The last rider participating in the jump-off was Crofton Miller. He was on the chestnut mare. I sat up to watch. So did everyone in the stands, and those who loitered by the ring. Crofton held the reins on the buckle, sitting like he was on an afternoon hack. The mare expanded with every stride. She stared almost hungrily at the jumps like a cutting horse presented with a cow.
Crofton picked up the reins and made a sloppy circle. The mare nearly bolted over the starting line. Crofton was left behind over the first jump, falling back into the saddle audibly. The mare flung herself over the jump, kicking out behind to leave up the rail. Crofton got his act together a bit more after that, interfering only when he tried to package the mare’s stride for the line he thought he should ride. She gaped her mouth against his aids and motored through. She knew how to jump the course better than he did.
They finished the course clear. They had the best time. Ben came forward smugly to collect his horse. Assorted trainers lingered by the chestnut mare, collectively covetous. She wasn’t so impressive just standing there. She was reasonably balanced, but lanky and unremarkable, with an underdeveloped neck and a long back that stretched on behind the saddle. She wouldn’t make a hunter or dressage horse. But she was undeniably one of the best show jumpers I had ever seen. Once again, I heard Ben refuse offers for the horse. Why didn’t I go look at her when he didn’t know what he had? I thought pointlessly.
I dismounted, stinging my feet on the packed ground. En route to my trailer I was intercepted by Jennifer’s dad. “Sorry you didn’t have better luck with D.M. today,” he said kindly, scratching D.M. under his braids. He knew the gelding well from clinics and shows over the years.
“Oh, well, it could’ve been worse. At least we made the jump-off this time,” I joked grimly.
“I saw your round on Assault, though. That was a great round. He looks like more than a handful.”
“Yeah, we kind of need to work on playing nicely with others.” I cringed at the still-sharp memory.
“You did a great job riding him through that, though. A lot of times the most talented horses can be a tough ride. Assault will teach you well.”
“Well, thanks,” I said, pleasantly surprised. “I think he will too,” I added.
“See you next weekend,” he said as we parted company.
Jon wasn’t the only person I ran into who was complimentary of Assault. I was just glad that no one seemed to view me as a menace to society who couldn’t control my horse. Well, Mark probably did. But at least he’d learned not to cut in front of people.
When I got to my trailer I found Yield eating calmly. I’d been concerned that the separation from D.M. might be too much for him. But it seemed Assault’s slightly distant presence (I’d tied Assault so Yield would be well out of kicking range) had been enough to make him feel secure. “What a good boy,” I told him as I stripped off D.M.’s tack. “See, this showing thing is alright.”
Yield dropped his head and snorted. Assault strained at his rope, trying to take a chunk out of D.M. “You are so bad,” I said to him. He paused, neck outstretched, mouth open. The blue ribbon flapped from the side of my trailer, spooking Yield, who flew backward into D.M.’s hindquarters. D.M. took the impact placidly, keeping all four of his massive feet planted as I knelt by his left front, unfastening his open-front jumping boots.
Lawrence
Eloise looked up from the gnawed-down grass in front of her. Her whole paddock was already grazed to the roots. She was an efficient grazer, cropping the grass in rows, only moving when she’d cleared out the patch in front of her. Elle walked up to the fence. Upgrade, please.
I looked around, thinking through my options. I couldn’t give her too much space (and the temptations that went with it) this soon. The old grey mare was in the most suitable paddock, but I had reservations about turning Elle out with her. They both seemed like they could really get into a nice kick-fight. I guess I’ll put the old mare in the bigger pen behind the barn and turn Elle out by the geldings.
“Just a minute,” I said to Elle as I went to get the old grey mare. I caught her easily and led her through the gate. Harry flew down the fence line at an extended trot, coming to a quivering halt at the end of his paddock. His mouth opened and he trumpeted a worried whinny. I heard him start galloping when we disappeared behind the barn.
The old mare was undisturbed by her new living space. She didn’t much care for other horses anyway. She walked maybe five feet and dropped her head to the grass.
I heard Harry calling at the top of his lungs, and I walked back to where I could monitor him. He was racing around the paddock. Vegas appeared slightly troubled by his friend’s distress. I caught Elle quickly and let her into the vacated pen, hoping Harry would latch onto her instead. He barely even noticed her presence, screaming for the old grey mare like a newly weaned foal. Elle looked at him with clear disgust and then started eating.
I watched Harry for a while to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Well, anything stupid enough to kill him, anyway. Amber came out of the house, attracted by the spectacle. “What’s wrong with Harry?” She asked with her head to the side, watching him.
“I had to move the old mare, and Harry’s…grown fond of her recently. As you see.”
Amber looked at me in delight for some reason. “I know what you should call her!”
“Who, the old grey mare?”
“Yes!”
“I kind of think ‘the old grey mare’ fits.”
“My idea’s better. Maude. You should call her Maude! Harry and Maude. Like Harold & Maude!” Amber grinned at me, clearly pleased with herself.
I gave her a blank stare in response.
“Geez, you are really not a movie person, are you?” Amber said.
“Really not,” I agreed swiftly.
“Okay, well, it’s the perfect name for her. Harold & Maude is about a weird, kind of morbid young guy who falls for this awesome old woman. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. It’s, like, a classic! And the subject matter is totally appropriate for you.” She snorted.
“Alright, we can call her Maude. It’s easier to say anyway.” I glanced over at the horses. Harry was still distraught. His voice was even starting to crack.
A lime green Bug rolled down the driveway. The door opened and Mandy stepped out. She wore denim cutoffs, a plaid shirt with all but maybe one or two buttons undone, and an expectant look. Beside me, Amber drew in a breath and hissed something I couldn’t quite make out. I was sure it had four letters, though. Amber whirled away and stomped off for the barn, leaving me with Mandy. Her hips swung obviously as she walked up to me.
“Hey,” I said somewhat awkwardly.
“I haven’t seen you for a while,” Mandy said pointedly. She didn’t like to screw around. Not conversationally.
“I’ve had a lot going on,” I said honestly, if incompletely so.
Mandy looked up at me, directly. “Well, I’ve missed you,” she said in a voice that was unmistakably full of smoke.
I wasn’t going to be able to slink away from her, I realized. I knew she wouldn’t respond to sheer avoidance, or scripted, stilted lines. I hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t Mandy and her potential reaction that intimidated me. It was what lay beyond this actual decision, this change.
“Mandy,” I said, “I’m not doing this anymore.” It was quick, like most of my decisions. It felt right. It felt good in my soul.
Mandy stared at me. Her features hardened. “What d’you mean?”
“I’m not doing what I always do. What I’ve always done. I want something real.” Wow. I really said it. It was out in the open now.
“What, am I not real enough for you?” Mandy was rising up in front of me.
I sensed this was going to get ugly. “This isn’t about you, Mandy. You’re great. It was fun, it really was. I just…I need to try for something more. I don’t know if it’ll work out. It probably won’t. But I can’t not try.”
Mandy shook her head. Her mouth had a little slack to it. She stood there for a moment and then turned on her heel. She was almost to her car in seconds.
“And Mandy?” I said without thinking.
She turned back. It looked like she was fighting hope and trepidation. “Yeah?”
“You should really make a decision. About Chuck. You’re killing him with this half-assed, open relationship thing. Commit, Mandy, or let the poor guy go.”
Mandy stared at me in speechless fury. She marched forward, stopping only inches from me. Her face was harsh and incredulous. “Don’t ever tell me what to do, Lawrence Cavanaugh. This does not concern you.”
“You’re right,” I said after a moment went by. “It doesn’t. Not anymore.”
Erica
I was heading down the barn aisle, weighed down by roughly every piece of equipment I needed to ride my next horse. I had a bridle slung over my shoulder, polo wraps under my arm, and I held a saddle, pad and girth to my chest. That was when I heard my phone go off. I hurried to the cross ties where Assault stood regally. I dumped the saddle on a nearby rack, and sped back to where my phone lay, snatching it up before the automated voicemail lady could take over. “Hello?”
“Hey! It’s me. Jennifer.”
“Oh, hey, Jen,” I said. “I didn’t see you at the show the other day. What’s up?”
“Well, I heard the show was kinda interesting…”
Terrific. My legend precedes me. “What’d you hear?” I said resignedly.
“Well, for one thing, Mark said you ran him over. Or something. What he told me was that your horse almost killed him.” Jennifer didn’t sound accusatory, just alarmed.
My eyes narrowed. That lying, whiny jerk. “I didn’t run him over, Jen. What Mark neglected to tell you is that he cut in front of me, while I was on a horse known to have behavioral issues. And let me assure you that I put the fear of God in Assault.” And Mark, too, come to think of it.
“You were riding Assault?!” Jennifer practically shrieked.
The polos slipped out from under my arm. I watched them bounce and roll. “Yeah…I’ve had him like a month.”
“I can’t believe you’re showing him! Linda couldn’t even get him tacked up.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn’t either, for a while. He needed discipline. He’s still kind of a territorial jerk, but he can jump.” Something came to my mind. “Hey, do you know how high Linda jumped him?”
“I don’t think she ever did…I’m pretty sure she bought him for dressage.”
“Okay, good to know.” I guess I should hold off moving him up to three six. I chewed my lower lip absentmindedly. “Hey,” I said somewhat distractedly. “Why is Mark still talking to you? I thought you were letting him go.”
There was a stretch of silence on her end of the conversation. “Um…about that. I kind of…haven’t followed through on that. I know you’re right,” she threw in hastily, “But I just can’t, right now…I hope you’re not mad, or anything…”
“Why would I be mad? It’s your life, Jen. And you probably know him better than I do.” It wasn’t like I was doing any better at following my advice. “I should really go, Jen, I’ve got Assault waiting on the cross ties.”
“Oh, okay. Be careful!” She advised shrilly.
I placed the phone back on the small ledge and reached down for the polos. Assault watched me as I walked up to him and leaned down to wrap his legs. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re a reformed jerk,” I growled at him.
In the arena, I was somewhat at a loss for what to do. If it was true that Assault had no prior jumping experience, then roaring around three foot courses had been rash. I had jumped him at home before taking him to the shows, of course, but I’d quickly raised the fences when he’d shown that he was capable. He gave me an extraordinary feeling over fences when the pressure was on, but after digging into his past I was slightly thrown. Maybe we should go back to basics.
I had some low fences and ground poles still assembled from earlier in the day, when I’d ridden Yield. I adjusted the distances for Assault’s stride and then worked him over the poles in the warm-up phase. When I’d worked him at all three gaits and done some transitions to get him listening, I rose into two-point and turned Assault onto the baby course.
He trotted to the first fence, ears floppy and disinterested. Once again, he never touched a pole, but he didn’t jump them, either. He used the two foot fences as cavalletti, trotting them in an exaggerated stride. He made his disinterest clear. His scope was beyond the tiny fences, regardless of his experience.
I turned Assault away from the diminutive course. As we cantered around on the rail, I glanced around the arena to see what other fences were scattered about. In the middle of the ring, a lone vertical stood, around three feet in height. I turned Assault onto the diagonal. The gelding flicked his ears forward at the fence, registering its presence. As we approached, he stayed straight, without drifting off the line. He stepped over the fence almost carelessly, barely lifting me out of the saddle. Hmm.
I stopped him and dismounted. Keeping an eye on him as he trailed behind me at the end of the reins, I reset the pole to the three foot six line. “Let’s see if you like that better,” I said as I remounted. Assault loped down to the jump, taking it in stride without really picking up his legs. The height increase elicited no respect from him in this undemanding context. I sensed he had more to give.
I raised the fence incrementally, reaching four feet after a few go rounds. Assault continued his unimpressed jumping efforts. Assault wasn’t refusing to jump or flying over the ever-taller fence in a panic. He seemed bored. Lazy. I stared at the strapping, muscular gelding as he strutted behind me, overstepping by at least a foot. With a little reckless adrenaline in my veins, I put the fence up to five feet.
Back on Assault, I circled him, shortening and lengthening his stride. I needed to know he was listening before I tried this. I felt his hind legs reaching forward as I turned him back onto the diagonal. His head came up a bit, and he studied the fence. He dug in and drove on, and at the base of the fence I felt him crouch and gather himself, and then he was airborne with surprising ease. I felt spare inches in his jump. He landed softly and cantered on as if nothing had happened. I patted him and brought him to a walk. I let the reins out, feeling the power and thrust in the four-beat gait as I let him cool down.
Well. We’ve established he can jump. I was glad no one else was around. My dad would surely rush to sell, and I knew there were buyers for my horse. I wanted to take my time with Assault. Most horses I sold as soon as they started to improve. This time would be different. Assault was worth the investment of more than a few weeks.
Jumping a single five foot fence in the middle of an arena didn’t mean he would be able to get around a Grand Prix course. But I found myself imagining the possibilities anyway.
Lawrence
The air was unsettled and the sky had clouded over as the afternoon shifted over to the evening. I saw Amber’s hair snap across her face in the swirling wind as she made her way across the yard. She pushed it away from her eyes and held it at the base of her neck by force. The horses were energized and silly, their nostrils taking in the stormy air. Vegas shoved Harry with his nose, trying to instigate something, but Harry was high headed and starey, held to the spot by some possibly imagined thing he saw in the distance.
The door creaked open and Amber came into the house. She let her hair go and it fell smoothly around her face. “It’s gonna storm.”
“I like storms.” I smiled, looking back through the window.
I felt Amber eyeing me. “What’s with you?”
“What d’you mean?”
“You seem perky. You’re, like, forward-looking, or something.”
“I guess I am,” I said after a moment.
Amber huffed out a sigh and went off to look for something more interesting to interrogate.
I watched the dim, grey colors of the sky deepen, feeling
little tremors of anticipation until the familiar motor hummed in my ears and the glinting green truck came into view. The burst of excitement in my chest disrupted my breathing. I hurried out into the open air, full and happy.
Her door slammed, and then Erica stood outside her cab, directly across from me. She smiled, her face radiant and honest. I could feel the dumb, maniacal grin on my face, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. In a moment, we started off for the stable. By now we were beyond stilted greetings and small talk. We had our shared mission, and we got right to it. There was a well-worn ease and flow to what we did together. Erica was focused and dedicated when it came to her horses. I could see how much she cared about Harry. That was one thing I really loved about her.
I laid out all Harry’s gear while Erica hugged Soiree. “She says you’ve been neglectful,” Erica said teasingly.
“There aren’t enough hours in the day to give her the attention she’d take.” I smiled at the contented filly as I tossed a lead over my shoulder. “It’ll be nice when I can start working her.”
“It’s going to be great,” Erica agreed. “I really want to see what she can do.”
“I’m gonna go get Harry,” I said to her. “You should probably stay with Soiree.”
She laughed. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
I walked to the geldings’ paddock, the lead shank snapping against my back. The air was heavy with held-in moisture. I let myself into the paddock and walked up to Harry, who eyed me warily. I clipped the lead to his halter before he could decide to bolt, and led him through the gate. Vegas nickered as we left him behind, but Harry didn’t respond. He walked tight and high-headed, his eyes darting around. I shrugged and pulled him along with me.
Back in the barn I set Harry up in the cross ties. His hooves scraped against the concrete as he shifted around. While I flicked on the overhead light, Erica left Soiree and came up to Harry. Her eyes were trained on him. “His chest is all wet,” she said, her face concerned. “How come you’re all sweaty, Harry?”
Training Harry Page 35