Chapter Twenty
As the days grew shorter and the sun's warmth began to wane, the seasons traded summer's garb for the shorter days and cooler nights of the approaching fall. Activities on the ranch changed with the seasons and before long the calves born in spring were ready to be sold.
While Michael watched from his position on top of the roof of his truck's cab, Kirk, Bobby and Joseph adroitly used their horses to separate the yearlings from their mothers. Once separated from its mother, each yearling was directed up the ramp that lead to the fenced-in bed of the flatbed truck. When the truck held all the yearlings it could, Kirk and Joseph dismounted, placed the planks onto the truck's bed and closed the gate to the back of the truck. Michael lowered himself from the cab's roof then proceeded to slowly drive the truck to the driveway before the ranch house. There he was met by Mirabelle who opened the passenger door of the truck and climbed in.
"Are we going to wait for the others?" asked Mirabelle. They were heading off to the livestock auction.
"No," replied Michael, "They have to put the horses away. We'll meet up with them later, at the auction."
Michael drove down the driveway and, after leaving the ranch and getting on the highway, headed south.
"So exactly where is the auction, Michael?" Mirabelle asked as they drove along. They had turned left and were heading out onto the plains.
"It's in Peterson," said Michael. "Feed lot operators buy the yearlings then get them ready for market," he continued. Mirabelle nodded.
As they drove along Mirabelle stared out at the vast horizon before her. She wondered where her life was taking her, what next would come her way. For a time all she wanted was her prince charming, someone like Edward, but experience had shown her how princes could turn into frogs; or at least men didn't live up to the ideal she wanted them to be.
The miles of road disappeared under the wheels of the car and Mirabelle found herself futilely trying to figure out what she wanted out of life. It was hard for Mirabelle to define herself without having some man as her focal point, but she knew she needed some direction in life: if she didn't decide on what she wanted and went after it, she would have to settle for whatever came along and her life was too valuable to her to leave up to chance. Unfortunately for her, this day's search was fruitless.
After two hours the clustered buildings of a small town appeared before them and gradually grew in size as they approached it. Michael drove up to a large sheet metal building that was surrounded by trucks, trailors and paddocks. Here and there were people going about their business amongst the many different kinds of livestock at the auction. Michael found a place to park then got out of the truck. Mirabelle followed.
"Let's go find a place to eat," said Michael to Mirabelle, "I said I'd meet the boys inside the auction building around one-forty." Mirabelle nodded and together they went to find a diner.
Walking along the streets of town, Mirabelle found it consisted of no more than approximately a dozen buildings. It was the economic center of this area's large ranches and occasional, small farms. More and more, smaller family operations were being bought up by the wealther landowners in the race towards modern efficiency. A way of life was changing as the independent rancher of the West was being absorbed into corporate America.
They found a diner that was not quite full and sat down to order lunch.
"I'm afraid you might find it awfully boring here," said Michael to Mirabelle.
"That's okay," she replied. "It's better than staying on the ranch by myself," she said looking around, "And I get to see new places and things."
Having ordered lunch they proceeded to eat and then sat and drank coffee as they waited for time to pass.
"We still have forty minutes before we meet the others," said Michael.
Mirabelle nodded in reply.
"Let's go into the auction building so you can see what it's like," suggested Michael.
"Sure," said Mirabelle.
The pair left the diner and walked to the sheet metal building in whose lot they had parked earlier. Mirabelle had been to livestock auctions before when Jacob had bought some dairy cows for their farm in Iowa. Upon entering she found the place to be pretty nondescipt, like all the other auction buildings she had ever seen. Michael was right: she was going to be bored.
They sat themselves down on some chairs outside of the auction area and Mirabelle listened as the auctioneer sped through his syllables as only auctioneers could do. Seeing nothing that could catch her interest she sat back to reflect upon her life as she usually did as a matter of habit.
"If I could be doing anything at all in the world, what would it be?" she wondered. Sadly, nothing at all came to mind. Maybe Mirabelle just didn't have any dreams. Maybe she was one of those unfortunate souls who had everything in their lives handed to them. Not that they were born to a life of entitlement but that they didn't have any choice in the life that they lived. Everything was decided for them from cradle to grave. The world reflected their belief that they were powerless to determine their own lives: They were the victims of fate, the hapless wayfarers on the journey of life whose circumstances held them imprisoned until they crossed the Stygian shore. Mirabelle shuddered at the thought of such a life and silently prayed that would never happen to her.
"Well, I'll be," said Michael to himself.
"What?" asked Mirabelle looking around to see what he was talking about.
"It's Miguel," he said then stood up. He waved his arm above him and called out, "Hey, Miguel!"
A dark skinned man in white shirt, jeans, boots, and straw hat turned to look at Michael. After a few moments of mental processing he recognized Michael and grinned broadly. The stranger proceeded towards Michael and then shook his hand eagerly.
"Senor Muller," he said jovially while continuing to shake Michael's hand. "How are you? It's been so long," he said as he finally let go of the hand.
Mirabelle took a closer look at Miguel. He was older than Michael, white-haired, slim and somewhat stooped.
"Fine, Fine," replied Michael. "And you," he asked Miguel.
"In good health and good spirits, thanks to the grace of God," answered Miguel. He turned his head to look at the still seated Mirabelle.
"Is this your daughter, Michael," asked Miguel. He exclaimed, "Why she's as pretty as a flower!" Mirabelle, uncharacteristically, blushed.
"Oh no," said Michael, "This is my friend Mirabelle. She's a helper at my ranch."
"Your ranch?" said a surprised Miguel. "Oh, what luck you have!" he exclaimed dramatically, then continued on, "God's good fortune has shined upon you, Michael."
Michael smiled in reply then said, "Where are you off to Miguel?"
"I'm just passing through town, looking for work," said a suddenly visibly unhappy Miguel. He looked up at Michael. "Do you have any horses that need shoeing?" he asked.
"I'm sorry Miguel," replied Michael, "I just had them shoed two weeks ago."
"Don't be sorry," said Miguel in return. "Such is a man's fate," he said to himself.
Mirabelle looked around the building as she half-listened to the two men's conversation. She was becoming very bored when she saw Kirk, Joseph and Bobby enter through some side doors.
"Michael, the others are here," she said to him as she looked off in the trio's direction.
"Oh good," said Michael, "Time for business." He looked at Mirabelle: ennui clearly had overtaken her. He then looked at Miguel momentarily, then said, "Miguel if you have nothing to do, could you please keep some company for Mirabelle. I'm afraid that the auction would bore her to death."
"I would never have such a thing happen to so lovely a girl," answered Miguel.
Michael smiled then said, "Good. We'll meet you two around four o'clock, in front of my truck. Mirabelle knows where it is."
Miguel nodded. Mirabelle got up to follow Miguel. "Well," she thought, "This should be better than watching the auction, I hope."
The two left the auction building and started walking down the town's main street.
"Where are we going Miguel?" questioned a curious Mirabelle.
"Let's go buy some sodas and find a place to sit," suggested Miguel.
"Sure," agreed Mirabelle.
They entered a corner store, bought two bottles of pop then sat down on the bench that rested in front of the store.
Pausing from sipping her drink, Mirabelle asked Miguel, "So how do you know Michael?"
"I worked for him on another ranch when we were very much younger," answered Miguel.
"So he was your boss?" asked Mirabelle.
"Yes," replied Miguel, "but more like a friend. He was always so nice to everyone."
"Are you Mexican, Miguel?" questioned Mirabelle.
"Yes," he answered then continued, "I was born in New Mexico but I came to Colorado to find work. I travel a lot."
"Where's your family?" asked Mirabelle.
"In New Mexico," answered Miguel.
"Why don't you live with them?" questioned Mirabelle.
"I must work to support them," he told her then continued, "I have no sons, only daughters. My two youngest are still unmarried so I must continue to work."
"You must have many daughters," said Mirabelle.
Miguel nodded.
"Do you see you family often?" Mirabelle asked.
Miguel replied, "Every winter I return to my family and then go look for work again in spring."
"What exactly do you work as?" questioned Mirabelle.
"I'm a farrier. I shoe horses," answered Miguel.
"How did you become a farrier?" asked Mirabelle.
"For many generations my family have been farriers," said Miguel as he sipped his soda.
"Did you always want to be a farrier?" asked Mirabelle.
Miguel turned to look at Mirabelle long and hard then finally said, "I have never wanted to be a farrier." He turned his head and took another sip of his soda.
"But then," said Mirabelle, "Why are you?"
"I am Miguel Rodriguez like my father Miguel Rodriguez and his father Miguel Rodriguez and every oldest Rodriguez son becomes a farrier," he replied then looked at Mirabelle. "It's our tradition," he finished.
Mirabelle nodded now that she understood. She then asked, "If you didn't follow in your father's footsteps, what would have liked to have been Miguel?" Perhaps the old man's dreams could help her find her own, she thought.
Miguel sat silent for a long time then answered, "Long ago when I was a child I would often imagine myself as a doctor." He smiled as he relived the memory of his long forsaken dream, then continued adding, "Whenever I would play, whenever I had no chores to do, I would play doctor with my brothers and sisters. It was something I loved to do."
"Why didn't you become a doctor then?" asked Mirabelle.
"The oldest son most of all must carry on the tradition," he told her, "and besides, I never went to school. My family wasn't rich. For me to become a doctor was impossible."
Mirabelle didn't agree. There must have been something he could have done to bring about his dream. "Couldn't you have gone to a city, found work, learned to read, and started schooling yourself. Wasn't there anyone who could have sponsored you?" she asked.
"No!" shouted Miguel, "No!" He threw his bottle onto the floor upon which it shattered. "It was impossible! I wasn't born rich. I wasn't born educated. Mexicans will never be doctors! Mexicans will never be lawyers! Mexicans will never be politicians! Mexicans will always be peasants! Mexicans will always be farmers! Mexicans will always be farriers!" he said to Mirabelle with his eyes glaring fire upon her.
Mirabelle was taken aback in fear for her safety. She had accidently ignited a powder keg and now she was afraid Miguel was going to explode in front of her and do her physical harm.
Miguel saw the frightened look on Mirabelle's face and immediately calmed down. Within the span of a few seconds he had remarkably transformed back into the stooped, elderly old man she had first taken him to be. He sat down beside her, stooping forward with his elbows resting on his knees then said,
"I'm sorry, florita. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just that everything that happen's in life is God's will. It is a man's luck, a man's fate. We little men and women cannot change that. We are born into our circumstances and must live them out. It is our destiny."
Miguel stood up and said, "Venga, come, let's go back to the auction."
Mirabelle stood up and left her bottle on the bench to follow Miguel. When they reached the auction place Miguel asked Mirabelle which truck was Michael's. After pointing it out Miguel walked her to it then opened the cab door.
"You can wait here for Michael. I'm going," he told her.
Mirabelle got in and closed the door beside her.
"Goodbye, florita," Miguel said to her then turned and walked away.
As Mirabelle sat in the cab she wondered about what Miguel had said to her. Maybe it was true. Maybe dreams were just useless fantasies. She stared out of the truck's window vainfully searching for a passing dream.
