Benjie Boy

by Megan Soyars

Benjie Boy

It was a week or so ago that we first learned Dad was getting laid off at work. My Dad’s an insurance salesman, though he won’t be for much longer—the company’s folding. I remember how he came home for supper one night looking black as hell, not even bothering to change out of his office clothes before dropping into a chair and breaking the bad news to us. Suppers after this have become increasingly tense. Tonight is no exception.

All of us are around the table, since my step-mom Lucille has this thing where supper is “family time.” Dad’s already finished (he doesn’t eat much these days) and is looking around at the rest of us with a dark expression. I’ve got a feeling bad news is coming, and wonder how much more this family can take.

Then Dad turns to Jake.

“Boy, I’m planning on selling your horse at auction next month.”

Jake stares at Dad, a piece of un-chewed chicken in his mouth. He chews and swallows it with effort. Then he says, “You don’t mean it. Why?”

“I do mean it,” Dad says. “You know we can’t afford an animal like this now.”

“Oh, poor Benjie Boy,” Lucille says sympathetically. (That’s Jake’s horse.) But the way she says it sounds like she’s known about this beforehand. Then she says, like she’s reading off a script, “Well, we’ve all got to make sacrifices, Jakey.”

Lucille looks a little like Dolly Parton, only maybe more white trash. She wears a lot of make-up, cheap jewelry, and has teased-up hair frosted a pale blond. She also has an ex-husband, but we don’t know anything about him except that he was a bull-rider in the Southern Alabama rodeo circuit, and they’d been married two years. This is at least a longer stretch than she’s had so far with Dad, who she met last year in a bar. They’d gotten hitched six months later. I like Lucille well enough; she stays out of my business, but she also got me a job at the wig and nail salon where she works, despite the fact that I was originally under-qualified. When I first started working there, I didn’t know the difference between a flat iron and a hot roller, but Lucille taught me that soon enough. All in all, she’s an improvement over Dad, who’s parenting skills I’ve been forced to deal with since Mom died eight years ago of lymphatic cancer. Now Dad and Lucille are both sitting across from me, my motley parents, Lucille pushing her undercooked peas around on her plate and Dad glaring hard at Jake.

“Do you know how much money that horse eats up in feed a week, Jake?” Dad asks.

“No,” Jake says, resentful now.

“Sixty bucks a week. Sixty bucks a week, boy. Do you know what we could do with that money?”

“Buy me a car?” I say.

Dad scowls. “Stay out of this, Jessica. But if we had that money, It’d go in your college fund.”

“What makes you think I’m going to college?”

“We’ve been over this before. You’re going to goddamn college.”

I decide there’s no use in creating a second argument over the first argument that’s already occurring at the dinner table, so I shut up. Lucille casts me a sympathetic look; she dropped out of junior college four weeks into her first semester. Dad has turned his attention back to Jake.

“It’s just too tight right now, Jake,” he says. “I’m fixing to get laid off and Lord knows Lucille can’t support us at the wig and nail salon.”

“I work there too,” I pipe up. This time everybody ignores me.

“It’s not fair,” Jake says loudly. “That’s my horse.”

“It’s mine, son. I bought him and pay for him.”

“Well, I’ll get a job—”

“At fourteen?” Dad’s almost smirking a little, the way he does when he thinks somebody’s being stupid, but still feels sorry for them.

“I’ll do like Bobby Miller,” Jake persists. “He mows lawns—”

“It ain’t happening, whether you mow lawns or not,” Dad says in a finishing tone. “The auction’s next month and the horse is gone. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jake says through clenched teeth. Standing up, he throws his napkin on the table and stalks out of the room.

“Wait, Jakey!” Lucille calls. “You haven’t finished your peas and chicken yet!”

“Leave him, Lucille,” Dad mutters. “If he doesn’t want to eat, don’t force him.”

I’m not sure how this logic works, since Dad has just forced something on Jake a lot worse than finishing his peas and chicken, but I’ve long since given up trying to understand Dad.

******

When Mom died eight years ago, people used to say to me, “Oh, your poor father. Poor Ansel Evans.” I used to wonder what was so poor about him. He seemed too tough and hard to be poor—still pulling forty hours a week at the office, dragging me and Jake off to school during the week and daycare during the weekends, going to the grocery store, cooking up terrible meals of burnt chili and rubbery biscuits, but cooking nevertheless. Later, when I was older, I would look back on these moments to say, “See? See? That means he loved us.” Because otherwise it was hard to tell. Sometimes I even wondered if Dad had really loved anybody at all. I didn’t remember much of him with Mom. And him and Lucille—I didn’t want to examine that relationship too closely. But I did wonder if he cared about Benjie Boy the way me, Jake, and Lucille did. It was true that Dad had bought the Boy for Jake, though.

My mother’s brother, Bill, was a wealthy quarter horse breeder up in northern Georgia and in the older days when we were all a family, Dad and Mom would take us up to his ranch to ride the horses. Bill would put us on his older mares—the “kid horses” he called them—and let us ride them around happily around in his big green fields. I liked the horses well enough, but it was Jake who really loved them. His favorite was Bessie, a boxy brown mare who would mouth anybody a carrot. Jake would take her around the field, showing off for us by riding no hands or standing up in the saddle when Bess stopped to munch on some grass.

“That boy’s sure some little showman!” Bill would declare to us, as Mom laughed and Dad rolled his eyes.

After Mom died, we stopped going out to the ranch. But then, five years ago, Bill called us up to tell us Bess was having her last foal before he retired her. He wanted us to come up and see the foaling. Jake, excited, begged Dad to take us, and Dad grudgingly agreed. So we all went up to that place with the big green fields and clean barns and pedigreed horses, to watch Bess have her last foal. It was a pretty little brown colt, later to become our Benjie Boy. As Benjie tottered around in the straw to find his mom’s milk and Jake reached out in awe through the stall slats to touch his furry flank, Bill asked Dad if we wanted him.

“Aw no, William,” Dad said, making that face I’d seen him make a thousand times since Mom died, when I asked for new clothes or if Jake asked for a toy. “We couldn’t afford it.”

“It’s a valuable animal,” Bill agreed. “Out of our sire Black Ben. He’s got all his papers. But you’re family, Ansel. I’ll give you him now, for fifteen hundred.”

When Dad still looked reluctant, Bill leaned in and said quiet, “I can see how much that boy of yours loves this horse, Ansel. They’d sure make a pair. Jake needs something like this now, I think.”

Somehow, I’m not sure how, but Bill’s generous offer and Jake’s pleading looks finally did it for Dad. He broke down and wrote out a check for $1,500 and the colt became ours. But later, when we finally got Benjie Boy off his mom and took him home, I could tell Dad regretted his decision. Not only was keeping colt till he was a horse expensive, but our little acreage outside of town was never really set up for animals. We had a barn, but it was old and the door had come off and Jake had to spend hours after school making it hospitable for Benjie. The one thing that helped, or maybe even made it all worthwhile, was that Benjie was a great horse. We watched him go from a frisky little brown fur-ball to a big, beautiful five-year-old. Jake trained him himself with help from the trainer, Jim Rawlinson, who lived down the road. Now five years, hundreds of feed bags, and two broken saddles later, Benjie is like family. Well, at least family to Jake, Lucille, and me. I’m not so sure about Dad. As he likes to say, Benjie is, “about as useful as a pet rat, but a helluva lot more expensive.” But some nights, after he gets home from work, I’ll notice Dad go out the pasture and stand by the fence for awhile, just watching Benjie. I always wonder what he’s thinking about then.

*****

Since Dad made his pronouncement about selling Benjie Boy at the dinner table, Jake has taken to spending all his time out in the pasture, or taking Benjie out on long rides, bringing him back lathered in sweat and snorting, like someone had tried to ride him away from the devil. I figured I’d miss that horse. Then, one morning a week later, I finally get my chance.

I’m awakened this morning by the sound of Dad shouting and stomping around the house. Evidently something has managed to piss him off, which doesn’t come as a great surprise, since he’s been on edge all week. I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable pounding on my own door. It comes a moment later.

“Jessica! Jessica! Are you up?”

“Now I am,” I say.

The door swings open, revealing a red-faced and slightly crazy-looking Dad. I notice he hasn’t shaved yet or changed into his office clothes, despite the fact that it’s 10 o’clock. I guess now that he’s getting laid off he’s finally stopped caring.

“Where’s Benjie Boy?” he demands to me.

Out of all the words I expected to hear out of Dad’s mouth this morning, these were the last ones.

“Uh, in the pasture, I guess.”

“No, he’s not in the goddamn pasture,” Dad snaps, stalking into the room. I’m about to suggest that maybe Jake has taken him out for a ride when I notice Jake himself standing in the doorway. He shakes his head and mouths something to me I don’t catch. But Dad notices me looking and whips around.

“Jake, you’re gonna tell me where that horse is.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Jake says, shrugging. “Maybe he got tired of all the shit around here and left.”

Dad looks like maybe he wants to hit Jake or something, which he almost never does, so I say quick, “Dad, shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I’m not going to work till I find this damn horse,” Dad says, but he must know he can’t do this, because a moment later he pulls in frustration at his undershirt and stalks out of the room, shouting, “Lucille! Lucille! I want you to go out and look for that horse is with Jess today. Do you hear?”

“Yes, I hear, Ansel,” Lucille says tiredly. There’s a few more minutes of Dad grouching around the house, then the front door slams, so I know he’s gone off to work. The coast clear, me and Jake tiptoe into the kitchen. Lucille is sitting at the table with her jumbo cup of coffee.

“Jakey,” she says. “You’ve finally driven that daddy of yours over the edge.”

*****

After Dad leaves, me and Lucille (Jake stays up in his room) go out and half-heartedly check the fences and gate, to see if there was any way the Boy could’ve gotten out. Of course there’s not. Both Lucille and I know—though we don’t say—that Jake’s the reason for Benjie Boy’s disappearance. But we have to check, anyway. We even decide to drive around to see if Benjie’s anywhere on the road. Lucille and I head over to her old beat-up ’75 Toyota Corolla. I climb in the back like I always do, putting on the head phones of my CD player. We start off down the road together, heading away from town. I stare out the window, though I’m not really looking for Benjie. We’ve gone about three miles when Lucille looks into the rearview mirror at me.

“Hey, Jess,” she says. “Can you take those ear phones off a second? We can’t talk that way.”

“Who’s talking?” I say, but take them off.

“Thanks,” Lucille says, then slows down and pulls to the side of the road. I watch her put the car into park and take a cigarette out of her alligator-skin purse, lighting it up.

“Well, I guess we’re not looking for the horse anymore,” I say.

Lucille takes a long drag and blows it out the open window. “I don’t think we’re gonna find him, honey.”

Then she twists around in her seat to look at me. I see there’s a sad little smile on her face. “Y’know, sometimes I think that Jakey’s too smart for his own good, or maybe not smart enough,” she tells me.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean,” Lucille takes another drag, “is that it’s wrong what’s he’s doing to his daddy. He’s fourteen, old enough to know that.”

“Well, why are we selling the horse, anyway?” I say. “Dad’ll find another job. That’s all he knows how to do, is work.”

Lucille’s quiet for awhile, staring out the open window, where a herd of cattle is grazing. “That’s not the only thing, Jess,” she says finally. “We’re planning on moving.”

My heart jumps up. I hadn’t expected this.

“Moving? Where?”

“Into the city,” Lucille answers. “Ansel and I’ve been talking about it for awhile. He could get a better job, and I—I’ve been thinking about opening up my own nail salon. You know, be my own boss.” She tries to reach in the back to touch my knee, but can’t quite make it. “You’d be my first employee, Jess!”

“Hmm,” I mumble. I can’t say I’m exactly enticed by this offer. “When would we be moving?”

“Oh, not for awhile, girl. Not till you finish school, at least. But Jakey has to know he can’t keep that horse forever.”

“Well, nobody can keep anything forever,” I say, putting my headphones back on.

*****

Every weekday I put in some time at the wig and nail salon after school. Working all the time slightly limits my social life, but it also keeps cash in my pocket, which is especially useful now that Dad’s laid off. The salon’s only a block away from school, so I usually head there on foot, then Lucille drives me home. Sometimes I’ll hoof it the two miles home if Lucille’s working late. All of this is the joy of not owning a car, but I know better than to ask for one now.

“We’ve all gotta be making sacrifices, Jess,” as Lucille tells me one day at work. This is her seventh straight day of being at the salon.

“Hmm,” I say, trying to ignore the looks of pity our boss, Miriam Walker, is casting us from the front counter. Yesterday Miriam gave Lucille her Christmas bonus, despite the fact that it’s September.

Now Miriam sends Lucille on her break while I stay to finish brushing the shipment of new wigs that came in. This is actually my favorite part of the job, though I’d never admit it to anybody. Brushing wig hair is strangely soothing.

Just then the bell tinkles above our shop door. I look up, expecting a customer, but it’s only Jake. Apparently he’s just got off after-school care, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Miriam frowns at his dirty shoes on our new-mopped floor as he comes inside.

“Hey, Mizz Walker,” he says.

“Hey yourself, Jake,” she says back, snapping her gum and frowning harder at his shoes, but he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he comes over to me and asks, “Where’s Lucille at?”

“In the back taking a smoke,” I say. “Why?”

“I want to talk to her.”

“About what? Getting a pedicure?”

He sneers at me. “No, dumbass, I need to borrow some money.”

“What for?”

“What does it matter what for? Damn, don’t be so nosy, Jess.”

He pushes past me, his backpack knocking one of the wigs crooked. I straighten it back up, frowning, wondering what he’s up to. He rarely asks to borrow money, especially these days. Maybe it has something to do with the recent disappearance of Benjie Boy.

I’m on the last wig when Jake shows back up, one hand thrust in his jeans pocket, so I know he’s got that money off Lucille. I watch him go out the door and down the street, suddenly curious. I ask Miriam if I can leave early today and she’s says “yeah” but she can’t pay me for it. I say that’s fine and leave, hurrying until I catch up with Jake as he crosses the street down by the courthouse.

“Hey, Jake!”

He jumps and turns around, frowning a little when he sees it’s me.

“Hey, Jess. Where are you going?”

“Home. Like you.”

“Hrm.” Jake makes a little noise in his throat. “I’m not going home.”

“Where are you going, then?”

He hunches his shoulders and starts to walk again. “Nowhere that’s your business.”

I grab his arm, stopping him. Suddenly, I want to know what Jake’s up to more than anything. I’m sure it has something to do with Benjie. “C’mon, Jake, you can tell me. Where are you going?”

He stares at me, his eyes squinted. “So you won’t tell anybody? Not even Dad?”

“Nobody,” I promise.

Jake takes a deep breath, cutting his eyes back and forth along the street, as if he expects Dad to be crouching behind one of the bushes or something. Then he says, almost in a whisper, “Well, I’m going over to Rawlinson’s. I’ve been keeping Benjie Boy up there.”

“Jim Rawlinson, you mean the trainer?”

“Yeah.”

“But Jake he lives four doors down from us!” I exclaim.

“Yeah, I know. That’s how I can see Benjie everyday,” Jake says. Suddenly, I’m kind of disappointed in his skills.

“Yeah, but he lives four doors down from us. Don’t you think Dad’s gonna find out about this shit happening right under his nose?”

Jake stares at me, resentful. “I never should’ve told you.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, “since Dad’s gonna find out about it sooner or later. Either he’ll go over to Rawlinson’s, or Rawlinson’ll just tell him.”

“He won’t go over to Rawlinson ’cause he thinks he’s a stuck-up bastard, and Rawlinson won’t tell him because I’ve got a deal with him.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Rawlinson’s agreed to keep Benjie up as long as I pay to feed him.”

Now I understand why Jake’s been asking to borrow money. “How long’s he gonna let you do this?” I ask.

Jake shrugs, getting a ‘Dad’ look on his face; a tense, guarded look. “However long I want.”

“Well, you can’t keep him there forever.”

“Why not?”

“You just can’t, Jake!” I say, exasperated. “How are you affording this, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

We’re quiet for awhile.

“Is he happy?” I ask finally.

“Who?”

“Benjie Boy.”

Jake looks sideways over at me, then grins. Sometimes I think Jake looks too much like Dad, with his long skinny face and pale, washed-out gray eyes. But when he grins, I think Jake looks like Mom. “Yeah,” he says, almost wistful. “He’s got three pretty little fillies in there with him, so I’d say he’s happy.”

*****

One Saturday afternoon, I’m heading up our half-mile driveway after being dropped up by a friend. I’d been hanging around her house and trying to forget about the Benjie Boy problem, but when I see our red Chevy coming down the driveway with our ghetto, rusty horse-trailer attached to it, it all comes rushing back. I almost hope Dad won’t stop when he sees me, but he does. Rolling down his window, he sticks his head out. “Hey, Jess. Lucille’s working late tonight so I want you to start supper, okay?”

“Okay,” I say. “Where are you going?”

Dad looks out the window and squints. Suddenly I know what’s coming.

“I’ve found that damn horse of your brother’s.”

“Where?”

“At Rawlinson’s,” Dad says. “That man should have told me he had the horse. That’s theft, in my opinion. Not right to do that to another man.”

“Well, he knows Jake loves Benjie Boy,” I say.

Dad snorts. “And he knows I paid good money for Jake to love him. Well, I’m going down to talk to him and get that damn animal back.”

“To sell him?”

“What do you think I’m doing all this for?” Dad asks, sharp. “The auction’s next week and I’ll haul him over there. Good thing I caught that thieving bastard with the horse before it was too late.”

He puts the truck into gear, but I run forward and grab the door. “Wait! I want to go with you.”

“What for?”

“To say goodbye to Benjie Boy.”

Dad snorts. For some reason, he looks almost disappointed in me. “Alright, get in, then.”

As I go around and climb in the truck, Dad says, “Both of you kids are just too attached to that horse.”

“Didn’t you have an animal you were attached to when you were a kid?” I ask.

“Yeah, but not like you all. I grew up on a ranch, hon. I knew dogs died, pigs got killed, horses got sold. Time Jake learns this, too.”

“Don’t you think Jake’s learned about loss enough already?” I say without thinking. As soon as the words are out, I regret them.

Dad looks over at me, sharp. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, but it’s too late now. Dad’s looking disgusted, almost as if he hates me. “Don’t even compare what happened to her to this, Jessica. That has nothing to do with this. It’s a goddamn animal!”

“I know, I know,” I say, sinking down in my seat till my knees hit the dashboard. My stomach’s got a funny, sick feeling in it and I don’t dare look at Dad. But after a few minutes, I risk a glance over at him. He’s staring out the windshield now, his face is a hard mask, almost expressionless. The one person who might have known how to break through this look is gone now, and we don’t talk about her anymore.

*****

All the way to Rawlinson’s (which is about six minutes) I stay quiet, staring out the window. Rawlinson’s place is only four properties down from ours, but when we get there it’s like another world. We’ve got a rundown barn and 20 acres. Rawlinson has at least 50 acres, two well-kept barns, and wide, grassy pasture for the three horses he owns. I realize with a pang of guilt that this is a better set-up for Benjie Boy than we’ve ever had. Dad pulls up between the barns and the house and parks.

“Just stay in the truck, Jessica,” he says shortly, climbing out and slamming the door behind him. I watch him go up to the Rawlinson’s front door and knock on it. As soon as he disappears inside the house, I jump out of the truck and head towards the Rawlinson’s barn. Fuck Dad and his rules for once.

Sure enough, Benjie Boy is there, in the last stall. He knickers when I come up, putting his head over the door. The sight of him makes me suddenly and briefly happy.

“Hey, ol’ Boy,” I say, giving him a rub over his nose. “How’re you doing?”

He can’t answer me, but I can tell well enough how he’s doing by his look. His eyes are bright and alert, his stomach nice and round under his ribs. The Boy’s been getting fed good. I figure Rawlinson must be sneaking him some oats when Jake’s pay can’t quite cover the feed.

“You’ve sure been creating some problems around here, Boy,” I say. “But you’re doing alright, at least.”

He knickers, like he’s giving an answer. He’s moving his feet up and down in the stall and I realize he’s expecting a ride. Jake probably takes him out every time he comes here.

“Looking to get out?” I say. “Well…” Suddenly it occurs to me that this might be the last chance for Benjie to get a good ride. Who knows who’s going to buy him at the auction tomorrow? Looking around, I catch sight of reins and a saddle near the wall. I look back at Benjie. He stares at me keenly through his big dark eyes.

“You know what…” I say.

Minutes later, I’ve got Benjie out of the stall and saddled up. Climbing onto his back, I ride him out of the barn and down the trail that leads from it. Passing the house, I throw a glance over at it. I have no idea how long Dad will be in there with Rawlinson, but at the moment I don’t care. I just want one last ride with Benjie.

Looking down, I see the vague imprint of horse’s hooves on the ground. Obviously this is a well-worn trail. I wonder if Jake’s ever taken Benjie down it, and bet he has. The thought puts a funny sort of pain in my chest. I realize Jake should be on this horse’s back now, not me. But he’s somewhere else right now, oblivious to it all.

Benjie strains a little against the reins, so I give him his head. It doesn’t take much to put him into a gallop, and we go tearing down the trail. We take a few turns a little dangerously (I never was the best the rider) but Benjie keeps his feet and slows only when the trail starts to peter out. I rein him the rest of the way in and turn him around. I’ve got that sort of hyped-up, reckless feeling you can get from galloping a horse, but I still haven’t forgotten how I have to bring him back. My heart jumps on top of its already quick beat when, looking around, I realize I might be a little lost. Hell, I don’t know Rawlinson’s place. Nevertheless, I start Benjie down the way I’ve think we’ve gone. After awhile, he seems to sense we’re heading back to their barns and starts to walk more confidently. I give him his head again and we make good time all the way down the trail. Soon enough, I can see Rawlinson’s house and barns through the trees. Two men are standing tensely near one of the barns. I ride up to them. It’s Dad and Rawlinson—Dad looking pissed as hell and Rawlinson staring at me in nervous relief from underneath that Rawlinson’s Stables cap he always wears.

“There ya are, Jessica,” he says. “I was afraid you’d gone off and taken that horse the way your brother did.”

“No sir,” I say, but I’m looking at Dad. “I’ve brought him back for you.”

Dad only scowls, spitting in the dust. “Well come on then, get off, Jessica,” he says, reaching out and grabbing the reins roughly. Benjie jerks his head up a little. Dad never was gentle with that horse. I climb off and Dad starts to lead Benjie over to our trailer. I notice Rawlinson watching Dad through squinted eyes.

“Hey, Ansel,” he calls suddenly.

“Yeah?” Dad says, without turning around.

“You really planning on selling that horse?”

Now Dad stops. “Yeah. At auction next week. What about it?”

“Well…” Rawlinson hesitates, his hand going into his pocket. It looks like he’s trying to decide about something. “I’d….be willing to buy him from you.”

Dad finally decides to come back over. He’s got a business look on his face.

“Yeah? How much are you willing?”

“Three thousand.”

This isn’t a cheap price, but not healthy, either. I’m kind of surprised Rawlinson is even offering, though. I know well enough he doesn’t need a horse. He’s got three fillies already, and only two daughters. He must not be doing this for himself, I think. I look over at Dad.

Dad’s standing with his shoulders hunched forward, his brow furrowed. It’s a funny look—half downtrodden, half defiant, but familiar enough to me. It’s a look both he and Jake share. Then Dad says, “Well, I was hoping to get more for him at auction. That’s a good horse.”

“Maybe you could get more for him at auction,” Rawlinson agrees. “But I’m willing to pay three thousand now. The horse would stay here—and your boy can come by and see him, every weekend if he likes.”

Dad looks from Rawlinson, to me, to the horse. It occurs to me that he should do something noble in this moment—straighten his back, lay his hand on the horse’s neck, say, “I appreciate the offer, Jim.”

But instead he mutters, almost petulant, “Thirty-five hundred.”

If Rawlinson’s wincing inside, he doesn’t show it outside. “Thirty-five hundred, Ansel.”

Only now does Dad shake the trainer’s hand. Then he gives me the reins. “Put the horse back in the barn, Jessica.”

I take the reins, hardly believing it. The horse is staying here. Jake’ll be able to see him.

As I’m walking away, Rawlinson calls to my back, “Unsaddle him and put him in the pasture with the other horses, Jessica.”

“Yes sir,” I say.

After unsaddling Benjie in the barn, I take him over to the pasture where the three fillies are. Benjie knickers to them as we come up, as if to say “I’m back, girls!” I lead him through the gate, taking off the reins and giving him a rub over his neck before letting him go. He gives me one last, alert look before bending his head to crop at the grass.

“Goodbye now, Benjie,” I say. “You’re home.”

*****

It’s been five months since Benjie’s been sold to Rawlinson, and I guess we’re all doing alright. Dad’s finally broken it to the family that we’ll be moving in a year, as soon as I’m done with high school. I’m betting it was more Lucille’s idea than Dad’s to wait. But I’m thankful anyway; I’d like to finish out school in the place where I grew up. Jake’s thankful too, but for a different reason. It gives him a little bit more time to be with Benjie Boy. Jake still goes over to Rawlinson’s place every weekend, not only to see Benjie now, but to help Rawlinson work with training the other horses. Jake tells me, with a half-sad, half-proud grin on his face, that Rawlinson says he’s got a “true sense for horsemanship.” I believe that. I also believe Jake would rather stay here with the horses than move into the city with us. But at fifteen (which is how old Jake’s now) you don’t have a lot of say in matters like these. I remember how when Dad told us at that day we were moving, Jake left the house and went outside to stand by the pasture fence, the way Dad used to do when we still owned Benjie. Dad watched Jake through the window but didn’t go out to him. I kind of wished he would’ve, though. When somebody realizes they’ve lost something, they want somebody to be there for them. My father should know about that well enough. We all should.