Chasing a Dream: A Horseman's Memoir Page 13

  She came home one day and said, “Les and I are going on an overnight trip to do a gig.” Les was a fiddler, a member of the band.

  “Traveling alone with a married man is a bad idea,” I said. “I don’t think you should do this.”

  Locke snapped at me. “Don’t be ridiculous! He’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “Look what happened to me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not you. I would never do that.” I did not bring up the obvious point, that she had had two affairs before. As usual, there was no changing her mind, so I didn’t argue.

  Locke went on her trip. Throughout the winter she continued to write songs, record, and travel with her new band while I worked on the ranch calving and training colts. All the youngsters were coming along nicely except one particular bay Thoroughbred filly that didn’t want to gentle down. Like the rest of the Thoroughbred colts she had been raised on Spring Mountain, a large treeless mountain north of the ranch that was covered with lava rock. The band of mares and their colts would roam free there until gathered in the spring. The colts were wild as deer. The hot-blooded two-year-olds were difficult to break, but I enjoyed the challenge. They all started nicely except for the one bay filly that had such a high level of fear that my slightest movement would send her into flight.

  Although I could ride her in the barn, she was so spooky I wasn’t confident she could handle a ride outside. Any movement would set her off. Fortunately she wasn’t one to buck, and that was a good thing because her freakish moves made her hard enough to ride. She would spook and jump one way, and then suddenly change direction and shoot off the other way.

  One clear day I asked Locke to lead me behind her broke horse while I rode the filly. I hoped the presence of the older horse would give her the confidence she needed for her first ride outside. After some warm-up time in the barn, Locke took the filly’s lead rope and led us across a big field that had recently been disked for replanting. The freshly cultivated ground provided good footing for the filly in case she blew a gasket. Although nervous, she walked along willingly.

  In the distance a small dust devil formed and swirled across the field toward us. “I hope that misses us,” I said. It sucked up tumbleweeds, grew in diameter, and turned red with dust. Twisting toward us, it flung out tumbleweeds and other debris. Locke and I thought about making a run for it, but the filly was already starting to hop around.

  The dust devil hit us dead on. We couldn’t see anything. My hat flew off. I squinted, tried to remain relaxed, and stroked the filly’s neck, but the storm was too much for her. She lunged, hit the end of the lead rope, and almost fell down. Locke screamed, “I can’t hold her!” and then the lead rope stripped through her hand. The filly galloped off like the devil himself was chasing her, the lead rope dragging

  We raced across the field. I knew I needed to grab the rope before she tripped over it and rolled head over heels. With a death grip I hung onto the saddle horn with my right hand and leaned forward next to the halter to grab the rope. This frightened the filly even more, and she accelerated to top speed toward an embankment that dropped down into the creek bottom. My trying to pull on the rope and turn her in a big circle terrified her even more.

  With no other options, I gave her slack and hung on for dear life. Down the rocky hill we flew straight into a thicket of cottonwood trees where a bunch of yearling colts were standing in the shade. She ran right through the middle of them, scattering them like a covey of quail. Surprised and scared, the wild colts bolted through the trees, jumping over deadfall as they went. I was ducking and diving from side to side to keep from getting raked off by a limb. She ran toward the colts seeking the comfort of their company, but all they saw was a wild monster bearing down.

  Off they raced, the filly and me right behind. We broke out of the trees and flew across an open flat into a stand of tall sagebrush, which raked me in the face. The filly ducked and darted through the brush. The mountain colts were fit, and they seemed to be just getting warmed up when we all headed for a ten-foot-wide irrigation ditch.

  The colts all flew over the ditch without breaking stride. The filly did, too. I couldn’t believe she had cleared it with me on her back. Back across the field we went, and then around toward the creek and back toward the cottonwoods.

  We had galloped about five miles when the colts began to tire and slow to a trot. Finally I managed to turn the filly with the lead rope. Soon she circled to a stop and I wasted no time jumping off. My hands shook and my legs trembled, but I wrapped my arms around her neck and tried to reassure her.

  Grant enjoyed riding the horses he was training, like this thoroughbred mare, Sparky, in the red desert hills around the Dubios area. Photo by George Grady Grossman.

  Locke came galloping up, a concerned look on her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I grinned. “But that was wildest ride I’ve ever been on.” I knew the filly was spent, so I handed Locke the lead rope and she led me five miles home.

  I guess the filly had learned that running off was scary and hard work. Like me, she didn’t like it one bit. She progressed nicely and never ran off again.

  The Diamond D was our home for the next two years. I was living the life I had dreamed of when I read Louis L’Amour novels and rode up Grand Mesa to build a cabin. Beautiful country, fresh mountain air, cattle, horses, and adventure; what more could a man ask for? Although the wages were slim, I was happy--but Locke complained constantly. “How can you possibly be happy with this job? The pay is terrible. And besides, the manager hates me. I just want to be back working for ourselves.”

  My heart sank. “Can’t you just be content for once in your life?”

  If Locke had made up her mind it was only a matter of time before we would move on. It turned out that she didn’t have to drag me out of there. Drought and a downturn in the cattle market forced the ranch to sell the cattle herd and eliminate the horse program. They no longer needed us, and let us go. We sold most of the horses, now owned by the ranch, to a polo outfit in Texas, and I made a deal to continue training some of the young ones through the winter and deliver them to Houston in the spring.

  Locke, Tara, and I moved to her parents’ property east of Dubois on the East Fork River. We purchased a mobile home, and cleared the sagebrush from ten acres for an arena and horse corrals. I took to shoeing and training horses for the public. Locke continued to write songs and travel with the band. Horses were no longer the glue binding us together.

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  NEW BEGINNINGS

  25

  DUBOIS, WYOMING, 1996

  That August believing everything was fine, I drove to Palisade for two weeks to help Dad harvest his peach crop. When I returned home Locke’s demeanor was cold and standoffish. “We have to talk,” she said. “Come in the house.”

  She was about to launch into another lecture about what was wrong with me, about all the work my absence had caused her, how irresponsible I had been for leaving. She looked straight at me. “I want a divorce,” she said. “I hope you can understand.”

  “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m in love with Les.”

  I stood there for a few seconds, stunned. “You’re not serious. He’s a married man.”

  “I’m totally serious. This is what I want. We’re in love.”

  Still shocked, I said, “How long has this been going on?”

  “A long time. I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming.” My thoughts went back to our argument about her first trip with Les.

  “I knew it.” I was still in a daze. “That’s when it started, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Now I understand what happened to you. We didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did. But it’s what I want.”

  “No, it wasn’t meant to happen. You let it happen. And it’s not right, and you know it. You need to break this off now. We’ll forget it happened and go on. We’ve gotten through this sort of thing before. We can do it
again.”

  She finally agreed to put things on hold for a while, although she was sure she had made up her mind. The next two weeks were hell. Locke’s manner was hard and determined. “Grant, you’ve been a good partner, but since you betrayed me, I’ve never really been able to forgive you.”

  I shook my head. “That was six years ago. I thought that was in our past. Besides, what about the two affairs you had? Don’t you think that hurt me, too?”

  “That was different. You knew better.” Her voice became calm. “Let’s not fight over it. I know what I want. It will be okay.”

  Devastated by Locke’s decision to divorce, Grant found one small ray of hope in that he was granted custody of Tara and they remained close throughout their struggles. Photo by Mary Steinbacher.

  “How can it be okay? What about Tara? I’m not leaving without her. And what about Les? Is he getting a divorce, too?”

  Back and forth we went for the next several days as I tried my best to change her mind.

  I had promised to take some people hunting to pay off a personal loan, so I spent the next ten days in the Teton Wilderness thinking and praying. I had known something needed to change. I had been praying for it, but this couldn’t be the solution. There was next to no chance Locke was going to change her mind.

  After the hunting trip nothing had changed. Locke said, “Les is getting a divorce. It’s time to tell Tara. I think we should give her a choice of who she wants to stay with.”

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I kept thinking, How do you make a child choose between her parents? I said, “What kind of choice is that for a ten-year-old? She shouldn’t have to choose. She’s only a child.” I thought for a minute, and then gathered all my resolve. “I’ll talk to her, but I’m telling you right now, I am not leaving without her.”

  Tara was in the yard swinging under a big cottonwood tree on the rope swing I had made. How am I going to tell her? I wondered.

  She looked up, saw me, and grinned. “Hi Daddy. Would you give me a push?” Then she looked more closely at me. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

  “I have some terrible news, Tara.” I tried to find the right words. “Your mother wants a divorce. Says she’s in love with someone else. I may have to leave.”

  Tara stared at me and then shook her head. “No!” Tears welled up in her eyes. She put her little hands on my cheeks, her face right up to mine. “No, Daddy! You can’t let this happen. I know it happens to other people, but I didn’t think it could happen to us. I have friends at school whose parents are divorced, but I didn’t think it could ever happen to me.” Then, wailing, she jumped off the swing, ran to me, and clung to my waist. We stood there hugging each other, both of us crying. “What will happen to me, Daddy? What will I do?”

  “Well if you had a choice, would you go with me or stay with Mom?”

  Tears streamed down. She pondered my question. “Well, if I have to choose, I want to go with you. But please, can’t we talk to Mom? Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

  Still crying, we walked into the house. Tara ran up and hugged her mother. “Tell me it’s not true, Mom. Why do you have to do this? We’re a family.”

  “Tara, people get divorced. I know it’s hard, but you’ll be okay,”

  The news didn’t take long to make the rounds. Some of our close friends tried to reason with Locke, tried to talk her out of the divorce, but she would have none of it. She agreed to grant me custody of Tara if I would sign the divorce papers. In one last effort to change her mind, Tara and I got down on our knees. I said, “Please don’t do this. Don’t break up our family. We’re begging you.”

  Her decision had been made.

  We signed the divorce papers in October. Tara and I left for Palisade with our few belongings: a truck that wasn’t paid for; an old steel gooseneck horse trailer; Sparky, a brown Thoroughbred mare; and Tara’s old horse Chuckles. We crossed the Wyoming line headed to live with my parents. I was devastated and heartbroken but at least I had my daughter.

  26

  PALISADE, COLORADO, 1996

  Like any parent, my thoughts focused on what was best for my child. I would need help with her, and my parents, who hadn’t been allowed to have much of a role in her life, were thrilled to pitch in. Because Locke hadn’t liked them and because I had been focused on building a career in the horse business, I had not spent much time with my family in sixteen years. Now, at age thirty-eight, I was returning home a divorced, broken man with a daughter in tow.

  Mom and Dad met us at the farmhouse door. Smiling ear to ear, they flung open their arms to hug us, and then helped unpack our belongings.

  I moved back into my childhood room in the basement. Tara took Clay’s old bedroom upstairs.

  Though she had never again tried to kill herself, Mom had over the years fallen into several depressions. I only heard about them from my sisters but didn’t realize how bad they had been. By January she was sinking again. It was the first time I witnessed this firsthand as an adult. The doctors had no explanation. It had started with sleeplessness and evolved into confusion. She could hear us talk, but couldn’t process our words. She just stared at us absently. She would sit for hours in her rocking chair rubbing her hands together and chewing her fingernails to nubs.

  In more lucid moments she would say, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get better. I’m sorry I’m this way. I don’t know what to do.” Each day was the same. Her doctor prescribed medication, but nothing helped. Already emaciated, she refused to eat.

  Dad would pat her on the shoulder and say, “It’s all right, Jeanne. It’s all right. Can I get you anything?” She had survived uterine cancer in her early fifties, but the treatments of chemo and radiation had damaged other organs, which had been removed. Later she had developed a blood disease that had nearly killed her.

  Tara needed stability. She had lost her mother and now she was losing her Nana. We had nowhere else to go. I enrolled her in a small Christian school hoping the staff would give her extra love and attention. Tara tried but often complained that she didn’t like her teacher because she was mean. Each morning I fed Tara breakfast, drove her eight miles to school, picked her up afterward, and helped her with homework. At night when I put her to bed she would say, “Daddy, I miss Mommy. Why did this have to happen to us?” I often asked myself the same question as I held her while she cried herself to sleep. How could Locke have given up her daughter? What is she thinking tonight? She must be missing her. But what choice did I have? I had thought my mother would help with Tara, but her depression prevented it.

  Jeanne and Joe adored their grand-daughter Tara, and when she and Grant returned from Wyoming to Colorado when she was ten years old, they did all they could to make her feel at home.

  A sort of darkness came over me and pinned me down. Somehow I knew that sinking too low would prevent me from crawling out. One day, feeling terribly depressed and unsure if I could handle life any longer, I walked through the peach orchard and sat by the canal that I had nearly fallen in as a toddler. I recalled diving for rocks, jumping off the bridge, and launching into the canal from the swing. That millstone of a lifejacket, the ladder and rope swing; so innocent and carefree, those days. Now I sat on the bank--an adult--a broken man full of regrets.

  The memories of the canal helped my mood, but before long I was sinking again as if wearing the old waterlogged life jacket. Despair set in. This is my fault, I thought. I’ve destroyed my life and Tara’s. I thought about suicide. Just to escape. No, I thought, I’m not going to succumb to this. There’s got to be a way out. Surely things will get better. I prayed, “Thank you God for my precious daughter. Thank you for my health. Thank you for air to breathe. Thank you for my parents.” And on and on I repeated every good thing I could think of.

  27

  PALISADE, COLORADO, 1997

  Over time the heaviness lifted. The suffocating pressure on my lungs subsided. I inhaled deeply. It
felt like I had drawn a breath after surfacing from a long time underwater. I sensed I was going to survive. The darkness still hung on, but I was determined to beat it.

  That winter as the snow lay heavy in the orchard and the leafless peach trees stood stark against the gray sky, I bundled up in heavy winter clothing, climbed a ladder, and pruned Dad’s trees. I longed for springtime when beautiful pink blossoms would bloom and fill the air with their fragrance. I pruned for a while, leaving in my wake a long windrow of trimmings. While I stared at the limbs a realization hit me: pruning makes new growth possible. It is, in fact, essential to fruit-bearing.

  A day at a time I got Tara off to school and trudged out to my therapy sessions in the orchard. I pruned the entire orchard by the time spring rolled around. The grass greened and the orchard bloomed, but Mom’s health worsened. She was a seventy-six pound skeleton. The sleepless nights and Mom’s refusal to eat had exacted a toll. Dad and I were beginning to think she might not pull through. She rocked in her chair, repeating the same phrases: “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “I don’t why I’m this way.” “I don’t know what to do. I feel like God has abandoned me.”

  I thought about all the sacrifices she had made for her Christian faith before and after I left home, about her trips to China and Turkey risking her life smuggling Bibles, the time she spent a month in jail for protesting an abortion clinic. Mom had always opened her home and kitchen to feed homeless wanderers. If anyone lived her faith, she had. I hadn’t always agreed with her practices, but I had deep respect for her. I said, “Mom, if God has abandoned you, there’s no hope for any of us.”

  That evening was no different except that Mom felt particularly weak and desperate. In a pleading, plaintive voice, she said, “Oh, Grant, if I could only sleep through the night.”

  Seeing her helplessness, I held her in my arms and cried. “Dear God, please help my mother.” I had little faith that anything would change, but spoke mostly to comfort Mom.