"Horseman, Pass By!"

Abstract

"Horseman, Pass By!" Cary Holladay (bio) Rapidan, Virginia August 1945 After a long dry spell comes a rainy season of creatures that slither and spin. Spiders crochet over Nelle Fenton's doors. Nelle's husband, Richard, says, "Run into a spider web, and you'll run into a friend." Frogs glory in the rain that falls on the yellow grass and the brick terrace baked by months of heat. At night bats squeeze through holes in window screens and bobble in the hallways until Philip and Edmonia, the servants, sweep them outside with a broom. Between drizzles, Nelle's sister-in-law, Iris, sits on a garden bench reading. From the porch, Nelle observes a blacksnake drop from a tree and land beside Iris. Iris jumps up and sprints toward the house, screaming. Nelle takes pleasure in withholding sympathy. "It was harmless." "How could you tell from up here?" Iris asks. "I have good eyes." Iris huffs past her into the house. The war is over, and Nelle's boys are coming home, yet Nelle's heart is heavy. Richard is recovering from a heart attack. He and Nelle argue bitterly these days. He is angry that she refuses to sell a horse to a colored man named Bootney Sims. Twice the man has come by, and twice Nelle has sent him away. "He wouldn't take proper care of the horse," Nelle tells Richard. They are in the garden, beside the bench where the snake scared Iris. Nothing is blooming except a few daylilies. "Bootney Sims is a good man," Richard says. "Has he ever been in your court?" Nelle asks, guessing. She tosses a handful of Quaker Oats into the pond, and fish kiss the water with orange lips. [End Page 1] "His wife was beating him," Richard says reluctantly. "He wanted a divorce. I granted it. She's a violent woman." Nelle pops the lid back on the box of oats. "You should be resting," she says. "Have you ever listened to anything I say?" Richard says. "I have the right to approve the buyers of my horses. I don't believe most negroes know how to treat thoroughbreds." "Some of the best trainers in the county are colored," Richard says. "Look at the Ellis brothers. Their standards are as high as yours." "Nobody's standards are as high as mine," she says. Until the war the show was an annual event, drawing crowds of negroes and whites alike. Nelle and Richard went every year. There were jumps, mule races, sulky races, and prizes for best draft horse, harness horse, yearling, and brood mare. Bands played, and black jockeys in colored silks flew around on horses with plaited manes. Now the Ellis brothers are reviving the show. "Let Bootney Sims buy a horse from the Ellis brothers," Nelle says. "I don't want to do business with him." "You're wrong, Nelle. You're wrong about so many things," Richard says. He turns and leaves her. She can't bear to watch how slowly he trudges up the lawn. She really does want to go to the Colored Horse Show. It was fun to bet on the races and eat fried fish from paper plates. If Richard turned around and asked her to go, she'd say yes. Hasn't she provided for the family, doing as much as Richard or more? All during the war, her household suffered no privation. Iris promoted foolish economies, digging up wild greens to put on the table, though the gardens were bursting with crops. Iris knits ugly socks for Nelle's boys, but Nelle receives more letters from them. She is Mother; Iris is Aunt. Richard writes to each boy once a week. He reads his letters aloud: which friends came for dinner, reports of his own health. "Mr. Jenkins had to carry me up the courthouse steps," Richard wrote, proud that he is still Judge Fenton of the Orange County Juvenile and Domestic Court. All of their boys served in the war. Gordon, the weakest-willed, is stateside already. He visited last week with a new girlfriend. She had the face of a cutpurse, with enough mascara to tar...