Рита Браун - Tail Gait

“I’d come out to look over The Barracks and found the old milepost marker. Curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat. In your case, you got an earthquake,” Marshall replied. “And thank you for your help.”

Driving home, Harry noticed a chimney had tumbled down on an old farmhouse.

“Wonder if we’re okay?” Tucker looked out the window to see people standing outside their homes or walking around them.

Talking to her animal friends, a habit, Harry said, “Big risk equals big money. If you’re smart, read the signs as well as have some luck. I can’t imagine how much debt Marshall incurs when he builds these subdivisions. A lot of that is bank money and the clock is ticking on the loan.” She exhaled. “And I wonder how many houses he has to sell to draw even? After that, pure profit. But he knows what he’s doing. He’s been at this since before I was born. Paul has to replace anything that dies within a year, keep up the big nursery, pay the help, pay for fertilizer, keep those greenhouses going. Tell you what, wimps don’t go into businesses like that. I know how I fret over my sunflower crop. I don’t think I could take the pressure they do.”

“You don’t have to,” Mrs. Murphy reassuringly told her. “You have us.”

“Since when do we make her money?” Pewter wondered.

“We don’t. We keep her from wasting it.” Tucker felt her patrolling alone saved security costs.

“She’s lucky,” Pewter bragged.

“For now,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

“What do you mean?” Tucker’s ears shot straight up.

“You know before a big storm or this earthquake we feel things she doesn’t?” Mrs. Murphy explained. “When they do feel it, it’s too late. I feel something about those deaths. Something’s coming.”

May 10, 2015

A boom, a crackle sent Harry running back into the barn from the pasture. No sooner did her feet touch the center aisle than a flash of pink lightning struck the field she’d just vacated.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, thanks to speed, preceded her into the barn.

Another tremendous clap of thunder was followed by rolling thunder. Another bolt of lightning struck in the back pastures, white this time.

Within seconds the rains began, large drops, each of which seemed to thud when it hit the earth.

The horses in the barn eating their early morning grain lifted their heads.

Tomahawk, the aging gray Thoroughbred, watched. “Blast.”

Shortro, the athletic Saddlebred in the next stall, swallowed his grain, replied, “No turnout for a while. This is going to last.”

As the words left his mouth, the rain intensified, slamming the roof, battering windowpanes. The noise sounded like a steady roar. You couldn’t hear yourself think.

Walking into the tack room, closing the door behind her once the cats and dog came inside, she could hear better. The rat-tat-tat-tat on the roof, loud, let her know the rain poured. The hayloft ran on the opposite side of the aisle, across from the tack room. Over the tack room she stored winter blankets zipped into huge plastic bags. That afforded a bit more muffling, but she sank at the desk, wondering how long this would last.

Her cellphone had a weather map. She punched in the icon, pulled up the map.

“You all, it’s a huge green blob with yellow and red parts. Ugly.” She commented on the radar map, colorized, to help people gauge timing, danger, et cetera. “Yesterday an earthquake. Today, this.”

A warning scroll appeared at the top of the picture. She tapped it, a flood warning.

“Ugh and ugly” was all she said.

The wall clock read 8:30 A.M. Even when the rain passed, which would not be anytime soon, the ground would be too soaked to plow or seed. She didn’t want to turn the horses out until the worst of the storm passed. The temperature hovered in the high fifties.

At loose ends, Harry, never happy without a plan, picked up the desk phone and called Susan. “What’s it doing over there?”

“Unreal.”

“Here, too. I can’t get anything done.”

“You can always clean out your closet,” Susan suggested.

“What an awful thought.”

“Well, if you’d throw out all those sweatshirts, including the ones from high school, you’d have more room.”

“It’s not that bad. I haven’t had time to cut them up for rags.”

“You’ve had twenty-five years.” Susan wasn’t buying it.

“I have not. When we graduated, the sweatshirts were good and so were the tees.”

“Will you just go do it and shut up about it? And after you knock that out, throw out half of your shoes.”

“My shoes! What, do you want me to go barefoot and get hookworm?”

“You won’t go barefoot and you are way beyond Mary Janes.”

“Susan, that’s unfair. I haven’t worn Mary Janes since my mother made me when I was little.”

“Some of those shoes are horrible. Don’t even donate them to Goodwill. Burn them.”

“Aren’t you hateful today?”

“Maybe so, but I have organized closets with plenty of room.”

“That’s because you never come out of your closet.”

“Very funny. You’re certainly peevish today.”

“Am I? Maybe I am. I had the whole day planned to overseed my pastures. Spring is so late this year, I kept putting it off, and I’m glad I did.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t do it yesterday. It would all be washed away today.”

“I might as well surrender and do paperwork, my idea of hell.”

“Isn’t it everybody’s? Call me when you’re finished and we can celebrate.”

Harry hung up, checked the clock again, pulled out the long middle drawer of the desk and the farm checkbook with it. Maybe she could get a jump-start on the bills.

The phone rang.

Thinking it was Susan, she picked it up. “Now what?”

A long silence followed this. “Mrs. Haristeen?”

She recognized Snoop’s voice, became instantly alert. “It is. Sorry, I thought it was my best friend calling back.”

“It’s hard to hear.” He raised his voice. “Can you pick me up?”

“Where are you?”

“Parking lot at the Omni. I’m inside the downstairs door.”

“Hang on. I’ll get there as soon as I can,” she shouted into the phone, hoping she’d be heard over the din.

Throwing on her old Barbour coat, she hurried to the back barn doors, closing them with a slight opening for air. Then she trotted to the door closest to the house, cats and dogs with her, stepped outside, and repeated the procedure.

The four creatures were soaked by the time they reached the truck. Lifting the dog in—the cats were already there—she hopped in, cranked the motor, and drove slowly. She could barely see, even with the windshield wipers on full force.

Driving down the road, Harry saw few cars. Some drivers had parked under underpasses, others pulled off to the side of the road. What kept her going was worry for Snoop plus the sure knowledge that if she waited the creeks would jump their banks. She wanted to get there and back before that happened. With rain sliding across the roads she figured, at best, she had an hour.

Finally reaching the Omni, she turned off into the parking lane, stopped at the meter, unrolled the window, pushed the button, and took the ticket. Brief though that motion was, the ticket and her left arm from the elbow down were soaked. She drove down under the large overhang. Anyone in this part of the parking lot would be dry.