Candace, after all these years, could still see a beaked nose curving over cruelly twisted lips. She was twelve years old then, shuffling down the dusty road on her way home from school, stopping at the gate to pet the farmer's horse.
Remembering the terror of that day, her body shook uncontrollably as she recalled her plea. "Please sir, can I pet your horse?" A tiny, high-pitched voice escaped her throat as tears seeped from her eyes to slide onto trembling lips.
"No, git away from here and don't let me ketch you near my property or horses agin." Hate rained from the farmer's red-veined, popping eyes as he straddled the cushioned tractor seat. His yellow teeth protruded like fangs. "You hear me? I don't like white trash hangin' 'round here. Go home." He turned the brightly painted John Deere in the opposite direction, its hard, green body blending into oneness with the waist-high blades of cornstalks.
Her obsessive love of horses overshadowed the terror invoked by the farmer so she hid in the bushes until the farmer got out of sight, then whistled and watched for her favorite mare, Athena, to gallop to the gate from the adjoining pasture. The beast whinnied a greeting as she skittered close to the wooden fence, a golden tail trailing elegantly behind her, muscles rippling beneath a topaz-colored coat.
Athena became Candy's confidante, nearly the only friend she had. "Hello, old girl. I found an apple on the way home for you. The kids at school made fun of me again. I guess my clothes aren't nice enough. The teachers don't like me very much either even when I try to do everything right. I don't know what I'd do without you to talk to." She stood on the second rail, patting Athena's nose and stroking her neck and back "I wish I could jump on your back so we could fly across the field. Then I'd be as free as the wind. Someday I'll become famous. They'll see. I'll make tons of money and buy you and we'll ride together all over the place and I'll build you a beautiful warm barn with lots of hay. We'll be friends forever, won't we, ol' girl?" Patting Athena's nose, she snuggled close, comfortable with the warm coarse hair brushing her cheek. "If only you could talk. Well, gotta go now. See you tomorrow."
Candace ambled on down the road, kicking fallen apples as she went, and turned onto the lane leading to her house, hating being poor and despising the small weather-worn shack her parents called home. Traces of white clung to the windowsills, but the weathered, nearly splintered boards on the porch were barren of all color. A rust-streaked roof of corrugated tin jutted slightly over the upper edges. Faded boards, once a blazing buttercup yellow, were now an anemic cream color.
School was difficult. Her classmates deserted her on the playground and constantly taunted her in singsong voices. "You're a mess; look at your dress; don't you have anything new? I'm glad I'm not you." Her clothes were second hand or fashioned from flour sacks. In fear of being shunned, she stayed in the shadows talking with her make-believe friend, Maggie, pretending they were rich. She made up conversations about buying new clothes every week and going on trips she'd read about. It consoled her and eased her loneliness as she lost herself in the fabrications she created. Sometimes the kids looked askance at her when she talked constantly to herself, but she didn't care because Maggie was always there, never critical, never making fun of her. Her teacher did nothing to help.
Candace was now an adult, no longer impoverished and she wondered how anyone could hate a child. Long, honey-colored hair blew around her porcelain face as her slim body leaned on the gate supported by a crooked wooden fence that had been there as long as she could remember. She vowed it would never be replaced. Once it had guarded a rock-strewn path leading to a rustic barn. It had been forbidden property then and the coarse, mean-mannered old man had been the owner. Candace now owned the land; her dreams had come true. Athena had been the best thing in her life when she was a forlorn, lonely young girl and the gate was a memorial to her. It would never be replaced.
Her thoughts snapped back to the present. It's mine now, she thought, pride shining from her sky-blue eyes, as she looked up at the arched sign over the blacktop drive - Whistlegate. She'd named it for the old gate where she'd stood so often as a young girl, whistling for her faithful friend.