by Suzanne Weyn
“Great,” Mercedes said. “We can start next Saturday morning. How about at nine o’clock?”
“Okay. Nine,” Taylor agreed. A smile grew on her face. She was going to learn to ride English style — at last!
Taylor sat in the passenger seat beside her mother, Jennifer, who had come to the ranch to pick her up. The winding roads were dark along here without sidewalks or streetlights. The rain pelted the car, dashed from view by the continual slapping of the wipers against the front windshield.
Mercedes was in the backseat and they were headed to drop her off at her house which, she said, was about a mile down the road from the ranch. Taylor had never been to Mercedes’ house, and she was intensely curious to see what it looked like.
Taylor’s mother was still in the white shirt and black pants she wore to her job at the Pheasant Valley Diner. Taylor’s parents had divorced back in the spring. Jennifer had started her own catering business, and it was beginning to do well, but not so well that Jennifer could quit her waitress job.
“So, you girls have had some day,” Jennifer commented as she steered through the rainstorm after Taylor and Mercedes told her everything that had happened; everything except that Mercedes had been forbidden to return to the ranch. Without discussing it, the girls had both left that part out. It didn’t seem wise to Taylor to let her mom know that Mercedes was supposed to be at home at the moment. Parents had a way of talking to one another.
Around the next bend, they entered a neighborhood where the houses were set back far from the road. “There it is. I can get off right here,” Mercedes said, pointing to a modest split ranch home at the end of long driveway.
“I’ll drive you to the door,” Jennifer offered.
“No, no,” Mercedes declined quickly. “Mom might still be sleeping, and I don’t want to wake her.”
Taylor and Mercedes exchanged quick glances over this lie. Mercedes had already told Taylor that her bedroom was on the first floor and she would have no trouble slipping back in, unnoticed, as if she’d never left.
“But it’s pouring,” Jennifer objected, turning into the driveway. “I can’t let you walk all that way in the rain.”
The house was dark, and Taylor hoped it would stay that way. If a light came on it would mean Mrs. Gonzalez was up. Mercedes and Taylor exchanged another tense look as the car neared the front of the house.
The car’s headlights, two beams shot through with crystal raindrops, illuminated the driveway. Taylor peered ahead, trying to get a better look at the house. She knew that back when Mercedes lived in Connecticut she had owned a number of horses, which suggested that her family was wealthy. Through the rain and darkness, Taylor was able to see a rather plain house that was even a bit run-down looking.
The second the car stopped, Mercedes had her hand on the car door handle, eager to leave. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Henry. See you at our first lesson, Taylor. Bye.”
“Turn on a light so I know you got in safely,” Jennifer instructed.
“Okay,” Mercedes agreed. In a second she was gone, disappearing into the darkness of her backyard. Taylor and her mother sat in silence until a bottom floor light snapped on. Then Taylor’s mother backed down the driveway, her head craned toward the rear window. “Okay, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing. What do you mean?” Taylor replied, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“Taylor,” Jennifer prodded insistently.
Why did her mother have to be so difficult to fool all the time? Taylor’s mind raced. Should she tell the truth or stick with her story?
“Mercedes is not supposed to come to Wildwood anymore,” she admitted. “Her mother thinks it was careless the way I let Prince Albert get out into the road.”
Jennifer Henry’s right eyebrow arched. “She thinks it’s your fault?” she questioned.
Taylor nodded.
“And that’s what you two were covering up — that Mercedes wasn’t supposed to be at Wildwood?”
“Yep.”
“Where did her mother think Mercedes was?”
“I guess she’s asleep and doesn’t know Mercedes was out of the house.” Taylor looked at her mother, trying hard to gauge her expression. She decided it could best be described as thoughtful, which didn’t really help. “Are you going to call Mrs. Gonzalez?” Taylor asked at last.
Her mother didn’t reply at first, but the lost-in-thought expression remained on her face. “No,” she finally answered decisively. “It’s between Mercedes and her mother. I would only call if Mercedes was doing something dangerous or harmful.”
Taylor slumped slightly with relief. Not only would this mean Mercedes wasn’t in trouble, it also meant she could teach Taylor to ride English style.
They took the rest of the trip home in silence. Taylor gazed out the window as the car’s headlights swept light through the rainy darkness.
Suddenly, Taylor gasped.
“What?” her mother asked.
“We just passed a dead deer off to the side of the road,” Taylor reported.
“Oh, poor thing,” Jennifer commented sympathetically.
It wasn’t that uncommon to see dead deer in Pheasant Valley. They were overabundant and often ran recklessly into the road, startling drivers. Taylor had grown up seeing roadkill like this all her life.
But tonight she was thinking of the fawn hiding in the woods waiting for its mother. Was it still there waiting?
* * *
Taylor was about to turn off the bedroom light on her nightstand when her cell phone buzzed. When she saw it was Daphne, she clicked the call through right away.
“How are you feeling?” Daphne asked. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m totally zonked,” Taylor admitted. “I’d be asleep already except I had homework. Thanks for all your help today.”
“Sure.” Daphne asked if Mrs. LeFleur had heard any more from Mrs. Gonzalez, and Taylor told her about the possibility of a lawsuit. “That would be horrible,” Daphne said. “Maybe Mercedes can talk her mother out of it.”
“Maybe,” Taylor agreed, but she couldn’t really imagine that happening. Mrs. Gonzalez didn’t strike her as someone who could be easily influenced. She seemed very strong-minded.
Talking about Mercedes made Taylor remember to tell Daphne about the contest at Ross River Ranch and that Mercedes was going to teach her to ride English and jump.
“I was going to teach you!” Daphne objected.
“You’re so busy, though,” Taylor pointed out.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“When you used to board Mandy over at Ross River, do you remember seeing a white horse over there?” Taylor asked. “Mercedes is determined to get over there to look at some white horse, but she won’t say why.”
“She’s always so secretive about everything,” Daphne commented. “I wonder why.”
“I know,” Taylor agreed. “She got all annoyed with me when I asked her questions today. I saw her house when we dropped her off.”
“Is she rich?” Daphne asked.
“Her house was nice, but it didn’t look rich,” Taylor reported. “Anyway, do you know anything about this white horse?”
“I know there’s a beautiful white Missouri Fox Trotting gelding over there,” Daphne recalled. “I think it came in this last spring when Mrs. Ross bought a bunch of horses at a great price from someone who was closing down their whole stable.”
“What’s that breed like?” Taylor asked.
“It’s a little like Jojo, the Tennessee walking horse that Eric owns,” Daphne said. “It’s a great general, all-around horse. It’s good for showing and covering long distances. Do you think Mercedes wants to buy it?”
“I asked her and she said no.”
“Hmm, that’s strange,” Daphne remarked. “Did her mom say she could come back to the barn?”
“No, but she’s determined to, anyway. She thinks her mom won’t find out.”
“She does, huh?” Daphne said. “What if her
mom does find out and gets so mad that she definitely decides to sue Wildwood?”
“Mrs. LeFleur says she’d have to close the place down.”
“Close down!” Daphne cried. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what she said,” Taylor confirmed, and found that her voice cracked with worry as she spoke the words.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Daphne said. “I think Mercedes has a crush on some guy named Monty. Do you know him? Do any customers named Monty come around Wildwood when I’m not there?”
Taylor thought. “No…. Does anyone in the high school have that name?”
“No. But I saw one of Mercedes’ notebooks the other day, and she’d written the name Monty all over it. That girl sure has a lot of secrets!”
Taylor couldn’t agree more.
You’re not going anywhere with stirrups that long,” Mercedes said. It was the following Saturday morning, and Mercedes was standing in the middle of the oval paddock to the side of the main building across from the open stalls. Taylor and Prince Albert were inside the paddock, standing beside its split-rail fence.
Taylor stopped beside Prince Albert and looked quizzically at the hunt seat saddle she was placing on his back. She had called Daphne that morning and gotten her permission to borrow it. It was easy for Taylor to figure out how the saddle worked after years of looking through catalogs and magazines featuring English riding outfits and gear. She was proud she had gotten it on correctly. Now what was Mercedes saying she’d done wrong?
“This isn’t Western, remember?” Mercedes said. “English riders use a shorter stirrup so that they can post during the trot and go into two-point over jumps. Now shorten those up, and hop on,” she commanded, crossing her arms.
Taylor felt a quick wrinkle of annoyance at Mercedes’ bossy tone of voice, but she obeyed, not wanting to cause any tension during her first lesson. Mercedes was being nice enough to teach her, so it wasn’t worth an argument. She knew how overbearing Mercedes could be, but the barn’s assistant junior manager was also an excellent horsewoman, and Taylor would learn a lot from her. Besides, Mercedes didn’t mean anything by it. Taking charge was simply part of the girl’s personality, and Taylor was almost used to it.
Shortening the stirrups a few holes, she glanced at Mercedes for confirmation. Mercedes nodded impatiently from the middle of the ring, beckoning her to hurry. Taylor tightened the girth, pulling upward on the leather straps holding the elastic ends in.
This made sense to Taylor because she tightened Western saddles in this way, too. Prince Albert, like all horses, would “blow out.” This meant he would push his muscles out when a rider tightened his girth, so that later on, when he relaxed his muscles, the girth would be looser. They called it blowing out because people thought horses were extending their stomachs, but in reality they were just tensing their muscles. Though it might feel good for the horses, it could be bad for the rider if his or her saddle slipped dangerously and caused a fall.
Taylor stuck her left foot into the stirrup, swinging her body up and over. The English saddle felt uncomfortably small and cramped underneath her. She grabbed the reins in her right hand and clucked Prince Albert forward at a walk.
“Uh … stop. One problem,” Mercedes interrupted.
Taylor halted Prince Albert, staring questioningly at Mercedes.
“Your reins. You’re trying to do neck reining, but English riders do split reining. That means one rein in each hand. Here,” Mercedes instructed, striding over and fixing Taylor’s hands. Taylor nodded, letting Mercedes mold her hands into the proper position.
“There. Now you’re ready. Do a lap at the walk and get used to the tack. It’ll feel a lot smaller than those big clunky Western saddles because, well, it is.” Mercedes said.
Taylor did as instructed, trying to relax into the saddle. She took a deep breath, both nervous and excited to finally be one step closer to jumping. After a lap around the ring, Taylor was feeling slightly more at ease.
“All right. Comfy? Now, pick up your trot,” Mercedes called to Taylor.
“Is that the same thing as the jog?” Taylor shouted back, not completely confident about how the Western terms translated to the English jargon.
“Yeah, sort of. Just a little faster,” Mercedes replied. “Almost everything in English is faster than Western. That’s why all English riders have to use helmets, even though higher level Western riders can just wear cowboy hats in competitions,” Mercedes explained.
She was bossy, but she sure knew her stuff.
Taylor picked up the jog and then urged Prince Albert into a trot. She bounced around in the saddle, trying to sit still, but finding it tougher at this quicker pace.
“Post!” shouted Mercedes. Taylor stared at her, trying to focus on the bouncing image of Mercedes.
“What? What’s post?” Taylor shouted back.
“Posting is when you rise up and down out of the saddle with the rhythm of the horse at the trot. It’ll make the trot way less bouncy.”
Taylor tightened her abdominal and thigh muscles in her attempt to lift in the saddle. It wasn’t easy, but the ride did become much more controlled and was certainly not as hard on her butt.
“Don’t mess up your diagonals!” Mercedes commanded.
Taylor stopped Prince Albert and stared at Mercedes.
Split reins?
Posting?
Diagonals?
There were so many terms to learn! Taylor took a deep breath, trying to remain calm but getting increasingly frustrated. Noticing Taylor’s expression, Mercedes chuckled softly, walking over to Prince Albert again.
“I’m sorry, Taylor. I forget you’re completely new to hunt seat,” she said in a surprisingly comforting tone. “You seem so confident at Western that I just sort of assume you know stuff about English, too.”
A soft smile spread across Taylor’s lips. Did she really just get a compliment from Mercedes? She took another deep breath and nodded. “Well, thanks. Yeah, it’s a lot to learn, but I think I’ll get it,” Taylor responded, feeling slightly refreshed by Mercedes’ compliment.
“You will. Okay, so, a diagonal is when the horse’s outside front leg goes forward — that’s the signal to the rider to rise out of the saddle. It’s an easy rhythm once you get it,” she explained, moving back into the center of the ring to watch Taylor. “Try it!
“Up, down, up, down, up …” Mercedes counted in rhythm as Taylor attempted to post. Taylor urged Prince Albert forward into a trot, which he picked up right away, ears perked. She pushed down into her heels, trying to push her bottom out of the saddle in time with the horse.
After doing this for a quarter of a lap, Taylor glanced over at Mercedes for a reaction.
Mercedes was watching, pursing her lips. She didn’t seem entirely satisfied by what she was seeing.
Taylor’s heart pounded as sweat formed on her brow. This was so much more work than Western style! She concentrated on trying to keep the rhythm, which was proving more difficult than she had expected.
“You’re on the wrong diagonal!” Mercedes shouted from the center. Taylor glanced down as Prince Albert’s outside leg swung forward. Darn, Taylor thought.
“Sit two beats and you’ll be on the right diagonal again,” Mercedes explained, hands on her hips.
Taylor sat, counting “One, two,” and tried to rise back up in rhythm.
“Still wrong,” Mercedes grumbled, rubbing her temple.
Taylor sighed. This better be worth it in the long run, she thought to herself.
After her lesson, Taylor helped Mercedes muck and hay the stalls, then water and feed all the horses, even though it wasn’t her day to do those chores. It was the least she could after Mercedes had spent so much time teaching her to ride English.
“So, how’s your mother?” Taylor asked as she raked out the old hay in Shafir’s empty stall.
Mercedes was loading new hay into Pixie’s stall while the little pony stood in the center aisle, wat
ching. “The same and crankier than ever; she went to her orthopedist in New Jersey today so I was able to get away. She’s going back to work on Monday, so that part is great.”
“Do you think she’ll sue the ranch?” Taylor asked, voicing the question that had been in the back of her mind all day.
Mercedes stopped raking. “If she does, I’ll never speak to her again.”
Taylor looked at Mercedes. From the determined set of the girl’s jaw, she felt certain that Mercedes meant what she’d said. It didn’t seem useful to point out that it would be pretty difficult for Mercedes to never speak to her mother, so Taylor just nodded. “I’d probably feel the same way if I were you,” she remarked sympathetically.
“She’d better not do it,” Mercedes said, throwing herself into laying down Pixie’s hay with extra energy.
A mischievous impulse seized Taylor, and she couldn’t resist it. “So tell me about Monty,” she said.
Mercedes stood straight and stared at Taylor, her face going pale. “Who told you about Monty?” she demanded harshly.
It wasn’t the reaction Taylor had expected, and she was suddenly sorry she’d brought it up. “Monty,” she repeated weakly. “Isn’t he a guy you like?”
Dropping her hunched shoulders, Mercedes appeared to relax a little. “Yeah, Monty. He’s just a guy at school. You must have seen his name on my notebook, huh?”
Taylor remembered Daphne saying there was no one at the high school named Monty, and Daphne knew just about everyone. Taylor decided not to press it. She already felt like she’d pried too much into Mercedes’ privacy. “Yeah, that’s why I asked,” she said.
“Just some guy I used to like. I don’t even think about him anymore,” Mercedes said, returning to laying down hay.
When they were done, Mercedes rushed off, eager to get home before her mother returned from the bone doctor. Taylor watched her hurry away and sighed, turning to Prince Albert in his stall. “Do you get the feeling that she might not be as tough as she sometimes seems?” she asked him.
It was a hunch, a feeling that maybe Mercedes had been through a lot, and she also had a mother who wasn’t easy to deal with. Taylor realized that she felt sympathy and a feeling of friendship toward Mercedes that hadn’t been there before today. “She’s really okay,” Taylor told Prince Albert, “once you get to know her.”