by Tiffani Arnold
Josephine’s skin radiated from the sun’s heavy glow like the legs of the iron stove that sat in Pa’s living room. On quiet winter evenings thousands of days ago, she liked to lay her head on the floor, close enough to feel its vibration and just far enough to escape its burning wrath. And just when she had found some peace, a loud stomp would land behind her followed by another directly in front of her nose. Wallie’s feet. She would yell and scream and they would stomp around the crickety old house chasing each other. Sweat from underneath the brow of her hat trickled down the side of her forehead, she scratched the sensation leaving her fingernails wet. The shuffling of her horse’s hooves kicked up rough dust from the ground. There was something about being out here with this horse that instilled hope in her. He was her daddy’s horse but Josephine being the slick-talking little girl she was, convinced him to give her riding lessons. To his dismay he would wake up one day with no horse and no children, wondering how he was worse off than how he began.
As she filled up the canteen with water from the small pond, she paused to observe her face. It had been maybe a week since she had looked at herself. Before was briefly in passing, catching a glimpse through a shop window while trotting through a town called Hattenfield. Her posture was tall, riding had done it to her, eyes were small and tired but she didn’t stay with herself long. The town was not a welcoming one, in fact it seemed that just about every person in it was peeking out their doors and windows, stopping their activities to stare at the stranger. She filled up at the town trough, swiftly leaving as quickly as she appeared.
The pond of water was honest not withholding anything. Her skin had become a deeper darker brown than it had been a week ago almost a shade above Wallie’s, who daddy claimed turned out so black because their mama had swallowed too many slices of blackberry pie, and thus birthed a blackberry pie baby. The air around her was heavier, not as feminine as days past for now it bore the weight of a woman in the heat of desperation. With her hat removed, the hair underneath was fuzzed as if there were a thin halo around her head. She twisted up her lips at her reflection, indistinguishably out of fear, disgust, and maybe pride.
“Let’s get going boy”, She untied the horse and mounted up. The mountains were all around her, gentle reminders of the fragility of life and also the power that coexisted in the same world as her. It was quiet except for the rhythmic clapping of hooves against dirt and the shimmying of her belongings. Winds whipped around her face, she took a silent deep breath and spoke out, “Wallie, why did you have to leave? Leave me? Out of all people me? Help me find you.” Despite what her gut told her, she pushed on with her heart into the place where the sun sets, out west.
The days were the easiest to endure it was the nights that hurt the most. In the night her fears became alive; nightmares that went to hide in the day became brave in the darkness. The sky was fading into a deep purple and so she began to set her sights on a place to stop for rest starting a fire with branches. When the flame grew enough to shed light on her surroundings, she peered in her bag to asses her items. There was…not much. Her head leaning against the saddle, she looked up at the expanse of sky above.
Three more days went by. Food was little to none.
She slumped as the horse trudged onward trying to regain herself as the sun evaporated her last bits of energy. When Wallie left it wasn’t quiet. Daddy was yelling. The front door slammed. Ma was crying. Birds sung. Josephine’s feet smacked the dirt. The last she saw of him was the dust kicked up by his horse and the back of his hat bobbing. Him and Daddy often argued about what it meant to be a man so he left to find out. Her clothes were soaked in sweat. She looked around desperately for any signs of life. Birds cawed. Winds blew. The sun scorched. No one.
The hooves of the horse clapped slower and slower, dredging in the dusty sand dirt.
“What’s that?” she squinched her eyes peering deep into the distance. A pool of water glimmered before her, kicking the horse with her foot she edged him to move faster. But the water grew further away as if being pulled along by string. Exhausted, she slid downwards off her horse, collapsing onto the earth, her face and mouth covered in red dust. Her right shoulder and back deeply bruised upon impact.
“Do you remember what it felt like when we came here before?” A pair of black boots stood in front of her. She looked up while coughing out dirt.
In a croaky voice she asked, “Wallie?”
“Daddy used to bring us here. You were so little; I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
She looked around; they were in a clearing deep in the woods. The trees provided shade from the sun yet she could still feel its intensity. They were sitting by a small pond. He kneeled down beside her, dipped his hands into the water and washed her face.
“I remember… traces, Daddy and you and… me laughing.”
“Look,” he pointed across the pond to a wild mustang, it was beautiful. “I want to be free like that.”
“Free.”
Underneath the Colorado desert sun Josephine lie in the dirt murmuring to herself, “Free.”
A young Apache boy peeped out at her through the branches of an acacia.
Tiffani Arnold is a writer from the Chicagoland area. She writes essays, short stories and is currently working on a novel. With her art she strives to expand the cultural lens of her readers. Her writing can be found in Furnace Literary Magazine, on Medium, and on her website. She graduated from Purdue University in 2020 with a degree in English writing and a minor in French.
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