back. I know it, and they need it. They’re starving.”
“Then why didn’t they come the last three nights? Every other creature within smelling distance came.”
“They’re scared.”
“They had their chance.”
“Kestrel said they’d bring some hay over if we run out.”
“We’re not going to go begging to our neighbors after throwing our hay away.”
“But Mom, there are babies in the herd, one foal and one yearling. And another is only two and that isn’t very old for a horse,” I said, playing my last trump card. “They didn’t have a choice to come eat. They had to go where their mothers told them to go.”
Too late, I realized what I’d said. For a moment, I saw tears glimmer in her eyes, and then she spun away. She thought I was really talking about us. She thought I was telling her that I didn’t have a choice when she chose to live here, away from the rest of the world. Which, technically, was true; I didn’t have a choice. But I wasn’t mad about it either.
“Mom –”
“You… you can leave the hay out,” she choked and hurried toward the barn.
“Mom, I didn’t mean… I… I’m sorry, okay?” When she didn’t slow down, I added, “I already fed Cocoa. She’s fine.”
“I’m just taking her out for a ride.”
“But you can’t ride alone when it’s this cold out,” I yelled after her. “Remember?” When she still didn’t answer, I added, “You said it yourself. You can’t go without me.”
Mom slowed, but didn’t stop. “I’ll just brush her then.” I was about to run after her, to explain that I wasn’t upset about living here, that I loved our home, that I’d follow her anywhere – and maybe even ask her one of the many questions that had been burning in my mind for years – but she turned at the barn door and said just loud enough for me to hear, “Alone, Evy.”
I stared after her, and the biggest mystery of my life loomed up in front of me once again, as impenetrable as ever. Why had we always lived out here, in the middle of nowhere? Why didn’t Mom like going into town or getting to know her neighbors? She’d made an exception for Kestrel and her parents, but I knew that was only because of me. She wanted me to have a friend. She wasn’t friendly with anyone else, preferring to remain a recluse. Slowly, I turned toward the cabin. The only other person she had anything to do with was Edward, her agent/broker, who came twice a year to pick up her paintings to sell in his fancy Vancouver gallery and to bring us supplies. She refused to even go into town to buy her own supplies.
She was obviously hiding from something or someone and had been for years, ever since I was a baby.
But who was she hiding from?
And just as important, if not more crucial – Why?
Mom didn’t come into the house for two hours and when she did, her emotion was locked behind a face as serene as a field of fresh snow. She’d pushed her worry to the back of her mind and her defenses were back in place, big time. She was even humming.
I hate to admit it, but I’d eavesdropped on her and Cocoa, listening to Cocoa’s feelings of peace radiate around Mom as the mare tried to comfort her. As Cocoa’s emotion gradually lightened, I knew that Mom was feeling better and better.
And now I had to risk upsetting her again. I couldn’t push things out of my mind like she could. I still needed her to understand that I wasn’t saying what she thought I was saying.
“Mom, I’m really –”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Evy,” she said, before the word could be spoken. “I know it’s hard, living out here.” She took my hands in hers and looked intently into my eyes. “I promise that it’ll only be for a few more years.”
“But Mom…” I stopped short. She’d never said so much before. “Why only a little longer?”
Her eyes dropped. “I have so much to do today. And so do you, young lady. Have you finished your report on the industrial revolution?”
I grimaced. I hate the industrial revolution. Mom turned away, not waiting for me to answer. Obviously, she was trying to escape my question.
“Mom, when I said that about having to live somewhere because your mom makes you, I was talking about the mustangs. Not me.”
Mom glanced back at me. “I’m glad.”
I followed her into the corner where she does her painting. “You know I love living here. I’ll never want to live anywhere else.”
A cloud washed over her smooth veneer. “You won’t always want to stay here, Evy. You’ll want to get out in the world one day.”
I shrugged. “Why? What’s out there that isn’t better here? You obviously didn’t like it much. Why else would you be here???
?
Mom glanced sharply at me, then looked away. She wasn’t going to take the bait.
Finally, I took my courage in hand and said the words that I’d been dying to ask her for absolutely ages. “What happened, Mom? I’m almost thirteen. I’m old enough to hear the truth. Why are we hiding out?”
I held my breath as she stared out the window. I’d never come right out and asked her before, even though it had been like a massive elephant standing between us for years, both of us knowing it was there and edging around it, and never, ever openly speaking of it – until now.
“It affects me too, you know,” I added. “I have a right to know.”
Mom stared off into the distance for another full minute and at one point I swear she was blinking back tears. When she finally turned to look at me, I knew I’d pushed her too far. Her composure had been restored. Her face was expressionless and in complete control. I’d get nothing from her this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Evy,” she said, her voice so even and mellow it was almost scary. “We’re not hiding out. This is just where we live. Maybe I don’t get out much, but I’m working on my paintings and helping you with your schoolwork. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
And I said the words I knew she expected. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve just been reading too many mystery books, I guess.” Even though I wanted to throw something at her. Even though I wanted to storm out the door and run away to Kestrel’s house, where at least people acted normal. Where Kestrel’s older sisters talked about people they knew, were loud in their laughter and yelled at each other. Where her mom and dad teased each other, and people were always dropping by for coffee, and no one tried to hide away from the world.
“It’s just this cold,” said Mom. “We’re not getting outside as much and it’s giving us both cabin fever.”
I nodded, mute.
“And now it’s time for you to finish your report.”
I clenched my teeth as she turned away and squeezed some oil paint onto her palette. One thing for sure, even writing about the industrial revolution would be a big improvement over talking to my mom.
I stomped to my study desk, flopped open the textbook, and stared down at the words that meant nothing to me.
However, I’d learned one new thing. We’d be leaving our seclusion in a few years. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized this was a very important bit of information. Why a few years? Was she waiting for something? Maybe she did something illegal and was waiting for the police to stop looking for her. Or maybe she was waiting for her paintings to become popular so she could re-enter the world with a lot of money.
Or was she waiting for me to grow up? The thought hit me like a fist. I’d never considered that I might be the reason she was hiding out. Maybe she was trying to protect me until I grew up and could protect myself. But protect me from what? Did I have enemies?
I looked over at Mom, busy across the room. She was mixing her colors and seemed to be concentrating. But I could see the light from our big front window play across the tight muscles in her face. She was clenching her jaw too. And she wasn’t moving fluidly and without thought as she usually did at the easel.
She wasn’t fooling anyone. She was shaken by our conversation as well. She’d realized she’d told me too much. What on earth was going on?