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horn. Mildred Timbers phoned my dad, who couldn’t think of what to say except, “Stop those horses!” Given that the moment for such heroics had passed, the ladies did second best: They stopped humans, or at least slowed them down.”
Mr. Bonser and I screeched to a halt in front of Burke’s Grocery, over a mile from my parents’ house. “Have you seen any stray horses?” I yelled to three young fellows sitting in a pick-up truck. They motioned laconically behind the store, and there were the horses, stomping around in Richie Burke’s back yard, hemmed in by his house on one side and somebody’s pasture fence on two sides.
Mr. Bonser and I had no halters, no rope and no horse experience. The Foushees, who live above Burke’s Grocery, produced a bunch of carrots, which a few of the horses nervously ate before they pulled away from us. Somebody handed Mr. Bonser string, which he tried to loop around a couple of the horses’ necks. But the string wouldn’t have led a kitten, much less these skittish beasts.
I could think of only one possibility: somehow herd them to a nearby fenced pastime owned by Trish and Bob Darby, then figure out what to do. Mom appeared bearing several halters and lead ropes.
I dialed the Darbys from the Foushees’ portable phone and got their housekeeper. “I’m sorry, the Darbys are dining right now,” she said. “Can I take a message?” Which reminded me of the potatoes I had left boiling. Was my parents’ house burning down? No, my father had turned off the stove.
Moments after they got my message, the Darbys were no longer enjoying their food—they were out with the rest of Woodville, sweating on Route 522.
Despite the help of several residents, Mr. Bonser and I couldn’t lead the horses—even the ones who were usually as peaceful as lap dogs. They reared and pivoted like rodeo broncos, leaving rope burns in our hands and hoof marks on our feet. They were wild from fear and excitement.
They charged back to 522, racing along the Darby property toward Culpeper. This time, however, a fifth of a mile away, they were blocked by a row of stopped vehicles. (To the unknown people who threw up impromptu roadblocks: Thank you!)
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