OOM: I'm gonna catch that mare
When Katherine was eight years old, her mother died.
She remembers the smell of lavender. The squelch of dough between her fingers as she learned to make biscuits. The pop of jar lids sealing shut in boiling water. The sound of her mother's laugh - ethereal in her remembrance, as if her spirit lingers on simply to laugh, or hum, or sing in place of the memory.
She remembers crawling violets, plum and cotton candy pink.
That's where her memories end.
As she grew, her father did what he could to serve as both parents. Katherine had a halcyon childhood, spoiled more than she will ever admit. He worried constantly about her growing up without a mother, but after the first few years of frilled dresses and piano lessons he eventually ceded to her midday rides and patched britches, hay in her hair and dirt under her nails. He taught her how to shoot a Winchester. He taught her how to hunt. And, when she was twelve years of age, he brought home her first mount.
"Mercy, Katherine! You do love tryin' my heart."
Samuel Barlow dips between railing, his long legs setting down in the same packed earth where his baby girl is sprawled some five yards off. A cloud of dust whirls around her head as she sits up, shakes off the discombobulation, and hardly moves an inch before Jim's hauling her up by her britches.
"But did y'see, daddy?" she beams, brighter than sunlight and entirely unshaken. "Beaut let me ride her a whole circuit! In a trot!"
She makes it plumb impossible to be angry, the rotten li'l whip. He huffs a laugh, easing the ramrod shoved down his back, and pinches her dirty cheek.
"You looked awful pretty up there till she threw you on the ground. What've I said about breakin' ponies on your lonesome, hm?"
They were fillies together. Two young girls surrounded by menfolk, full of piss and vinegar, constantly getting away with murder. Kate would luxuriate under the shade of pecan trees in the summer months, reading tome after tome while Beaut grazed and occasionally tugged at her hair. She'd nip at Kate's backside when she mucked her stall. When the heat was too much to bear, they'd flop themselves out in the unplowed field; Beaut would wriggle like a fish out of water until she made a fine mess of herself, sleep, and let Kate lie against her side. She tossed her head real proud the first time they jumped a fence. Ran like a bat out of hell, heaving for clean desert air, for empty spaces, for freedom.
"Oh, daddy, she's perfect!"
"She's your responsibility, now. You hafta take care of her; treat her like your flesh an' blood."
"I know, daddy. I know."
She throws her arms around his neck, heedless of the porcupine bristle of his jaw against her milky skin. The yearling with the north star pinpoint on her forehead cocks an ear and snorts, rubs her face against her foreleg, and stamps a hoof. Samuel reckons he might as well get used to the way his daughter's affection abruptly switches off of him and onto the animal.
"I'll take real good care of her! I know how. We'll be as thick as thieves in no time, won't we, beauty? Yeah, that's fine, ain't it? I mean - yes, isn't it?"
He chuckles, calloused fingers rifling through her hair. "I jus' bet you will, Katie."
She was both little sister and best friend throughout all the years before Katherine went to university. She listened to all her secrets, knocked her on her rear end whenever she asked for it - and oftentimes even when she didn't - and always pulled her out of trouble. She never had to be lonely, being alone. She never had to be scared.
Kate looks out over the back forty; the fence lines she patched up last year are still looking real good, though she has to squint against the glare of snow to see them all. It's cold, as most Januarys in Milliways are, and she finds herself in this fine funk today for one reason.
She misses her horse.
She supposes she should probably be upset about more important things right now, such as everything that happened leading up to Christmas. Miss Remy helped some in getting her mind wrapped around things, but that don't change the mess she's got. Voodoo's letter is still lying on her desk, though as of now she's got no plans to respond in any way, shape, or form. Tommy left, but then he was always going to someday, whenever he got bored or things got complicated. It just so happened to end up being sooner rather than later, and it's probably just as well. That's the thing with folk like Tommy; if you're always waiting for them to go, it doesn't really hurt all that bad when they do.
It's a different matter altogether with Beaut. Leaving her behind, just outside of Cuero, wasn't easy no matter how much she trusted John to take care of her. A drunk doesn't want to spill his last shot of bourbon, a beggar's hard-pressed to part with his last nickel, and Kate doesn't like separating herself from the last thing she's got in this world. A friend, a salvation, and a home. It's been two months by Bar reckoning, and she was feeling the twitch within the first two hours. Sure, things in Milliways are a mess. By rights, she should still be spitting mad at that letter, and broken up about the way Tommy stormed off.
'guess what, honey, I don't give a shit anymore.'
But she just misses her goddamn horse.
John said a few weeks. She's been in and out, a few days here, a couple there. Shopping with Rachel down on Main. Dancing in the Square with Butch and Ace. Spending money she took just to see the look on Buchel's face. Money she's got no use for, feels a little heavy in her palm, but spends all the same. It's gotta be close enough to when John'll arrive in Galveston to wait out the last few days there, and not have to worry so much about time passing here.
Ain't like there's all that much for her here right now anyhow.
And Texas is a salve to her bones.
She scuffs the toe of her boot in a four-inch drift, watching the snow powder and melt across the leather; grips the railing hard enough to make the wood creak, working some feeling into her numb hands. She's already made her morning pass through the stables. She'll check back in during the evening hour, settle up what she's left unfinished, and head out.
She'll feel a whole lot less unsettled once she's got her Beauty back.
That's all.
This entry was originally posted at http://ikissdhimbck.dreamwidth.org/30566.html. Comment || Read
comment(s).
She remembers the smell of lavender. The squelch of dough between her fingers as she learned to make biscuits. The pop of jar lids sealing shut in boiling water. The sound of her mother's laugh - ethereal in her remembrance, as if her spirit lingers on simply to laugh, or hum, or sing in place of the memory.
She remembers crawling violets, plum and cotton candy pink.
That's where her memories end.
As she grew, her father did what he could to serve as both parents. Katherine had a halcyon childhood, spoiled more than she will ever admit. He worried constantly about her growing up without a mother, but after the first few years of frilled dresses and piano lessons he eventually ceded to her midday rides and patched britches, hay in her hair and dirt under her nails. He taught her how to shoot a Winchester. He taught her how to hunt. And, when she was twelve years of age, he brought home her first mount.
"Mercy, Katherine! You do love tryin' my heart."
Samuel Barlow dips between railing, his long legs setting down in the same packed earth where his baby girl is sprawled some five yards off. A cloud of dust whirls around her head as she sits up, shakes off the discombobulation, and hardly moves an inch before Jim's hauling her up by her britches.
"But did y'see, daddy?" she beams, brighter than sunlight and entirely unshaken. "Beaut let me ride her a whole circuit! In a trot!"
She makes it plumb impossible to be angry, the rotten li'l whip. He huffs a laugh, easing the ramrod shoved down his back, and pinches her dirty cheek.
"You looked awful pretty up there till she threw you on the ground. What've I said about breakin' ponies on your lonesome, hm?"
They were fillies together. Two young girls surrounded by menfolk, full of piss and vinegar, constantly getting away with murder. Kate would luxuriate under the shade of pecan trees in the summer months, reading tome after tome while Beaut grazed and occasionally tugged at her hair. She'd nip at Kate's backside when she mucked her stall. When the heat was too much to bear, they'd flop themselves out in the unplowed field; Beaut would wriggle like a fish out of water until she made a fine mess of herself, sleep, and let Kate lie against her side. She tossed her head real proud the first time they jumped a fence. Ran like a bat out of hell, heaving for clean desert air, for empty spaces, for freedom.
"Oh, daddy, she's perfect!"
"She's your responsibility, now. You hafta take care of her; treat her like your flesh an' blood."
"I know, daddy. I know."
She throws her arms around his neck, heedless of the porcupine bristle of his jaw against her milky skin. The yearling with the north star pinpoint on her forehead cocks an ear and snorts, rubs her face against her foreleg, and stamps a hoof. Samuel reckons he might as well get used to the way his daughter's affection abruptly switches off of him and onto the animal.
"I'll take real good care of her! I know how. We'll be as thick as thieves in no time, won't we, beauty? Yeah, that's fine, ain't it? I mean - yes, isn't it?"
He chuckles, calloused fingers rifling through her hair. "I jus' bet you will, Katie."
She was both little sister and best friend throughout all the years before Katherine went to university. She listened to all her secrets, knocked her on her rear end whenever she asked for it - and oftentimes even when she didn't - and always pulled her out of trouble. She never had to be lonely, being alone. She never had to be scared.
Kate looks out over the back forty; the fence lines she patched up last year are still looking real good, though she has to squint against the glare of snow to see them all. It's cold, as most Januarys in Milliways are, and she finds herself in this fine funk today for one reason.
She misses her horse.
She supposes she should probably be upset about more important things right now, such as everything that happened leading up to Christmas. Miss Remy helped some in getting her mind wrapped around things, but that don't change the mess she's got. Voodoo's letter is still lying on her desk, though as of now she's got no plans to respond in any way, shape, or form. Tommy left, but then he was always going to someday, whenever he got bored or things got complicated. It just so happened to end up being sooner rather than later, and it's probably just as well. That's the thing with folk like Tommy; if you're always waiting for them to go, it doesn't really hurt all that bad when they do.
It's a different matter altogether with Beaut. Leaving her behind, just outside of Cuero, wasn't easy no matter how much she trusted John to take care of her. A drunk doesn't want to spill his last shot of bourbon, a beggar's hard-pressed to part with his last nickel, and Kate doesn't like separating herself from the last thing she's got in this world. A friend, a salvation, and a home. It's been two months by Bar reckoning, and she was feeling the twitch within the first two hours. Sure, things in Milliways are a mess. By rights, she should still be spitting mad at that letter, and broken up about the way Tommy stormed off.
'guess what, honey, I don't give a shit anymore.'
But she just misses her goddamn horse.
John said a few weeks. She's been in and out, a few days here, a couple there. Shopping with Rachel down on Main. Dancing in the Square with Butch and Ace. Spending money she took just to see the look on Buchel's face. Money she's got no use for, feels a little heavy in her palm, but spends all the same. It's gotta be close enough to when John'll arrive in Galveston to wait out the last few days there, and not have to worry so much about time passing here.
Ain't like there's all that much for her here right now anyhow.
And Texas is a salve to her bones.
She scuffs the toe of her boot in a four-inch drift, watching the snow powder and melt across the leather; grips the railing hard enough to make the wood creak, working some feeling into her numb hands. She's already made her morning pass through the stables. She'll check back in during the evening hour, settle up what she's left unfinished, and head out.
She'll feel a whole lot less unsettled once she's got her Beauty back.
That's all.
This entry was originally posted at http://ikissdhimbck.dreamwidth.org/30566.html. Comment || Read
comment(s).