“What’s your name?’’ he demanded, bringing his dark eyes close to hers.
“Rosalee Stinson Bauer Cummings Burton Deveraux,’’ she recited.
Maddie smiled at me, and I squeezed her hand. Not a single married name missed.
“What hurts?’’ asked Carlos, still in charge.
“What doesn’t?’’ Mama winced.
“What day is today?’’
“February 18th. The day I wished I’d never rode Shotgun.’’
She propped herself up to her elbows, legs still stretched out on the ground.
“Careful,’’ a helpful someone said from the crowd. “She might have broken her back.’’
Mama straightened to a sitting position, her eyes going wide.
“You’re fine, Mama,’’ I reassured her, regaining some calm. “We just saw you use your arms. Can you feel your toes?’’
She wagged her right boot back and forth. Then she yelped and grabbed at her ankle when she tried to do the same with the left.
“She probably wrenched that in the stirrup,’’ I said to Maddie.
“Let me take a look at it,’’ Carlos said, shouldering me aside.
“Excuse me, I’m also trained in first aid. I’ve handled plenty of injuries in my job at Himmarshee Park. And she’s my mama. Not that we don’t appreciate you taking over.’’
“We need to get that boot off and take a look,’’ Carlos ordered, as he loosened her laces.
“Right.’’ I pushed him aside and eased off her boot.
“Ouch!’’ Mama said.
“Careful, Mace!’’ Maddie scolded.
“And check the pulse at her ankle to make sure nothing’s impeding the blood flow,’’ I continued, directing my words at Carlos, “which would be a lot easier for me to do if you’d just scoot out of the way.’’
“Perdóneme.’’ Carlos made a display of showing me his palms. “I forgot how much you like to be in control.’’
“Would you two please shut up?’’ Mama said. “I’m the injured party. How about if the both of you cooperate to help get me up and out of here?’’
Before we could argue over who’d take the lead, an anguished bellow shook the leaves on the trees: “Rosie!’’
“Over here, Sal,’’ I yelled.
“I’m fine, Sally,’’ Mama added, then lowered her voice from a shout to a whisper. “Girls, if Marty’s with him, do not tell her how close that was.’’
Mama should know me better than that. I might bicker with my former boyfriend over her prostrate body, but I’d never say a word to worry Marty.
Sal came crashing through the woods like a wounded bear. Marty followed close behind, her frightened blue eyes the only color on her face.
“She’s okay, Marty.’’ Sal said, exhaling a huge sigh of relief.
“We saw your horse. People said . . . we thought . . .’’ Marty didn’t finish before the tears started rolling down her cheeks.
“Oh, look at you two!’’ Mama held up her arms from the ground like she wanted a hug from each of them. “I took a spill, that’s all. It’s nothing but a little twisted ankle.’’
Sal raised his eyebrows at Carlos, who nodded in agreement.
“She’ll be fine,’’ I said pointedly, though Sal hadn’t asked me.
At that, Sal leaned over and scooped Mama off the ground. He carried her out of the woods in his arms, as gentle as a bridegroom on his wedding night.
___
Someone had found Doc Abel. As I watched him expertly test the joint, peering at Mama’s foot over his glasses, my mind went back to that long-ago day he’d ministered to a riding-related injury for me. Pronouncing nothing broken, he already had Mama’s ankle elevated and packed in ice. Before he climbed aboard a wagon for the rest of the day’s ride, he warned Mama, “Now, don’t get back in that saddle again until I give the okay!’’
We were lucky to have Doc along on the Cracker Trail.
My sisters and I skipped the after-lunch half of the ride to help Sal ferry horses, vehicles, and our injured mama to Basinger, the next campsite along the trail. I hadn’t seen Carlos since we argued over who should be in charge of helping Mama.
Now, the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. A clump of sabal palms sent long, skinny shadows across the pasture where we’d made camp. Field sparrows flitted here and there, hunting insects. Mama was ensconced on an upholstered chair Sal had scrounged up from somebody’s camper. He also found a wooden chair and two pillows for her to use to rest her ankle. She was relishing her starring role in a drama.
Marty, Maddie, Sal, and I sat on the ground around her. We moved to make way as a new group of well-wishers stopped by to get the story from the horse-rider’s mouth. We’d now gotten to the third or fourth re-telling, with Shotgun’s speed and the perils of the woods magnified in each rendition.
“So, Shotgun and I were just standing there, pretty as you please, when all of a sudden those bees came out of nowhere,’’ Mama said. “That horse snorted and bucked like a demon. I swear all four feet were off the ground. Then he took off, faster than a speeding bullet,’’ she said.
Sal took his cue: “Marty and I came back with our plates, and we couldn’t find her.’’
Marty shuddered: “We were scared to death.’’
“Well, not me,’’ Sal amended. “But I was worried once we saw that horse run by without Rosie in the saddle.’’
I’d almost stopped listening. Until, suddenly, some fragments in my brain snapped together into one full piece.
“Did anybody hear about any other horses getting stung?’’ I searched the faces of the other riders gathered around Mama.
Shoulders shrugged. Heads shook.
“I wasn’t too far away from that spot where your mama’s horse got spooked,’’ one cowboy finally said. “If there were bees, there couldn’t have been too many. I didn’t hear a hive, and I didn’t see a thing.’’
I digested that tidbit of information.
Before Mama got wound up again to start on her story, I spoke. “I sure don’t mean to be rude, y’all, but I think Mama needs to get a little rest. We’ll bring her over to the campfire for dinner, and you can get all the details you want then.’’
Like a leading lady given the hook, Mama started to protest, “Mace, I’m not the least little bit tired . . .’’
Maddie, after hearing Mama’s story two times too many, became my ally: “Mace is right. And I’m sure all these nice folks have some chores they need to get to.’’ She leveled her sternest principal stare, and the crowd scattered like eighth-graders caught with cigarettes. “Besides, Mama, just think how many people at dinner won’t have heard your story yet.’’
That thought seemed to cheer Mama. Her mind was probably turning to what fruit-colored outfit she’d choose for her dinner show performance.
In the meantime, I had a few questions myself for Mama. Something about Shotgun and that swarm of bees just didn’t sit right with me.
“What do you remember before you saw the bees?’’
Mama and I sat in Sal’s big Cadillac, alone at the spot they’d chosen for their camp. My sisters were off tending the horses. Sal had gone to find someone to help him with Maddie’s tent. Carlos had remained scarce since our ridiculous spat over who’d rescue Mama.
“I don’t remember anything out of the ordinary, Mace. If I’d known I was going on a death ride, I might have paid more attention.’’
She sat in the front seat with her ankle on her pillows. I was stretched out in the back.