June 1941 The New Pony

Midmorning on a humid Saturday in the early summer of nineteen-forty-one, two young boys, one nine and the other four, wrestled in the broad swath of grass in the front yard of a large, white farmhouse that sat at the end of a long gravel lane a quarter mile north of a small, Midwestern farming community. It was a windless day that enabled sound to carry over long distances, and as the two played, they would stop from time to time, stand up and look out across the cow pasture fronting the house when one or the other of them would detect a vehicle traveling from town on the one-way, concrete-slab highway. From their behavior, one might easily discern that while playing, they were really outside anxiously waiting for someone to arrive.

"Dad, Mom," the older of the two, grass stained and sweaty, finally shouted up at the kitchen window high above them where their mother was working at the sink washing dishes. "I think he's coming. There's a truck coming from town that's pulling a horse trailer behind it," he exclaimed loudly and ran back out to the edge of the yard to watch the truck draw closer.

"It's them ... it really is them, isn't it?" the excited younger boy asked his brother hoping to get some assurance from him. "I hope it's them," he mumbled to himself when his brother didn't respond right away.

Their mother's voice could be heard through the window yelling into the rear rooms, "Ethan! Marianne! Your brothers think they see a truck coming out of town that's bringin' the pony." Her announcement was instantly followed with squeals of excitement from her thirteen-year-old daughter, Marianne, who came rushing through the house, out the back entrance and banged the screen open; she ran wildly into the yard and focused her eyes on the distant truck pulling a horse trailer. She fought to contain her excitement once she realized that she was seeing what she had been envisioning for several days.

By the time the slow moving truck turned into the farm's long driveway, all six members of the family had gathered in front of the milk cooling shed at the end of the sidewalk. As they watched, the battered, old, 1936 International Harvester truck rattled and lumbered up the long gravel driveway. Printed on the door in bold, white letters was JAY CARTWRIGHT AND SON across the top line and underneath, ATWOOD, ILL in light blue. Riding behind in the dust was an unpainted, two-wheeled, horse trailer that softly swayed through the shallow pot-holes. The mother and kids watched in anticipation to see what kind of pony their father had bought at the sale barn a few days earlier. Several times they had quizzed him and each time he had not offered any information except to tell them that it was a fairly large, white pony with big brown spots. The old truck clattered around the two narrow curves by the garden, pulled up and stopped a few feet away from them in the large circular turnaround for vehicles.

Standing at the front of the family group was Marianne, a petite, brown-haired girl, dressed in white, short, puffy-sleeved dress with a bit of embroidery around the neck and hemmed with a flounce just above the knees. Around the small waist of the dress was a wide band of rose-colored fabric, tied in a loose bow off to the side. Marianne had been trying it on to see if last year's dress still fit when she heard the call from her mother. The very feminine, thirteen-year-old was the pride of her father. She was the main reason he purchased the pony which he had managed to buy only with careful planning and a shrewd bid at the sale barn. Initially he felt guilty about the purchase because it had been a long time since he had bought anything other than the necessities for farming; however, the pony was an early gift for his daughter's birthday and with the family's finances steadily improving, he decided on a spur-of-the-moment to frivolously purchase the pony that had caught his eye.

Dressed in his soiled work bibs and long-sleeved denim shirt, their grey-haired, fair-complexioned, thirty-eight-year old father slouched behind his small cluster of children while their dark-haired mother stood stiffly beside him in her brightly patterned, hand-sewn print dress.

The children rushed over to see more of the pony than just the top of his head, eyes and ears which were partially visible through the wooden slats of the trailer while their father walked around to the driver's side of the truck to greet Mr. Cartwright, who was delivering the pony from the man who had put it up for auction.

"Jay," their father acknowledged Mr. Cartwright who was already stepping down off the running board.

"Mornin, Milburn. It looks to me like your kids are happy with the pony," Jay commented, smiling, eyeing the kids gathered around the trailer eagerly trying to peek in through the slatted sides. "Maybe we oughta let the back gate down and get that little horse out before they start climbin' over the top or dismantlin' my trailer!" he laughed.

The younger boys jumped around in anticipation but Marianne, although in a more reserved way, was the most thrilled with the idea of having a pony and in time she would claim it as hers, which no one would ever dare dispute. She was very fond of the two horses already on the farm and when she had a free moment, she would go to the barn to curry and brush their coats and manes. While she worked, she often carried on conversations and shared secrets with them as if they understood every word she was saying. Horses were some of her best friends and she especially loved feeling their strength when riding on their bare backs. Maude, the biggest, was a large, dark-brown draft horse which, because of her size, the kids only rode out of necessity. Buddy, the other horse, was a Morgan, a smaller breed they used for a variety of purposes around the farm, and the one the kids enjoyed riding the most.

Shifting their feet and moving around to the back, the children maneuvered to get a clear view of the pony as Jay worked to lower the back gate. Marianne, standing slightly to the side, felt the new pony would add to her activities while on the other hand, her father was hopeful the pony might give both of his oldest kids a healthy distraction to keep them settled, maybe not forever but at least for the immediate future. He had recently noticed some restiveness in their behaviors, not unlike what he had felt at their age before he ran off from home. Marianne, he hoped would see the pony as an animal she could lavish with affection and continue to be satisfied with her life on the farm. What her father could not foresee was that although the pony actually would give Marianne something she desired, a welcome opportunity for a little freedom, he didn't foresee that his wife's relentless demands and expectations on her daughter would gradually create more tension between the two of them.

"Stand back!" Mr. Cartwright ordered cheerfully, working with the crossbar that held the back gate up. "I need to lower this thing so you can see your new friend. Look out now! Go on ... stand back! We don't want someone ending up with a knot on their head now, do we?" he said, chattering away, teasing as he worked.

The tailgate, once lowered, acted as a ramp. Jay backed the pony out of the trailer as the children bunched excitedly around their father who waited with one hand extended in case he needed to soothe and settle the pony. He had a proud look on his face while his wife of sixteen years pursed her lips in mild disappointment thinking the pony was a waste of hard-earned money and suspected it was somehow going to be a catalyst for unwanted change; just the opposite result her husband expected.

Mr. Cartwright stepped up into the trailer. "Careful boy," he said, patted the pony on the rump and squeezed past him to the front. After untying him, Mr. Cartwright backed the pony down the ramp. "He's all yours, Milburn," he said and handed the bridle over. "Hope you kids have fun and take good care of him," Jay exclaimed, but they were so focused on the pony which was snorting, pawing the gravel and nervously shaking his mane that they didn't hear a word he said.

What Milburn saw on his daughter's face compelled him to hand the pony's bridle to her. "Here, you hold onto him!" her father commanded and she snatched it happily away.

"What are you kids going to name him?" Mr. Cartwright asked pleasantly, stepping down to the ground to lift the tailgate.

Marianne lowered her head as if to study her feet, wrinkled her forehead in thought and then quickly looked up, "Rocky," she answered before anyone else had a chance to offer other suggestions. She glanced around to see if anyone objected and then led him into the yard with her two younger brothers, Leon and Jonathan walking along beside, stroking and patting the sturdy animal.

"I'll get the saddle and his blanket out of the truck and then you kids will be all set," Jay yelled after them and climbed up into the truck's bed.

"Go grab the saddle when Jay hands it down, Ethan," his father directed.

"Okay, Dad!" he said and rushed over to help just as Jay swung the saddle over the side.

Getting ready to leave, Jay checked the trailer one last time. "I can't thank you enough for doin' me the favor of pickin' the horse up on such short notice," Milburn replied. "Tomorrow's Marianne's birthday and I wanted her to have something she'd like," he stated and then added as a correction. "The pony's really for all the kids but I was mainly thinkin' of her!"

"It wasn't no problem for me and more than happy to do it!"

Always fair in his dealings, Milburn asked, "Do I still owe you anythin'?"

"Nothin' more," Jay stated flatly. "You and me both know the seller pays for haulin'. It's been all taken care of. I just wish I had more time to hang around and watch your kids enjoy their new pony but I've got other animals to haul today," Jay stated, slid into the cab, slammed the heavy cab door closed behind him, hung his left arm over the window sill and looked around. "You know," he said and paused, "my kids are all grown up and have flown the nest. I really miss the company of youngsters," he said contemplatively just before he turned over the starter on the truck. He watched briefly out the right side window as the children worked to get their new pony saddled. The starter ground and the engine coughed into life. Jay turned back one last time to Milburn standing in the gravel close by and said, "You're one very lucky man!"

"Thanks again and have a good day," Milburn replied, rapped his knuckles lightly on the outside of the truck door and stepped back out of the way.

"You too," Jay replied, roughly engaged the gears of the truck, winced at the sound, pulled slowly around the circular drive and drove off down the long lane. He smiled at himself in the rearview mirror and felt good about the part he had played in Milburn's purchase of the pony. He glanced into the side mirror and saw the family gathered around the yard. I think Milburn made a real wise decision buying that pony, he thought as he recalled what Milburn had expressed about keeping his kids grounded; however, no one could predict the consequences of the father's good intentions.

The First Ride

"I want to ride him first," Marianne, holding the bridle stated as Ethan cinched up the saddle and she got in position to mount up. The anticipation of riding the pony first was such a strong enticement that it was on the verge of causing a bitter confrontation. The two older siblings eyed each other to see who would back down first. "Please," Marianne pleaded calmly, although it wasn't in her nature to beg, she thought it best because if she insisted, she would probably lose. "Please!" she repeated. Her brother slowly stepped back even though his posture showed he wanted to win. She looked at him with a forced smile. "Please," she said the third time.

He eyed her briefly and very reluctantly shuffled aside. "OK, but only go for a short ride!"

Taking the saddle horn in her left hand, Marianne put her foot in the stirrup and swung smoothly up into the new saddle. She tucked the hem of her dress under her legs to keep it in place, clicked her tongue, tapped the pony lightly with her heels and rode out of the yard, down to end the lane towards the highway where her widowed grandmother's small house stood facing the highway.

Gloria, Marianne's mother, looked down the driveway at her daughter sitting straight, head held high like Joan-of-Arc, riding off into a new adventure. "When Marianne gets back I want you to tell her she still has to finish cleaning the cabinets," their mother informed her husband and three sons. "There's work to do and I don't have time to stand around here," she said to convey guilt on them for the frivolous purchase.

From a young age, Gloria had been faced with family responsibilities that gave her little time to pursue her own interests and it left a lasting impression on her. She was the third of six children to Edward and Minnie Marshfield. From the first day they were married, her parents had struggled to make ends meet and as long as they lived their short lives, it had never changed.

The entire Marshfield clan had a history of tough times and it had infected Gloria like a virus, leaving her prone to insecurities. Seeking employment during a difficult period, her uncle Jim moved to Louisiana to help farm three hundred acres of rice land which the town physician, old Doc Jones, had bought at a low price for speculation sometime back in the early twenties.

Edward, Gloria's father, had not done very well either. Before moving the family to Atwood just before the great depression, where he worked on town maintenance sweeping sidewalks and changing light bulbs in street lights, he had been a farm laborer for several years in Shumway, a village that was little more than a spot in the road just north of Effingham, Illinois.

Out of necessity, Gloria always had responsibilities greater than many people her age; however, she learned that a good work ethic helped acquire a steady job, which in turn brought stability and respect. She helped around the house every day and also worked in town as a domestic for an old couple, and because she had a natural talent for music, she learned to play their organ and could play many songs, especially church songs by ear.

In elementary school she liked composition and enjoyed writing, especially poetry, but she found little time to do her studies because of the family situation, although, she did manage to finish eighth grade. She developed a concept, as people of her status, situation, place and period of time often did that she grew up in, that physical work would give one security while education was secondary for survival. It was this belief that she carried into her married life and it manifested itself into the pattern she used in raising her children.

As if life was not already grim, when she was thirteen both her parents developed tuberculosis and their illness imposed severe restrictions on her. Emma, her older sister, got married; Jessie, the older brother, got a job. This left Gloria with the worry and responsibility of taking care of her sick parents, looking after three younger siblings and doing many of the household chores.

Although many people might get mired down in all that responsibility, she found enough free time to occasionally be out with her friends. On one short excursion from the house, when she was approaching her sixteenth birthday, she met Milburn, the son of a successful farmer. After only one or two dates, they fell in love. It seemed like destiny. One year later and just before her seventeenth birthday they got married in front of the local Justice of the Peace. Two years later the great depression started and by then her union with Milburn had moved her up the social ladder and towards a life of stability.

Milburn watched his wife walk toward the house and pause in front of the flowers blooming in the small plot of tilled soil by their back door. He knew he was an average looking man and it made him proud to have a dark haired, attractive wife that he felt loved him unconditionally.