“It’s your barn,” Claude said.
She entered the stall and, stepping carefully around Blue, knelt beside her head. “Shhh . . .” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.” With gentle fingers, she pushed Blue’s forelock away from her eyes and rubbed her forehead slowly, hoping to distract her from pain. Blue moved her head ever so slightly in Julia’s direction and nickered softly. Julia’s eyes filled and a burning lump formed in her throat. It seemed like Blue recognized her.
Waiting for Fletcher, Claude paced the stall, his hands in fists, and, every few minutes, checked under Blue’s tail. Julia blinked back tears and kept stroking Blue’s forehead and ears, talking to her in a soothing voice. Every now and then, Blue closed her eyes, her breathing slowed, and Julia’s heart nearly stopped.
After what seemed like an eternity, the barn door opened and slammed shut, and Fletcher ran up the aisle. “What’s going on?” he said, out of breath.
“I think the foal’s too big,” Claude said. “Either that or something else is wrong.”
Fletcher came into the stall, rolled up his sleeves, and felt Blue’s stomach. Then he went around to her rear end, knelt, and pushed her tail aside. “One of the foal’s front legs is back too far.” He pulled on the little hoof and let it go back in, sliding his fingers in beside it. “It’s okay, Blue,” he said in a calming voice. “You’ll be all right. Just hold on a little longer.” Slowly, he put his hand inside the mare, waited a second, then gently pushed his arm in almost up to his elbow. Blue stiffened and groaned. “Hold her hind legs,” he said to Claude. Claude got into position and Fletcher looked at Julia with serious eyes. “Do you think you can hold her head down?”
Julia nodded.
“Get between her crest and withers and firmly put your hands on the side of her neck beneath her mane,” Fletcher said. “This is going to be painful, so she might try to stand and we need to keep her down. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt her.”
Julia went around the top of Blue’s head and knelt beside her neck.
“Ready?” Fletcher said.
“Yup,” Claude said.
Julia nodded again, sweat breaking out on her forehead.
Fletcher pushed his arm in farther and Blue’s body contracted in pain. She grunted and panted and moaned.
“It’s okay,” Julia whispered to Blue, holding her neck down with both hands. “You’re going to be all right. We’re trying to help.”
Fletcher grimaced and reached in farther. He felt around for what seemed like forever, then finally said, “Got it!” and started slowly pulling. Blue stiffened and snorted loudly, nostrils flaring. Little by little, Fletcher’s arm came out all the way, the foal’s second hoof in his fist. Suddenly, Blue went limp, exhausted. “Let her go,” Fletcher ordered Julia and Claude. Julia lifted her hands, and Claude released Blue’s back legs. Still gripping the second hoof, Fletcher grabbed the first hoof with his other hand and pulled. “Come on, Blue, push!” he yelled.
Blue’s belly contracted and she lifted her head and pushed while Fletcher pulled. The foal’s hooves and front legs came out up to its knees, and Claude broke the white bag around them and yanked it away so Fletcher could get a better grip. Then the foal’s head came out and Blue went limp again. Fletcher kept pulling while Claude drew away more of the white sack from around the foal’s eyes and mouth.
“Come on, Blue,” Julia whispered. “You can do it.”
Blue moved her head, her stomach contracted again, and finally, Fletcher pulled the foal out all the way. He let go and stood while Claude drew away the rest of the sack. The wet foal lay in the straw, its sides fluttering up and down, its head down, its neck limp. It was oil black like Blue, with perfect white socks halfway up to its tiny knees. But its ribs stuck out, it looked half-starved, and it wasn’t moving. Julia swallowed and knelt in the straw, certain the foal was dying.
Bonnie Blue and her foal lay tail-to-tail in the stall, both motionless except for quick, shallow gulps of air. Julia’s heartbeat thudded in her brain, like her veins were about to burst. She felt like she couldn’t breathe or speak or move. How could this be happening? How could these beautiful horses, a mother and her newborn baby, be dying? To her horror and shock, Fletcher and Claude seemed unfazed. If this was what it was like to own Blackwood Farm, she didn’t want any part of it.
Fletcher checked between the foal’s hind legs. “It’s a filly.”
Julia looked at him and waited for the bad news, amazed he could be so detached. He was a veterinarian, trained to save sick and injured animals. Why was he just standing there? Then, to her surprise, the filly rolled onto its belly and lifted its head, its long limbs stretched out like saplings. But even if it survived, she thought, how would it ever stand on such bone-thin legs? It seemed impossible. The filly’s head doddered like an old man’s, as if taking one first and final look at the world. Julia couldn’t take it. She looked at Blue, who still lay on her side, her eyes closed. Oh God, not you too. Hot tears fell down Julia’s cheeks.
Then Blue lifted her head, rolled onto her belly, and curled her legs beneath her. The filly lifted its tiny wet head higher, then glanced at its mother and inched forward in the straw, struggling to get closer to her. Blue gazed back at her filly and nickered. The filly inched toward her, every effort a little bit stronger. And then Julia recognized the look in their eyes, the look she had studied so many times between mothers and daughters, the look that lit up their faces with affection and recognition of their unconditional love. Her breath caught in her chest.
“Well, Miss Blackwood,” Fletcher said, smiling at her. “What’s your new filly’s name?”
Even Claude was smiling.
Julia put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Miraculously, Blue and her filly were going to be okay.
CHAPTER 13
LILLY
1937