My Sister Shelby

My Sister Shelby

  Copyright© 2010 by Deborah Krider

  My sister, Shelby, was six years younger than me, making her eight, and I fourteen the summer of ‘76, the bicentennial.

  My family owned a cabin that sat on a small lake in central Minnesota and we spent the entire summer up there that year. My sister and I loved it there for the water, wilderness, and freedom. Our parents spent a lot of time with the adult neighbors, taking long pontoon rides together or enjoying cocktails on one deck or another. Us neighbor kids got to do pretty much as we pleased because we never went far for long and we were safe there. And with an endless supply of activities like swimming, hiking, tree forts and treasure hunts, we were never bored.

  Gary and Gerta Fleming lived down the road from us and stayed up year round. Their cozy little cottage skirted a bay that was tethered to our lake by a winding creek. They owned Banner, a six year old gelded quarter horse with a chestnut coat, black mane and tail, four white socks, and a white stripe down his face. But what was unremarkable in his coat was made up for in his eyes. Blue. An icy blue so pale everyone thought he was blind at first meeting him.

  Shelby adored Banner and the feeling was mutual. He never failed to eagerly trot up to the fence when Shelby called him. I used to think his excited approach was in hopes that she’d pluck an apple from the Flemings yard. But that wasn’t so. He just relished the hours of attention she lavished on him. Shelby pet him, scratched behind his ears, sang to him, and pulled the long sweet grass outside his confines for him. Our folks scolded her many times for steeling the sugar bowl, bringing the entire thing up to Banner. Shelby, who certainly could be a smart mouth from time to time said if we kept some sugar cubes around for him, she wouldn’t have to forsake our precious reserve. Mom hid the sugar bowl for a week after that remark.

  I walked up to the pasture with her once, watching her carry that bowl carefully with both hands. When Shelby whistled, Banner raised his head from his grazing, recognized her, and like usual, came galloping up to the fence.

  She offered him the bowl and he put his muzzle in and blew, sending the fine, granulated sweetener out into the air and down to the ground.

  Shelby giggled deliciously. “He does that every time!”

  “He hardly gets any. Why do you keep bringing it out to him?”

  “He gets some,” she argued.

  I watched as Banner licked the bottom of the bowl.

  “God, Shelby, that’s gross! I bet you don’t even wash it out when you bring it back!”

  “I wash it!” She frowned at me for my accusation.

  “You should feed him the carrots from the fridge. Those are better for him anyway.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “Then we wouldn’t have to eat them.”

  I have to admit that I was a little jealous of my sister’s connection with animals. Once when my family went into town without me, I walked out to the field and tried to get Banner to come to me. I stood by the fence and called his name, and whistled, and waved long grass in the air. My attempts were futile. All that animal did was turn his rear end to me, swish his tail, and continue to graze.

  We had a two year old black Labbe named Scamp that followed Shelby everywhere. He slept with her, swam with her, and followed her on her adventures through the woods.

  The only time Scamp gave me the time of day was when I had food.

  I always knew Shelby had a way with animals, but until that summer, I didn’t realize just how much.

  One day a group of us kids walked the two miles into town to buy candy and ice cream. A child’s delight, Garrison Goodies showcased bin after bin of licorice, candy corn, peanut butter logs, jawbreakers, wax pop bottles, as well as over twenty flavors of ice cream. Weathered pine floors and walls gave it an old fashioned mercantile-like feel.

  I decided on an ice cream cone, paid, and went outside to wait for the others.

  The Gypsy was sitting on a bench under the stores awning (which was painted red, white, and blue that year). To her face she was Ms. Thore, but behind her back we all called her The Gypsy because she wore long flowing, brightly colored shawls and set up a little tent in town to do palm readings during the touristy summer months. She was a nice lady.

  “Hi Ms. Thore.” I greeted and sat next to her.

  “Hi dear. How’s your summer going?”

  “Great.”

  “How long are you up for?”

  “Until the middle of August. We’ve been up since the beginning of June.”

  “That’s nice. How’s little Shelby?”

  “She’s fine. A brat, like always,” I said and took a lick of ice cream. After the long walk in mid-80 degree heat, the cool peppermint was absolute bliss.

  The Gypsy laughed robustly. Her long silver hair moved in a breeze. “That’s just the thing an older sister would say. She’s special, though.”

  “My mom and dad think so, anyway.”

  “I had a dream about her the other night.”

  “Must have been a nightmare.”

  “This is going to be an interesting year for her. She’s an earth spirit, you know.” She stated, ignoring my last comment.

  “What’s that?”

  “Her spirit is more connected to the earth and the animals than to people and material things.”

  Her dark brown eyes were distant and dreamy.

  “Watch her, Emily. Watch her this summer and see what happens.”

  I was about to ask her what she meant, but at that moment the rest of my crew exited the store, loud and rambunctious, holding ice cream cones and small brown paper bags of candy. Shelby was sucking on a Pixie Stick.

  When I turned back to Ms. Thore she was gone.

  ***

  They were playing tag. There’s no other way to describe their antics.

  It was the Fourth of July and the Flemings and the rest of our neighbors were already in town for the parade and street dance, and later, fireworks. My folks were in the cabin getting ready and they sent me to collect my sister so she could clean up before we joined the others. I headed down the dirt road knowing she’d be with Banner. Large white clouds dotted an intense blue sky, and a warm breeze brushed the hair away from my face.

  I didn’t get it at first. Banner was trotting across his pasture at an almost comically slow speed. He looked like a bad Tennessee Walker the way he sloppily pranced almost in place. Shelby ran after him, hair flopping around her face, her mouth open in a wide smile.

  She caught up to him and slapped him on the rump. Then turned and ran away from him, giggling madly.

  Banner pulled up and turned on his back heels as smooth as a Lippizaner stallion in a Spanish dance. He reached her quickly, all twelve hundred pounds of him. Yet with the gentleness of a feather he brushed her shoulder with his muzzle then turned and slowly trotted away, tossing his head in triumph.

  It was then that I realized the game they were playing was tag, and the reason Banner had been moving so slow was to purposely let Shelby catch up to him.

  Scamp ran in circles around them both, giving wide berth to Banner’s hoofs.

  It was a mesmerizing thing to watch. Like a beautiful ballet full of grace and wonder. They weren’t animal and human at that moment, but more like a fluid blend of the two. A connection that transcended words or actions. Innocent, yet complex. Amazing, yet insightful.

  I recalled what The Gypsy had said, and knew this is exactly what she meant.

  As the summer unfolded, so did the earth spirit in Shelby.

  ***

  A week later I fixed myself a ham and cheese sandwich and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. Scamp sat a few feet from me, hoping I’d toss him a bite.

>   Most of the other neighbors were either on their boats and pontoons, or in town. Our folks were visiting the Flemings.

  Looking out the window I saw Shelby standing on the dock tossing pieces of bread out to the sunfish and crappies. Mom was going to be mad if that was the bakery bread she just bought.

  Over her head, I noticed a bald eagle circling against an overcast sky. I was certain it was the one that nested in the dead Norway pine on the east side of the lake. It soared a mere fifty feet over Shelby. I wondered if he had his eyes on the fish she was feeding.

  Shelby noticed it too. She raised an arm and waved like they were old friends.

  I shook my head, smirking. Leave it to Shelby to wave at a bird.

  The eagle circled down closer. I set my sandwich down on the plate and watched intensely, concerned it might hurt my sister. Concerned, but not afraid.

  Not until the raptor sailed in, that is.

  He looked like a single engine puddle jumper with his six foot wingspan tilting slightly from left to right as it prepared to land.

  I lurched from my chair and pounded on the window in time with my heart to alert Shelby. She didn’t turn her head.

  “Shelby!” I called through the bottom screened pane. Again, she took no notice.

  Our dock lengthened out forty feet, then jutted off at an angle. The eagle landed on the far part of the L, a dozen feet from my sister.

  Through the screen I heard her murmured voice speak to the bird. It cocked its head at her voice, and when Shelby pointed into the water, his gaze followed.

  He lumbered closer to her, incredibly tall, his head almost reaching her shoulders. His large white head cocked from her voice back to the water.

  I swear that creature understood whatever my sister was saying.

  Shelby held out a large chunk of bread to the bird.

  He considered it for a moment, cast his gaze back into the water then back at the bread she offered.

  After a few moments he plucked the bread from her outstretched hand, amazingly without taking off any fingers with that sharp, yellow beak.

  He then stepped away from her and spread his mighty wings. I could hear the heavy whoosh whoosh whoosh as he beat the air and slowly lifted himself off the dock.

  Shelby waved at him once more like that sort of thing happened every day then resumed feeding the fish.

  My heart rocked in my chest. I released a shaky breath and sat back down.

  I wanted to ask her about it later, but never did. Maybe it was because I wanted to hold onto the mystery. Why that animal came to my sister and the connection that transpired between them seemed to be a secret thing. I didn’t want to barge my way in. Just accept it, whether understood or not, and keep it to myself. I never told anyone what I witnessed. Not until just now.

  ***

  A few days later, just as I was just getting ready to settle in the hammock with a stack of Archie comics, I heard Banner whinny shrilly. It sounded frantic and agitated. I looked up the road towards the field and saw a few neighbors gathering by the fence. Over their heads I could see the horse rear and charge around his pasture. It was all too much and I cast the comics aside and trotted up to see what was going on.

  My bare feet padded along the dirt road, and I winced at the occasional sharp rock that tried to penetrate the arches. Bright, hot sunlight beat down on my head, and sweat began to roll down my temples.

  I joined the others, both kids and adults and watched the frenzied horse.

  Banner galloping then stopped and reared and whinnied.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, Mike, one of our neighbors.

  “That dang horse has lost his mind.”

  Whinnying and grunting, Banner ran to the back of the field, flicked his ears forward and studied the distance. He turned and raced back to us. His thunderous hoofs pounded the earth. We all instinctively backed away from the barbed wire fence.

  He half skidded to a stop and a cloud of dirt rose around his prancing hoofs.

  “What’s wrong with him, Mr. Fleming?” I began to feel a little scared.

  “I don’t know.” He frowned in concern. To Banner, he said, “Easy, boy, easy.”

  Banner would have none of it. He answered Mr. Fleming with a scream so loud and high-pitched I had to clasp my hands over my ears.

  He reared and thrashed the air with his front legs. His long, black mane whacked against his neck. Whites arcs traced his blue eyes that looked like large, shiny marbles. He grunted and whinnied shakily, as if afraid, then charged the back field again.

  “He’s going to jump!” Mike exclaimed.

  Sure enough, Banner gathered himself and leaped over the four and a half foot barbed wire fence. He landed and ran through the adjacent open field. Right for the black top road.

  We all raced after him down the dirt path. Mr. Fleming hopped in his truck and we parted like the red sea for him to get past us.

  By the time we caught up to his parked truck towards the end of the dirt road, he had jumped out and was running across a small field dense with wildflowers, towards a forest lined with brush.

  “He ran through here!”

  I had no idea what Mr. Fleming planned to do, but we followed anyway. I thought we all must be nuts to go after that horse. Banner could’ve ran us all down, crushing us under those hoofs.

  But I wasn’t afraid because even though his behavior was that of a wild, crazy animal, I knew he wasn’t out to hurt us. He seemed to have a specific destination in mind.

  It was then that I wondered where Shelby and Scamp were.

  I could not longer see him, but still heard him whinny uneasily. The tumble grass sliced at my ankles and shins, but I wasn’t about to turn back now. As we reached the outskirts of the forest, Banner reappeared. We stopped. A group of six facing this tall, strong animal.

  His erratic behavior ceased and he now stood subdued, nickering and flicking his ears. He stood still for a moment, looking at each of us. Cicadas buzzed high in trees, and a few annoying deer flies swarmed our heads.

  Banner stomped as if impatient and retreated back into the forest.

  “Stay here.” Mr. Fleming told us then ventured through the brush and into the woods after him.

  Suddenly Scamp’s bark penetrated the air. My heart rapped against my chest. Images of my sister laying dead somewhere in the forest pillaged my mind.

  “Shelby!” I screamed and ran, ignoring Mr. Fleming’s order to stay put. Pine twigs and needles slashed at my face. I tripped over a dead branch and almost fell. I slowed slightly but kept on.

  “Emily! Wait!” Mr. Fleming ordered as I passed him.

  I abruptly emerged in a clearing. Shelby sat against a craggily old elm tree. Her legs splayed out in a V over a carpet of dead leaves from the previous autumn. Scamp stood on one side of her, head and ears low. Banner stood on the other, solemn and waiting. He sniffed her head and stayed at her side.

  I thought my sister was dead. Her eyes were open, but glazed.

  “Shelby!” I yelled and ran for her.

  Her lips formed a small grin and a rush of relief so great coursed through me that my legs weakened and I fell to my knees in front of her.

  “Shelby, what happened? Are you all right?”

  The others gathered around us. Mr. Fleming squatted close to my sister. He took one of her small hand in both of his big, rugged ones.

  “I fell out of the tree. My ankle.” Her voice was weak and small. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her forehead.

  I looked down. Her high-water plaid pants revealed her left ankle swollen to the size of a grapefruit.

  “How long have you been here, honey?” Mr. Fleming gently asked.

  “I don’t know. I tried walking, but I can’t.”

  “Damnit, Shelby! What are you doing climbing up trees anyway?” I wanted to shake her. At that moment I understood why my parents got so mad when I was four a
nd decided to take a walk around the block by myself.

  “Emily.” Mr. Fleming touched my shoulder. “Take it easy.” He turned to Shelby. “C’mon, honey.” He carefully picked her up and we headed back.

  I kept looking at her. Her eyes blinked and stayed shut for long periods of time. Although she must have been in extreme pain, she never uttered a word, or whined, or cried out. I was scared, hoping her ankle wasn’t broken. Guilty that I got so upset with her.

  “Don’t worry, Em. I’ll be fine.” She whispered, her cheek resting on Mr. Fleming’s shoulder.

  I tried to give her a brave smile, but she shut her eyes again.

  I looked back. The others were following. Behind them Banner came plodding along, and Scamp trotted after him.

  I often shudder when I wonder how long Shelby would’ve sat there if it hadn’t been for Banner. How many hours alone and in pain might’ve she stayed there, not able to move, and too far away for human ears to hear.

  Did Banner hear her cries for help? Or Scamp’s bark? Or did he simply sense her pain and distress? Would’ve he done the same thing had it been any other person?

  ***

  Shelby became a writer. Everybody thought she’d be a veterinarian, but we were wrong. She went to college and worked as a journalist for couple of years, then found her true calling in fiction. Mysteries, actually.

  The animal lover in her never diminished. She bought a forty acre plot of partially wooded land and had a stable built that would house twenty horses if needed. She also built a heated and air conditioned window-filled kennel for dogs. Individual paddocks dotted her property for the animals to run and graze. She called her farm The Haven. It became a place where abused, neglected or abandoned creatures came to be rehabilitated.

  I have been horrified at some of the beaten down horses and dogs I have seen there. But my exhilaration was just as great at watching the animals grow and heal in both bodies and spirits over the course of my visits to my sisters.

  Her first dweller was Banner. Not that he was abused, of course, but the Flemings were getting on in years, and were having a hard time taking care of him. Banner himself was twenty four at the time she took him in. I was there when he arrived. The driver opened the back of the trailer, put down the ramp, and backed him out. We had seen him on our trips to the cabin over the years, so we weren’t surprised to find him gray and slightly swayback. His age didn’t touch those blue eyes though. They still shined.