6 - Allen Haven Ranch
6 - Allen Haven Ranch
Maeve and Todd build a California dream together, 1981
Things That Can’t Be Broken is a novel presented as a live draft, one chapter every week.
Last week: 5 - The Neighbor 1988, Dani meets the next-door neighbor, Barb
Part 1 | History is an Angel
6 - Allen Haven Ranch
Maeve Allen
June 29, 1981
Dehesa Valley, California
Maeve set her paint roller down and brushed the stray hair from her face. “That’s it,” she said, “The last coat for the blue. What a transformation!”
“Och, brilliant!” Todd rolled out an old oriental rug and sprawled starfish style on his back with a grunt, red hair haloed on the carpet above his head. A wave of joy splashed in Maeve’s heart. Everything was coming together. She dived down to the floor to lay beside her husband, exuberant, exhausted, and covered in layers of sweat, sanded paint dust, and speckles of fresh paint. They lay together, staring up—at a large crack in the ceiling.
Todd lifted a hand and pointed feebly, his eyes half-closed. “I’ll have to spackle that. I’m so glad yer auntie gave us this rug. I might not have noticed it.”
“Ugh, this thing smells.” Maeve fanned at her face.
“Aye, or that could be me, lass.” He sniffed at his underarm and then turned to grimace at her. She flicked his ribs with a finger and crawled up the barrel of his chest to kiss his lips. He wrapped an arm around her and rolled to his side to face her. She watched his eyes change as something somber passed over him.
“It’s been a year today,” he said, propping his head on his hand.
She knew Todd. He wasn’t talking about the certified letter she received a year ago, the one that would announce her inheritance and effectively transplant them here in California. He was remembering Grianach, his beloved horse. Everything had happened at once, the highs and the lows.
“He was such a good friend,” she said.
“Aye,” he said, and gently took her hand in his, “But you’ll do for consolation, mo ghràdh.” He paused, “There was a wee lass with Grianach in my dream last night. He carried her on his back, her arms wrapped around his neck. He seemed content.”
Todd was concentrating on the back of her hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. Maeve was unsure how to respond. She didn’t believe that dreams foretold anything, even if it seemed that way sometimes. He probably saw a little girl in passing somewhere and her image had lodged in his subconscious. She knew he really wanted a child. They had decided to start trying next year, when things would be more settled.
Todd said, “I could see her so clearly. She had dark hair and dark eyes. She told me she was happy to see us working on the horsemanship program.” His serious expression changed to amused and he ran a hand through his hair. He said, “God, but that sounds cracked when I say it oot loud.”
Maeve laughed, “Why? It’s a dream. It’s not crazy. Here we are, making all this happen. Maybe she’s your angel.”
“Or Grianach’s,” Todd said, his eyes a little misted. He pressed his lips tenderly against hers before rising to his feet with a slow groan.
“What are we going to do with this place?” He asked, staring out of the paint-masked front window across their property, hands out to his sides like a caped superhero.
Maeve followed his lead, allowing the joy of the moment to bubble back to the surface. She stood beside him and waved an arm in an all-this-is-yours gesture. “We’re going to make it beautiful, my love, and fill the barn with horses.”
“Aye. And indigent brats.” Todd winked.
“Why yes! What else would a person do with an inheritance of twenty-four acres of tumbleweed and sagebrush, and one rotting old house?”
She had loved the tenement in Edinburgh, the history of the city, the misty green summers. Living there was a dream, but this, this was a chance of a lifetime. She and Todd were going to inspire the lives of young people they hadn’t met yet. Horses would be the substrate on which they would learn to flourish. She and Todd had the land now, the house, and just enough money to make the horsemanship program work on a small scale. This fall they would see their first four students. It was hard to believe it was real.
“Did your grandad ever live here?” Todd asked.
“Probably only as a child growing up. My great-grandparents lived here until they both died. According to my dad, it used to be at least twice this much land.” She pointed roughly in the direction of the highway. “Several years back, my grandfather gave the other half, on the other side of that bridge over the riverbed, to a native family who worked for him.”
“Nice chap,” said Todd, with some irony.
“No, not nice, but generous at times, or so it seems. I’m not sure why he did anything he did.”
Maeve’s father and her uncle both inherited from H.G. Dalton, but Maeve was the only grandchild to receive any inheritance at all. There was nothing she could do about the house and the land. She couldn’t sell it for fifty years, according to the will. Besides, the land was a dream come true, even if it did come with a healthy dose of guilt. Her brothers and her sister seemed happy for her, but she would never forget the way her cousin, Veronica, had responded, “I’m sure we can even up later.”
Whatever coldness that ran her grandfather’s mind must have been weaved into her cousin’s, too. Even as a child, Veronica was spiteful. The day, all those years ago, when Maeve ran into Veronica with her friends in the mall parking lot, smelling of pot when she should have been at home studying, that was the day Maeve became the enemy. Maybe if she hadn’t told her uncle, or maybe if Veronica hadn’t been kept from the prom as a result, it would have been different. It seemed Veronica would never forgive her. So be it.
But Maeve couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed every one of her siblings, and even her spiteful cousin, something. At the very least, she was determined to make the most of the inheritance she had been given, however unfair it might be that it was given to her alone.
Todd squeezed Maeve’s hand, startling her from her thoughts. He said, “That day at Oatridge, when I first saw this lanky-legged lass with the sweetest face and the sharpest brain all wrapped up in one, I’d have never imagined I’d be tidying up some old cowboy’s abandoned hoose—across the riverbed from the natives, no less.”
“And I never thought I’d marry a bloody Scot,” she laughed. “Welcome to the Wild West, Todd Allen.”
He gave her a wink, and as if on cue, they each moved to a corner of the rug and rolled it back to the wall together. She relished the work ahead, the life they were building. Together they would put this land and home to good use. The truth was, she always knew what she wanted. Nothing would have stood in her way for too long. Maybe old H.G. Dalton could see that somehow.
The phone on the floor under the tarp rang and Maeve scrambled to answer it, shouting, “The phone works!” But Todd was already outside rinsing paintbrushes. When she stepped out into the sun to join him, he was stacking brushes, rollers, and pans neatly against an old sawhorse to dry.
“Sounds like we’re getting our first two horses tomorrow,” she said.
“Smashing! Which?” Todd asked.
“Feathers, that sorrel quarter horse mare, and the gray Arab gelding they called CB.”
“Aye, the odd couple. No go and all go. That Egyptian bred youngster will be a handful.”
“Feathers will require some perseverance, as well,” Maeve said. “We’ll find a match for each of them.”
“Och, aye. We’re ready for the horses. I put fresh shavings in the stalls this morning.” Todd bowed and presented his arm for her to grasp. “Let’s have a daunder.”
They hopped a glistening paint mud puddle to begin their walking tour. Looking back, the two-story farm house appeared ready to live in, freshly painted light blue with white trim that extended to the railings of the wide front porch. A pair of bungalows nearby would serve as a classroom and storage, and the brand-new barn several yards below would house the horses, tack, and other equipment. Each was painted blue and white to match the house. Neat and organized. Maeve’s heart soared with pride.
Shiny new pipe corral paddocks surrounded the barn on both sides with plenty of room for sixteen horses, plus four additional corrals with shelters on the far side of the barn, and beyond that was a tall metal lean-to for hay storage. “It’s hard to imagine in three years we’ll have at least twelve horses,” said Maeve.
Todd tilted his head, “Aye. By the end of the week, I expect we’ll have six munching hay in their paddocks.”
As they passed the barn, he raised a hand at what looked like a cross between a merry-go-round and a circular clothesline. He made a “Hnnn?” sound.
“The hot walker,” Maeve said, squeezing Todd’s arm and smiling at him, “It’s so silly, Todd. I’d say the kids can walk their own horses, but you do love the gadgets.”
“Och, mark my words, lass, you’ll come to appreciate it!”
On one side of the hot walker was a wood-paneled round pen, or lunge ring, where a person could stand in the center and keep a free horse moving at any pace in a circle around them. On the other side were two cement slabs, each with a pair of sturdy posts sunk into them on one end, which would be used to secure a horse for easier bathing and grooming. The wash racks were topped with rubber mats and equipped with all the necessary hoses, buckets, sponges, and aluminum sweat scrapers.
Across the graveled drive was a large riding arena with a small set of grandstand seats on one side, along with a row of young eucalyptus trees that would quickly grow to provide shade and dust control. A smaller rectangular arena had freshly hand-painted black-on-white dressage letters spaced evenly along a low white rail. While they had no plans to enter their students in dressage competition, the lettered markers would come in handy for precision riding exercises.
A cloud of dust appeared from behind the hill. Todd pointed. “Are we expecting company?”
They both stood shielding their eyes with their hands as a black BMW rounded the bend and came to a stop in front of them. The dust swirled back to the earth and the car door opened with a neat thump. One black patent leather pump emerged to meet the gravel, followed by a Jordached leg, and accompanied by a heavy cloud of sophisticated perfume.
“Maeve!” The blonde woman said, as she climbed out. Pulling off her sunglasses, she looked them both up and down, openly assessing their ensembles of head-to-toe paint and dirt.
“Veronica,” Maeve said. The two bowed together touching shoulders in a semi-embrace.
Veronica stepped back, waving an upturned hand toward Todd, “You must introduce me. . .”
“Of course! This is my husband, Todd,” said Maeve.
Todd wiped a hand on his paint-splotched jeans and offered it to her with a friendly, “Todd Allen. A pleasure.”
She touched the inside edge of his index finger with a cold wet fish, then wiped her hand on her jeans. “Veronica Stevens,” she said, looking away from them toward the barn, bungalows, and renovated house. “You two have been busy. The last time I saw this place it could have been a set for a horror movie.”
As her cousin looked around, Maeve couldn’t help but feel pride in what they had accomplished.
Veronica said, “My husband told me he saw the Dalton Ranch gate on the back of a truck. I had to find out if it was true. I like the new one. Allen Haven Ranch,” she made an arc with her sunglasses in the direction of the front gate. “So sweet.”
“Thank you,” said Todd. He either didn’t hear the slight malice, or chose not to acknowledge it.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“A few months now,” said Maeve, glancing at Todd. She hoped he wouldn’t offer any more details. He seemed to understand.
Veronica waved her sunglasses at the barn. “You’ll have horses? You know I have a daughter. Vera loves horses.”
“Yes, we will. How old is your daughter now?” said Maeve.
“Ten. I’m sure she’d love to see them. Could I bring her by sometime?”
“Oh, of course. We’d love to meet her,” said Maeve, wondering if she sounded more sincere than she felt.
Veronica reached into her bag and pulled out a business card, handing it to Maeve. The words, “Media Correspondent,” stood out. “You’re a reporter. Very nice!” said Maeve, genuinely pleased that her cousin had done well.
Veronica raised her painted eyebrows. A red-lipped smirk stretched across her face. “You can’t help but be a cheerleader, can you Maeve?” she said, “If I work hard enough, I’ll amount to something, isn’t that right?
Maeve turned her head to the side and breathed in. There’s the jab.
Veronica said, “Do you read the paper? I’ve had a few pieces in the Union-Tribune social pages. But you might see me on TV soon.”
“Aye, is that right?” said Todd. “We’re starting up a horsemanship program for high school kids . . .”
Maeve touched his elbow.
“Interesting,” said Veronica. She turned her wrist where a delicate gold watch sparkled. Ducking back into her car, she said, “We’ll have to talk more about that. I’ve got to pick up Vera from dance. So, nice to meet you, Tom!”
“Todd,” said Todd. But she had already closed the door and was backing up to turn around. They stood there, waving stupidly for a moment.
“She’s not evil,” Todd said to Maeve, as they watched the dust trail disappear behind the hill.
“No. I’m sure she doesn’t think so,” Maeve answered.
“Give her a chance. She took the time to stop by,” said Todd.
“She’s nosy, and maybe you didn’t notice, but she’s no fan of mine,” said Maeve.
“She’s a reporter. . .” said Todd, “Could be a good connection to have where we stand.” Maeve raised an eyebrow at him. “Some good publicity might help us, ye ken? Raise more funding? Help more kids? Nae?”
Next
Part 1 | History is an Angel
7 - Acceptance
Fourteen-year-old Barb learns she is a winner in 1984