Golden Lads and Girls

By Jim Hawley

Golden Lads and Girls tells the story of Pearl Morgan, the daughter of Charlie and Lucy Morgan, who were introduced in Hoof Prints in the Snow. Pearl is raised in southeastern Wyoming then goes to college in California where she meets Christopher Fallon. They fall in love and get married. Then she and Christopher become casualties of the social and political unrest of the 1960s and the Vietnam War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493197552

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

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E rin Pearl Morgan, now known as Sunshine, staggered onto the balcony of her sixth floor apartment which overlooked a wide, dirty street in central Los Angeles. From the apartment behind her came the smell of dried sweat and stale marijuana smoke. Just behind Pearl was a set of sliding glass doors. Behind these was the meager living room with outworn furniture. The man on the stained couch stirred slightly and moaned. Just behind the living room (which served as a bedroom also) was a small kitchenette. From a radio in the kitchenette floated the plaintive strains of Simon and Garfunkel singing Bridge over Troubled Waters.

Sunshine weaved to the flimsy, rusted wrought-iron rail at the front of the balcony and leaned against it. She inhaled deeply through cocaine-inflamed nostrils then coughed ardently from the morning California smog. Her lungs were also hypersensitive from years of cigarette and marijuana smoking. Somewhere in the bottom of the abyss of her once fruitful, productive mind, a memory of fresh, clean air laced with sage and pine strove to force its way to the surface—to be compared with the oppressively thick LA atmosphere. But the memory of clean Wyoming air could not persevere through the drug-destroyed neuronal connections to the surface of her consciousness.

She turned back to the apartment and shuffled into the kitchen, passing the sleeping man without concern. She poured a small glass of fresh orange juice and drank it in two greedy gulps. She noticed the man’s pant lying askew on the floor of the kitchen and gently lifted them. She felt the back pockets until she found the billfold. She plucked it out and opened it. She removed the cash and slung the trousers under her arm. She counted the cash. There was just over four hundred dollars there. Holding the cash, she looked at the sleeping man. She put two hundred on the counter then replaced the rest of the cash and put the billfold back in the pants. She then threw the pants on the floor.

The man must be a producer or banker or a businessman—he had too much cash to be an actor. She wasn’t stealing the money and she wasn’t a whore. She had been somewhat attracted to him at the party, he had, more or less, followed her home like a lost puppy. They had both wanted the sex. It was the age of free love. But the man had smoked some of her pot, drunk her wine, and snorted her coke. She only took what he owed her.

As she slunk past the couch, she saw a partially smoked, cold joint lying in the ash tray. She lit it and moved slowly back to the balcony. She lit the joint and cherished the first, burning smoke weaving through her lungs. She held her breath and gazed at the dirty buildings of LA as she exhaled the smoke. There was a small, round table on the balcony with a cushioned chair beside it. She climbed onto the chair, putting the table at shin level. She stepped forward and stepped onto the table. She weaved, drunkenly, and waved her arms like a bird.

Sunshine stared at the building in front of her. It was of dirty stone with permanent smudges where the smog had adhered itself to the limestone. She let her eyes wander up its steep face and contemplated its workmanship with wonder. As her eyes reached the top of the structure, she realized that she used to let her eyes wander up the face of Laramie Peak. She used to be amazed at the tall pines growing straight up into the air, putting the tree trunks at a sharp angle to the rising ground.

She spread her legs slightly as she felt herself losing balance. She smelled the fresh, slightly tangy smell of sage and palmetto. She listened carefully as she heard the soothing trill of the waters of Cottonwood Creek trilling through its bed which had been the floor of an ancient sea. Above the sage she smelled the sweat of the horse, heard its heavy breath turn into a soft whinny. This was how it used to be, how it should have been, what she once was and should have always been a part of.

Sunshine realized she had left Wyoming for someplace else, anyplace else, and had never realized that Wyoming was a part of her and she was a part of Wyoming. A tear rolled down her soft, vulnerable cheek, and she reached her hand out straight in front of her. She did not know to whom or to what she was reaching out her hand, but there was someone, something, some… dream, there just in front of her—just out of reach.

The man on the couch groaned and coughed, but Sunshine did not hear him. Sunshine was drifting toward her birth place, the high plains, the wind, the cattle, buffalo and horses. There was Laramie Peak, tall, green and grey, majestic. There, just south of it was Sheep Mountain. There was something else there also. Something dark and olive green… something the size of a man. It was just there… just ahead… just… .

CHAPTER 2

L ucy Morgan glanced out the kitchen window as she washed the lunch dishes. She reveled in the August morning sunlight splashing across her face and flooding onto the floor behind her. She smiled as she looked out the window. There twenty five yards east of the window was the round pen where Charles, Charlie, Morgan trained his horses. There was Charlie in the middle of the round pen, a gorgeous silvery Arabian gelding circling the inner circumference of the pen. Beside Charlie stood a little girl of seven, her blue eyes now wide in wonder, now scrunched in concentration.

Pearl’s blue eyes, she had been told, were her greatest asset. Her hair was long and beautiful when washed and brushed, though it rarely was both at the same time. It was a nondescript dirty brown which did not make her blonde, brunette, or red-headed. It just made her nothing. Pearl hated her hair.

Now, Pearl, watch him, commanded her father. When you see him flicking his inner ear toward you and, kinda leaning more toward you, you know he is about ready to be yours. Pearl nodded. But it won’t happen immediately. You gotta just let it happen.

OK, Daddy! shouted Pearl, stomping her foot.

The horse jerked his head up and went from slow trotting around the pen to fast loping around the pen with eyes saucer-shaped.

Gently, Pearl. Don’t make such sudden moves, corrected her father. And talk softly. Arabs like soft talk. They don’t like loud noises. He kicked some dust toward Pearl. Or little kids.

Oh, Daddy, admonished Pearl. She watched the horse for another minute. Then a new thought struck her. Are Arabs from Arabia?

Well, they are from north Africa where the people are called Arabs, replied her father.

That don’t make sense, muttered Pearl. They should be called North Africans.

I guess you’re right, chuckled Charlie. But that’s the way it is.

There are a lot of things that are the ‘way they are’ instead of the ‘way they should be,’ commented Pearl.

Can’t argue with that, nodded Charlie. Now get back to working the horse.

Pearl turned her attention back to the silver gelding, who had now settled into a slow trot. Pearl stared at his hips while noticing his head in her peripheral vision. The horse would trot around, turning his head every few steps toward the center where Pearl stood.

Now, walk toward his head and point in the opposite direction, instructed Charlie.

Pearl did as instructed, pointing her right hand in the opposite direction that the horse was moving. The horse wheeled and began trotting in the opposite direction. After two trips around the round pen, Pearl noticed he was licking his lips and focusing his inner ear toward her.

Now move toward his front and say ‘whoa’, muttered Charlie in a hoarse whisper.

Pearl did as instructed and the horse came to a stop. He stared at Pearl.

Slowly walk toward him, one hand held out, whispered Charlie. Not so fast. When you get close, stroke his neck. That’s right. Now, talk softly to him. Say sweet things. He is a sweet boy. That’s right. Softly stroke his neck. Let him know how proud you are of him. That’s it.

Pearl stroked his soft neck. The horse dropped his head and nuzzled Pearl. Pearl turned her head slightly toward Charlie. Can I ride him now?

Not yet. He needs to know you are no threat. Soon, you can ride him, said Charlie. Now move to his side. Good. Now stroke his side. Gently. Now rub him all over his side. Slowly work your way around his head and stroke his other side. That’s it.

I know, Daddy. I have done this a hundred times already, retorted Pearl. When can I get on him?

You will both know when it’s time. And it won’t be time until he’s ready, explained Charlie.

Oh, all right. But, I’m ready now, said Pearl stomping her foot. Pearl stroked the horse’s neck twice more, then turned her back on him and walked back to the center of the round pen. Silver, the gelding, had not moved and stood staring at Pearl.

That’s right, said Charlie softly. See how he is studying you.

Yes, sir, replied Pearl without taking her eyes off the horse.

Now walk toward his hip and cluck your tongue like this, instructed Charlie. Just one or two steps.

Pearl did as instructed and the horse began trotting around the pen.

Keep focusing on his hip, encouraged Charlie. That’s right. Keep him moving. If he slows down, cluck at him.

After the horse had made three full circles, Charlie spoke to Pearl. Step toward his head and point in the other direction.

Pearl did as instructed and the horse turned around and began trotting in the opposite direction.

That’s right, cooed Charlie. Now stop him.

Pearl stepped sideways toward the horse’s head. She put up both hands and firmly said Whoa. The horse stopped and turned to look at her.

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That’s right. Now walk slowly up to his head and stroke him, said Charlie.

Pearl walked up to the gelding and stroked his forehead between his ears.

Just then Pearl heard a voice from the house. Lucy Morgan, her mother, was standing on the porch just in front of the door. Charlie, can you bring me some water for washing?

Charlie looked in her direction and replied, Just a few minutes. He turned back to Pearl. You need to come out of the round pen and leave the horse here. He held out his hand to her and she reluctantly took it. He led her through the gate into the yard. The gelding watched them with dignified vigilance.

Charlie then went to the house to retrieve the water bucket, leaving Pearl standing just outside the round pen. Pearl watched him intently until he disappeared into the house. She then turned back to the round pen. She knew he would be gone for a long time, long enough to give her time to connect with the horse. She had tried before and knew the latch on the gate was too hard to undo for her to open it. But she could climb. She began scaling the fence which formed the round pen and dropped lightly to the ground on the other side—inside the round pen. The silver gelding, which had been sniffing the dust, looking for some grass upon which to graze, lifted his head and stared at her. He snorted and pawed the ground with his right front hoof nervously.

Pearl stood stock still and stared at him. The gelding turned his head, first to the right then the left then back toward Pearl. He snorted, more softly this time, and took two steps toward the six year old girl.

Pearl stood her ground. The horse stopped and stared at her She walked slowly straight toward him. She walked straight up to his head and stopped only inches away. She stood very still for a long five seconds. She then stroked his forehead. He dropped his head and seemed to relax. The horse was not extremely tall, only about fifteen hands, but tall enough compared to a pre-school girl.

Pearl then turned and walked several steps away from the horse, along the fence. The horse slowly followed her. She stopped and slowly turned back to him.

Good boy, Silver, she sang softly to him. You just relax. I’m your friend.

The horse was standing close to the fence with his right side against the enclosure. Pearl continued talking as she slowly worked her way beside the right side of his neck.

You are just a little sweety, she cooed as she stroked his neck. Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.

She stroked down the back of his neck and shuffled down beside him. She moved her hand slowly to his shoulder and slid sideways until she was beside his shoulder. She rubbed his shoulder a second then moved her hand onto his forward chest, just behind the shoulder.

Don’t ever get yourself between the fence and the horse, she could hear her father telling her in her mind. He had told her this several times in the past. He could spook, or just get mean, and beat you to death.

Pearl ignored the remembered instructions. She continued to rub the horse’s back, just behind the withers, as she slowly placed her foot backwards on the first plank of the fence. She stood up so she was standing on the fence as she continued to stroke. She leaned over the horse’s back and began to stroke the other side. She leaned further until she was lying across the horse. The gelding shuffled a step to the side, toward the middle of the pen. He raised his head at the same time and blew air through his nostrils softly. Ever so slowly, Pearl slid her right leg across the horse’s back until she straddled him. She slowly, somewhat timidly, sat upright. The gelding took three jerky steps forward.

Good boy, whispered Pearl softly. You are such a good boy.

The horse stopped and turned his head back to the left and sniffed her left leg. He next looked straight ahead as if somewhat confused. Just then the gate to the round pen creaked open. Silver lifted his head high as Charlie stepped into the pen. Charlie turned latched the gate back closed and turned to face the pair. The gelding snorted loudly and suddenly, abruptly, began running around the enclosure. Pearl grabbed a handful of mane and leaned forward. The gelding circled close to the fence, making Charlie worry about Pearl’s outside leg getting caught by the boards of the fence. The horse made three complete circuits around the pen before Charlie could get him to stop.

Without taking his eyes off the horse, Charlie backed toward the fence until he reached the point where Silver’s halter was hanging. He slowly, reaching backward, took the halter down. Slowly, cooing softly, he walked to the gelding’s head. He stroked the forehead of the horse, just below the forelock. He rubbed his hand across the jaw and slowly moved his hand to the horse’s neck. He took some of the mane just behind the head in his hand and pushed lightly causing the horse to drop his head. He placed the halter across the horse’s nose, lightly, softly putting the running end of the halter in his other hand which he had snaked across the horse’s neck. He latched the halter and turned to face Pearl.

Come on, Honey, let’s get down now, he smiled.

Pearl put her arms out toward him and leaned forward. Charlie leaned forward, letting the arms encircle his neck. He straightened up and took a half step backward, dragging Pearl from the horse’s back. Silver snorted, threw his head up and back, and pulled on the rope attached to the halter. Charlie leaned forward, holding the gelding still, and set Pearl on the ground.

Charlie pushed Pearl lightly back away from the horse. His arm muscles stood out as he pulled on the horse. After a few seconds the horse took a half step forward, releasing some of the tension on the lead rope. Charlie relaxed his grip some and the two stood staring at each other.

What were you thinking, Pearl? questioned Charlie without taking his eyes off the horse. You could have been hurt very badly.

He was not gonna hurt me. We is friends, insisted Pearl.

He is a horse. He doesn’t think the same as people, said Charlie sweetly. We will talk about this after I get him put up.

Charlie moved the horse slowly toward himself, forcing him with the lead rope. He then shook the rope making the horse back up.

Now you wait right here while I put him back in the pasture, muttered Charlie.

Yes, sir, responded Pearl, hanging her head down. As Charlie opened the gate, Pearl lifted her head. But I rode him and he did real good.

We’ll talk about this later, grunted Charlie as he led the horse out of the round pen.

As Charlie led the horse back to the pasture Pearl trod out of the round pen back toward the house. She scuffed her boots in the dust, head hung low, lower lip stuck out and pulled up onto her top lip, a tear coursing across her left cheek leaving a moist trail in the dust on her face. Her mother, Lucy, met her at the door.

What’s the matter, Kiddo? questioned Lucy.

Daddy’s mad at me, stated Pearl.

What about?

I rided the horse. He’s a nice horse. He’s gonna be my horse, whined Pearl.

Your father can’t be mad at you for riding a horse, interrogated Lucy.

Well, began Pearl, I rided the horse when he wasn’t there. He said I should have waited.

Lucy took in a deep breath, lifting her hand to her mouth. You should’ve waited for him. You could have been hurt.

That’s what Daddy said, commented Pearl, shuffling her feet in the dust.

Well, get in the house and wash up for lunch.

Pearl shuffled into the house and went to the sink in the kitchen. There was a long handled pump on the side of the sink with the