Calico Horses and the Patchwork Trail Page 3

  It was a busy Tuesday at the Musical Mustangs Bed & Breakfast. Just as people were checking in, a false alarm brought fire trucks with sirens blaring right to her front door. Her cook had used too much oil that morning and the smoke billowing out the back door scared a customer into dialing 911. Sam apologized to the firemen, gave them some fresh pastries, and sent them on their way. Somebody ought to give me treats, she thought. I’m the one always putting out the fires. Just then Kelly, who was working the front desk, called over to her, “It’s your friend, Brenda, on the phone. I can hardly hear her. I think it’s a weak connection.”

  Sam headed to her office and as she was about to pick up the extension a small swatch of fabric hanging off the side of the receiver caught her eye. What, another one? she thought. Is Max bringing these in?

  “Hi, Brenda. Did you pump your gas okay? Where are you, anyway? She laughed as she opened the drawer to tuck the swatch in among the others.

  “We just passed the sign welcoming us to Ohio,” said Brenda.

  “Sweet, so how’s the trip so far? You sounded like you were really freaking.”

  “I didn’t know that I would have to pump my own gas, Sam. But I managed and so far it’s been all right. We hit a thunderstorm last night and had to stop earlier than I’d planned. We’re both really tired and I decided to just enjoy this time with Carrie. It’s not a race.”

  “That’s true. Take your time and see the country.”

  “Yep, that’s just what I told my daughter. We’re exploring this together. You know, I’ve never driven this far from Jersey, so we’re learning about these new places at the very same time…me at thirty-six and Carrie at ten.”

  “Wow, I never thought of it that way…. Hey, Brenda, you’re fading out. Should I call back?”

  “It’s probably just a bad signal; I’ll call again later. Don’t worry about us—we’re doing great. Bye.”

  Sam opened the drawer and looked at the swatches of fabric. They were each a different color, some with tiny flowers and others with paisleys and one was covered in tiny polka dots. They were clean and neat without a smudge of dirt on them. These don’t seem like anything Max could have carried in his mouth, she thought. She sniffed them. They smelled like freshly washed clothes. Where are these things coming from?

  She decided today would be the day she would solve this puzzle and would question every employee. She slid back from her chair and noticed that Max was staring at something on the wall. She studied the same spot and saw nothing. His tail was perfectly still and his body looked as if it was strangely alert. What is he looking at? she thought. Silly cat, she laughed. “There’s nothing there, you big goof.”

  He ignored her and sat eyes fixed as if he were in a trance. I hope he’s not getting sick, she thought, and stomped her foot to wake him. He slowly turned his head, acknowledging her, and then returned looking with fascination into space. Oh, geez, maybe he’s meditating, she laughed. I wonder if animals meditate? Sam meditated daily and it was a routine that never failed to bring her peace. She and Brenda had started back in college when they both were into yoga. The classes were expensive and she fell away from that daily routine, but the meditation…well, that was different. That felt like a personal connection to something from another world; not outer space world…more like inner world. Sam had stopped talking about the wonders of meditation to others since most people rolled their eyes or made assumptions about some underlying meaning to it. People would rather sit their butts down in front of a TV set and complain about the world, she thought. You try and tell them about a nice quiet way to calm their minds and bodies and to them it sounds like too much work. So she kept it to herself, knowing it helped her to disconnect from the clatter and noise of people who liked to talk about problems while never looking for solutions…the same people who told her meditation was for health nuts and religious freaks.

  As the day quietly came to an end, the hectic pace of the B&B melted away with the sun. Guests who had been touring all day in jostling jeeps now sat lazily stretched in comfy chairs. The coolness of the darkened room felt soothing and the piano player’s tip jar was filling up. The candles flickered in time with the music and the evening breeze danced with the curtains. Sam’s quest to discover the secret of the mysterious swatches remained unsolved and she left it for another day. Max was asleep under a table. He opened one eye, decided the day no longer held adventure, and fell back into his dreams where the mice seemed tastier.

  Chapter 7

  I have no more tears, thought Carrie. I feel as if I am still bawling but my eyes are dry. It’s as if I am crying in my tummy, she thought. Her mom looked over and smiled. Carrie forced a quick grin and returned to her peanut butter toast.

  “I’m thinking of taking a little side trip before we get to our new place,” Brenda announced.

  Who cares? thought Carrie. I’m in no hurry to go to a place I already hate. What’s difference did it make?

  “What do you think?” Brenda asked.

  “Fine,” mumbled Carrie, not bothering to look up.

  “I think it will be fun and it may give us some answers to those empty holes in our family tree.”

  “Huh…ancestry stuff again? Where are we going?”

  Brenda had spent countless hours in front of her computer and in the local library sifting through their family history. The years spent in research had become an ongoing puzzle she had shared with her daughter. Every time she uncovered a new clue she would rush into Carrie’s bedroom waving some document about some dead relative. At first Carrie thought it was a passing hobby that her mom would outgrow, like macramé and candy making, but now she saw it as a family quest and it intrigued her. Carrie no longer smirked whenever her mom brought up the subject and realized it was a passion that was also becoming her own. Who they were and where they came from made an interesting journey through old documents, photos, family bibles, and stories handed down through generations. It used to be her mom’s family, but the more she thought about it she realized this was her family and her own history, too.

  “We’re so close to the Family History Library that we may as well check it out,” Brenda said.

  Carrie sat up in her seat. “You mean they store all of the genealogy stuff we have been looking for?”

  “Well, who knows what they have, but I think it’s worth a trip.”

  “Do you have all your notes?” asked Carrie, realizing it was a silly question, as her mother never left the house without her laptop.

  Before Brenda could answer, the waitress appeared at their table. “Anything else?” she asked, ripping a page out of a note pad and handing them the bill.

  “Yes, please,” said Carrie, now ravenous. “Can I have some pancakes with extra syrup?”

  Brenda checked the map again as she glanced up to read the approaching exit sign. “We should be at the library in a few minutes.” Carrie had not looked up or spoken since she had flipped open the laptop. She was thoroughly engrossed in comparing data and making notes of what she wanted to look up in the library.

  Geez, thought Brenda, I really have created a monster. But the change in Carrie’s attitude was obvious and she was thankful for the distraction.

  “Hey, Mom—do you think we might get out of Connecticut?” she asked, referring to the last known male relative that was born in Connecticut.

  “Well, that’s what we’re hoping for.” Brenda thought back over the discoveries and the many dead ends and wondered where it would all lead. When does the searching end, she wondered? Did other people just go back to their last known relative and say, “Well, that’s it. The road ends here.” And what did it matter? she thought. Will it really tell me who I am and where I’ve come from? What about all of the adopted people in the world…they don’t even know their own parents, and here I am looking for the great-great-greats of my past. Is there a connection? She glanced at Carrie, who was scribbling fiercely into her notebook. There must be because it’s been gnawing at me all my li
fe and from the looks of it I have infected my own daughter with this never-ending quest.

  She drove into the library parking lot and tried to calm the hope that was bubbling up to the surface. “We may not find anything, you know.”

  “I know,” Carrie said, “but at least we can try.”

  Brenda turned the car off and as she reached for her laptop case was surprised to find it already on her daughter’s shoulder. Carrie had even brushed her hair and was disposing of trash from the car. Wow, thought Brenda, she’s really on fire and chomping at the bit. The hurt looks and red puffy eyes of the past few days were suddenly replaced with an upturned chin and a look of hopeful anticipation. Here she was thinking she was guiding Carrie away from her pain and maybe it was the other way around.

  “Lead the way,” she said, as her daughter nodded, smiling back over her shoulder. And she did.

  Chapter 8

  A cold wet feeling interrupted Milla’s dream. It was a dream about her grandmother. They were walking along a trail searching for something. She was in the middle of tying a shoe and as she looked up suddenly her face felt wet. She woke to a dog licking her face.

  “Ugh, what are you…?” She jumped up and moved back.

  Her dad was leaning against the doorframe grinning. “We have a new house guest who wanted to say good morning,” he said.

  “Oh, you are so beautiful! Where did you come from?” she asked, petting the dog.

  “She belongs to some people who are moving out here from New Jersey. A friend of mine was supposed to watch her, but something came up so I offered to take her until they arrive.”

  “How did she get here all the way from New Jersey? Do you know her name?” asked Milla, as the dog snuggled next to her on the bed.

  “My friend, Alan, who is a casino dealer—you may have met him when he came to the house that time to help me fix the roof.”

  “The tall guy who looks like he should be a basketball player?” she laughed. “I remember him, he kept accidently dropping tools off the roof.”

  “Yep, that’s him,” he laughed. “He was visiting a friend in Jersey and agreed to transport her dog. Her name’s Flannel. She’s really sweet, too, but I can’t get her to eat anything.”

  “Flannel, huh? Well, you are gorgeous and you’re so soft, too. Is that how you got your name? Do you miss your family? Is that why you won’t eat?” she asked, lovingly embracing the dog. “Oh, I just love your big lion’s mane.”

  The small black-and-white collie lifted her ears a bit and licked Milla’s face again. Only one ear stood up as the other stayed constantly drooped and it gave the collie a constant look of inquisitiveness.

  “How long do we get to keep her, Dad?”

  “I think the owner will arrive this weekend. I’m waiting until after nine o’clock and then I’ll call them.”

  Milla yawned loudly and stretched her arms high over her head, causing Flannel to scurry off the bed. “I was having another dream about grandma and we were on what felt like a treasure hunt. She was just about to say something when a licking dog woke me up.”

  “I wish I could talk to her again,” her father said. “I don’t dream about her like you do. You always had a special connection with her, Milla, and I’m happy that you still see her in your dreams.” He glanced at his mother’s photo in the lavender suede picture frame that adorned his daughter’s dresser.

  Milla slid out of bed and hugged her dad. “Come on, old man. Time to make you breakfast.” They both chuckled, as this is exactly the way her grandma had greeted him every morning. The collie trotted behind, following them toward the kitchen where coffee was brewing and a teakettle was about to whistle.

  “So what are your plans today?” Devon asked his daughter. “I was hoping to leave the dog here with you. I don’t want her wandering off and she’s been traveling all cooped up and probably needs to stretch her legs. Alan said he would pay you to watch her, but you don’t have to, if you’re too busy.”

  Milla rolled her eyes. Her dad was always hinting that she should get outdoors, make plans with friends, and get away from the computer.

  “No, dad, I’m not too busy to watch Flannel. It would kinda be like a real job, instead of doing chores and stuff. I bet dog-sitting pays more than sweeping steps and vacuuming,” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. We’ll have to see how good a job you do before we talk about your fee,” he teased. “But I think we might be able to come to an agreement.” As he reached for his hat and walked to the door, the dog suddenly jumped up and was beside him in a flash.

  “Whoa, girl,” he said, patting her on the head. “You need to stay here with Milla today and nose around a bit.” The dog looked up, wagging her tail and dancing as if she was ready to run.

  “I think she needs to go out, Mil. You’d better keep her on her leash for now. We don’t want her running off.” As if she understood every word, Flannel trotted over to Milla, who was sitting on the couch with her feet curled beneath her, and started to push a cold wet nose nudging her into action.

  “Okay…okay, I’m going,” she laughed.

  As Devon drove away, his mind moved to the work of the mustangs. There was another round-up scheduled in a few weeks and that meant he had to take care of the overcrowded pens that held the wild horses and burros from the last gathering. Some were sick and some were wounded from fights that often broke out among the frightened herds. That meant he would have to make sure they were given more attention than the healthy ones. Time spent on unhealthy animals took him away from his other tasks. The dreaded paperwork, emails, meetings, and phone calls all continued to stack up. Oh, I don’t want to even think about all of that, he sighed.

  What did Milla say she was doing in that dream again? Oh, yeah—a treasure hunt. That kid has some imagination, he thought. They were both doing their best to get over the loss of his mother, who had practically raised Milla since she was four. The unexpected loss of his wife to cancer six years ago and now the death of his mom last summer…well, it hadn’t been easy. He kept busy at the stables and did his best to not think about it. Well, Mom, he said to himself, at least you lived a good long life. You lived ’til almost ninety, Jacqueline Spencer, and I swear sometimes when I hear Milla talk about you so casually it’s as if you’re right beside us. “Who knows?” he said aloud. “Maybe you are.”

  Chapter 9

  Max the cat kept a close eye on the people who came and went at the Musical Mustangs Bed & Breakfast. He was always alert for any pets that some of the guests occasionally tried to sneak in. He was the only authorized pet at the B&B and took this status seriously. A family of four appeared at the check-in desk and he lifted his head and looked them over. Nope, nothing but people-smells from this bunch and he was free to continue his guard uninterrupted. One of the staff members greeted the family as Sam, looking over from her office, waved a hello. It had been a busy week and Sam had loads of paperwork to catch up on.

  The phone rang and when reaching for it she spilled hot coffee down her lap. “Yow!” she yelped into the phone.

  “Yow?” said the man on the other end.

  “Oh, so sorry. I accidently spilled hot coffee. Let’s start over. Hello, this is Sam Fox. Can I help you?” she laughed.

  “Ow, that hurts. Sorry if I caused the spill. My name is Devon Spencer and I’m calling about your friends from New Jersey.”

  “Are they okay? Has anything happened?” she asked, now fully alert. “They were supposed to arrive yesterday but I think they took a side trip.”

  “They’re perfectly fine. I just hung up with Brenda,” he continued. “I’m about forty minutes away with their collie, Flannel.”

  “Oh, okay, right. Now I remember. Brenda said she had a friend who offered to drive her dog. How’s the dog doing?”

  “She’s perfectly happy. She wasn’t eating while she traveled, but she’s plenty hungry now. My young daughter, Milla, may just steal her if they don’t look out.”

  “Sh
e’d better not!” Sam laughed. “The dog’s ten-year-old owner ain’t too happy moving from New Jersey and Flannel is about the only comfort of home she has.”

  “Ten, huh? That’s the same age as my daughter. I’ll have to tell her there’s a new kid coming to town. Your friend, Brenda, said they would arrive this weekend so I told her to call when she does and we’ll run the dog over after she settles in.”

  “Great,” said Sam. “I really appreciate it because I am up to my ears with guests this week. There’s some sort of anti-round-up convention going on.

  “Oh, I know all about that,” he said, dismally. “I work for the other side. I head up the center that manages the Calico horses after they’re gathered and brought here. My name is mud most days but you can call me Devon.”

  “I’d hate to be you this week. You better lay low. These people look angry,” she laughed.

  “Yeah, yeah. Tell me about it,” he said. “They call me a horse killer, but they’re clueless about my job. They would rather picket and throw accusations instead of taking the time to realize they are shooting the messenger. Take it up with their elected officials—I’m just the guy following orders.”