by Suzanne Weyn
* * *
By six o’clock that Saturday, Taylor was in the stable’s wide main aisle, brushing down Prince Albert’s sweat-damp black coat. Prince Albert’s harness was hooked onto the rings just outside the front office.
Prince Albert sputtered and Taylor smiled. She knew Prince Albert loved her as much as she loved him. Taylor couldn’t imagine ever loving another horse as much as she loved Prince Albert.
From her position on Prince Albert’s right side, Taylor could see Mrs. LeFleur inside the office, talking on the phone. Outside, by the last of the day’s dying light, Plum worked Shafir in the front main paddock. She’d been out there since one that afternoon. Taylor stopped brushing and watched Plum as she cantered in a circle and then jumped Shafir over a low crossbar that she’d set up, doing it again and again.
Plum works that horse way too hard, Taylor thought, and was instantly struck with a pang of guilt. At one time, Plum and her mother had considered leasing Prince Albert, but Taylor had worked hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Two previous horses that Plum had leased died under her rough riding and lack of proper aftercare and grooming. It was Taylor who had steered Plum toward leasing Shafir instead.
When Mrs. Ross had donated her, Shafir was nearly wild and refused to be ridden. Daphne and Mercedes had put in a lot of work to settle and train Shafir so Wildwood could use her. They also did it so Plum wouldn’t. They saw how rough Plum was with Shafir and didn’t want the horse damaged. Taylor had learned a lot by helping Daphne and Mercedes in the training process.
Mrs. LeFleur came out of the office. “How did your first English lesson go?” she inquired.
“My whole body hurts,” Taylor admitted. “That posting stuff kills my legs.”
Mrs. LeFleur grinned. “It can be rough at first,” she said. “Do they feel like rubber bands?”
“Yes!” Taylor replied. “Sore rubber bands!”
“You’ll get used to it,” Mrs. LeFleur assured her. “Where did this sudden urge to learn English style come from?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted to learn for a long time,” Taylor said as she pointed to the notice on the bulletin board. “But now I need to learn fast, because I want to win the five free lessons at Ross River.”
“You’re going to learn to jump by November fifth?” Mrs. LeFleur asked. “Don’t you think that’s a bit soon?”
Taylor tilted her head toward Plum. “If she can do it, I can.”
“Plum’s had a lot of experience and lots of lessons,” Mrs. LeFleur pointed out.
“That’s exactly what I need, too,” Taylor insisted. “More lessons.”
“But I thought Daphne was going to help you with that.”
“She’s really busy with her paying customers and school and all. I’ve heard that Ross River has great instructors.”
“Of course they do. Everyone over there is rich,” Mrs. LeFleur reminded Taylor, her voice tinged with annoyance. “You can have great everything when you’re rich.”
“I’d sure have great everything if I were rich,” Taylor said, returning her brush to the grooming kit and taking out the hoof pick to clean Prince Albert’s shoes. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong with it,” Mrs. LeFleur allowed. “I just wonder how much those people over there appreciate their horses. A lot don’t even groom them.”
“Don’t you have to groom your horse?” Taylor asked, bending over Prince Albert’s back hoof as she worked to remove debris.
“No. Barn hands do it for them a lot of the time.”
Taylor knew she wouldn’t have liked that. The time she spent grooming Prince Albert — and Pixie, too — made her happy. She liked cleaning them till they glistened and tucking them into their stalls for the night, smelling good and ready to rest.
Looking out to the paddock, Taylor saw Plum sail over the jump. “They’ve been doing that since one o’clock,” she said to Mrs. LeFleur. “Do you think that’s too much?”
“Possibly,” Mrs. LeFleur agreed. “And it’s almost dark.” Pulling her barn jacket tighter against the late afternoon chill, Wildwood’s owner headed out to talk to Plum.
Taylor could see Plum arguing with Mrs. LeFleur, but finally she gave in and turned Shafir toward the paddock gate. Mrs. LeFleur returned to the main building and went into the office, followed by Plum on Shafir at a walk.
Not wanting to stare, Taylor busied herself with Prince Albert’s hooves. She noticed that his right back shoe seemed just a little loose; not too bad, but just the same, Taylor made a mental note to mention it to Norman the farrier when he came to the barn on his monthly visit.
When she glanced up again, Plum was about to dismount just outside the stable’s entrance. “Aren’t you going to cool her down?” Taylor objected. “She’s got to be way overheated after all that jumping.”
Plum sat back in her saddle and glared at Taylor. “What’s it to you?” she challenged.
Red fury shot up into Taylor’s face. What was it to her? How could she ask that? Shafir was a gorgeous, playful, young horse! Anyone would care that she be cooled down and groomed properly — anyone, of course, but Plum.
She bit back on her angry words. Things were bad enough between Plum and Taylor after what had happened with Prince Albert. For the sake of Wildwood she didn’t want to make them worse. “I’ll cool her down if you want,” Taylor offered.
Plum swung her leg around and dropped from the saddle. “Do what you like. But she might not let you ride her.”
Even though Shafir was leased from Wildwood, Plum acted as though she owned the mare and that they had a close relationship. Taylor had never seen any indication of that, though. “Oh, I’ve ridden her before,” Taylor replied casually.
It wasn’t true. Daphne and Mercedes were training Shafir in the English style. Although Taylor had helped them, she’d never actually ridden the chestnut Arabian. She just couldn’t bring herself to give Plum the satisfaction of knowing that.
“Really? You’ve ridden her?” Plum remarked coldly. “I’m surprised.”
Fearing that her face would give away the lie, Taylor ducked it down as she unclipped Prince Albert’s harness from the rings.
Holding the harness’s side strap, she walked Prince Albert to his stall at the far end of the stable. Pixie neighed in greeting from her adjoining stall. “Your friend is back,” Taylor said, smiling at the pony.
Cody glanced curiously out of his stall and neighed.
“I’ll be back to give you guys fresh water before I leave,” Taylor assured them. “And if you’re good, I’ll give you a horse treat from the front office.”
When Taylor returned, Plum was gone. If her mother had come to pick her up, Taylor was glad they’d missed each other. Since Plum had left her unhitched and unattended, Shafir had wandered toward the back pasture, her reins dragging. Jogging toward her, Taylor caught up with the Arabian and picked up her reins. She put her boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. “Let’s take a walk, pretty girl,” she cooed to the horse. “You’ve had a hard day.”
Shafir was much smaller and more fine-boned than Prince Albert. Taylor was glad now that the English saddle wasn’t as strange to her as it had felt earlier when she first encountered it.
With a gentle click, Taylor headed Shafir up to the pasture between the woods and the barn, stroking her silky chestnut neck as they walked. When they got to the pasture’s fence, Taylor took the opportunity to work on the new skill Daphne was teaching her — to open a gate without dismounting. It was mostly a matter of staying balanced in the saddle as she reached over and down to lift the latch.
When Taylor had opened the gate, ridden through, and resecured the lock, she felt proud of her accomplishment. Her skills as a horsewoman had improved greatly from being at Wildwood and learning from Mercedes and especially Daphne. So much had happened since Mrs. LeFleur had reopened the ranch, and mostly it had all been good — very, very good. In Taylor’s view, Wildwood was the best place
in the entire world.
Taylor meandered around the field at a walk, her path lit by the full moon, which illuminated the grasses and leaves so that they seemed to gleam on their own power. The two outside lights down at the stable turned on. It was later than Taylor had realized. Mrs. LeFleur would want to be going soon, and she was giving Taylor a ride home. She still had to give Shafir a quick grooming before they could leave. “I hope you’re cooled down enough, because we have to go back,” she told the mare as she turned her back toward the gate.
Shafir suddenly stopped and her ears flattened. Swishing her tail, she threw back her head and neighed shrilly.
Taylor sat tall in her saddle, all her senses alert. What had bothered Shafir so much?
And then she heard it.
Off in the distance … the howl of coyotes. And the first picture that flashed into Taylor’s head was of the small fawn, waiting for its mother in the high grass.
That night Taylor came home to find Claire sitting at the kitchen table beside her mother. Both of them were making carrot curls over large wooden bowls of salad. Claire often helped Jennifer with her new catering business. “Hey, Taylor, you’re home late,” her mother’s friend commented.
“Yeah, I expected you a half hour ago,” Jennifer added, with a touch of annoyance. “We’ve talked about this, and I’ve said —”
“I texted you,” Taylor interrupted. Taking a seat beside Claire, she petted Bunny, Claire’s brindle-coated pit bull, who arose from her sleeping place under the table to greet her.
“I didn’t get it,” Jennifer protested.
“Look at your phone,” Taylor insisted.
Jennifer reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her cell phone. “Oh,” she said sheepishly.
“You can’t keep it on silent all the time,” Taylor scolded mildly.
“I did a luncheon for a church group today and didn’t want it to ring while the minister was speaking,” Jennifer explained. “I must have forgotten to turn it back on.” She read the message, which Taylor knew said HOME A LTTLE LTR. STILL @ BARN COOLNG SHAFIR.
“You have to keep up with the cell phone, Jen,” Claire teased her friend.
“Oh, give me a break,” Jennifer mumbled, stretching cellophane wrap over one of the bowls. “I just forgot to turn on the ring tone.”
“If you’re going to do that, check for messages once in a while,” Claire insisted.
Taylor looked down at Bunny, hiding her smile. She loved the way Claire gently teased her mom. They’d known each other since grade school, and there was nothing they couldn’t say to each other. Taylor wondered if she and Travis would have that kind of friendship when they were older. She hoped so.
Looking up again, Taylor met Claire’s eyes. “Do you remember the fawn we found in the woods?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you have any time to go with me and check on it?”
“I’m sure it’s long gone by now,” Claire said.
Jennifer tore more cellophane wrap from the roll. “Why do you want to look for it, Taylor?” she asked.
“I’m just worried,” Taylor replied. “We saw that dead female deer on the road last night, and this evening I heard coyotes howling.”
Claire frowned. “I heard them, too, a couple of nights ago. Some of my feral cats are missing.” Claire tended to the homeless cats in the neighborhood — as well as a wide assortment of other animals — and had a two-story shed for them. “The ferals roam pretty far into the woods at night, and I wonder if a coyote got them. Something got into my neighbor’s chicken coop, too. Could have been raccoons, but there was a print in the chicken yard that was definitely canine.”
“I just want to take a look. Could we?” Taylor asked.
“If the mother really hasn’t come back it might be too late already,” Claire said. “I’m just warning you.”
Taylor and Claire had run into some gruesome scenes when they had gone out on animal rescues but arrived too late to save an animal caught in a trap or hit by a vehicle. “I know,” she said. “But maybe we’ll get there in time.”
“Okay, kiddo. We can go take a look tomorrow morning at nine if you like.”
Taylor smiled at Claire. “Thanks.”
“If it’s still there, we just have to hope it survives the night,” Claire said.
Taylor glanced out the kitchen window at the fat, full, orange moon hovering above the black line of trees. Although all she could hear was a storm kicking up, she imagined she was listening to the coyotes’ frightening howls mixed into the wind’s blustery song.
* * *
“It’s just down this way,” Taylor said to Claire on Sunday morning as they hiked into the woods, wearing orange vests so hunters could easily see them. Hurrying behind Taylor, Claire carried a red woolen blanket bundled in her arms and a black knapsack filled with supplies slung over her shoulder.
Now and then a breeze would shower them with cold water from the leaves overhead. The storm that had blown through during the night had left everything wet and the path strewn with fallen autumn leaves.
Taylor ran ahead, hardly able to control herself from breaking into a run. “Here by the creek,” she said to Claire.
“Calm yourself, Taylor,” Claire said. “The chance of the fawn still being there is very slim. We’re just going to check.”
“That’s right,” Taylor agreed. “We should hope it’s not there, because that will mean its mother came back for it.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s all I want to know,” Taylor said, “that it’s okay.” Part of her wanted to see the little spotted fawn again, but Taylor knew she should be hoping she didn’t.
When Taylor reached the place where the creek ran, she could hardly contain her excitement. From the path, she could see the clump of tall grass but couldn’t tell if the fawn was there.
“Let me go first,” Claire said, getting ahead of Taylor as she descended the slope going to the creek. She didn’t say “Just in case we find something awful,” but Taylor knew it was what Claire was thinking.
Staying close behind Claire, Taylor followed her across the creek, hopping from rock to rock to get to the far side.
Slowly, they approached the grassy patch where the fawn had been hiding.
Taylor’s breath caught in her throat. There was something in the grass. She clutched at the sleeve of Claire’s woolen jacket.
“I see,” Claire whispered in response. She put her right index finger to her lip. “We don’t want to scare it,” she murmured.
The tiny fawn slept, its head down, its spindly legs sprawled around it. Its shallow breath rose and fell.
“Its mother hasn’t come back, or she would have moved it,” Claire said quietly, squatting down beside it. “It must be starving.”
Without opening its eyes, the fawn stuck out its tongue and lapped up drops of rain still clinging to nearby blades of grass. At least it was getting some water.
Taylor knelt beside Claire just as the fawn slowly opened its brown eyes. Frightened, it tried to stand, but its sticklike legs buckled, and it couldn’t get up. Claire placed her hand on the frightened animal. “Get me the bottle from my backpack,” she told Taylor.
Moving fast as she could, Taylor found the bottle and took it from Claire’s pack. “What’s in it?” she asked as she handed it to Claire.
“It’s a kind of baby formula for fawns. I contacted people who do deer rescue last night, and this is what they told me to give it.”
The little deer sucked eagerly at the bottle as soon as Claire presented it. It bleated for more.
“Oh, my gosh! It sounds like a little lamb!” Taylor exclaimed. She’d always thought deer were completely silent.
Despite the fawn’s pleading, Claire withdrew the bottle. “That’s enough for now,” she cooed to the fawn. “You haven’t eaten in a few days. We don’t want you to get sick.”
“What do we do now?” Taylor asked.
“
We’re taking it,” Claire replied. She bundled the blanket around the fawn and lifted it. “Scoot the blanket underneath,” she instructed Taylor.
Together, they managed to bundle the baby into Claire’s arms. “It’s not as heavy as I would have thought,” Claire commented.
“Will it be okay?” Taylor asked anxiously.
“It doesn’t look injured,” Claire remarked, looking the animal up and down. “No coyote or anything seems to have bothered it.”
Taylor sighed with relief. “That’s great.”
Claire waded into the creek, still holding the deer. “I can’t take the chance of dropping it while I hop the rocks,” she explained.
Taylor admired Claire’s toughness. The creek’s rushing water had to be ice-cold, but Claire kept slogging through it, holding the fawn tightly.
“What will we do with it?” Taylor asked when Claire and the deer were out of the creek.
“I’m not sure,” Claire admitted. “There are places that do deer rehab. I’ll get in touch with them.”
Off in the distance, a rifle sounded.
“Come on, let’s get back to Wildwood,” Claire suggested, heading for the path.
When they arrived back at the main building, Mrs. LeFleur was just pulling in. “Oh, my good heavens!” she cried when she saw the fawn. “What a beautiful little creature.”
“Can I make it a bed in one of your empty stalls?” Claire requested.
“As long as I don’t have a horse to board in there, yes, I suppose so,” Mrs. LeFleur agreed.
“Should I get some hay?” Taylor asked.
“Good idea,” Claire said.
In a short while they had built up a mound of hay and laid the baby deer, still wrapped in its blanket, inside it. “That should keep it nice and warm,” Claire said.
“Can I feed it some more?” Taylor asked.
“A little more,” Claire agreed, taking the bottle from her pack and handing it to Taylor. “Sit down in the hay, and I’ll hand the fawn to you. It will probably be comforted by your heartbeat and your body warmth.”