Free Macadoo of the Maury River by Gigi Amateau Page A

one?” He wrote in his notebook, then read again:
    “Oxeye daisy: white petals, big yellow eye, jagged leaves. More spindly than Poppa’s shasta daisy. About twelve inches high. Looks just like the shasta’s bloom. Only one plant.”
    I smelled the wildflower just before Job ate it.
    Izzy laughed and said, “Well, I’m hungry, too, Job.” Then he scribbled and read:
“Mules eat wild daisies. Not sure about Belgians.”
    He folded up his notebook, sat down beside us, and pulled an apple from his sack. A generous boy, Izzy hardly got half, between biting off chunks to share with Job and with me.
    Before Izzy could climb up the oldest of the three oaks to rest in its broad lower limbs, Molly exploded through the meadow, carrying Doctor Russ, the veterinarian, not Poppa. They galloped straight toward our paddock.
    “Izzy, tack up Mac!” the vet instructed from the saddle. “Let’s go.”
    “Poppa’s hurt,” Molly quietly told Job and me.
    I stomped the ground and tossed my head. I tried to jump the gate, but fell back.
    Molly touched her nose to mine. “Settle down but make haste, Macadoo. Your boy needs you.”
    Job pinned his ears at Molly, then turned to me. “Son, let the boy take you out of here, and let Molly lead you to the field. See how you may be of service.” He breathed over me to make me brave.
    Doctor Russ hurried Izzy along. “Please, Izzy. You need to tack up Mac and ride with me back to Tamworth Springs. There’s been an accident.”
    “What’s happened?” Izzy asked.
    The vet, a man of girth and height just suited for a Rocky Mountain mare–mammoth jack cross, shifted his weight, side to side, in the saddle. “Izzy, your granddad fell. Hit his head hard. Now, he’s talking a bit of nonsense. I’m afraid he may have broken his leg, too. An ambulance is on its way, but he wants to see you. We should go now.”
    The boy stood squinting at the sun. When Izzy still would not budge, I shoved my barrel against the gate.
    Doctor Russ spoke softly to my boy. “Your poppa’s tough. He’ll be okay. Just trot Mac through the forest.”
    Izzy patted my neck. “You’ll get me to him, Mac. I trust you.”
    He folded away his notebook and walked me to the barn. Izzy tacked me up all on his own. A hairy brown wolf spider crawled along the floor with a hundred spiderlings or more riding on her back, yet Izzy never reached for his pencil. The boy was busy summoning his courage, and I was, too.
    As we passed the gelding field, on the way to Tamworth Springs, Job stood square at the gate and asked after me, “Son, you know the forest?”
    I nickered.
    “Then I’ll stand here, right here, until you come home,” Job called.
    Molly led us through the woods at a fast trot. I could’ve managed the hard and narrow path without Molly’s help; I would have cantered the whole way to Poppa. Izzy fidgeted with his hands, then squeezed my reins too tight. He wiggled his seat and, yet, tried to reassure me. “We’ll be there soon,” he said. “Don’t worry.”
    Halfway to Poppa, Doctor Russ slowed Molly down and asked, “Everything fine back there? We’re going to canter now.”
    “I know what to do, Doctor Russ. You go, then we’ll go,” Izzy said.
    He grabbed mane and gave me my neck. My hooves lifted off exactly in time with Molly’s, and all of us cantered away.
    On the field, horses stood bunched together in groups of six and three and two, and some stood alone. Most of the riders remained mounted; a few stood on the ground talking to one another. The mild day had brought out the entire hunt club, even though the opening meet was still weeks away. A group of observers — guests of the club — stood a ways off from the horses, pointing at something uphill.
    The hounds that I had so often heard baying tumbled over one another in a frolic. A few pups had scampered away from the pack and followed their noses off into the brush at the edge of the field. All I could see was the tips of their white