© Virginia Small 2007

Muster

The cooling dark of dusk reclaimed the air in the barn as the sun set. The disturbed, heated dust particles of the dying afternoon settled back into the pattern of horse hooves on the dirt floor. She waited there, at the post by the stallion stalls, for him to come in. Today was the day she told him everything. The bay and the black watched her slender form, long breezy dress, and loose dark hair with high-strung, hot-blooded mistrust. The smaller stallion, the gray that was actually white, ignored her and closed his eyes. She felt like running to the far side of the barn – to the mare and gelding stalls where they knew her and loved her, always poking out their long noses through the wooden slats while snuffling and snorting breathy horse greetings.

She stepped tentatively toward the gray’s stall. His name, Muster, was carved carefully below the opening where he eagerly stuck out his head every morning, anticipating her husband James and the morning feeding. A slim, tan hand nervously shaded sharp green eyes against a final, orange ray of sun. No sign of him. Yet. Moving closer to the stall door she dug into her pocket for a sugar cube.

She had named him Muster two years ago when his dam had died after giving birth. Everyone thought he would die too. The men left, dragging away his mother’s body and she stayed and watched him breathing slower and slower as he lay on his side, crumpled and tiny in the far corner of the big birthing stall, trembling and then…still. She had left too. Sarah had only read about life leaving a body back then and she couldn’t bear the thought of watching it. Now she knew what it felt like.

The next morning, James had gone out to bury the body of the colt and found him standing weakly in the stall, shaking and starving but alive and upright. “This little sumbitch mustered up some courage for fightin’ now didn’t he?” he had exclaimed in wonder to his wife and the two stable hands as they clustered around the first bottle-feeding. “Oh, Jay,” she cried, an idea striking her, “Name him that!”

“What? Sumbitch?” he asked, confused.

“No! Name him Muster. It fits just fine!” He’d kissed her soundly and agreed, “All right, I will.” But all she got was the naming of him. She was never allowed to feed or touch the scrawny little colt, the prancing yearling or the unpredictable stallion. “Stallions will kill a woman. They’re mean.” James had said and ignored her feeble requests to have a hand in raising him. James sometimes came home with dark bruises and deep bites so maybe he was telling the truth about the stallions. “Muster’s the worse,” he would say. “Stay away from him.”

Sarah named all the horses. James would never have named them. He would have called them by their by color, size, and sexes. The same things he sold them by.

“Mister Muster,” Sarah called softly. His ears swiveled towards her but his eyes remained closed. He knew she was there. She held out the sugar cube, palm flat. His nostrils quivered, sensitive to the sweet richness of sugar on hay-flavored breezes. He opened his liquid brown eyes and gazed at her, extended his neck in her direction and his soft, whiskered lips parted and hovered above her hand, warm breath and horse whiskers tickling it. She felt afraid for half a moment at the sight of his great teeth – and then the sugar was gone. Suddenly, staccato vibrations told her bare feet of a rider’s approach. She whirled to face the road. Mere seconds brought the hoof beats heavier, faster, and closer. James saw her.

Half a mile away, struck by spurs to a vicious gallop, the alpha stallion, a blood red chestnut that was more demon than animal and meaner than hellfire, careened dangerously toward her. His long powerful legs devoured the empty ground between husband and wife. She named the chestnut Devil Prince. She stood rooted in the loose dirt, Muster’s stall at her back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him snort and paw angrily at the far side of his enclosure. Muster hated Devil Prince and Devil Prince hated everyone except James. James called him Prince.

In the two breaths it took for James and Devil to storm the stallions’ hitching post she sensed the same primeval wildness in the man that she recognized in the animal. The man-horse mass of tense muscles, labored breathing, and violence surged in front of her, coloring her fear with brilliant chestnut horse hair, sweaty brown leather, and James’ worn blue work clothes. “You stupid woman!” he spat at Sarah throwing reins around wood. Devil pranced sideways and shook foam off his bit. “I told you – stay away from my goddamn stallions.” The black and bay, sensing the tension, began pacing in their stalls. Muster kicked his water bucket. “Look at what you’ve done. You made them crazy.” He grabbed his bullwhip from behind the saddle and Devil half-reared. Sarah remained motionless amidst the man and horseflesh heaving around her. She had never been here before. Any motion and heat in the small house was confined to brief, bedroom sex and unending meal preparation and consumption.

James strode to the stalls and struck the bay, Caesar, and the black, Thor, on their delicate noses with the solid butt of his whip. A think trickle of blood appeared in Thor’s left nostril as he echoed Caesar’s scream of pain. Horse screams are unnatural, unearthly. They freeze the blood. The mares and geldings at the far end of the barn answered with fearful whinnies. James stood in front of her and Muster. “Move or you’re next,” he threatened. He never beat her with his hands before; only his words. “We should never have gotten married. I’m not ready to be with just one woman,” spoken bitterly two days after the wedding. “I care more about Prince than your whole fucking family.” Only what really hurt. She felt Muster shaking with anticipation of the blow to come. Her mouth was dry and speechless. He tossed his head behind her, silver in the dark, the wild whites of his eyes visible. In a flash she remembered the little gray colt, wobbling back onto his feet, mustering against death. She found her voice, “No. I have to tell you something.” He grabbed her arm to shove her aside. “It can wait you stupid whore.” Sarah clutched the whip above his calloused hand and pulled with all her might. In his surprise he almost let go. “No. Now!” She screamed furiously. Sarah never screamed, it wasn’t how she was brought up.

James stopped and took a small step back. Consternation played over his handsome, rugged features. He had never seen his timid, polite slip of wife like this. Not in three years of marriage. Only once when she was seventeen, right after they were married, did he see any fire in her. He had thrown away some of her books while she was visiting her parents to make room for his new knife collection on a shelf. She had looked like the deer in the headlights right before he hit it with his truck and killed it last New Year’s Eve.

“Alright. What?” he allowed himself, savoring the thick, heavy flavor of all the vile things he would say to her when she finished complaining. “I got into college in California. UCLA.” Sarah said calmly, not letting go of the whip. “My dad and uncle will be here in a few minutes so don’t try anything.” James laughed in disbelief, “You lying bitch. You didn’t even finish high school.” “I got my GED last year. I’m leaving you.” Sarah stood straight and strong, feeling tall even though he loomed above her by more than a foot.

The automatic lights clicked on and flooded the barn with brilliant, artificial light. James dropped the whip in the dust and looked stunned. “You can’t, we’re married. I love you…You’re mine.” She looked scornfully into his thick-lashed brown eyes, “I don’t belong to anyone, especially you.” She turned away from him wrapped her arms around Muster’s neck and wove her fingers into his mane, breathing in the warm, earthy smell of horse and night air in late Texas summer. She turned her head slightly in his direction, “Oh and I packed you a bag- my final domestic act as your wife. You have to be off the property by midnight. I sold the ranch to my parents.” James blanched under his tan. “You can’t do that.” Sarah laughed, “Yes I can. It’s all in my name, remember? You ruined your credit so we used mine.”

James stood, beaten and empty handed. He backed slowly away from her until he reached Devil Prince. With shaking fists he mounted. Devil shifted his weight uneasily, testing the bit. He sensed his rider’s uncertainty. James jabbed the sharp spurs into his side and Devil bolted. Sarah smiled at his rigid, retreating back. The police would be after him tomorrow for horse theft.

Sarah kissed Muster’s forelock and went to wet a cloth with warm water. She was gently cleaning out Thor’s bloody nostril when her dad and uncle pulled up. They glanced around grimly for any sign of James. “He’s gone, Daddy.” Sarah said, running to embrace her father. He put his arms around her, “And you’re back?” he asked. Sarah nodded, gazing at the rows of stalls, the deep country darkness, and the bright California future. “I’m back.”